His Adopted Daughter Was His Mistress

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On my 29th birthday, Ethan White was once again called away by a single phone call from his adopted daughter, Lillian Lynn.

Furious, I posted on Ins with privacy settings so only he could see it---practically a marriage ultimatum.

Goal: Get married before I turn 30!

The next second, a provocative message from Lillian popped up.

A messy hotel bed, torn black stockings scattered among a pile of used condoms.

The attached video showed a man's silhouette showering behind frosted glass---a figure I'd recognize even with my eyes closed.

He finally couldn't resist. He'd slept with his own adopted daughter.

The moment my phone screen went dark, the world fell silent except for my heartbeat.

I stared at the mango cake on the table with a slice missing, and suddenly laughed.

He'd left in such a rush earlier that I didn't even get to tell him I was allergic to mangoes.

But in nearly ten years together, he could remember Lillian's lactose intolerance yet couldn't remember my mango allergy.

Was this my failure, or had he simply stopped loving me long ago?

Unwillingness grew wild like weeds in my chest.

I grabbed my car keys and rushed out the door.

I set the GPS for New York's most exclusive private club.

Ethan had mentioned this morning that a friend was returning to the country tonight, and he'd be there for a welcome dinner.

Outside the private room, the heavy glass door stood slightly ajar. Noise and the smell of smoke and alcohol drifted out.

Just as I was about to push the door open, a familiar voice made my hand freeze mid-air.

It was Ethan's best friend, Connor Zeller.

The man's voice carried the excitement of alcohol: "Ethan, you just left Natalie hanging to go comfort your adopted daughter. Aren't you afraid she'll blow up?"

Ethan's lazy voice responded with its usual carelessness:

"Natalie?"

He chuckled lightly before continuing: "She's sensible and knows her boundaries. She won't make a fuss over these trivial matters."

My heart plummeted straight down.

See, he understood me so well.

Understood my weaknesses, my tendency to give in.

"But Lillian is different!"

His tone suddenly turned serious, even carrying a hint of helpless indulgence.

"She's young and immature. If I don't indulge her a bit, she might really do something I'd regret for the rest of my life."

Connor clicked his tongue, his tone ambiguous and drawn out: "So... you indulged her all the way into bed? Took the girl's first time?"

As soon as the words fell, knowing laughter erupted from inside the room.

Ethan took a sip of his drink, speaking as if it were perfectly natural: "She attracts too much attention. So many eyes in our circle are on her."

"If some clueless guy took advantage of her, how could I face Mr. Lynn 's deathbed request?"

"Rather than let someone else deceive her, I might as well watch over her myself."

Making infidelity sound so refreshingly noble.

Connor lit a cigarette, laughing through the haze: "Holy shit! But aren't you afraid Natalie will find out? That she'll turn on you?"

"Her!"

Ethan snorted with laughter, his tone absolutely certain.

"She's almost thirty. Besides me, who else could she find?"

The air went quiet for a moment.

As if suddenly remembering something, he added casually: "Although Natalie's only been with me..."

"Whether I was her first, heh, that's really hard to say!"

"Bang--!"

Something exploded in my brain, leaving it completely blank.

Connor immediately caught on knowingly: "Right, right! That whole thing with Mr. Hughes back then!"

"Although Natalie insists nothing happened, a man and woman alone in a private room for that long, her clothes all torn up---who really knows?"

Someone else immediately chimed in with a snide remark: "Medical technology these days is so advanced, getting a hymen repaired is nothing."

"If you ask me, Ethan, you shouldn't have gotten together with her in the first place!"

Another voice carried fawning agreement, delivering the ultimate verdict:

"When it comes to women, you need someone like Lillian---grew up under your nose since she was fifteen, completely transparent."

"Home-grown is cleaner than those wild things with unknown backgrounds!"

Ethan finally spoke up to interrupt, his tone unreadable but carrying a trace of barely perceptible impatience:

"Enough, let's not talk about her anymore."

Outside the door, I felt like I'd fallen into an icy abyss.

I never imagined this was how Ethan saw me.

My memory violently dragged me back ten years to that chaotic night.

Kira Yarrow, who had always helped me, was working part-time at a club when she was cornered in a private room by Mr. Hughes and his group.

Over the phone, she was crying so hard she could barely breathe.

When I burst in, she was curled up in a corner, her dress already torn beyond recognition.

Mr. Hughes 's greasy hand was reaching toward her.

Without thinking, I grabbed an empty bottle from the table and smashed it over his lackey's head.

After a dull thud, the lackey went down.

Mr. Hughes slapped me across the face in return, the sting sharp and hot.

"Bitch dares to fight back?"

He grabbed my hair and dragged me across the floor. My scalp felt like it was splitting open.

But when fear reaches its peak, it somehow births courage.

I don't know where the strength came from, but I kicked him right in his groin.

The pain made him release me.

I lunged at him, my fists raining down like hail.

Mr. Hughes ended up sprawled on the ground groaning.

When Kira arrived with Ethan, they found me looking like a "shrew."

Disheveled clothes, messy hair, but having beaten a pig-like man into begging for mercy.

What was Ethan's expression then?

Confused, shocked, then his lips slowly curved up, his eyes shining remarkably bright.

On the way to the police station for our statements, he drove with his mouth constantly turned up.

"Hey, you're Natalie Yates, right?"

"You look like a little white rabbit, but how can you be so fierce when you fight?"

"Which school do you go to? Can I get your contact info?"

I was so tired my eyelids were fighting each other, and I snapped back irritably: "You want a beating too?"

He didn't get angry. Instead, he laughed softly.

