The Baby Name I Chose for His Mistress's Son
I requested to leave Doctors Without Borders a year ahead of schedule, just to come back home for the occasion and marry Hayden Tran. But when I arrived, I discovered Hayden had already become a father. I overheard him instructing the maid, "Keep Nora Stewart abroad a little longer. It's best if she doesn't come back. If she finds out I have a son now, there will definitely be a mess."
In that moment, reality hit me. He had misled me. Three years ago, he had advised, "Go work as a doctor overseas for three years to gain some experience and maturity. Once you've calmed down a bit, you can return and be my wife."
Indeed, I have matured. I'm no longer the girl who would cry and throw a tantrum at every minor thing. And because of this change, my tastes have evolved as well.
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Chapter 4
I was adopted by the Tran family when I was sixteen, just starting high school. Back then, Hayden was already twenty-three, fresh out of university. He came from a wealthy background and was strikingly handsome, constantly surrounded by a swarm of admirers.
I would often feel a pang of jealousy and approach him, saying, "Hayden, can't you keep your distance from those girls?" He would chuckle softly and ruffle my hair, replying, "Whatever Nora wants, Nora gets."
In my teenage heart, I mistook that for love. I did everything I could to be near him, to understand his interests, and to become the kind of person he would cherish. At eighteen, I put on a glamorous Victorian-style dress and high heels for the first time. During a Thanksgiving party, when a rich young man struck up a conversation with me, Hayden dragged me into the restroom and kissed me passionately. His dark eyes were intense, as his tousled hair fell forward and he pressed his forehead against mine, declaring, "You belong to me."
Initially, he filled me with hope, showing affection in countless ways. Yet now, he accused me of being clingy. Heartbroken, I walked away, unable to hold back my tears as I reached the door. My hands trembled as I took out my phone and opened WhatsApp. The latest message was from Hayden: "Happy birthday, Nora."
At that moment, I was in the middle of saving a pregnant woman, covered in blood, having been awake for over twenty-four hours. But his message gave me a renewed sense of energy. I wiped away my tears and called him through voice chat.
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9.7
The clock read 11:45 PM when I finally untied my apron at Rosie's Diner. My feet throbbed in protest, and the small of my back ached from hours of carrying plates and refilling coffee cups. But there was no time to rest. Marcus needed me. "Heading out already, Sophia?" Chloe asked, concern etching her tired features as she wiped down the counter. "You look dead on your feet, honey."
I forced a smile while checking my phone again. Three missed calls from Marcus, each voicemail more pitiful than the last. "*Soph, please... I'm feeling so weak today. Could you bring some of your chicken soup?
8.4
Kloe Guthrie dragged her crystal-encrusted wedding gown down the penthouse corridor, exhausted but ready to finally be alone with her new husband, Justen.
But as she passed the presidential suite, a familiar, cloying perfume stopped her. Through the cracked door, she saw Justen brutally thrusting into her cousin, Candyce.
"Like fucking a corpse with Kloe," Justen grunted, his voice thick with lust. "Worth it for the trust fund control, though."
Candyce giggled, mocking Kloe's pathetic gratitude.
Shattered, Kloe stumbled backward in the dark, only to be caught by Julian Larsen—Justen's billionaire best man.
Instead of offering sympathy, Julian trapped her against the wall. He forced her to listen to her husband's cruel mockery, then dragged her into the opposite suite, tearing off her wedding dress and dismantling her dignity piece by piece.
Everything she had believed for four years was a meticulously calculated lie.
She was nothing but a boring prop to the man she loved, a naive fool meant to be drained of her family's immense wealth and laughed at behind closed doors. The humiliation and betrayal burned through her veins like acid.
"You could cry," Julian whispered against her neck, his eyes predatory and dark. "Or you could make him regret he was ever born."
Instead of running from the man cornering her in the dark, Kloe looked at the destroyed remains of her life, grabbed Julian's collar, and pulled him in.
This time, she would make them all pay.
9.8
The Mandarin Oriental ballroom glittered like a dream. Crystal chandeliers cast diamond-like reflections across the sea of Manhattan's business elite, all here to celebrate Sterling Enterprises' biggest triumph—my triumph. My hand instinctively went to my clutch, feeling the weight of both the five-billion-dollar deal documents and the platinum engagement ring I'd purchased last month. Tonight was the night everything would change. Seven years of shadows were about to end. I smoothed down my midnight blue gown, chosen specifically because Logan once said it made my eyes look like 'oceans he could drown in.' The thought brought a smile to my lips. How many nights had I spent working until dawn, sacrificing sleep, friendships, and even my health for this moment? The migraine medication in my purse was a silent reminder of the toll, but it would all be worth it now. "Nicole! You look stunning," Jessica Chen, a junior executive I'd mentored, approached with a champagne flute.
8.2
The crystal chandeliers cast warm amber light across the hotel ballroom, their glow reflecting off the polished marble floors where my company's annual Thanksgiving team-building gala was in full swing. I stood at the front of the room, champagne flute in hand, watching my employees mingle and laugh—a sight that should have filled me with pride. After all, I'd built this company from nothing, and tonight's celebration in this upscale venue was a testament to our success. "Ladies and gentlemen," I called out, tapping my glass with a silver spoon. The conversations gradually died down as faces turned toward me. "I want to thank you all for making this year our most successful yet. This beautiful venue"—I gestured around the opulent ballroom with its floor-to-ceiling windows and elaborate floral arrangements—"represents not just where we are tonight, but how far we've come together."
Applause rippled through the crowd, and I caught sight of Damien near the bar. My childhood sweetheart, my fiancé, the man who was supposed to be my partner in everything. I expected to see pride in his eyes, maybe that familiar warm smile that had captured my heart all those years ago. Instead, his face was a mask of barely contained fury.
9.6
After three years together, Laurel always kept me at arm's length. She claimed her upbringing was strict and that intimacy would have to wait until marriage. However, at Curtis's art exhibition, I was confronted by dozens of provocative portraits of Laurel in various poses, painted from when she was 18 to 25, immortalized on canvas. Fury surged through me, and I nearly tore the paintings to shreds. But Laurel stopped me. “Do you even know what these are? They're art. You're such a small-town guy, out of touch with reality.”
I called my mom and canceled the engagement ring I had been planning to use to propose to Laurel. “I agree to the Robertson-Rivera match,” I told her. As soon as I hung up, Laurel caught up with me.
7.4
When her half-sister stole her fiancé, scarred her face, and threw her from a skyscraper, Amelia thought it was the end-until fate gave her a second chance.
Reborn with bitter clarity, she vowed not to repeat the same mistakes. In her past life, she had been kind to a fault; now, she would wear a mask of innocence to outmaneuver every snake in the grass.
One by one, she tore down their schemes-leaving her treacherous sister begging, her stepmother pleading, her worthless father groveling, and her ex-fiancé crawling back.
Her response was a cold smirk and two words: "Get lost."
But the one thing she never anticipated was crossing paths with Damien Taylor-the most powerful and untouchable man in the capital-on the very first day of her new life.
They said he was ruthless, ice-cold, immune to any woman's charm. Amelia believed it. until she learned the truth: the man was dangerously cunning.
"Miss Johnson, I saved you. How about dinner?"
"Miss Johnson, I helped you. Don't you owe me a favor?"
Backed against the wall, Amelia felt his low voice vibrate through her:
"You owe me too much, Amelia. It's time to pay up-starting with you."
Only much later would she realize. she'd been owing him all along.