After My Husband Took My Skin for His Mistress

The morning light streamed through the glass walls of Ephraim's penthouse solarium, casting prisms across my lap. I adjusted my position on the white leather chaise, angling my private tablet away from the door. My heart hammered against my ribs as I stared at the screen.

"Ms. Harrison, we are pleased to inform you that your application for the senior designer position at Blackwell & Associates has been accepted..."

I traced my finger over the words, reading them for the fifth time. A job offer. In London. Under a name that wasn't Hailey Jenkins, the girl who belonged to Ephraim Ellis.

The tablet felt hot in my hands—dangerous, thrilling. For ten years, I'd existed within the boundaries Ephraim had drawn for me. His charity case. His project. His perfect companion who never quite deserved his name.

"You'll need to respond within seven days to confirm your start date..."

I glanced toward the door, listening for footsteps. The penthouse was silent except for the distant hum of Manhattan traffic forty floors below.

"Hailey?" Ephraim's voice echoed through the apartment. "Where are you, darling?"

I slid the tablet beneath a cushion, my movements quick and practiced. By the time his footsteps reached the solarium, I was arranging flowers in a crystal vase, my face composed into the serene expression he preferred.

"There you are." He entered with that familiar swagger, his tailored suit impeccable as always. "I need you dressed by seven. The Hendersons are hosting that charity auction, and I've promised them you'll model that diamond necklace."

He spoke as if I were an accessory to be loaned out. I nodded, reaching for another rose.

"Did you hear me?" He moved closer, his cologne—expensive, subtle—enveloping me. "Black gown, the one with the pearls."

"I heard you." I kept my voice soft, compliant. The tablet burned beneath the cushion like a secret flame.

---

The Hamptons glittered under the summer stars, champagne flutes catching the light as New York's elite mingled on the Hendersons' lawn. I stood beside Ephraim in a gown of midnight blue, his hand resting possessively at the small of my back.

"Senator Wilson is impressed with your foundation work," I murmured, playing my part. "He mentioned possible funding for the literacy program."

Ephraim smiled, proud of my social acumen—another skill he'd carefully cultivated in me. "Perfect. Just what we needed."

The air shifted suddenly. A ripple of whispers spread through the crowd, and I turned to see her approaching.

Alani Moore moved like she owned the room, her white dress flowing around her slender frame. Everything about her screamed innocence—from her wide eyes to her delicate features. But I'd seen how she watched me when she thought I wasn't looking.

"Ephraim!" She breathed his name like a prayer. "You came!"

I felt his hand leave my back. "Alani. You look... remarkable."

She did. Ethereal. Breakable. Everything I wasn't.

"Ephraim has been so generous," she continued, her voice carrying just enough for nearby guests to hear. "Helping me through this difficult transition."

I stood frozen, still holding his untouched champagne. He hadn't even introduced me.

"Alani has a fresh perspective on the arts," Ephraim announced to the gathering crowd. "Her insights are... enlightening."

His fingers brushed the small of her back—a gesture so intimate, so achingly familiar. When was the last time he'd touched me like that?

"Hailey," he said finally, remembering me. "Get Alani some water. She's been feeling faint in the heat."

I moved away, the champagne flute trembling slightly in my grip. Behind me, I heard him murmur something that made her laugh—a sound like silver bells.

---

The morning sun slanted through the penthouse windows as I arranged fresh flowers in the breakfast room. The sound of Ephraim's voice drifted from the kitchen.

"—just for a few weeks, until she sorts out her housing situation."

I froze, vase in hand.

"Is that really necessary?" I asked as he entered, coffee in hand.

He looked surprised, as if he'd forgotten I was there. "Alani's landlord is evicting her. She needs somewhere safe."

"She could stay at a hotel." The words escaped before I could stop them.

Ephraim's expression hardened. "A hotel? And pay for it how?"

I set down the vase carefully. "I just think we should discuss this first. We've always valued our privacy."

"Privacy?" He laughed, the sound sharp as broken glass. "You're hardly in a position to demand privacy, Hailey. I found you sleeping in a bus station."

The words hit like physical blows. I'd heard variations of this speech before—reminders of my place, my debt to him.

"You were a stray," he continued, his voice softening into something worse than anger—pity. "Just like Alani. The difference is, you should know better than to be uncharitable."

I stared at him, this man who'd shaped me into his perfect creation. For the first time, I wondered if I'd ever truly been more than his favorite toy.

"Of course," I whispered, the words bitter on my tongue. "She can stay."

Behind him, through the open door, I caught a glimpse of movement in the guest wing—a flash of white, a delicate hand arranging something on a shelf.

Alani was already making herself at home.