He Let His Mistress Humiliate Me, So I Took Everything From Him

At three in the morning on Valentine's Day, my husband's mistress bought herself a spot on the trending page.

William Whitney just got my nickname tattooed on his most private area. Wifey, do take good care of him for the next few days, won't you?

The internet exploded. The whole city was placing bets on whether I'd do what I did two years ago and pay a fortune to bury the scandal, or whether I'd go the route I took last year and show up at the other woman's door myself.

Everyone had an opinion. Everyone except my husband, who seemed to find the whole thing entertaining enough to fan the flames, dropping a breezy comment beneath the trending post:

"Don't be jealous, babe. None of them hold a candle to how gorgeous you were back in the day."

The Harbor City tabloids immediately dug up a photo from when I was eighteen, arriving in the city with William Whitney. He'd carried me off the boat that day, right in front of the cameras.

That image lined up perfectly with the bold headline splashed across the papers:

PREGNANT MRS. WHITNEY WHAT A SAINT!

I stared at the gossip, the rumors, the noise. But this time, the anger I usually felt didn't come.

Calmly, I picked up my phone and posted a photo under the viral thread me leaning against a broad, muscular chest.

"Taken. Don't bother."

After I posted it, I didn't get to see the firestorm I'd expected.

Within three minutes, my account was suspended.

The reason: spreading false information.

Meanwhile, my chat window with William perpetually empty for years was suddenly flooded with new messages.

"Who's that guy?"

"Where are you right now? Get home. NOW."

"Not answering? Fine. Don't let me catch you two together, or you'll regret it."

Seven years of marriage, and this was the first time I had to think about whether to reply to him instead of dreaming up excuses to reach out first.

But then I saw that he'd changed his profile picture to match Martha McClain's for the fifth time this month.

My fingers hovered over the screen. Then they stilled.

Suddenly, none of it seemed worth the effort.

I switched off my phone and rolled over to sleep.

Half an hour later, the door to my hotel suite was kicked open.

Before I could react, a hand seized my arm.

William Whitney stood over me, chest heaving, his eyes sharp as a hawk's.

"Where is he?"

I tried to pull my arm free. I couldn't.

"Just left."

The two words barely left my mouth before he hauled me into the bathroom and shoved me into the tub.

His face was stone. He held the showerhead over me and blasted my body with water, watching me tremble from the cold, then yanked my collar open with one hand, searching for marks.

Crack.

I slapped him across the face.

A red welt bloomed instantly on his cheek though it wasn't as red as the hickey on his neck.

William laughed. He tossed the showerhead aside.

The cold water swirling around me turned pink. Only then did I realize he'd torn the skin on my wrist.

"Sweetheart, I knew you were lying. You're just jealous, aren't you?"

"What man would want you? Everyone in Harbor City knows you followed me here from the mainland when you were eighteen. Without the title of Mrs. Whitney, what do you even have?"

He wrapped me in a towel and carried me to the couch.

The fruity perfume clinging to William mixed with the hotel suite's diffuser, and the combination made my stomach turn.

"I'll allow you to be jealous. But you are never to lay a finger on Martha. You should know she's more than just a mistress to me."

I lowered my gaze. His hand the one wearing a ring that said single rested on my belly.

My voice was flat. "William, maybe I should just give up the title of Mrs. Whitney to"

"What?"

He finished typing a text with a grin, then looked up.

I shook my head.

This time, both our phones buzzed at the same moment.

He replied to Martha McClain:

"Happy Valentine's Day, baby. Love you forever."

I replied to an unknown number:

"I want to go home. As soon as possible."

William watched me sitting there with wet hair, head bowed over my phone.

An inexplicable unease settled over me.

Every Valentine's Day for the past several years had ended the same way: me tearing into whatever woman William was seeing on the side, making such a scene that the whole city knew he'd married a jealous shrew.

And every year, after I'd dragged myself home from the latest confrontation, he'd look at me with undisguised irritation, then bury himself in his phone, flirting with mistress number three, four, and five.

Meanwhile, I'd hover nearby like a fool, hoping he might just sit with me long enough to share a quiet bowl of dessert.

William cleared his throat.

"At the family dinner last night, did you draw the golden lot this year?"

I froze.

The golden lot was an old Whitney tradition. Every bride who married into the family had to draw it before her name could be entered into the family registry, before she could truly be considered a Whitney.

But me? I'd been shaking that lot box for nearly ten years and had never once drawn it.

Meanwhile, some dancer William had casually brought home one night could toss out a golden lot on her first try.

