Shisui
1 Published Story
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The Truth About His Mistress
Gavin I was four months pregnant, a photographer excited for our future, attending a sophisticated baby brunch.
Then I saw him, my husband Michael, with another woman, and a newborn introduced as "his son."
My world shattered as a torrent of betrayal washed over me, magnified by Michael's dismissive claim I was "just being emotional."
His mistress, Serena, taunted me, revealing Michael had discussed my pregnancy complications with her, then slapped me, causing a terrifying cramp.
Michael sided with her, publicly shaming me, demanding I leave "their" party, as a society blog already paraded them as a "picture-perfect family."
He fully expected me to return, to accept his double life, telling his friends I was "dramatic" but would "always come back."
The audacity, the calculated cruelty of his deception, and Serena's chilling malice, fueled a cold, hard rage I barely recognized.
How could I have been so blind, so trusting of the man who gaslighted me for months while building a second family?
But on the plush carpet of that lawyer's office, as he turned his back on me, a new, unbreakable resolve solidified.
They thought I was broken, disposable, easily manipulated – a "reasonable" wife who would accept a sham separation.
They had no idea my calm acceptance was not surrender; it was strategy, a quiet promise to dismantle everything he held dear.
I would not be handled; I would not understand; I would end this, and make sure their perfect family charade crumbled into dust. The Price of Unrequited Love
Gavin Eighteen days after giving up on Brendan Maynard, Jayde Rosario cut off her waist-length hair and called her father, announcing her decision to move to California and attend UC Berkeley.
Her father, surprised, asked about the sudden change, reminding her how she' d always insisted on staying with Brendan. Jayde forced a laugh, revealing the painful truth: Brendan was getting married, and she, his stepsister, could no longer cling to him.
That night, she tried to tell Brendan about her college acceptance, but his fiancée, Chloie Ellis, interrupted with a bubbly call, and Brendan' s tender words to Chloie twisted a knife in Jayde' s heart. She remembered how his tenderness used to be hers alone, how he had protected her, and how she had poured out her heart to him in a diary and a love letter, only for him to explode, tearing the letter and yelling, "I'm your brother!"
He had stormed out, leaving her to painstakingly tape the shredded pieces back together. Her love, however, didn't die, not even when he brought Chloie home and told her to call her "sister-in-law."
Now, she understood. She had to put that fire out herself. She had to dig Brendan out of her heart. Left for Dead, Found by Love
Gavin My fiancé, tech CEO Cohen Burgess, took me to the city's most exclusive restaurant for our three-year anniversary.
Then his high school sweetheart, Kiera, reappeared, claiming amnesia. To help her "recover," Cohen started a viral "100 Dates Challenge" with her, turning their reunion into a national spectacle.
I became the villain in their love story. When I objected, Cohen locked me in a wine cellar, knowing my severe claustrophobia. He let Kiera wear my deceased mother's priceless dress, and when she deliberately tore it, he tossed his credit card at me and told me to buy a new one.
I finally decided to leave, only to overhear his true plan: he would marry me for my family's status, but keep Kiera as his mistress. I was never his love; I was a beautiful, high-class tool for his ambition.
The final act came when Kiera set my room on fire and framed me. Cohen screamed I was a psycho and left me to burn.
As the roof collapsed, a stranger kicked down the door. He carried me from the inferno and said, "I'm Case Browning. Your husband." When Love Turns to Ash
Gavin My world revolved around Jax Harding, my older brother's captivating rockstar friend.
From sixteen, I adored him; at eighteen, I clung to his casual promise: "When you're 22, maybe I'll settle down."
That offhand comment became my life's beacon, guiding every choice, meticulously planning my twenty-second birthday as our destiny.
But on that pivotal day in a Lower East Side bar, clutching my gift, my dream exploded.
I overheard Jax' s cold voice: "Can't believe Savvy's showing up. She' s still hung up on that stupid thing I said."
Then the crushing plot: "We' re gonna tell Savvy I' m engaged to Chloe, maybe even hint she' s pregnant. That should scare her off."
My gift, my future, slipped from my numb fingers.
I fled into the cold New York rain, devastated by betrayal.
Later, Jax introduced Chloe as his "fiancée" while his bandmates mocked my "adorable crush"-he did nothing.
As an art installation fell, he saved Chloe, abandoning me to severe injury.
In the hospital, he came for "damage control," then shockingly shoved me into a fountain, leaving me to bleed, calling me a "jealous psycho."
How could the man I loved, who once saved me, become this cruel and publicly humiliate me?
Why was my devotion seen as an annoyance to be brutally extinguished with lies and assault?
Was I just a problem, my loyalty met with hatred?
I would not be his victim.
Injured and betrayed, I made an unshakeable vow: I was done.
I blocked his number and everyone connected to him, severing ties.
This was not an escape; this was my rebirth.
Florence awaited, a new life on my terms, unburdened by broken promises. His Wife, Her Lover, Their Daughter
Gavin The first time I knew my marriage was over was when I saw my wife Angela and our daughter Chaney laughing with Giovanni Brown at the private airfield. For ten years, I had been the perfect political husband, sacrificing my music career to be a stay-at-home dad and Angela' s smiling prop.
Then, this morning, I found the hotel receipts. Dozens of them, stretching back a decade, always two rooms booked but only one used, always on nights she was supposedly at a "political retreat" with her campaign manager, Giovanni. My world shattered.
