My Husband and Son Chose His Mistress Over Me

In the middle of the night, Catherine suddenly developed a high fever.

Her head felt heavy and muddled, sweat soaked through her cotton pajamas, and her entire body was cold and trembling.

3:00 AM.

Enduring the unbearable discomfort, she reached out with trembling fingers and dialed Leandro’s number.

The call was answered in less than a second, but no one spoke on the other end—only the sound of rustling clothes came through.

“Leandro... I really... can’t take it anymore...”

A coquettish voice, soft and flirtatious, came clearly through the receiver, stabbing into Catherine’s ears. Then came a man’s familiar voice, husky and laced with teasing.

“Be good. Didn’t you just say you could?”

The breathless moans of desire laced with flirtation scraped at Catherine’s nerves like knives, stabbing straight into her chest.

Three full hours of torment.

Every second felt like being fried in oil, swallowed by flames—an excruciating torture that tore at her soul.

Ding.

The call ended abruptly, and a message popped up a second later.

It was a screenshot of a chat.

In the image, Nina straddled a bed in black lace bunny lingerie, her delicate figure posing seductively as she stared into the camera with sultry eyes.

[Your little bunny is waiting obediently for her master~]

Beneath the photo, Leandro’s plain black profile responded with just three curt words.

[Wait for me.]

A crushing pain spread through Catherine’s chest like a thousand tiny needles.

So that was it. He had changed his mind after seeing this photo.

Curled up under the blanket, she began to cry softly. A dull ache throbbed at her temples.

She had thought that after seeing the ambiguous marks Nina bore before, she would have gotten used to it and become numb.

But the agony still came, overwhelming and deep, seeping into her bones.

Only after the tears had dried did she force herself to close her eyes and switch off the screen.

But the relentless fever kept her awake the entire night.

—

The next morning, Leandro returned with their son—and a woman.

“Sweetheart, this is Nash's new Italian teacher. She’ll be staying with us temporarily, but she’ll move out in a few days.”

“Good morning, Madam. I’m Nash's Italian teacher. Sorry for the sudden intrusion.”

Catherine looked at Nina, whose eyes brimmed with undisguised provocation.

She didn’t take the outstretched hand.

The room fell into a brief, tense silence.

Nina lowered her eyes and let her voice tremble with apparent hurt.

“Madam, am I... not welcome here?”

Leandro paused, then spoke with a heavier tone. “Sweetheart?”

When she still didn’t respond, their son Nash scowled and stomped up to grab Catherine’s hand.

“This is my favorite teacher! Mommy, you’re a grown-up! Don’t you know how to be polite?”

The rebuke hit her square in the chest.

Catherine stared at their forcibly joined hands, then finally took Nina’s hand in hers.

“Madam, I’ll be in your care for the next few days.”

Nina’s voice was sweet and sincere—but her grip was cruel.

Her sharp nails dug deep into Catherine’s palm, drawing blood.

The sudden pain made Catherine instinctively shake her hand free, but Nina took the chance to stumble backward and crash to the floor.

“Ah! That hurts!”

Tears spilled from her eyes in an instant, her reddened gaze brimming with sorrow.

“If Madam didn’t want me to stay, you could’ve just told me. I wouldn’t have imposed. I never thought you’d dislike me this much...”

Her voice was a blend of heartbreak and grievance—three parts sadness, seven parts accusations.

Leandro’s eyes flashed with concern as he stepped forward to help her up.

He swept his gaze at Catherine and intoned coldly, “Catherine, that was too harsh.”

“Yeah, Mommy! That was way out of line. How could you push someone like that? What if she got hurt?”

Nash shielded Nina like a little lion cub guarding his own, checking her anxiously for injuries.

Their accusatory words crushed down on Catherine’s heart.

She stared blankly at the three of them, united on the same side, as the stinging pain in her palm spread through her chest.

Nash quickly brought over the first-aid kit, his small face twisted in anger.

“Aunt Nina, Mommy didn’t mean it. Don’t blame her. She’s always acting weird, fiddling with those broken things. Even the kids at kindergarten say she’s gone crazy from it.”

A wave of pressure surged in her chest. Catherine turned and walked away, forcing herself not to hear another word.

Soon... she would be gone.

She clenched her injured hand, stood up, and headed toward the backyard.

But a voice called after her from behind.

“Miss Flores.”