He Brought His Mistress Home,Now He's Begging Me to Stay

It was the fifth year since Tristan Vance had returned to our family, and I'd finally agreed to go back to his hometown with him for Memorial Day to visit the ancestral graves.

The car had just pulled into the driveway when he suddenly pressed his hand over mine as I reached for the door handle.

Vivian's back. I went and picked her up.

Vivian Blake. Tristan's foster sister.

And the woman Tristan had cheated on me with five years ago.

I looked at him, my expression calm.

"You promised me you'd cut off all contact with her."

Tristan sighed.

"Isabel Henson, you can't be so selfish. I took your feelings into account back then. You'd just lost the baby and your mother, so I sent Vivian overseas. Five years is long enough. I can't keep her from coming home forever. Besides, the child needs a father."

My fingers tightened around the door handle.

So that was it.

The woman who was supposedly exiled overseas as punishment had actually been hidden away by Tristan all along. Not only had she wanted for nothing, but the baby that was supposed to have been terminated had been carried to term.

When I said nothing, Tristan reached over and touched my cold cheek.

"Don't worry. Vivian promised me that she and the boy will never threaten your position as Mrs. Vance. Of course, that's on the condition that you don't make things difficult for them."

The world seemed to freeze.

Neither Tristan nor I spoke again.

None of this was truly without warning. Over the past two years, his business trips had grown more and more frequent. He must have been using them as cover to visit Vivian and the child.

I looked at the man in front of me, at once so familiar and so foreign.

In that moment, I couldn't even remember what I'd loved about him in the first place. Even after discovering he'd cheated during our marriage, even after losing my baby and my family because of it, I'd still forgiven him. And that forgiveness had given him the wrong idea, made him fearless. He believed that no matter how far he pushed, I would always choose to forgive him in the end.

Tristan had chosen today to tell me deliberately. He knew every member of the family would be gathered under one roof. And he knew I cared about appearances more than anything. To maintain the illusion of a loving marriage, I would never cause a scene in front of everyone.

He was certain I would cave again and walk through that door with him.

Just as the silence in the car grew suffocating, someone knocked on the window from outside.

"Tristan, you're back! Why aren't you getting out?"

A syrupy, girlish voice drifted through the glass.

Vivian Blake.

I opened the car door and stepped out.

Our eyes met.

The smile on Vivian's face froze. Instinctively, she pulled the child beside her into a tight embrace.

"I... Isabel?!"

Her eyes were full of fear, her voice trembling.

As if I were some kind of monster.

Tristan moved forward without thinking, positioning himself between Vivian, the child, and me. His gaze was wary as it locked onto mine.

Watching him shield them so openly, I felt a dull ache spread through my chest, impossible to suppress.

I looked past Tristan, my gaze cutting straight to Vivian where she cowered behind him.

"I believe I told you never to let me see your face again."

My voice was perfectly calm.

But Vivian's body only shook harder.

Tristan frowned.

"I told you, I'm the one who brought her back."

"I'm the one who wronged you. If you have a problem, take it up with me. Don't frighten Vivian and the child."

The warning in his words was unmistakable.

The little boy in Vivian's arms squirmed, poking half his face out from behind her. His features were a mirror image of Tristan's, practically identical to what Tristan must have looked like as a child.

He glared at me with vicious eyes and screamed, "You're a bad woman! I don't like you!"

Tristan just stood there, watching the little boy's outburst with cold indifference. He didn't say a single word to stop it.

Then the boy's eyes lit up. He wailed even louder.

"Grandma! This mean lady is bullying me and Mommy!"

He ran over, crying and tattling.

My mother-in-law had come out to investigate the commotion.

She pulled the boy into her arms, her face full of tender concern. "Don't be scared, sweetheart. Grandma's here. I'd like to see anyone try to bully you and your mother."

As she spoke, her gaze slid pointedly toward me.

I looked at the four of them standing together, united against a common enemy, and a bitter smile tugged at the corner of my lips.

So my mother-in-law had known all along.

I was the only fool who'd been kept in the dark.

The longer I looked, the more they resembled a real family. And I was just the villain disrupting their happiness.

I couldn't stand watching this loving family portrait for another second. I turned around.

"Tristan, let's find a time to finalize the divorce."

When the words left my mouth, I felt surprisingly little pain. Less than I'd expected.

Tristan froze. Genuine shock flickered across his face.

Of course, I didn't miss the little exchange between Vivian and my mother-in-law either. They glanced at each other, barely able to contain their glee.

Tristan's brow furrowed slightly. It was the telltale crease he got when he was losing patience.

"That's enough, Isabel. Stop making a scene."

"You know I'm not going to divorce you."

"You can't have children. Vivian happens to be pregnant. I need an heir. It's that simple."

He said it all without a shred of shame, as if he were explaining basic arithmetic.

My mother-in-law curled her lip.

"Exactly."

"Isabel, where do you get the nerve to throw a fit?"

