Chapter 5

The day of the engagement gala, I'm stationed at the entrance handling the guest book.

Champagne in hand. My eyes can't leave the couple everyone's congratulating.

In a daze, I think back to the day I signed the Mistress Agreement.

I'd quietly slipped the pregnancy report into the study drawer.

I thought — once he finds it, a proposal would be the natural next step.

So when he pulled out that contract, my heart leapt. I thought it was a prenup.

In these powerful families, signing one is perfectly normal.

I was willing. Because all I wanted was him.

I never imagined six years together would end as a joke.

In one moment, I became a dirty secret — a mistress hidden in the shadows.

Near the end of the gala.

Serena stops in front of me, smiling warmly.

"So you're Ivy?"

I blink, then nod.

"Damien mentioned you. Said you've been with the organization for years — very capable."

I return a few polite words.

She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. "Oh, by the way — starting next week, I'm having him move out of that apartment. We've already picked out our new place."

"I figure it's awkward for you to stay there, so… you might want to start looking for somewhere else."

My fingertips jolt.

The sting behind my eyes nearly spills over.

I swallow it down while pretending to straighten the guest book. "Of course… I'll take care of it."

The words barely leave my mouth before she picks up the champagne glass beside me.

Before I can react, she lets out a shriek. "Ah—!"

"You — how could you throw your drink on me?"

Then a slap cracks across my face.

I press my hand to my cheek and look up to see her — drenched, eyes glistening red.

Half the room turns to stare.

Damien walks over, frowning. "What happened?"

Serena throws herself into his arms, sobbing: "Damien, I was just kindly letting her know you're moving out, telling her to find a new place — and she threw champagne on me…"

"Ivy."

"I didn't—" My voice is raw.

"So what — she poured it on herself and then came over to slap you?"

His logic is flawless.

No one would believe a bride-to-be would ruin her own dress on her big night.

And he's already decided I think of that apartment as my territory.

His voice turns cold. "Apologize."

I don't move.

"Don't make this harder than it has to be. You know what today is. If this blows up, it's bad for you. Apologize — or don't bother showing up tomorrow."

I look at him.

Six years ago he pulled me out of the rain and said, "No one's ever going to hurt you again."

Six years later he holds the woman who just hit me in his arms — and tells me to apologize.

The scab over my chest tears open again.

I lower my head. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have spilled my drink on you."

Damien isn't satisfied.

But he turns and waves the crowd away. "It's fine. Misunderstanding. Everyone move along."

Before he goes, he gives me one last look. "Go to the bathroom and clean yourself up. Don't embarrass yourself out here."

I touch my swollen cheek and the hair shaken loose by that slap.

Right. How embarrassing.

But the most humiliating part — is the man I loved for six years convicted me in front of everyone without even asking.

I pick up my phone and send one message: [Move everything up.]

Then I smile through my tears.