My Husband’s Mistress Took Everything While I Was Pregnant

Chapter 1 of My Husband’s Mistress Took Everything While I Was Pregnant

"Just breathe, Eden," I whispered to myself, gripping the counter as another wave of nausea passed. "It'll get better."

I needed something stronger than the crackers I'd been nibbling. Leo's iPad sat on the kitchen island, and I remembered seeing a ginger tea recipe online. With trembling hands, I picked up the tablet, my fingers still damp from splashing water on my face.

The screen lit up with a notification—a text from Wynter Hughes. My thumb hovered over the icon. I shouldn't look. But something in me—perhaps the same instinct that had been whispering warnings for months—made me tap it open.

"Can't wait to see you tonight. Wear that blue shirt I like."

My heart stuttered. I scrolled up, reading their exchange with growing dread.

"I'll let you see everything someday!" Leo had replied just hours ago.

Everything? What did that mean? My fingers trembled as I scrolled further, each message more intimate than the last.

"Eden?" Leo's voice startled me from behind. "What are you doing with my iPad?"

I couldn't hide it. "Who's 'everything someday,' Leo?"

His face changed instantly—the warm smile vanishing, replaced by something cold and hard. "Give me that." He snatched the tablet from my hands. "You're being ridiculous."

"Ridiculous?" My voice cracked. "You told her you'd show her everything someday!"

"You're overreacting." He ran a hand through his hair, his wedding ring catching the light. "It was just a joke. You know how Wynter is—she's always flirting with everyone."

"I didn't see it as a joke." I wrapped my arms around my belly, protecting the tiny life inside me. "Why would you say that to her?"

"Crazy pregnancy hormones." He rolled his eyes. "Making you paranoid. Wynter's an unmarriageable old woman, really neurotic. You know that."

His words hit like a slap. Not because he'd called Wynter neurotic—I could believe that—but because he'd dismissed my concerns so easily while I stood there, still tasting bile from morning sickness, still carrying his child.

---

"Wear the black dress," Leo insisted, adjusting his tie in our bedroom mirror. "The one that shows off your... assets."

"My assets?" I touched my barely-showing bump. "I'm pregnant, Leo."

"Pregnant women can still look good." He wouldn't meet my eyes. "This gala is important for my career. Wynter will be watching."

Of course she would. The thought of facing her after what I'd seen made my stomach clench.

Despite my exhaustion and nausea, I let him zip me into the dress—a tight black number that made me feel like I was suffocating. We arrived at the glittering hotel ballroom where Leo's company was holding its annual corporate gala.

The room buzzed with conversation and clinking glasses. I clutched Leo's arm as we entered, feeling suddenly conspicuous in my pregnancy.

"Leo!" Wynter's voice cut through the noise. She approached us in a sleek red dress that hugged every curve. Her eyes flicked to my belly before meeting mine with a smile that didn't reach her eyes.

"Eden." She looked me up and down slowly. "How... brave of you to come."

Before I could respond, she turned to a group of executives nearby. "Isn't it amazing how traditional wives let themselves go during pregnancy? I could never do it."

Laughter rippled through the group. My cheeks burned as I looked at Leo, waiting for him to defend me.

He chuckled instead. "Wynter's got a point. Pregnancy changes women."

---

Later that night, the humiliation still burned. I stood near the bar, nursing a glass of sparkling water while Leo chatted with colleagues across the room.

"Oh no!" Wynter's voice rose dramatically as she stumbled slightly, tipping a glass of red wine onto her chest. The dark liquid spread across her white blouse.

She gasped, pressing a hand to her chest in mock horror. Then she grabbed Leo's wrist, pulling him toward her. "Help me," she pleaded, her voice husky. She took his hand and placed it directly on her damp blouse. "Just wipe it off for me."

Something snapped inside me. Before I could think, I grabbed my water glass and splashed it directly into Wynter's face.

She sputtered, mascara running down her cheeks as water dripped from her chin.

"What the hell, Eden?" Leo shoved me back. "Are you insane?"

"She was all over you!" I hissed.

"You're hysterical." His voice rose, drawing stares. "I'm taking you home tomorrow if you can't control yourself."

He turned to Wynter, who was dabbing at her face with a cocktail napkin, a smirk playing at her lips despite her ruined makeup.

"Let me help you clean up," Leo said gently, guiding her toward the restroom.

As they walked away, his hand resting on the small of her back, I stood alone in the middle of the gala, my heart breaking into a thousand pieces.

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Bound To The Immortal Beast

In the werewolf romance novel Bound To The Immortal Beast, a cursed girl with a sealed wolf is married off to the ruthless rogue Alpha, Drogo. Forced into a dark fantasy world, she must survive her connection to a ghost from his past that doomed him to an eternal sin.