"Seven years. If we'd raised a hen for seven years, it would've laid eggs by now. But you? You're not even worth as much as a hen."

I looked at my mother-in-law, my expression caught somewhere between a smile and something far colder.

"Why I can't have children? You should know the answer to that better than anyone."

Five years ago.

I had been pregnant.

At thirty-two weeks, I came home from a prenatal checkup and caught Tristan and Vivian in bed together.

In my home. In my bed. Their bodies tangled in sheets that still smelled like my perfume.

"Isabel, I... I..."

Tristan scrambled, panicked, tripping over his own words.

They were still wrapped around each other. My stomach heaved and I doubled over, retching violently.

I threw up until tears and mucus streamed down my face, until there was nothing left but bile.

Tristan fumbled into his clothes and tried to come closer.

I staggered backward.

"Don't touch me!"

"Do you have any idea how disgusting you are?"

"Hiding behind your little 'foster brother and sister' act to sleep together in my home."

I grabbed everything within reach and smashed it. Vases. Picture frames. The bedside lamp. Everything shattered against the walls.

I was hysterical. Completely unhinged.

And it sent me into premature labor.

They rushed me to the hospital, but it was too late. I lost the baby.

When my mother heard about the miscarriage, she raced to the hospital to be with me. She never made it. A car accident on the way. She died before the ambulance could reach her.

When they told me she was gone, the grief hit like a freight train. My body couldn't take it. I hemorrhaged after surgery.

They nearly had to remove my uterus.

One blow after another. The weight of it all crushed me into severe depression.

I lost count of how many times I hurt myself. How many times I tried to end it.

Tristan knelt before me, sobbing, begging me to forgive him.

Right in front of me, he dragged Vivian to a clinic and forced her to terminate the pregnancy. Then he shipped her overseas.

He swore she would never set foot near me again.

Swore he would never contact her.

Slowly, with Tristan by my side and medication steadying the ground beneath my feet, I clawed my way out of the darkness. Out of the shadow of a cheating husband and a mother I would never see again.

Eventually, the depression lifted for good.

But the damage had been done. The miscarriage had wrecked my body, and conceiving again became nearly impossible.

Five years passed without another pregnancy.

Looking back now, perhaps it was all meant to be. Without a child tying us together, divorcing Tristan would be simple.

My mocking gaze met Leah's, and she faltered for a moment before curling her lip in disdain.

"At the end of the day, you only have yourself to blame. Making such a fuss over nothing, carrying on like the world was ending. You couldn't even hold on to a baby."

"Mom!"

Tristan saw my expression change and quickly shot Leah a warning look, silencing her before she could go further.

She closed her mouth, though clearly not by choice.

"Isabel, I know what happened back then was my fault," Tristan said. "But I've been trying to make it up to you all these years, haven't I?"

I didn't respond. I just stood there, studying the man in front of me.

The same familiar face. The same brows, the same eyes.

Yet somehow, he felt like a complete stranger.

It was as though I were meeting Tristan Vance for the first time.

Or perhaps this was who he had always been.

The silence stretched thin until Tristan's uncle walked over.

"Why is everyone still standing around? The ceremony's about to start."

"Coming, coming," Leah called back, scooping Jayden into her arms and heading toward the family chapel.

She brought Vivian along with her.

Tristan watched them go, then turned to me.

"Isabel, today is a big day for the Vance family. I'm asking you, please, don't make a scene."

"Besides, Vivian promised me. She and the boy will never interfere with your life or threaten your position as Mrs. Vance. Everything stays exactly the way it's been."

Dozens of Vance relatives had gathered for today's ceremony. I wasn't about to let personal grievances disrupt a ritual honoring the dead.

That would be an unforgivable disrespect to the ancestors.

I unclenched my fists, slowly, and gave a small nod.

"Fine."

Tristan blinked, clearly not expecting me to agree so easily. Then the tension visibly drained from his shoulders.

"I knew it. My Izzy always sees the bigger picture."

He reached for my hand as he said it.

But the instant before his fingers touched mine, I stepped back.

His hand hung in midair. The smile on his face faded, degree by degree, until there was nothing left.

"I've said everything I needed to say. Think it over."

He turned and walked away without looking back.

The ancestral ceremony began.

When it was time for Tristan and me to offer incense to the ancestors, Leah snatched the incense right out of my hands and passed it to Vivian.

She wanted Vivian and the boy to stand beside Tristan in my place.

"Jayden is the eldest son of the eldest son in the Vance family," Leah declared, chin lifted high, practically glowing with satisfaction.

In that moment, every pair of eyes in the chapel turned toward me, heavy with pity and secondhand embarrassment.

The ancestral ceremony was the most sacred event in any family. Letting a mistress and an illegitimate child openly pay respects to the ancestors was tantamount to a public acknowledgment of Vivian and her son's place in the family.

It was also a slap across my face, delivered in front of everyone.

