My Husband Chose His Mistress Over Our Unborn Child

The crystal chandeliers cast a golden glow across the Mitchell Corporation's fifth-anniversary charity gala, illuminating the sea of designer gowns and tuxedos below. I stood near the stage in my midnight blue dress, fingers instinctively reaching for the locket at my throat—Catherine's photograph pressed against my skin like a talisman.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Damon's voice boomed through the microphone, commanding the attention of every person in the ballroom. "Thank you for joining us tonight to celebrate five years of success."

My heart hammered against my ribs as his steel-gray eyes found mine in the crowd. Even after five years, I couldn't read the emotion in them—was it hatred? Confusion? Or something else entirely?

"Tonight marks not just a business milestone," he continued, his voice carrying effortlessly across the hushed room, "but a personal one as well."

I felt the weight of hundreds of gazes shifting toward me, curious and predatory.

"Five years ago, I made a mistake." Damon's words sliced through the air. "I allowed someone into my life who doesn't belong there."

The room spun slightly as I realized what was happening. My fingers tightened around Catherine's locket.

"Elisabeth Duncan," he said, my name sounding like poison on his lips, "has played the role of my companion for far too long."

Gasps rippled through the crowd. I saw Victoria Fisher—Madeline's mother—cover her mouth in mock horror, her eyes gleaming with satisfaction.

"It's time I reunited with my true love," Damon announced, extending his hand toward the side of the stage. "The woman who actually saved my life."

Madeline stepped forward, resplendent in a crimson gown that clung to her curves like a second skin. Her smile was radiant as she took Damon's outstretched hand.

"Madeline Fisher," he declared, "is the woman I should have been with all along."

The room erupted in applause while I stood frozen, my cheeks burning with humiliation. I wanted to disappear into the floor, to vanish from the judgmental stares of New York's elite.

---

"You know," Madeline whispered later, cornering me near the champagne fountain, "it's almost pathetic how long you've clung to him."

I tried to step around her, but she blocked my path, her perfume overwhelming my senses.

"Did you really think he would ever love you?" Her voice dripped with false sympathy. "You're just a cheap imitation of your sister."

"Please," I murmured, "Catherine loved him. She—"

"Catherine is dead," Madeline cut me off sharply. "And you're nothing but a sad little placeholder who's overstayed her welcome."

Across the room, I caught Aaron's eye. He stood in the shadows, his expression dark with barely contained fury. I'd known him since childhood—he'd been there when Catherine and I were growing up, always watching over us with quiet devotion.

Now he watched as I was humiliated, his jaw clenched so tight I could see the muscle twitching beneath his skin.

"Don't worry," Madeline continued, following my gaze to Aaron. "Your little lapdog can't help you. No one can."

As she sauntered away, triumphant in her cruelty, I noticed Aaron discreetly raising his phone, capturing Damon's hand gripping my arm as he pulled me roughly toward the exit.

---

The Mitchell mansion loomed before us as we returned from the gala, its windows blazing with light despite the late hour.

"James," Damon barked at his butler as we entered the marble foyer. "Move her things from the master suite to the servants' quarters by morning."

"Damon, please," I whispered, my voice barely audible even to my own ears. "Can we talk about this?"

"There's nothing to discuss." He loosened his bow tie with violent fingers. "Madeline will be moving in tomorrow."

"But these past five years," I said, desperation creeping into my voice. "There were moments when you seemed—"

"Enough!" His roar echoed through the cavernous space.

In one fluid motion, he ripped open his shirt, buttons scattering across the polished floor. There, across his chest, was the tattoo I'd seen countless times before—Catherine's name etched in ink over his heart.

Only now, it was different. The letters had been altered, scratched and reworked with crude precision.

"ELISABETH" stared back at me in jagged script.

"Do you see what you've done?" he snarled, his face inches from mine. "You've poisoned my mind. Confused my memories."

His fingers dug into my shoulders as he shook me. "I can't remember which Duncan sister I'm supposed to love anymore!"

I stared at the mutilated tattoo, at the physical manifestation of his confusion—and mine. Five years of pretending to be someone else had blurred the lines between who I was and who I was supposed to be.

"Get out," he growled, shoving me toward the servants' wing. "Before I forget why I kept you around at all."