He Made Me His Mistress, I Married His Rival

Chapter 1

Outside the airport VIP exit, Ethan walked out in his tailored coat.

Vivian was on his arm, smiling sweetly.

I stood outside the railing, holding no sign. I was just standing there.

Ethan glanced over. His gaze landed on my left hand. The 10-carat diamond on my ring finger caught the light.

He stopped. Vivian stopped too, following his gaze. "Oh, you're here to pick us up? And wearing a fake diamond to keep up appearances?"

Ethan pulled his arm free and walked up to me. "Did you rent that just to get back at me?"

I didn't look away. "It wasn't rented. It was from Spencer."

"Spencer Shaw?" Ethan laughed. "Pick a more believable lie. The Shaw family has been aristocracy for centuries. Why would Spencer want a stray girl raised in the Grant family's basement? Stop joking around. Come home. I'll make your favorite fish stew tonight."

He reached for my wrist. I stepped back.

"I have already accepted his proposal. I'm only here to tell you that I'm moving out of the Grant house."

Ethan's hand paused midair. Then he pulled out a black card from his pocket.

"Alright. I know you're upset I took Vivian to Europe without you. There's $5,000,000 on this card. Go buy yourself something nice."

Vivian walked over and leaned against Ethan's shoulder. "Ethan, don't be too hard on her. But Lila, a man like Spencer might play around. If you take him seriously, you're being naive."

I didn't take the card. "No need. I've already packed."

Ethan tossed the card to the ground. "Suit yourself. Have your tantrum. Just don't come crying later."

He took Vivian's hand and turned toward the Maybach. "I'll be home tonight. Don't let me see you still acting out."

I bent down and picked up the black card.

At 8 p.m., the Grant villa kitchen hummed with the extractor fan. Ethan set a plate of grilled salmon on the table, bones meticulously removed. I sat at the far end of the table. The same seat I had held for 10 years.

"Have it." He pushed the plate toward me.

I picked up my fork, but before I could take a bite, the butler came over with a velvet box.

"Sir, the handcrafted tea set you bid on in Europe has arrived."

Ethan wiped his hands. "Arrange for a helicopter to deliver it to Vivian's apartment first thing tomorrow. She has trouble sleeping. This tea set is perfect for her herbal tea."

"Yes, sir."

I swallowed a mouthful of plain bread. I set down my fork.

"I'm done. The new place is clean. I'm moving out tonight."

Ethan leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled on the table. "How long are you going to keep up this act?"

"It's not an act."

"Do you even know what kind of place you're moving into? No climate control. Your weak body won't survive."

"Don't worry about it."

I stood and went upstairs. I opened the storage room door and pulled out my worn canvas suitcase.

Ethan followed, leaning against the doorframe.

"That's all you're taking?"

The suitcase held only a few faded school uniforms and basic toiletries. All the designer gowns he'd bought me hung in the master closet. I'd never worn a single one.

"These are mine."

He stepped in and kicked the suitcase shut.

"If you walk out with that garbage, people will think the Grant family mistreated you."

"Haven't you?" I looked up at him. "My university spot. My cello. Every shred of dignity I had. You ground it to dust and handed it to Vivian."

Ethan leaned down and grabbed my chin.

"You owe her that. If your mother hadn't stolen Vivian's medication back then, she wouldn't be sick."

"My mother didn't steal anything!"

"Still lying?" His grip tightened. "I fed you for 10 years. Don't think that makes you a Grant. Offering to make you my mistress was already generous."

I tilted my head back, my nails digging into my palms.

"Let go."

He released me. "Fine. Leave. Let's see what kind of life Spencer can give you. I give it three days before you're kneeling at the Grant gate begging me to take you back."

I zipped up my suitcase and carried it down the stairs.

The front door slammed shut behind me.

Ethan stood on the second-floor balcony, watching me leave.

He was sure I would turn back.

He was wrong.