My Fiancé Moved His Mistress In

The crystal chandelier cast a warm glow over our weekly family dinner, its light dancing across the polished silverware and fine china. I sat at the long mahogany table, watching my mother arrange flowers with meticulous precision while my father reviewed documents on his tablet. Everything was as it always was—predictable, proper, suffocating.

The grandfather clock in the hallway chimed nine times. Hudson was late. Again.

"Perhaps we should start without him," I suggested, straightening my napkin. "The salmon will get cold."

My mother's lips thinned into that familiar disapproving line. "Hudson is busy with important matters, Roselyn. We wait."

I swallowed my retort and took a sip of water instead. The staff moved silently around us, refilling glasses and removing plates with practiced efficiency. Another typical Jenkins family dinner—me, the invisible daughter, waiting for the golden child to grace us with his presence.

The elevator chimed, and I heard voices in the foyer. Not just Hudson's voice, but a woman's laughter—bright, confident, unfamiliar. My stomach tightened instinctively.

Hudson strode into the dining room with his arm wrapped possessively around a stunning brunette. She wore a red dress that hugged every curve, her dark hair falling in perfect waves down her back. Diamonds glittered at her throat—probably worth more than most people's annual salary.

"Sorry we're late," Hudson announced, not sounding sorry at all. "I'd like you to meet Skyla Garcia. My true partner."

The room went silent. I felt the weight of every eye—my parents', the staff's—as they processed his words. Partner? Not girlfriend. Partner. The distinction was deliberate, calculated.

"Hudson," my father began cautiously, "perhaps this is something we should discuss privately—"

"Skyla will be staying with us," Hudson interrupted, pulling out a chair for her right next to his usual seat—directly across from mine. "She finds hotels inadequate for her needs."

I sat frozen, my fork suspended halfway to my mouth. True partner? I was his fiancée. We were engaged. Our wedding was scheduled in six months.

"Roselyn," Hudson said finally acknowledging me, his eyes cold, "I trust you've made the necessary arrangements for the charity gala next week."

The staff continued serving dinner as if nothing unusual was happening. As if my entire world wasn't crumbling before their eyes.

"The venue confirmed everything yesterday," I managed, my voice steadier than I felt. "Though you changed the guest list without telling me, which caused some confusion with seating arrangements."

Hudson's jaw tightened. "Is that why the caterer called me directly? Because you couldn't handle a simple change?"

"I've handled every detail perfectly," I replied, feeling heat rise to my cheeks. "But perhaps if you'd communicated your changes—"

"Enough." Hudson's voice cut through the room like a blade. He stood, wine glass in hand, towering over the table. "Your incompetence is becoming a liability, Roselyn. You're nothing but a useless trust fund baby who's never had to work a day in her life."

The words hit like physical blows. I glanced at my parents, waiting for them to defend me—to say anything—but they stared at their plates as if suddenly fascinated by the pattern of the china.

"And another thing," Hudson continued, swirling his wine thoughtfully, "Skyla needs more space for her wardrobe. The guest room simply won't do. You'll vacate the master suite by tomorrow."

I nearly choked on my water. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me." His smile was all teeth. "As future CEO of this company and this family, I decide who lives where. Skyla is my partner. You're... well, you're just the placeholder until everything becomes official."

My hands trembled beneath the table. I rose, pushing my chair back with a scraping sound that seemed deafening in the tense silence.

"I need some air," I murmured, though no one was listening anymore.

I fled to the master suite—my suite—and began throwing essentials into an overnight bag. My grandmother's vintage diamond necklace lay on the dresser where I'd left it after trying it on earlier. I reached for it, needing something of hers to ground me, when I heard the door open behind me.

"Oh, this is perfect," Skyla's voice purred. "Much better than that little guest room."

I spun around to find her rifling through my jewelry box, her manicured fingers closing around my grandmother's necklace.

"That's not yours," I said, my voice low and dangerous.

Skyla's eyes met mine in the mirror, challenge flashing in their depths. "Hudson says everything in this house belongs to him now. Including you."

She slipped the necklace into her pocket with a smirk. Something inside me snapped.

I grabbed her wrist, squeezing until she gasped. "Give it back."

"Let go of me!" she shrieked, loud enough for the entire penthouse to hear.

Heavy footsteps pounded down the hall. Hudson burst through the door, his face contorted with rage.

"What the hell is going on?" he demanded.

"She's stealing my grandmother's necklace," I said, still gripping Skyla's wrist.

Hudson's eyes narrowed dangerously. In one swift motion, he shoved me against the wall, his forearm pressing against my collarbone.

"Don't you dare touch her again," he snarled. "You're leaving. Now."