He Chose The Mistress, She Signed Her Own Death Certificate
Eight years of devotion crumbled under one calculated betrayal.
Diagnosed with a terminal illness and given only a year, Olivia faced heartbreak when her husband cheated with a student she had sponsored and asked for divorce.
"She only has a year to live... can't you let her have this?" he pleaded, unaware Olivia hid the same fate.
Without protest, she signed and returned to science, determined to leave something behind.
Believing they'd reunite, he waited-never knowing she was running out of time.
During a clinical trial, she burned through her final days.
Only after her death did he learn the truth, collapsing in regret. "Olivia... I was wrong."
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Chapter 7
Callum's brow knitted slightly, convinced this proved his theory. Olivia was merely playing games to get his attention.
Recalling her cold attitude from the other day, he looked away as if he hadn't noticed her at all and went back to gently placing peeled shrimp onto Kaylee's plate.
A wave of bitterness washed over Olivia, so sharp and intense that it felt as though it might completely overwhelm her senses.
She had simply intended to enjoy a quiet meal, but after stumbling into this painful scene, she had no desire to remain there as an unwanted observer.
She rose to depart, but was halted by a soft, masculine voice calling her from behind. "Hey, Olivia..."
Olivia turned around to find a tall figure hurrying through the restaurant toward her.
It was Michael.
He reached her side with his handsome face slightly flushed from the haste. "I'm so sorry," he said. "I promised I'd treat you to dinner, but I've managed to run late."
With a warm smile, he moved toward her table.
Caught in an impossible position, Olivia felt she couldn't just walk away now, so she followed his lead and sat back down.
Across the room at the other table, a momentary flicker of genuine surprise crossed Callum's eyes.
So, Olivia had actually come here on an invitation? The realization that she hadn't been following him after all sat uncomfortably with his previous assumptions.
Callum studied the man more closely and recognized him as Michael, the youngest and most renowned hematology expert in the medical field.
Olivia had brought up his name a few times in the past, but Callum had never bothered to pay any attention to it.
Seeing the two of them together now was strangely jarring for Callum.
It appeared that their relationship was far more intimate than he had realized.
Callum's thin lips pressed into a hard line as a sudden, inexplicable wave of irritation began to wash over him.
Sitting beside him, Kaylee immediately sensed Callum's souring mood. As she followed his gaze, a flash of deep, hidden malice momentarily crossed her eyes.
Almost instantly, her expression shifted back into a sweet smile. "Oh, it's Olivia! What a surprise that she's also dining here! I should go over and say hello."
She was already on her feet before Callum could offer a response. Noticing Michael, she feigned shock and covered her mouth. "But why is there a man with her? The two of them seem so remarkably close."
While she spoke, the corners of her eyes began to flush a deep red.
"It's all my fault. Is she upset with me, which is why she's deliberately dining with another man? But no matter the reason, she shouldn't lower herself like this. You're still in the waiting period, after all…"
Her voice, tinged with a carefully placed sob and raised just enough to carry, drifted straight to Olivia and Michael's table—along with half the restaurant—earning them a chorus of curious, judgmental glances.
Michael finally realized who was sitting nearby. A rare flicker of fury crossed his face as he moved to stand, but Olivia stayed him with a firm hand on his wrist.
Indifferent to the rumors about herself, she simply didn't want to pull Michael into the middle of her drama.
Standing up, Olivia met Kaylee's and Callum's gazes without flinching. "If you're so mindful that we haven't actually divorced, why are you here with my husband? How do you explain your own behavior? Talk about hypocritical."
She glanced pointedly at Callum's jacket around Kaylee's shoulders and the neatly peeled shrimp sitting on the woman's plate.
Kaylee turned white. "No, I'm just so weak right now," she stammered. "Callum was only worried and came to keep me company. Please, don't misunderstand..."
Observing the forced act, Olivia felt nothing but pure, unadulterated contempt.
"I understand perfectly, Miss Taylor. Because you're dying, my husband—still legally married to me right now—feels compelled to linger by your side."
Her blunt words caused a visible shift in the crowd's attitude.
