Traded For Ambition: The Mistress Strikes Back

Mia POV

Isabella sauntered over to the bar cart. A bottle of vintage red wine sat open, breathing—a bottle Ethan and I had purchased in Napa two years ago, saving it for a milestone that never came.

She picked it up, weighing it in her hand.

"Ethan says you're good at cleaning up messes," she said, her voice dripping with false sweetness. "Let's see."

She tilted the bottle.

The crimson liquid cascaded down, splashing onto the blueprints I had spent six agonizing months perfecting. It saturated the paper instantly, bleeding across the white lines, turning my vision of a community center into a dark, ruined blot.

"No," I whispered.

I fell to my knees, frantically trying to save them, my hands instantly stained red. Against my pale skin, it looked disturbingly like fresh blood.

"Look at her," Isabella laughed, the sound brittle and sharp. "On her knees. Where she belongs."

She looked at Ethan. "Pay her. Get her out of my sight."

Ethan reached into his jacket pocket. He pulled out a silver money clip. He didn't hand it to me. Instead, he tossed the bills into the puddle of wine and ruined dreams.

"Consider it a cleaning fee," he said.

The bills floated in the red mess, soaking up the destruction.

I looked up at him. I wanted to scream. I wanted to claw his eyes out. But my body was frozen, locked in shock.

"Why?" I choked out.

"You knew what this was, Mia," he said, his eyes hard as flint and utterly devoid of warmth. "We had fun. Now it's time to grow up. Isabella is my wife. You are... the past."

*The past.*

Five years.

The nights I stayed up until dawn, helping him launder money through complex construction invoices so the Feds wouldn't catch him.

The times I stitched up his wounds with trembling hands when he couldn't risk a hospital visit.

All of it, reduced to a transaction. A severance package thrown in the dirt.

I stood up. My hands were sticky with wine. My cheek throbbed.

"I hope it's worth it," I said, my voice trembling but audible. "I hope the crown is heavy enough to crush you."

Isabella stepped forward, her hand raised again.

I didn't wait. I turned and ran.

I ran to the elevator, jamming the button with my wine-stained finger. The doors closed just as I saw Ethan pour himself a drink, already turning his back on me.

I stumbled out into the lobby. The doorman, a man named Carl who used to smile and ask about my day, averted his gaze. He studied the floor intently as I ran past him, sobbing.

Outside, the sky had opened up. The rain was torrential.

I didn't have an umbrella. I didn't have a coat.

I walked into the downpour, the cold water mixing with the tears on my face. I felt like I was being erased. The city moved around me, loud and indifferent.

I was the architect who built their facades, the woman who kept their darkest secrets. And now I was just trash on the sidewalk.

I checked my phone. My bank account was frozen. Of course. Henderson hadn't processed the transfer yet. Or maybe he never would.

I had twenty dollars in my pocket and nowhere to go.