My Anniversary Revealed I Was His Mistress

Candela sucked in a quiet breath. “Are you serious?”

“Especially now that you’re carrying our child,” Sebastian answered without hesitation. “I won’t let her threaten you… or the baby.”

My lungs locked. For a moment, it felt like I had stepped outside my own body, watching everything collapse from a distance, piece by piece.

He wasn’t just deceiving me.

He wasn’t only having an affair.

He was planning my death — on my birthday.

I stepped back silently, forcing down the scream rising in my throat. My hands trembled so badly I pressed them against my chest, trying to steady my breathing.

Not now.

Not here.

I need to survive. I need to pretend. I need to beat them at their own game.

That evening, when I returned to my suite, Sebastian was already there, seated on the couch. His expression softened the moment he saw me, almost warm, almost loving.

I nearly laughed at the performance.

“There you are,” he said, releasing a breath like he’d been waiting anxiously. He rose to his feet. “We should talk.”

I stayed where I was. “About what?”

He rubbed the back of his neck, looking hesitant. “About Candela… since you let her go, I was thinking.”

I braced myself.

Then he smiled — gentle, patient, supportive. The same smile that once made me fall for him.

The same smile he wore every time he lied to me.

“…we could hire her as a housemaid,” he suggested.

My heart stuttered.

“As… what?” I asked quietly.

“She needs a source of income,” he explained casually, like this was a harmless idea. “And since you don’t trust her as much anymore, at least if she works here, you’ll know what she’s doing. I can still help her too. It works out for everyone. You know she’s alone… no family to rely on. I can’t just leave her with nothing.”

Works out for everyone.

For him and his mistress.

“No,” I said immediately, my voice sharp. “I already dismissed her. She’s not coming back here.”

His expression faltered slightly. “Isabella—”

“I said no.” I turned away before my anger slipped into something more revealing. “I’m exhausted, Sebastian. I don’t want to discuss this.”

“Don’t be like that,” he called gently, following me toward the bedroom. “You don’t have to react so strongly—”

“Goodnight,” I cut him off, closing the door before my composure cracked… before he noticed how much I already knew.

I leaned back against the door, breathing unevenly.

They planned to kill me on my birthday… and now he wanted his lover inside my home.

Not happening.

The next morning, sunlight filtered through the curtains, pulling me slowly from sleep. But before I even opened my eyes, something felt off.

Someone else was in the room.

I sat up abruptly — and froze.

Candela was kneeling beside my dresser, wiping its surface with a cloth, humming softly as though she belonged there. She wore a plain apron, her hair tied neatly back.

She looked up, offering a timid smile. “Good morning, Ma’am.”

My stomach dropped. “What are you doing here?”

“Oh!” She quickly stood, lowering her head respectfully. “Sir Sebastian told me you changed your mind… that you agreed to let me stay as the maid.”

Ice spread through my veins. “That’s not true. I never agreed to anything.”

She twisted her hands together, eyes glistening with what looked like tears. “Ma’am, please… I really need this job. I can handle everything. Cooking, cleaning, laundry, ironing… even sewing. I don’t mind sleeping in the storage room if necessary. I just need somewhere to stay.”

I clenched my jaw. Every trembling word felt rehearsed.

“Leave,” I said coldly. “Before I lose my patience.”

She flinched. “Please… just give me one chance. I’ll prove myself.”

Before I could respond, she hurried forward, grabbing a spray bottle and cloth. “See? I’m very thorough. Look how clean I can make everything.”

She wiped the table too forcefully, movements rushed and desperate. Then she turned toward the shelf where my mother’s porcelain urn rested — a delicate piece, white with gold accents, the most precious thing I owned.

My chest tightened. “Don’t touch that—”

“I’ll clean everything properly,” she insisted, dusting around it. “I’m careful, Ma’am. I promise—”

Her elbow knocked against it.

The urn wobbled.

Time seemed to slow.

“Candela, stop—!”

Too late.

The urn tipped.

It fell.

Porcelain shattered against the marble floor.

Pieces scattered in every direction.

And my mother’s ashes… spread across the floor like drifting gray snow.