Humiliated and pale, Kaylee wobbled as tears flooded her eyes. "Olivia..." she whimpered.
Her helpless display made her look so pitiful that onlookers would naturally assume Olivia was the aggressor.
Callum caught Kaylee to steady her, his voice snapping. "Olivia! Kaylee is sick. How can you be so cruel to her?"
He targeted Olivia with icy blame while openly showing a soft, protective tenderness toward Kaylee.
It was sickening how he obsessed over Kaylee's supposed frailty while remaining totally blind to Olivia's actual condition.
This was the man she married. The irony was absolutely stifling.
Olivia managed a sharp, bitter smile. "Did I miss something? Isn't she terminal? After all, you're the one who told me so."
Weary from the relentless work of the past few days and drained by the emotional strain, Olivia suddenly staggered. Dark spots flickered across her vision, and a sharp, metallic taste of blood rose in her throat.
Michael saw her failing and lunged to catch her, sensing that every ounce of her energy had completely vanished.
Aware that Olivia wanted her illness kept secret, he pulled her close against his side. Though it looked like an embrace, he was purely holding her upright.
Callum's gaze sharpened into a dangerous glare as he watched them standing so close together.
"Olivia," he mocked, "do you honestly believe these pathetic games will change the outcome? The divorce is still happening."
Olivia looked ghostly pale. She opened her mouth to reply but stayed silent, fearing that speaking would cause her to choke on the blood in her throat.
Given the dire circumstances, she simply couldn't handle any further drama or mess.
Feeling her limp in his arms, Michael pulled her tighter and directed a freezing look at Callum.
"Is that right?" he countered on her behalf. "Don't worry, man. Olivia is far too busy for your games. You want out? Fine. Just try not to regret this later, Mr. Jackson."
He then led the staggering Olivia out of the building, leaving Callum to watch them go with a look that grew more murderous by the moment.
Noticing his dark mood, Kaylee's eyes welled up with even more tears.
"Callum, I'm the one to blame for this," she said between sobs. "Maybe it's better if you just leave me alone."
She made a move to flee, but collapsed after a single step, clutching at her chest as she sank to the floor.
"The pain... It hurts so much," she wheezed.
"Kaylee!" Callum cried, bolting to her side. "Stop talking like that. I'm getting you to the emergency room immediately."
He gathered her into his arms and rushed out of the restaurant.
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7.3
"This... this is wrong," she stuttered, trying not to meet his eyes. "You're my stepfather. Let's forget it ever happened."
"How can I forget it happened, Nicole?" He questioned, gripping her chin. "When the image of you whimpering for more replays in my head every fucking night?"
When one night of desperation turns into Nicole ending up in bed with a nameless stranger, she's almost shocked to death when she moves in with her mother's new husband to see that the nameless stranger is her new stepfather.
Tristan Michelson has always been in control of his emotions, but he can barely control himself when he realizes the masked stripper is his new stepdaughter.
9.5
Jennifer, a fiercely independent entrepreneur, never imagined that running her company would put her in the orbit of Joseph, a reclusive billionaire with a dangerous agenda. Their professional clashes ignite a forbidden attraction, drawing them into a passionate affair that threatens to unravel everything Jennifer has built. As corporate sabotage, hidden heirs, and dark secrets from Joseph's past begin to surface, Jennifer's world spirals into a web of betrayal, desire, and moral peril. In a story where power and love collide, nothing is as it seems and every choice could be lethal.
7.5
I was tied to a concrete pillar in an abandoned warehouse, the heavy stench of gasoline suffocating me.
Ten steps away, a masked kidnapper slammed a loaded Glock onto a metal barrel and forced my husband, Alvie, to make a sick choice.
"The wife or the mistress. You only get to walk out of here with one."
Alvie didn't even blink.
He walked straight toward the dark corner where his mistress, Gail, was crying. He wrapped his arms tightly around her, shielding her, and guided her toward the exit.
He never looked back. He didn't cast a single glance over his shoulder. To him, I was already a corpse, just trash left on the pavement.
The kidnapper laughed and tossed a lighter onto the soaked concrete floor.
