When His Mistress Took Everything I Ever Loved

I couldn't breathe in that bistro anymore. Not with Kennedy's laughter ringing in my ears, not with Cassian's betrayal burning in my chest. I grabbed my purse and fled, leaving Marcus to cover my tables.

"Selena, wait!" he called, but I was already gone.

The rain had started by the time I reached the subway, gentle at first, then heavier. I didn't care. Let it wash away the humiliation.

Two transfers and forty minutes later, I stood before the redbrick building that had once been my entire world—Sunshine House, the foster home where Cassian and I had found each other.

The door opened before I could knock.

"Selena Stone," Diana Foster said, her face lighting up. "My God, child, what are you doing here?"

Diana had been the director when we were kids, a constant presence through the chaos of foster care. Now in her sixties, she'd aged gracefully, her silver hair pulled back in a neat bun.

"I needed to see you," I admitted, my voice breaking.

She pulled me inside, into the warmth of the common room where Cassian and I had spent countless evenings. Nothing had changed—the same mismatched furniture, the same faded rugs, the same sense of safety.

"Sit," she ordered, guiding me to the old velvet couch. "Tell me everything."

And I did. The words poured out of me—Cassian's transformation, Kennedy's cruelty, the London offer that felt more like a trap than a dream.

"He's changing, Diana," I whispered. "Or maybe he's just becoming who he was always meant to be."

"Oh, honey." She squeezed my hand.

A movement near the office door caught my eye. A tall man in an impeccably tailored suit stood watching us, his expression unreadable.

"I'm sorry," Diana said, noticing my gaze. "Mr. Howard was just leaving."

Howard? My heart stuttered.

He stepped forward, and I recognized him instantly from photos—Jasper Howard, Cassian's estranged half-brother. The family black sheep.

"Actually," he said, his voice deep and measured, "I'd like to meet Ms. Stone properly."

Diana hesitated, then nodded. "Selena, this is Jasper Howard. He's generously donated art supplies for our programs."

"Ms. Stone." He extended his hand. "I've heard about you."

I took his hand warily. "I doubt that's possible."

"Believe me, it is." Something flickered in his eyes—respect, maybe even sympathy. "You're the only person who's ever mattered to my brother."

"Was," I corrected, pulling my hand away. "Past tense."

Jasper's lips curved slightly. "Be careful, Ms. Stone. London isn't what it seems."

Before I could ask what he meant, he nodded to Diana and left.

---

The Howard estate on the Upper East Side loomed like a fortress—all stone and glass and cold perfection. A butler led me through marble hallways to Mr. Howard Sr.'s office.

"Miss Stone." He didn't stand when I entered. "Sit."

I perched on the edge of a leather chair, feeling like a child in a principal's office.

"You're causing problems for my son," he stated bluntly.

"Your son is causing problems for himself," I replied, surprised by my own boldness.

He studied me for a long moment, then slid a check across the mahogany desk.

Five hundred thousand dollars.

"Take this," he said. "Disappear."

My fingers trembled as I touched the paper. "You think I'm for sale?"

"I think you're an anchor," he replied coldly. "One that will drag Cassian down to your level."

I stood slowly, picking up the check. For one wild moment, I considered taking it—what couldn't I do with half a million dollars?

But then I remembered Diana's kind face, Jasper's warning, and most of all, my own worth.

I tore the check into pieces, letting them flutter onto his desk.

"Selena Stone doesn't come with a price tag," I said, turning to leave.

"London leaves in two weeks," he called after me. "With or without you."

---

Rain pounded the pavement as I emerged from the subway. My head throbbed with Howard Sr.'s threats, my heart heavy with uncertainty.

A small sound caught my attention—a pitiful meow from beneath a parked car.

I knelt in the rain, peering under the vehicle. A tiny orange kitten huddled against the tire, its paw bent at an unnatural angle.

"Hey, little one," I whispered, reaching carefully beneath the car.

The kitten hissed, backing away.

"Please," I murmured. "Let me help you."

A large hand appeared beside mine, and I startled.

"Don't move," a familiar voice said. "You'll scare him more."

Jasper Howard knelt beside me in the rain, his bespoke suit pooling around him on the wet pavement.

"What are you doing here?" I asked.

"Following a hunch." He smiled slightly. "Hold this."

He handed me his phone—open to a photo of an orange cat with unusual markings.

"Whiskers," I breathed. "From NYU?"

He nodded. "I found her senior year. Adopted her kitten after she passed."

My heart swelled as he carefully reached under the car, murmuring softly to the injured kitten.

"She trusts you," he observed as the kitten allowed him to pick it up.

"Animals always have," I said softly.

Jasper stood, cradling the kitten gently. "My car's just there. I'll take you both somewhere safe."

As we walked through the rain, the kitten nestled between us, I realized something had shifted. In Jasper's eyes, I wasn't just Cassian's girlfriend or a charity case—I was someone worth knowing.

Someone worth saving.