My Long Lost Sister Was My Husband's Mistress

I don't know how long I lay there. Just when I felt I could endure no more, a sliver of light cut through the gloom of the water dungeon.

Weston stood there—tall, composed, and dressed impeccably in a tailored suit. His cold, chiseled features were illuminated by the dim glow. For a fleeting moment, a trace of emotion flickered in his eyes as he looked at my pitiful state—something like sorrow, or perhaps regret—but it vanished as quickly as it appeared.

"Do you understand what you did?" His voice was cold and steady, slicing through the silence.

I forced my heavy eyes open and spoke in a hoarse whisper, "I was wrong, husband."

He seemed momentarily taken aback. Perhaps he didn't expect me to surrender so easily. The air between us grew still and suffocating.

After a long pause, his low voice finally broke the silence.

"If you had admitted your mistake earlier, you wouldn't have had to suffer all this. Get along well with Patricia, and you'll still be Mrs. Holmes."

I gave a soft, obedient hum in response.

Seeing my newfound gentleness, his tone eased.

"Tomorrow is Mom's birthday banquet. Prepare yourself—we'll attend together."

"Alright," I answered quietly.

He reached out, as if to brush my face with his hand, but I turned away before he could touch me.

Just then, his phone rang.

"Weston, my stomach hurts...I'm scared," came Patricia's soft, coquettish voice through the receiver.

His expression changed instantly. "Don't worry, I'll be right there."

Without another glance at me, he turned and walked away, his voice low and tender as he coaxed her over the phone.

The moment his figure disappeared beyond the door, the faint gentleness in my eyes dissolved—replaced by a cold, unyielding resolve.

Assistant Lenon's arrangements were ready. By tomorrow, I would be gone for good.

I closed my eyes, drew a long breath, and buried every trace of pain deep within me.

When I returned to my room, I packed up everything—only to throw it all away. Then, I canceled every trace of my identity.

The next morning, Weston's driver was waiting outside my door.

"Madam," he said hesitantly, eyes avoiding mine, "Sir asked me to tell you he'll pick up your mother first. He said you should wait for him at the banquet."

His voice trembled slightly. I could guess why.

Without pressing him, I simply got into the car.

As we drove, my phone buzzed with a new message.

It was from Patricia.

In the photo, she was wearing a couture wedding gown, nestled in Weston's arms, her smile radiant.

[Sister, we're choosing our wedding dress. Can you help us decide which one looks better?]

Her arrogance was naked with every words.

I smiled faintly and typed a single word.

[Congratulations.]

The congratulations aren't real.

Because what they don't know is that my revenge will be revealed at Mom's dinner party tomorrow, and they will be plunged into despair.

After I sent the message, I pulled out my SIM card and tossed it out the window.

At the next intersection, I calmly told the driver, "I have something to take care of first. Bring the gift boxes in the trunk to the banquet."

"Make sure they open them in front of everyone," I added.

Without waiting for his response, I opened the door and stepped out.

A black Rolls-Royce was already waiting around the corner.

As soon as I got in, the engine roared to life and the car pulled away from the curb.

As we drove away, I didn’t look back. I clenched my fists tightly as that hate rose up again.

One day, I would make them regret all they did to me.