A wall of ghostly blue fire erupted instantly, swallowing me whole. The absolute agony of my skin blistering and melting shattered my sanity.
In my last moments, consumed by the inferno, I couldn't understand how the man I had loved and served so submissively could leave me to burn alive. My heartbreak quickly morphed into a hatred far deeper than the flames.
Then, I violently jerked awake.
I shot up from the bed, gasping for cold air, my hands frantically checking my perfectly smooth, unburned skin.
I looked at the desk clock. I had returned to exactly four years ago, the morning of the annual Gallagher family gathering.
The fragile, naive wife died in that warehouse. This time, I am going to destroy them both.
8.1
On my wedding day, the wedding planner looked at me with pity in her eyes.
She told me the groom had called with a last-minute request. He wanted the name on the floral arch changed from "Elena" to "Sofia."
Five years of loyalty to Dante Romero, and I found out he was planning a "secret" ceremony with his mistress an hour before ours.
He claimed she was dying of cancer. He said it was her final wish to be a bride, and that as a good mafia wife, I should understand. He swore it was just charity.
But I had seen the texts where he called me "furniture."
I had watched him step over my body when I fell down the stairs at a club, just so he could leave with her.
And this morning, I watched Sofia walk into the hotel lobby wearing *my* custom French lace wedding dress, smirking as she clung to his arm.
Dante thinks I'm crying in the bridal suite.
He thinks I will sit in the front row of his "fake" wedding and wait for my turn like a dutiful puppet.
He is wrong.
I wiped my tears and picked up my phone. I didn't cancel the wedding date. I just changed the location to the ballroom next door.
And I changed the groom.
As Dante says his vows to his mistress, I am walking down the aisle to meet the only man the Romero family fears.
The Reaper.
8.1
I skipped my final lab review in Geneva and endured a fourteen-hour flight to surprise my husband for our fourth wedding anniversary.
Instead, looking through the window of our beachfront estate, I saw him playing the perfect, loving father to a "tragic widow's" daughter, kissing the widow with practiced, casual intimacy.
Fleeing in pure panic, I got into a horrific car crash.
Waking up in the VIP hospital room, I kept my eyes shut and heard my husband talking to his best friend right beside my bed.
"She's just a party girl who knows how to swipe a black card. I only play the part because I need her father's proxy vote for the IPO."
"Every time I have to touch her in bed, it feels like a corporate obligation. It makes me sick."
Later, even my own father demanded I step down from my company role and publicly welcome the mistress, just to protect the family's investment in the upcoming ten-billion-dollar IPO.
Four years of marriage and quiet humiliations, all reduced to a calculated lie. They all thought I was just a brainless, hysterical socialite who could be easily manipulated and discarded.
They didn't know that the core anti-aging algorithm his entire empire relied on was secretly built by me.
I calmly pulled out my phone and texted my divorce lawyer.
"I want him bankrupt. On the day his company rings the bell, I am going to burn his entire life to the ground."
8.8
My little boy died on the operating table during a minor, routine surgery.
That exact same night, my billionaire husband bought out the Hudson River for a massive, million-dollar fireworks show.
It wasn't to mourn our child. It was to celebrate his first love's son being discharged from the hospital.
When I confronted him with our son's death certificate, he sneered and accused me of hiding the boy to get his attention.
He held his mistress in our home, watched her fake a panic attack, and threatened to bankrupt my family if I didn't get on my knees and apologize to her.
But the most horrifying truth came from a terrified hospital nurse.
My son's anesthesia was deliberately kept low during the procedure to keep his tissue viable to save the mistress's child.
He was awake and in agonizing pain while his own father planned a grand celebration for another man's son.
I couldn't understand how a father could be so completely heartless.
How could he sacrifice his own flesh and blood just to please a woman who constantly manipulated him?
Looking at the ashes on my son's favorite toy, my paralyzing grief evaporated, replaced by a cold, unyielding rage.
I arranged my little boy's funeral alone in the freezing rain, left my wedding ring on the counter, and walked straight into the private hotel suite of my husband's most ruthless business rival.
"Let's take him down," I said.