Revenge: The Cast-Aside Mistress

I learned young that money builds walls. Not everyone starts on the same line. The smart ones? They find shortcuts. Like my sister.

While I stayed stuck in that crumbling farmhouse with Dad, she moved to the city with Mom and never looked back. Got herself a shiny new life.

But whatever.

See the man she’s obsessed with? Yeah, he’s in my bed right now. He’s got those pianist hands - long, strong fingers that could probably make you forget your own name with one touch. No wonder my sister, the Little Miss Perfect can’t stop throwing herself at him.

In the dead quiet of the night, a low groan escapes him. Things crest, then dissolve into nothing.

When it’s over, he just gets up. Wordless. Heads straight for the shower.

I light a cigarette, lean back against the headboard, body stiff. Silently counting down until he walks out.

This isn’t a hotel suite. It’s just one of Henry Smith’s many estates. Mine? Call it a gilded cage.

Yeah. He’s my sugar daddy. Doesn’t matter how much I try to pretend otherwise. I’m the idiot who fell for the man paying the bills.

The worst kind of fool isn’t the one selling her body - it’s the one handing over her heart to a guy who only sees a toy.

Four years. Sex. That’s all it ever is. No connection. Doesn’t matter how good things feel in the moment; he always pulls back. Shuts down. And I’m the one left sinking deeper.

Even when things got reckless, when we skipped the condom, he always snapped back to reality before the point of no return.

He would never let someone like me have his child.

True to form, my cigarette wasn’t half gone before he was dressed and heading for the door.

Still naked, not bothering with modesty, I called out, "Henry."

The most I got? A pause in his step. He didn’t even glance back.

Staring at his retreating back, the question I’d choked on all night finally clawed its way out: "Heard you’re getting engaged? Who’s the lucky debutante?"

Silence. Long enough to make me wonder if I’d actually spoken aloud—if that burst of courage only happened in my head.

Then, footsteps again. Fading away.

When I looked up, he was turning the doorknob.

Maybe my face gave me away, maybe he sensed the desperate need for an answer. He finally spoke, his voice cold, detached: "Know your place. That’s not something you need to worry about."

My throat tightened, but I forced a brittle smile. "Relax. Just wanted to know what kind of wedding gift to chip in."

He gave me a long look, like I was a puzzle he couldn’t quite solve - the same way I’d never cracked him. Then, just like that, the flicker of interest died. He left as cleanly as he arrived.

The engine purred to life outside. A moment later, only the heavy silence of the night remained.

Wrapped in a sheet, I stood by the window, staring into the swallowing darkness.

Suddenly, I remembered our first meeting. Another autumn night. Cool, but not cold.

That year, my dad got jumped during a botched robbery. Took a pipe to the head. The guy got away. No insurance. No money for the hospital. So, I swallowed my pride and went to City H, begging my mom for help.

Turned out it was the night of my sister Lena Carter’s big-shot graduation party. Their mansion was overflowing with glittering people.

I was stuck outside their ridiculous palace, security eyeing my worn jeans like I was carrying the plague. Out back, Lena was posing in her cap and gown, flashing that camera-ready smile. She saw me. Looked right through me like I was smudged glass. Didn’t even tell them to let me in.

Desperate, I grabbed the arm of the first guy walking past who looked important enough. Begged him to pretend I was his plus-one.

Back then, I thought I’d grabbed a lifeline.

Turned out, I’d latched onto a knife - and it dragged me straight down.