Chapter 3

But I still left.

The William standing before me was a complete stranger. It felt like I had spent the last seven years sleeping next to a man wearing a mask.

I couldn't bear to be in the same room with him for another second.

I began to call my son's phone frantically.

Ten times. Twenty times. Fifty times. The result was always the same—it went straight to voicemail.

William was truly ruthless. He had cut off my only way of contacting my own son.

At that moment, the anger faded, leaving behind nothing but cold, hollow despair.

I dialed William's number one more time.

But when the call connected, a furious female voice answered instead. "Who is this?"

"Why does my husband have your contact saved with a heart emoji?"

My hand clamped tightly around the phone. I didn't know how to explain myself.

"Are you his little whore?" she spat.

I gasped. I wanted to scream back, *No! I'm not his whore! I'm his wife!*

But the words died in my throat.

They had been married for ten years. They had a child. They had a legal marriage certificate.

What did I have?

To a legal wife, there was no difference between a mistress and a whore. Both were homewreckers.

I hung up the phone in a panic, pulled the hotel blanket over my head, and sobbed until I couldn't breathe.

I hated myself.

I hated myself for being a good Samaritan at the mall, and most of all, I hated myself for ever falling in love with William Vance.

...

I first met William on a freezing, snowy night.

I literally picked him up off the street.

He was shivering, his skin bruised and blue from the cold. I had to admit, the moment I saw his face, my heart skipped a beat.

William was incredibly handsome—sharp brows, striking eyes, the exact type I had always been drawn to.

I took him to the hospital and took care of him. At first, he was a man of few words. He only answered when asked, and our conversations were dry and brief.

It wasn't until the day he was discharged that he finally initiated a conversation.

He only said three words: "I have nothing."

I had smiled.

Later, he moved into my tiny rented apartment. In the winter, we ordered cheap takeout and ate it under one blanket. In the summer, we got tacos from street vendors.

After dinner, we would walk to the neighborhood park and watch the old folks play chess.

William told me he had never experienced a life like this before. I assumed he had grown up in extreme poverty, so I loved and pitied him even more.

Until one day in September, a fleet of black Escalades blocked our narrow street, and a group of men in suits took him away. Only then did I realize how wrong I had been.

William was the sole heir to the Vance empire. I started Googling everything about his family.

I knew that someone from his background would never cross paths with me again.

But fate decided to play a cruel joke on me.

William ran away from his family estate.

He showed up at my door, dropped to one knee, and slipped a ring onto my finger. He begged me to marry him.

He said he loved me. He said that although we couldn't legally register the marriage right away due to his family's interference, he would make them accept me one day.

I believed him. I loved him.

So, I said yes. I cooked his meals for seven years, and I gave him a son.

And because of my foolish, blind love, I became his secret mistress.

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