I Raised His Mistress' Child for 18 Years

I grabbed my suitcase and walked out of the prison that had confined me for 18 years without looking back.

Behind me came Alicia's triumphant laughter and Simon's scornful snort. "You think I'd regret this? Hah! Let's see how long you can survive once you walk out of this house!"

Honestly? I'd probably survive long enough to outlive him.

I moved into an apartment in the city center that Simon's grandfather, the late Mr. Ernest Fuller, had secretly left me before he died. After sitting down, I exhaled heavily.

All these years, through all of Simon's various scandals, I readily cleaned up his messes for him for one reason—and it wasn't love. It was because of Grandpa Ernest.

When my parents died, it was Grandpa Ernest who pulled me out of the abyss I'd fallen into. He took me in, paid for my education, and gave me the ability to hold my head up high once more. He was basically family to me.

Before he passed, he held my hand and said that his greatest wish was to see the family's legacy live on and flourish. However, he also knew that Simon had been spoiled since childhood and couldn't be relied upon. If the Fuller family's empire were to be left to him, it would be squandered away in no time.

Grandpa Ernest made me a promise. As long as I raised a child of the Fuller family to adulthood and made sure the child could be trusted to run the family's business, I would receive 30% of Fuller Group's shares that had originally been set aside for Simon.

So, I put up with Simon's long string of affairs and Alicia's provocations, all for the sake of raising Mason and grooming him to run the company.

It had nothing to do with love.

And now, I'd completed my mission. Just three more days, and I would be receiving the reward I rightfully earned.

Knowing this, that night, I had the best sleep I'd had in 18 years.

…

Over at the Fuller residence, Simon woke up promptly at 7:00 am, his head pounding from the hangover. Eyes still closed, he called out as usual, "Where's my orange juice, Zoe? Why haven't you brought it up to me yet?"

All he got in response was silence. No one answered him.

Ordinarily, at this hour, I would've already prepared a full breakfast, pressed his suit, and waited on the side to see if he needed me to do anything.

So, why wasn't I responding now?

Frowning, Simon sat up in bed and roared angrily, "Zoe Johnson! Are you deaf?"

The door opened, but it was Alicia—not me—who came in, clad in a silk nightgown.

"Why are you calling for her, Simon? She's already been kicked out of the house."

Simon froze. He'd been so drunk yesterday that he only remembered bits and pieces of what had happened. He knew he'd gotten into an argument with me about something, but he couldn't recall what it'd been about.

He simply assumed I was throwing a tantrum. Rubbing his forehead, he snapped impatiently, "Where's my drink? My head is killing me."

"Oh, right. I'll get you something."

Alicia scrambled down the stairs and took ages before finally coming back up with a mug of water. Simon took one sip before slamming the mug down on the bedside table.

"This is plain water! I wanted orange juice! Don't you know that I always have orange juice for my hangovers after I've been drinking?" Simon snapped.

Alicia's eyes reddened. Feeling indignant, she protested, "I-I had no idea! It was always Zoe who took care of such things…"

"Oh, stop. Don't start crying on me. It's annoying. Zoe can start handling these things again once she comes back in a few days."

Irritated, Simon got up to get changed, but when he opened the closet, he was stupefied.