My Husband Used Me to Save His Mistress's Son

The Plaza Hotel glittered like something out of a dream. Chandeliers hung overhead, dripping light onto the marble floors. Champagne towers caught the glow and threw it back in a thousand directions. I stood near the center of the ballroom in a cream silk gown, my hand resting lightly on Bennett's arm, and tried to feel as happy as I was supposed to be.

Bennett Phillips. My fiancé. The man I was going to marry in three months.

He raised his glass. The crowd quieted. "To Tessa," he said, smiling down at me. "The woman who makes everything better just by being in the room."

People clapped. I smiled back. His hand was warm on mine. I told myself this was enough. This was good. This was the life I'd always been told I should want.

My cousin Romina stood near the edge of the crowd, watching. She wore a red dress that hugged her like a second skin. When our eyes met, she lifted her glass and smiled. It didn't reach her eyes.

I looked away.

The music swelled. People danced. My father, George Collins, stood near the bar talking to Bennett's father. My mother, Laura, touched my shoulder as she passed and whispered, "You look beautiful, sweetheart."

I felt beautiful. I felt like I was supposed to feel.

Then the lights went out.

Not dimmed. Not flickering. Gone. The ballroom plunged into absolute darkness. Someone screamed. Glass shattered. I heard Bennett say my name, but his voice sounded far away, like he was underwater.

Hands grabbed me from behind. Not Bennett's hands. These were rough, fast, and they knew exactly where to grip. One clamped over my mouth before I could scream. The other locked around my waist and lifted me off my feet.

I kicked. My heel connected with something solid. A man grunted but didn't let go.

I was moving. Fast. Away from the ballroom, away from the music and the voices calling my name. A service corridor. Cold air. Metal doors. I tried to bite the hand over my mouth. Tried to twist free. My dress tore. I heard it rip.

Then I was outside. The night air hit my skin. A vehicle idled at the curb, back door open, engine running. They threw me inside. My head hit the opposite door. Stars exploded behind my eyes.

The door slammed. The locks clicked. The vehicle lurched forward.

I tried to sit up. A man in the front seat turned around. His face was covered with a black mask. "Don't move," he said. His voice was flat. Bored, almost.

I moved anyway. I lunged for the door handle. It didn't budge. Child lock.

"I said don't move."

Something hard and cold pressed against my temple. A gun. I froze.

The city blurred past the windows. We drove for what felt like hours but was probably twenty minutes. I tried to memorize the route. Tried to see street signs. Tried to think.

We stopped at a waterfront warehouse. I could smell the ocean. Hear water lapping against concrete. The man dragged me out of the vehicle and into the building. The floor was stained concrete. The walls were rusted metal. There were no windows.

There were other men inside. I didn't count them. I didn't want to know.

What happened next, I don't remember in order. I remember pieces. Fragments. The way you remember a nightmare when you wake up—images without context, sensations without time.

I remember screaming until my throat bled.

I remember the cold of the concrete floor against my cheek.

I remember thinking, over and over, *This isn't real. This isn't happening.*

But it was.

When they were done, they left me there. I heard the door slam. Heard the vehicle drive away. Heard nothing but my own breathing and the sound of the ocean outside.

I don't know how long I lay there. Long enough for the sky outside to start turning gray. Long enough for my body to stop shaking and go numb instead.

Someone found me eventually. A dock worker, maybe. I don't remember his face. I remember the ambulance. The hospital lights. My mother's face, white and frozen. My father's hand gripping mine so hard it hurt.

Bennett came to the hospital once. He stood in the doorway and looked at me like I was something broken he didn't know how to fix. He didn't come inside. He didn't sit down. He said, "I'm sorry, Tessa. I'm so sorry."

Then he left.

Two days later, his publicist released a statement. *Due to irreconcilable circumstances, Bennett Phillips and Tessa Collins have mutually agreed to end their engagement.*

Mutually.

Three weeks after that, Bennett announced his engagement to Romina.

I was still in the hospital when I heard. My mother was changing the flowers by my bed. She went very still when the news alert came through on her phone. She didn't say anything. She didn't have to.

I turned my face to the wall and closed my eyes.

That was when Caspian Hawkins walked into my room.

I'd seen him before, at family events. Bennett's uncle, though he didn't look old enough to be anyone's uncle. Tall. Dark-haired. The kind of face that belonged on magazine covers. He moved like someone who'd never doubted himself in his life.

He stood at the foot of my bed and looked at me with something I couldn't name. Not pity. Something quieter.

"Miss Collins," he said. His voice was low and steady. "My name is Caspian Hawkins. I'd like to offer you a way forward."

I stared at him. I didn't understand.

"Marry me," he said.

I thought I'd misheard. My mother made a small, shocked sound.

Caspian didn't look away from me. "You need protection. A name that will shield you from what people are saying. Time to heal without the world watching. I can give you that. No expectations. No obligations. Just safety."

"Why?" I whispered. My voice was ruined from screaming.

"Because it's the right thing to do," he said simply.

I should have asked more questions. I should have wondered why a man like Caspian Hawkins would offer marriage to a woman he barely knew. I should have seen it.

But I was so tired. So broken. And he was offering me a way to stop falling.

So I said yes.