They were all waiting for me to explode. To scream. To fall apart.

But I didn't.

From start to finish, my expression remained perfectly calm. Not a single outburst. Not a single tear.

A flash of triumph crossed Vivian's eyes.

It didn't last long.

Because just as she was about to press the lit incense into the burner before the ancestral tablets, a sharp snap cut through the silence.

The middle stick of incense broke clean in half.

"A broken incense stick!"

A sharp gasp shattered the solemn silence of the family chapel.

Every head turned toward the incense in Vivian's hands. The color drained from their faces in an instant.

Everyone knew that a broken incense stick during an ancestral rite was the worst possible omen.

A sign of catastrophe.

And in nearly a hundred years of Vance family history, it had never once happened.

"It really is a broken incense stick!"

"Does this mean disaster is coming for the Vances?"

Panic rippled through the crowd, voices overlapping in frantic whispers.

"Could it just be a bad batch of incense?" someone muttered under their breath.

"Nonsense!"

Before the words had even fully left his mouth, Great-Uncle Harold's voice cracked through the chapel like a whip.

His expression was grave, his eyes locked on the broken stub of incense still clutched in Vivian's trembling fingers.

"That incense was specially blessed at the temple. Premium sandalwood. It doesn't just snap for no reason."

"We must have done something to violate tradition. The ancestors are furious. This is their warning."

"That's right, that's exactly it." The others nodded in fervent agreement.

Someone pointed at Vivian and let out a cold snort.

"Everything was perfectly fine until she stepped up to offer incense. She's the one who angered the ancestors."

"Exactly. Offering incense to the ancestors isn't some game. You can't just let any nobody waltz up and do it."

In an instant, every pair of eyes in the chapel fixed on Vivian's face.

The blood drained from her cheeks.

Humiliation and panic flickered across her features in rapid succession. She glanced instinctively toward Leah.

Leah said nothing. The disappointment on her face was unmistakable.

Vivian's eyes rimmed red, and she turned helplessly toward Tristan.

"Tristan!"

But she was met with a cold, faintly accusatory stare.

Tears slipped down Vivian's cheeks.

Not a single person stepped forward to comfort her.

Her gaze darted frantically through the crowd. Then, suddenly, she thrust out a finger.

"It was her. She set me up."

Every eye in the room swung toward me. Including Tristan's.

There was scrutiny in those gazes. And suspicion.

"I didn't."

I looked at Tristan, my expression calm, and shook my head.

"You're the only one who touched the incense. If it wasn't you, then who?" Vivian's voice broke between sobs, each word more certain than the last. "You're jealous that I gave Tristan a son. That's why you sabotaged me."

She sounded so convinced, so utterly sure of herself, that the suspicion in the crowd's eyes slowly deepened into something more pointed.

When Jayden saw his mother crying, he balled up his small fists and charged straight at me.

"You're a bad woman!"

"You're bullying my mommy! I'll beat you up!"

He was small, but his fists were anything but weak. Each blow landed hard enough to make me grunt through clenched teeth.

I didn't want to stoop to fighting with a child. But he wouldn't stop. One hit after another after another.

And the people around us just stood there. Arms folded. Watching. Not one of them moved to intervene.

I couldn't take it anymore. I raised my hand to push him away.

But the moment my arm lifted, before I could even apply any force, Jayden's body lurched backward.

In that split second of confusion, I caught it: the malicious curl at the corner of Vivian's lips, and the leg she hadn't quite pulled back in time.

Jayden's forehead struck the bronze censer sitting on the altar table.

Blood seeped out immediately, bright and red.

"Jayden!"

Vivian let out a ragged scream and threw herself over her son.

I stared at the scene in front of me, unable to believe what I'd just witnessed.

This woman had used her own child's life as a pawn, just to frame me.

"Isabel, when did you become so vicious? You can't even spare a four-year-old child?"

Tristan's voice was ice-cold, his glare cutting through me like arrows.

Vivian suddenly dropped to her knees in front of me with a loud thud, pressing her palms together, kowtowing through her tears.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, it's all my fault. I'll apologize to you. I'll get on my knees for you."

"Please, just leave me alone. Leave my child alone."

In that instant, every pair of eyes in the room turned on me with condemnation.

I held Tristan's gaze, unflinching.

"If I told you it wasn't me, I'm guessing you wouldn't believe me."

Of course not.

"Isabel, you've truly disappointed me."

He rammed his shoulder into mine as he passed, scooping up the child and striding toward the door.

I stumbled back two steps. The small of my back slammed into the corner of the altar table behind me, and a sharp hiss escaped through my teeth.

Tristan didn't even slow down.

A dull, cramping pain radiated through my lower abdomen.

I frowned slightly, pressing my hand against it.

If I was remembering correctly, my period was already two weeks late.

The pain intensified, wave after wave, and then a warm trickle ran down the inside of my thigh.

"Blood!"

Someone pointed at my pants, their voice shrill with alarm.