At the airfield, Angela adjusted Giovanni' s tie, her smile warm and intimate, a smile I hadn' t seen in years. Chaney held Giovanni' s hand, looking up at him with adoration. I was the intruder. When I confronted them, Angela' s face paled, then flushed with anger, not shame. Chaney scowled, screaming, "Daddy, you' re embarrassing us!" She then delivered the final, killing strike, clinging to Giovanni and yelling, "You' re just a useless stay-at-home dad! Uncle Gio helps Mommy with important things!"
The humiliation was a physical thing, hot and suffocating. Angela didn' t defend me; she agreed. I realized I was just a service provider, a convenient accessory they no longer needed.
They thought I was nothing without them. They were about to find out just how wrong they were. My Husband's Secret Divorce
Gavin The fluorescent hum of the DMV was the soundtrack to my boring life, until I tried to replace my lost driver's license.
"Your marital status. It says you're divorced," the clerk said, shattering my five-year marriage to Jackson Parks with a single, flat sentence.
My husband, Jackson, the man who swore he loved me, had secretly divorced me three years ago. Not only that, he had remarried the very next day to Candida Camacho, the woman who had tried to murder me on my wedding day and left me infertile. And they had a two-year-old son, Joey.
I stumbled home, my world a blur, only to find Jackson and Candida in our living room, arguing. "I hate having to pretend for that pathetic woman!" Candida shrieked. Jackson, my husband, pleaded, "I love you. I've always loved you."
The man I sacrificed everything for, who swore to destroy her, was now playing house with my attempted murderer, and I was the fool living in his house, sleeping in his bed, believing his lies.
The pain in my abdomen, a phantom ache from five years ago, flared to life, mirroring the gaping wound in my soul. I would not be his victim anymore.
"Hamilton," I said into the phone, my voice clear and steady. "I need your help. I need you to help me die." From Drowning to Darling: A Second Chance
Gavin I walked into City Hall, ready to tear up my marriage application. It was over.
Hours earlier, I woke up in a hospital bed, my fiancé Aubrey beside me, his face a mask of annoyance. He told me to apologize to Kennedy, the woman who had just pushed me into an icy lake, nearly drowning me.
Through the churning water, I had seen Aubrey swim past me, straight to Kennedy, who was faking drowning. He believed her lies, accusing me of attacking her, despite my life-threatening injury.
He dismissed my pain, my sacrifice, and my years of loyalty, all for a woman who had betrayed him in the past. He even used my own values against me, telling me to "put others before yourself."
I was tired. So incredibly tired. The near-drowning had been a baptism. I finally understood: I could not fix this. I could not win his love.
When I returned home, he had already given my precious herbal tea, meant for my chronic pain, to Kennedy. He then demoted me to a guest in my own home, ordering me to cook for her. It was time to burn the last bridge. Reclaiming My Stolen Life
Gavin I woke up after five years in a coma, a miracle, the doctors said. The last thing I remembered was pushing my husband, Derek, out of the way of an oncoming truck. I saved him.
But a week later, at the county clerk's office, I discovered a death certificate filed two years ago. My parents' names were on it. And then, Derek's signature. My husband, the man I saved, had declared me dead.
Shock turned to a hollow numbness. I returned to our home, only to find Anjelica Hardin, the woman who caused the crash, living there. She kissed Derek, casually, familiarly. My son, Errol, called her "Mommy." My parents, Alva and Glyn, defended her, saying she was "one of the family now."
They wanted me to forgive, to forget, to understand. They wanted me to share my husband, my son, my life, with the woman who had stolen it all. My own son, the child I had carried and loved, screamed, "I want her to go away! Go away! That's my mommy!" pointing at Anjelica.
I was an outsider, a ghost haunting their happy new life. My awakening wasn't a miracle; it was an inconvenience. I had lost everything: my husband, my child, my parents, my very identity.
But then, a call from Zurich. A new identity. A new life. Catherine Anderson was dead. And I would live only for myself. Divorce, Rebirth, and Sweet Success
Gavin The last thing I remembered was the blinding pain behind my eyes, then darkness. When I opened them again, I was back in my bed, twenty-five years younger, before my life became a hollow marriage to August Savage, a U.S. Senator who saw me as nothing more than a political asset.
A painful memory surfaced: my death from an aneurysm, brought on by years of quiet heartbreak. I had seen a picture of August, his college sweetheart Heidi, and our son Kadin on a family retreat, looking like the perfect family. I was the one who took the picture.
I shot out of bed, knowing this was the day of that retreat. I ran to the private airfield, desperate to stop them. I saw them there, bathed in morning light: August, Kadin, and Heidi, looking like a perfect, happy family.
"August!" I yelled, my voice raw. His smile vanished. "Carolynn, what are you doing here? You're making a scene." I ignored him, confronting Heidi. "Who are you? And why are you going on my family's trip?"
Kadin then slammed into me, yelling, "Go away! You're ruining our trip with Aunt Heidi!" He sneered, "Because you're no fun. Aunt Heidi is smart and fun. Not like you."
August hissed, "Look what you've done. You've upset Heidi. You're embarrassing me."
His words hit me harder than any physical blow. I had spent years sacrificing my dreams to be the perfect wife and mother, only to be seen as a servant, an obstacle.
"Let's get a divorce," I said, my voice a quiet thunderclap. August and Kadin froze, then scoffed, "Are you trying to get my attention, Carolynn? This is a pathetic new low." I walked to the desk, pulled out the divorce papers, and signed my name with a steady hand. This time, I was choosing myself.