So he'd always tease me about it. Said I was too sharp-tongued, too petty to fit in with Harbor City's elite. That was why the lot never fell my way.

Thinking about it now, I shook my head.

"Didn't get it this year either."

Something flickered in William's eyes. Confusion, maybe.

"That doesn't make sense..."

If I hadn't already known the truth, hearing those words would have moved me. I would have believed he was genuinely troubled that I couldn't draw a winning lot.

But his that doesn't make sense had nothing to do with sympathy for me.

I still remembered the phone call he'd made to his mother three days ago.

At first, I'd assumed it was his usual routine, calling to tell Martha her bedtime story.

But the more I listened, the more wrong it sounded.

"She's pregnant. Let her draw the winning lot this year. It wouldn't look good if she's showing and still not in the family registry."

"Mom, I know you don't like her... and I'm definitely not going to just forgive her either. That first year, when she actually drew the golden lot, wasn't I the one who secretly snapped it in half and swapped it with a fake?"

"She's been punished for what happened all those years ago. It's been long enough."

I'd been lying in that soft bed, listening, and every drop of blood in my body had turned to ice.

So all this time, all these years, he'd been blaming me for that.

William seemed about to say something comforting, but before the words left his mouth, a knock came at the door.

"Mr. Whitney, Miss McClain says everything's ready. She'd like you to come personally and... get a matching tattoo."

The moment he heard that, William shot to his feet so fast I nearly tumbled off the sofa.

Desire surged behind his eyes, raw and undisguised. I no longer existed.

He tossed out a careless "Take care of yourself and the baby," then opened the door and was gone.

A notification chimed on my phone. A calendar reminder.

After Valentine's Day: file for divorce.

I walked into City Hall and handed over the marriage certificate.

It took the clerk less than five seconds. She frowned and slid it back across the counter.

"Miss, this certificate is fake. The official seal is forged."

The air left my lungs.

"That's impossible. Could you check again..."

"There's genuinely no record in the system. You and Mr. Whitney are both technically listed as unmarried..."

She turned her monitor around to show me.

The room tilted. My vision blurred.

Memories crashed through my mind, one after another.

Our wedding day. William suddenly deciding he wanted to take me camping on a deserted island, so he'd asked his family to handle the paperwork on our behalf.

Coming back from the island. Taking the marriage certificate from his mother's hands. The strange, unreadable expression on Jemima Whitney's face.

And then, after that happened, William falling apart for days, crying himself to sleep every night.

I'd heard him once, drunk and unguarded.

He said he didn't want to be married.

It all made sense now. Maybe it was never about fearing marriage. He simply never wanted to marry me.

I stood up on unsteady legs.

By the time the world came back into focus, I was sitting outside an exam room at the hospital.

A few nurses pushed a cart past me, chatting.

"Talk about different fates for different people. You know that god-sister of William Whitney's, right?"

"Which one?"

"Oh, you know, his little mistress. The one they call his 'god-sister'Martha McClain. She's something else. Came in for a full checkup because she had a hangnail she couldn't clip properly."

"And then there are others. Like that one." One of the nurses subtly jerked her chin in my direction.

"A while back, she was rushed in past midnight, hemorrhaging. From admission to discharge, not a single person came to see her. They incinerated the fetus and nobody even cared. Poor thing..."

My hand drifted to my lower abdomen without thinking.

That baby. William and I had both looked forward to her arrival once.

Even after William stopped caring, I'd still held on to that hope.

But maybe it was better this way. She was gone, and now I could leave with nothing tying me down.

I headed home to grab my travel documents.

But the moment I stepped through the door, I sensed something was off.

Martha was draped around William like a vine, coiled against his chest. Her eyes were red and swollen, as though she'd been crying.

The second she saw me, she pointed a finger straight at me.

"Serena, just because you married William doesn't mean you can challenge my sister's place in his heart!"

"Where did you hide my sister's photo? Give it back. Now!"

Ever since I'd married William, Martha had picked fights every other day.

One time she claimed I'd hired thugs to ambush her.

Another time she said I was the one leaking dirt about her on social media.

In the beginning, William still believed my explanations.

Later, he'd just watch me cry with cold indifference, then assign another dozen bodyguards to Martha's detail.

He'd brush me off with the same line.

"Her sister took good care of me. Now that her sister's gone, I owe it to her to look after Martha."

Even after I'd caught the two of them in bed together, I'd been naive enough to believe him.

Martha watched me standing there, seemingly at a loss for words, and a smug little smile tugged at her lips.

Then she heard me speak.

