When His Mistress Took Everything I Ever Loved

The invitation arrived on embossed cardstock, gold lettering announcing the Howard Foundation Annual Gala. I traced the letters with my fingertip, feeling the weight of what it represented—Cassian's new world.

"You need to be there," Cassian said, watching me from across our apartment. "It's important for appearances before the London move."

"I understand," I replied, though something in his tone made my stomach tighten.

He disappeared into our closet, emerging with a garment bag. "I got you something."

Inside was a dress—black, slinky, with a neckline that plunged lower than anything I'd ever worn. The price tag still dangled from the sleeve: $3,200.

"Cassian, this is... expensive."

"You can't wear that waitress uniform to the gala." He frowned at my collection of modest dresses. "This is Howard Industries' biggest event of the year."

I tried it on, feeling like I was playing dress-up in someone else's life. The fabric clung to every curve, making me feel exposed rather than elegant.

"Perfect," he declared, though his eyes didn't quite meet mine. "Just remember—these people are potential investors. Don't say anything... controversial."

The warning stung. "Controversial?"

"You know what I mean." He adjusted his tie in the mirror. "Just don't embarrass me."

---

The ballroom of the Plaza Hotel glittered with chandeliers and old money. I clutched Cassian's arm as we entered, feeling dozens of eyes assessing me—the charity case his son had brought home.

"Remember," Cassian murmured, his breath warm against my ear, "smile and nod. Let me handle the talking."

I was deposited at the bar while he was pulled into a circle of suited men. Alone, I ordered sparkling water, trying to look like I belonged.

"Selena Stone." Kennedy's voice slid over me like silk. "What a... surprise."

She was stunning in emerald green, her dark hair swept into an elegant updo. Diamond earrings caught the light as she tilted her head.

"Cassian didn't mention you were attending," I said, fighting to keep my voice steady.

"Oh, he mentioned it." She signaled the bartender. "Red wine, please. And another water for... what are you drinking? Oh right, water."

Her smile was razor-sharp. "Cassian's been so stressed about tonight. Worried you might not... fit in."

"I'm managing," I replied, lifting my chin.

"Are you?" She leaned closer as cameras flashed nearby. "Because you look like you're drowning."

With a sudden movement, she stumbled forward, her wine glass tipping. Dark liquid cascaded down the front of my dress, spreading across the expensive fabric like a bloodstain.

"Oh my God!" she gasped, loud enough for nearby guests to turn. "I'm so clumsy!"

Flashbulbs popped as photographers captured my humiliation.

She leaned in, her lips brushing my ear as she whispered, "He's only bringing you to London as a comfort blanket until he's settled. Once he's established, you'll be replaced. He belongs to our world now."

---

I fled to the ladies' room, scrubbing desperately at the stain with damp paper towels. The wine had seeped through to my skin, leaving me feeling marked and tainted.

I needed Cassian—needed his arms around me, his reassurance that everything would be okay.

I found him near the stage, deep in conversation with his father and Kennedy. Their heads were bent together, plotting something in low voices.

"Cassian," I called, my voice small.

He looked up, irritation flashing across his face before he smoothed it away. "Selena. What happened?"

"I need—" I began, but he was already turning to a staff member.

"Find someone to clean her up," he ordered, not meeting my eyes. "And get her a different dress if possible."

"Sir, there's an emergency board meeting," the man replied. "Mr. Howard Sr. has requested your presence."

"Now?" Cassian glanced at his watch.

"Now," his father confirmed, already moving toward the exit.

Cassian looked at me, then at Kennedy. "We'll continue this discussion later," he told me, his tone dismissive.

"But—"

"I have to go." He was already walking away. "Take care of yourself."

---

I found myself on the terrace, shivering in the evening air. The city lights blurred through my tears as I gripped the stone balustrade.

"Here." A jacket settled over my shoulders—warm, expensive wool.

I turned to find Jasper Howard watching me, his expression unreadable.

"Thank you," I whispered, pulling the jacket tighter.

"You're shaking." He gestured to a waiting car below. "I can take you home."

"I'm fine."

"No," he said bluntly. "You're not."

The ride was silent until we hit the Queens-Midtown Tunnel.

"You're losing yourself," Jasper finally said, his voice quiet but firm. "Cassian is not the man you think he is anymore."

"He's still the same person inside," I argued, though the words felt hollow.

Jasper's laugh was bitter. "The Cassian I knew died the day he walked into Howard Tower."

"He's just... adjusting."

"No." Jasper's eyes met mine in the rearview mirror. "He's forgetting who he was. And who you are."

His words cut through my defenses like glass. For the first time, I wondered if I was fighting for a ghost—a Cassian who no longer existed.