The Unwanted Mistress Becomes The Rival's Queen

The next morning, the armored limousine waited in the circular driveway, silent and imposing like a hearse.

I stood by the open door, waiting.

Damien emerged from the front door, his arm wrapped securely around Vivian's waist.

He was guiding her down the steps as if the stairs were made of landmines.

He glanced at me, a flicker of guilt passing through his eyes, but his grip on her didn't loosen.

"You sit in the back with us," Damien said to Vivian. "Estelle, take the jump seat."

The jump seat.

Facing them.

I climbed in and sat backward, forced to watch them as the car pulled away.

Damien spent the entire ride discussing security protocols with Vivian.

"I've doubled the guard at the perimeter," he said, covering her hand with his. "No one gets near you."

He didn't look at me once.

We arrived at *L'Eclat*, a boutique that laundered more money for the Outfit than it made selling gowns.

The staff scrambled to greet us.

"Don Jones," the manager said, bowing slightly. "We have the private suite ready."

Damien nodded. "Show Estelle the bridal collection. The best you have."

He stayed by Vivian's side, guiding her to a velvet sofa, acting as her personal guard dog while I was led to the racks of white silk.

I picked a dress at random.

It was a mermaid cut with lace sleeves. Beautiful. Pointless.

I put it on in the changing room and walked out to the podium.

Damien looked up from his phone.

For a second, the mask slipped.

He looked at me with that raw, hungry desperation that had kept me trapped for eight years.

"Estelle," he breathed, standing up. "You look..."

"I want to try it on," Vivian interrupted.

The spell broke.

Damien turned to her, blinking as if waking from a trance. "What?"

"I never had a real wedding," Vivian said, pouting. "Aaron and I eloped. I just want to see what it feels like. Just for a minute."

It was a power play. Pure and simple.

"Vivian, that's Estelle's dress," Damien said, but his voice lacked conviction.

"Please, Damien?" She touched her stomach. "For the baby? I want him to feel his mother happy."

Damien sighed and looked at me.

"Estelle, *Tesoro*," he said, using the pet name that used to make my knees weak. "It's just a dress. Let her have this moment. She's hormonal."

I looked at him.

I looked at the man who was supposed to be my protector.

"Take it," I said.

I walked back to the changing room, unzipped the dress, and handed it to the attendant.

A few minutes later, Vivian emerged in the gown. It was too tight, straining at the seams, but she preened in front of the mirror.

"Can you zip it up?" she asked me, smirking in the reflection. "My arms are so sore."

Damien nodded at me. "Help her, Estelle. Don't let her trip."

I walked over behind her.

I reached for the zipper.

"You look ridiculous," I whispered so only she could hear.

Vivian's eyes met mine in the mirror.

"I look like the Queen," she whispered back.

Then, she reached out and grabbed the heavy iron rack of mannequins next to us to strike a pose.

She pulled it hard, losing her balance.

"Damien!" she screamed.

The rack, loaded with fifty pounds of metal and fabric, tipped over.

Damien moved with a speed that wasn't human.

He launched himself across the room.

He didn't reach for me.

He dove for Vivian, tackling her away from the falling metal, shielding her body with his own, wrapping her in a protective cocoon.

The iron rack crashed down.

It didn't hit the floor.

It hit me.

The metal bar slammed into my shoulder and ribs with a sickening crunch.

I collapsed, the weight pinning me to the hardwood floor.

White-hot pain exploded in my chest, stealing my breath.

I lay there in the debris, gasping, tasting copper in my mouth.

Damien scrambled up, lifting Vivian, checking her frantically for scratches.

"Are you hurt? Did it hit the stomach?" he shouted.

"I'm scared!" Vivian wailed, burying her face in his neck.

"Get the car!" Damien yelled at his men. "Now!"

He scooped her up and ran toward the exit.

He didn't look back.

He didn't check the pile of metal.

He didn't see me lying broken on the floor, watching his back disappear through the glass doors.