"Maybe your sister found out from beyond the grave that you've been seducing her ex-husband. Maybe she's the angry one."

"What did you just say?!"

Martha stormed toward me in her little heels, arm raised in fury.

Before the slap could land, I caught her wrist and gave her the gentlest push forward.

Just as I expected.

I hadn't used an ounce of force, but Martha crumpled into William's arms, instantly playing up a twisted ankle.

Her eyes glistened with tears.

"William, my foot hurts so badly. What if I can never dance again?"

"But my sister loved watching me dance..."

Sister. That word was the trigger. It never failed.

William's gaze turned glacial in an instant. The chill of it cut straight through me.

"Martha's still young. Why do you have to start things with her?"

"If you didn't take it, you didn't take it. You think I'd accuse you for no reason?"

I almost fired back. Accuse me for no reason? When has that ever stopped you?

But then I thought about our wedding night, how he'd snuck glances at that dead woman's portrait when he thought I wasn't looking.

How he'd actually gone behind my back to consult a fortune teller, asking whether marrying me was what had caused her death.

All the fight drained out of me.

"Apologize to Martha. If you won't"

William didn't get to finish. He watched me bend at the waist in a deep bow.

"I'm sorry."

He blinked, caught off guard.

He'd probably forgotten. I'd lost every shred of pride a long time ago in this place.

The last time I'd refused to apologize, I'd been held down in the cold spring in December for thirty-six hours.

Martha had supervised personally, watching me with a smile.

"A homeless nobody from the mainland comes to Harbor City, she follows Harbor City rules."

Honestly? I was terrified of the cold.

My bow brought that familiar curl back to Martha's lips. She lifted her chin.

"The jade earrings. Take them off and give them to me."

I took off the jade earrings my mother had given me before I moved to Harbor City.

William knew exactly what they were. He frowned, which was rare for him.

"I'll have Martha return them to you in a few days."

Return them? Of course she would.

But that wasn't all. In a few days, I'd make them pay back double.

I ignored the two of them clinging to each other and headed upstairs.

They'd clearly already been fooling around in the master bedroom. A maid was wiping handprints off the glass frame of our wedding portrait. Another was carrying out a tied-up garbage bag that reeked of something foul.

When they saw me come in, they bowed in greeting, every one of them wearing the same indescribable look of pity.

I avoided their eyes and opened the safe. As I packed my documents into my bag, a blank sheet of paper slipped out.

I glanced at it, and an idea took shape.

Then I slid the wedding ring off my finger and placed it back in its box.

"What are you doing, taking off your ring?"

Before I could turn around, something ice-cold pressed against my neck.

I looked down. A sapphire necklace.

"I was afraid I'd lose it, so I put it away." I brushed him off with a few vague words and stepped out of William's reach.

He hadn't gotten the delighted reaction he'd expected. Annoyance flickered across his face, chased by something like a bad premonition he couldn't quite name.

"Isn't this the sapphire you've been dying for? You nagged me about it for a whole month."

"Mm. Right. Thanks."

Two years ago, I had wanted it desperately. But after watching Martha wear one just like it for six months, it didn't seem all that beautiful anymore.

I gently pushed away William's hand as it tried to settle over my stomach.

My gaze landed squarely on Martha's bitter, almond-shaped eyes in the doorway.

She swayed her hips as she walked in, shouldering me aside.

"William, your mother wants us back at the estate for dinner tonight. We should get ready."

She shot me a smug glare.

William nodded.

Usually, I went to the Whitney estate for dinner alone. Then the next day, Jemima would have William bring Martha along for a proper family meal.

I assumed this had nothing to do with me and looked away.

But then William said something I didn't expect.

"Serena, come with us tonight."

Martha looked like she was about to crack her teeth from clenching her jaw so hard.

I thought about what was hidden behind the plaque at the Whitney estate.

I nodded.

What belonged to me needed to be taken back.

Martha dressed herself in glittering jewels. I went to the closet and picked out an outfit that looked as close as possible to what I'd worn the day I first arrived in Harbor City.

This time, I didn't foolishly squeeze in next to William, trying to join their conversation.

I chose a seat farther away and sat quietly.

When we arrived at the Whitney estate, Jemima greeted Martha with warm hugs and chatter. Then her eyes slid over to me, and she let out a cold snort through her nose.

"What are you doing here?"

But William reached over and took my hand.

"Mom, how can we have a family dinner without my wife?"

I looked down at his fingers laced through mine.

For a moment, my mind went blank.

I couldn't tell what year it was anymore.

Was it the year I loved him most? Or the year I still didn't know there was someone else perched at the top of his heart?