He Married Me Just for Money

“Don’t stop,” she whispered. “She won’t come up.” I did. I stopped breathing. Thinking. Existing. The voice came from inside my bedroom—our bedroom. My sanctuary. I stood frozen in the hallway, dinner still warm downstairs, candles flickering in a room that no longer mattered. The scent of truffle butter still clung to my sleeves. Through the door—left carelessly ajar—I saw enough. A woman with auburn hair and wine-colored nails was curled into my husband's side, her lipstick smeared across his throat like a bruise. Her fingers skimmed down his back, possessive, practiced. Oliver moaned softly. A sound I hadn’t heard in months. I didn’t scream. I didn’t cry. I turned. Through the adjoining bathroom, I slipped into the walk-in closet, hiding behind the luxury he insisted I needed. Dresses lined in neat rows. Shoes in pyramids. A fortress of silk and leather and betrayal. I sat down, gripping the hem of my dress, listening. “I don’t know why you’re still stalling,” Lily said, her voice languid and confident. “She’s not stupid, Oliver. She’s suspicious. You said she keeps asking questions.” He sighed. “Let her ask. She won’t do anything. Not until it’s too late.” A beat. “She’s planning something tonight,” he added, almost amused. “Made some kind of fancy dinner. Probably filet again. It’s sweet, in a tragic way.” Lily giggled. “You think she’s figured out we’ve been using her?” “Scarlett sees what she wants to see. She’s desperate. That’s what makes it easy.” There was movement on the bed. Sheets shifting. “She still has no idea about the inheritance?” Lily murmured. “None,” he said. “Her father’s trust releases next month. Once the money hits the accounts, I’ll serve the papers. I’ve already started moving things offshore.” My throat closed. I bit the inside of my cheek so hard I tasted blood. So this was what I got from our five-year marriage.

I Left After My Mate Chose My Sister

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Just like the evening breeze leaves no trace

Chapter 1 It was their seventh wedding anniversary. Carolyn found the divorce agreement in Roger’s nightstand. The pages were covered in scribbles and corrections, as if he’d agonized over them for years. *"If, during the marriage, I fall in love with another person, I voluntarily relinquish all assets and leave with nothing. Asset details as follows…"* His first impulse had been to walk away empty-handed. But the asset section told a different story—a mess of revisions. First, he’d crossed out the property he intended to give her. Then, the fifty million earmarked for her was scratched out and replaced with five hundred thousand. Finally, as if in penance, he had written a single line. *"Better to have Carolyn leave with nothing. No choice, Catherine is pregnant."* … Carolyn sank onto the bed, disbelief washing over her. On the agreement, Roger’s signature was clean and decisive, without a hint of hesitation. And the document had been drafted seven years ago—the very year they married. That year, Roger had been willing to give up everything for her. Yet every year after, he had crossed out another piece of their shared life. Now, seven years later, the one leaving with nothing would be her. Her phone buzzed abruptly. A message from Roger. *"Urgent business. Won't be back."* She called, only to find his phone already switched off. Another notification flashed—a screenshot from a friend. Catherine, the student she sponsored, had posted on social media. *"Wow, got praised! To commemorate my first period without a leak, the big boss said we should celebrate properly!"* In a nine-photo collage, Roger gazed at her, eyes crinkling with affection as he fastened a dazzling gemstone necklace around her neck. The post was tagged at a couples-themed hotel. Carolyn’s breath caught. He couldn’t remember seven years of marriage, of weathering storms together—but he could find the energy to celebrate Catherine’s… leak-free period. And that pendant… she’d seen it at an auction just last week. It was her mother’s lost heirloom. She’d been ready to bid when her bank card was frozen. She’d asked Roger why. A long time later, he finally texted back, telling her not to waste money on such impractical things. Clutching her bidding paddle, she’d sat helplessly in the auction hall. In the end, she resolved to sell one of her own designs to raise the funds. But someone on the phone swooped in with an unbeatable offer and took it. For weeks afterward, Carolyn hated herself—hated that she couldn’t protect her mother’s last keepsake. She never imagined the one who snatched it away was Roger. He knew exactly how much that pendant meant to her. Yet he gave it to Catherine. Even on their seventh anniversary, Roger had lied about being busy with work, while wining and dining the girl she’d sponsored. The anniversary gift he left her was a divorce agreement demanding she leave with nothing. Seven years of marriage. Seven years of infidelity. And Carolyn had known nothing. She’d even introduced the other woman to him herself. Catherine was the impoverished student Carolyn sponsored. The first time Catherine came to their home to give thanks, Roger found her intrusive and disliked her on sight. *"That girl has no manners. Tracked mud all over my cashmere rug."* *"If her grades aren’t up to par, cut the sponsorship."* Back then, Carolyn had teased him, saying not to be jealous—it was good the girl had a grateful heart. She never once suspected Roger and Catherine. For seven years, everyone in their circle believed Roger never played around. That he loved only Carolyn. But by their next meeting, Catherine had become Roger’s personal assistant. Roger explained, *"The girl’s had it tough. You’ve sponsored her for years. Giving her a job is just helping you out."* Carolyn had laughed it off. Now, hands trembling, she opened Catherine’s social media feed. Catherine had always hidden her posts from Carolyn. Now, she seemed desperate to flaunt everything. While Carolyn drank until her stomach bled to secure a deal for Roger, Catherine was using Roger’s card to buy her first Louis Vuitton. While Carolyn changed bedpans for Roger’s bedridden grandmother, Roger was taking Catherine to a perfume atelier for a blending class—calling it a business trip. Catherine had even complained online. *"Your wife is such a pampered princess. Can't handle the tiniest thing without you running back. Can she not live without a man?"* And Roger had replied beneath it. *"If she were half as independent as you, I’d have an easier life."* But that day… Carolyn’s mother had lost her battle with cancer. She’d cried until her heart felt shredded, scrambling to handle the arrangements. All the while, Roger kept checking his phone impatiently, eager to leave. Not for work, she realized now—but because he was desperate to get back to Catherine.

My Alpha Saved His Mistress Instead of Me

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