You Want a Mistress I’m Already a Queen

The shears hit the dirt at his feet, spraying soil and petals over his expensive shoes.

He flinched, but the smirk never left his face.

"There's that fire." He brushed an imaginary speck of dust from his lapel. "God, I missed this."

Old days?

I wanted to throw every pair of shears in this garden at his head.

"This is what I miss—your spark." He stepped toward me. "Tiffany is so boring. A doll. But you—"

"Enough."

"You're jealous of her, aren't you?" Julian's gaze softened. "You don't need to be. You know your place in my heart."

He pulled a velvet box from his pocket.

"This is for you."

I didn't take it.

Julian opened it himself. A diamond necklace glittered inside, blinding me.

"Limited edition Harry Winston," he said proudly. "Only three in the world."

"Take it away."

"Sera, stop being childish." A hint of annoyance crept into his voice. "I know you're upset, but we're adults now. I will make everyone happy, trust me."

I turned my back on him. And walked away.

"I'll send a car for you in a week!" he yelled after me. "Don't keep me waiting!"

I slammed the door.

Bastard.

The next day, I sent the necklace to the biggest charity auction in Chicago.

"List the donation under the Moretti family," I told the manager.

The man's face went white.

"The, uh... M-Moretti family?"

"That's the one," I smiled sweetly. "And make sure the story gets out. Someone tried to put a price on the Don's wife. In our world, that mistake gets you a one-way ticket to the bottom of Lake Michigan."

The manager nodded frantically, sweat dripping onto the auction list.

A week later, at the opera.

I was in Dante's private box, watching the second act of La Traviata.

On stage, the soprano was singing Violetta's aria about love and sacrifice.

Too bad for her. I'd learned my lesson about sacrifice. I wasn't making that mistake again.

During intermission, I got up to use the restroom.

The moment I stepped out of the box, I heard a familiar voice.

"Sera?"

I turned.

Julian was standing in the corridor, dressed to the nines, with a blonde on his arm.

Tiffany Vanderbilt.

She was even prettier in person.

Pearl earrings, an emerald necklace. She looked like a perfect Barbie doll.

"What a coincidence." That arrogant smile spread across Julian's face again. "You're here for the opera, too?"

"Yes."

"Sera, you shouldn't have," he whispered, a flicker of excitement in his eyes. "Following me? It's a little desperate. A bad look for you."

Following him?

I almost laughed.

"Well, since we're here—" Julian turned to the woman beside him. "Tiffany, this is Seraphina. An old friend of mine."

Old friend?

Tiffany extended a delicate, manicured hand. "A pleasure. Julian has told me so much about you."

"Has he now?"

"Oh, yes," Tiffany's smile was pure ice. "All about your... history together. Such a sweet friendship."

Friendship.

Julian cleared his throat. "Since you've met, maybe you two should get acquainted. After all, soon—"

"Soon what?" I cut him off.

"Soon we'll all be family," Tiffany chirped. Her voice was pure poison, coated in sugar. "I'm about to be Mrs. Astor. As Julian's old friend, that makes you a friend of the family."

Mrs. Astor.

She stressed the name, staking her claim.

"What a lovely picture," I said with a smile. "But I think—"

"You think what?" Tiffany tilted her head like a curious little bird.

I glanced at my guards.

"Shut her up."

They moved as one.

Tiffany's face went white. She scrambled behind Julian.

"Sera!" Julian snapped. "What are you doing?"

"Just kidding." I waved a hand, and the guards stepped back.

Julian's face was tight with anger as he shielded Tiffany.

"You're still a savage, Sera," he hissed, his tone dripping with condescension. "No manners. No class. When will you ever learn?"