Jemima's voice dripped with acid sweetness.

"Fine. Of course. How lovely."

"But before you sit at this table, you'll serve the tea first."

The ceremonial tea service. Again.

Years ago, Jemima had used this same ritual to put me in my place. I'd flipped the table.

Back then, William had laughed and called me wild and spirited. Said I was exactly his type.

Now he paused, considered it for a moment, then waved his hand.

A servant pressed a cup of hot tea into my hands.

I endured the stinging numbness spreading through both hands.

"Mrs. Whitney, this is my first time performing the ceremonial tea service for you. After this cup of tea, I'd like to have my prayer charm backthe one behind the plaque."

"How petty can you be? It's just some worthless trinket. The Whitney family has no use for it."

Jemima didn't notice the look of stunned surprise on her own son's face.

That prayer charm was the one I'd earned through a pilgrimage of prayer, climbing every step on my knees to the temple gates. I'd done it to pray for William's safety and good fortune.

But today, it finally hit me.

He didn't deserve it.

A servant had just taken down the prayer charm and was about to hand it to me when Martha suddenly raised her voice.

"Mother Whitney, my sister was supposed to be the Whitney family's bride. She may have passed, but even in death, she belongs to this family. Shouldn't Serena serve tea to her as well, according to tradition?"

"After all, the first wife is the wife. Anyone who comes after is just a concubine."

With that, a black-and-white memorial portrait was brought forward and placed on the chair like a throne.

Looking at Martha's face, a surge of fury rose inside me.

I shoved aside the scalding tea that had been placed in my hands again. The liquid splashed out and landed squarely on Martha's feet, turning the skin an angry red.

"Your sister had no title, and neither do you. At least a concubine is formally taken into the family. You're the only one who threw herself at the door uninvited."

I let out a cold laugh and turned to bark at the servant.

"Give me the prayer charm."

"Don't you dare!"

Martha stepped forward.

"Who do you think you are, insulting me and my sister? I bet you're the one who killed her. Why else would William have married you?!"

I fixed her with a glare.

"How your sister dieddon't tell me you don't know."

Martha instinctively glanced back at Jemima. The older woman's composure cracked, panic bleeding into anger.

"You cheap little tramp, what kind of filth are you spewing?!"

In the chaos that followed, Martha suddenly lurched backward, one hand snatching my sleeve. Her weight dragged me forward, and together we sent the memorial portrait crashing to the floor.

Shards of glass sliced into my arm. The photograph Martha had screamed about losing earlier that day tumbled out and landed right at my feet.

Before I could react, Martha had already thrown herself into William's arms, sobbing hysterically.

"See?! I told you Serena stole my sister's photo! I've heard there are witches on the mainlandshe was probably trying to curse her!"

"And now she's destroyed the portrait too! Everyone was right. Serena killed my sister, and now she wants to kill me and Mother Whitney too!"

I lifted my head and met William's eyes. They were dark. Bottomless.

He spoke one word at a time, each one deliberate.

"Make her kneel. Full ceremonial bow."

Two people seized me by the arms and forced me down, grinding both knees into the broken glass. Over and over, they pressed my forehead to the floor.

I didn't know how long it lasted.

Finally, I heard William's voice.

"Do you understand what you did wrong?"

I clenched my teeth and said nothing.

The yellowed prayer charm lay discarded on the ground. I groped for it blindly and closed my fingers around it.

I staggered to my feet.

"Where do you think you're going?"

William frowned.

"Home."

He assumed I meant his home. Relief softened his expression. For once in his life, it occurred to him that he was about to be a father.

"You have a prenatal checkup tomorrow. Don't forget. I'll come back early tonight."

Then, lowering his voice, he added, "Martha loved her sister very much. You really went too far this time."

I ignored his shifting moodshot one moment, cold the next.

Step by step, I walked out of the Whitney estate.

I hailed a cab and told the driver to take me to the harbor.

William didn't come home that night. He sent someone over with a pot of herbal soup.

The next day, he took Martha to the hospital for her burn.

The day after that, they watched the sunset together.

The fourth day. The fifth.

William brought Martha to a nightclub for drinks. One of his buddies was flipping through an entertainment magazine on the table.

He took one look and broke into a sleazy grin.

"Whitney, your wife went back to the mainland to visit family? How'd she end up in a tabloid?"

William didn't pay much attention.

His friend grew impatient, spreading the magazine open and shoving it in front of him.

"Look for yourself if you don't believe me!"

William gave it a careless glanceand couldn't look away.