At the police station, the old officer looked at me, his brow furrowed tight.

"Young lady, you've got some guts! Going in there alone?"

"Two grown men on the other side---weren't you afraid of getting killed?"

I forced a smile, my face aching terribly:

"I'm an orphan with no parents. My life's worthless."

"If it weren't for Kira, I don't know how many times I would've died already."

"Anyone who touches her, I'll fight to the death."

As my words fell, the young officer taking notes paused his pen.

The old officer sighed and said nothing more.

Beside me, Ethan, who had been silent, suddenly looked at me.

The playfulness and interest in his eyes instantly faded.

Replaced by a complex emotion.

I didn't understand it then.

Only later did I realize---it was called heartache.

Outside the police station, the late-night wind carried a chill.

I shivered.

Kira had been taken to the hospital first by Ethan's friend. On the empty street, only Ethan and I remained.

He suddenly reached out and pulled me into a corner against the wall.

"Natalie Yates." He lowered his head, his breath mixed with a faint tobacco scent brushing my bangs.

"Be with me."

I looked up at him, my face expressionless.

I'd seen too many of these games rich people played on a whim.

Seeing my silence, he leaned in closer, his tone alluring: "I have money and power. I can walk sideways in New York."

"Be with me, and no one will dare touch you again---not you, not Kira."

"Maybe---" he paused, his gaze deep, "I can even give you a home."

A home.

Those words were like a tiny needle, gently piercing the softest part of my heart.

I looked at his face drawing nearer and didn't pull back.

Instead, I stood on tiptoe and moved toward him first.

Our breaths mingled. He clearly hadn't expected me to do this, his body stiffening slightly.

My lips nearly touched his ear as I spoke, my voice soft but every word clear: "Does Mr. White have money to burn?"

"Then how about helping me win the lawsuit against Mr. Hughes first."

"Honestly, the little money I make from part-time work is barely enough to keep me alive!"

The air went quiet for a long moment.

Ethan stared at me, then suddenly smiled.

Not the playful smile from the car earlier, but one tinged with the excitement of being challenged.

One hand still braced against the wall, his other suddenly slipped into my pants pocket.

The movement was so fast I couldn't react.

His fingertips brushed against my thigh through the thin fabric, sending an unfamiliar shiver through me.

He pulled out my old phone with its cracked screen and smoothly entered a string of numbers.

"The lawyer will contact you tomorrow!"

He released me and walked toward his flashy sports car, waving without turning back.

"Keep up, little rabbit. Let's get you patched up."

The night wind lifted the hem of his clothes. It all felt like yesterday.

The memories receded like a tide.

The air conditioning in the hallway cut across my face like a knife.

Ten years.

He had lured me with the promise of "home," worn down my claws with his protection.

And in the end, joined others in mocking my background, questioning my "purity."

I braced myself against the cold wall and slowly stood upright.

Taking one last glance at the man chatting and laughing at the head of the table, I tossed the diamond ring on my hand into the trash without hesitation.

Ethan White, you let go first.

The sound of the ring falling into the trash was swallowed by the noise from the private room.

I turned and left, my steps unsteady.

Driving home, my vision was badly blurred.

Ten years could really be such a joke.

Suddenly, a child rushed out from the roadside.

I jerked the steering wheel and slammed the brakes.

The car spun out of control and crashed into a black Maybach in the adjacent lane.

"Bang--"

After the loud crash, the world went quiet for a second.

My forehead hit the steering wheel with a dull pain.

I wiped my face---it was wet. I couldn't tell if it was tears or sweat.

Pushing the door open, my legs were so weak I nearly collapsed.

I struggled toward the frightened, crying boy.

"Baby, don't be scared." I crouched down, trying to keep my voice steady, wanting to check if he was hurt.

My fingers hadn't even touched the child's clothes.

A dark figure rushed over!

The burly man with a vicious look didn't ask any questions before raising his foot to kick me!

The kick was hard and brutal. I had no time to dodge.

A cry of pain caught in my throat as I fell backward uncontrollably, my elbows and knees slamming hard against the rough concrete.

Searing pain instantly shot through my entire body.

The man wasn't done. He pointed at me, cursing with spit flying.

"Think you're hot shit driving a car?"

"Pay up! My son's traumatized! A hundred thousand or you're not leaving today!"

He raised his foot as if to hit me again.

A figure blocked my path, grabbing the man's wrist and flinging him backward.

"This is a society of laws. Attacking someone in the street---do you want to go to jail?" The cold voice carried undeniable authority.

It was the Maybach's owner.

The man helped me up. His gaze fell on my pale face and the blood at the corner of my mouth, his brow furrowing almost imperceptibly.

"Are you alright?"

Using his support to steady myself and trying to calm my breathing, I looked at his car.

"I'm sorry, it's entirely my fault. I'll compensate for your vehicle damages."

The fat man, seeing this, rolled his eyes and immediately changed targets.

"Think you're something 'cause you drive a Maybach! She hit my son---she owes me too! A hundred thousand! Not a penny less!"

I took a deep breath, suppressing the metallic taste in my throat.

I raised my hand and tucked my disheveled hair behind my ear.

When I looked up again, my gaze had turned cold.

"What I owe, I'll pay. Not a penny less." My voice wasn't loud, but every word was clear.

"But that kick you just gave me constitutes intentional assault!"

I pulled out my phone and dialed 911 directly.

The screen lit up.

The man's face changed instantly. He suddenly shoved through the onlookers, abandoned the child, and bolted.

The world finally went quiet.

Fighting the increasingly obvious sinking sensation in my abdomen, I walked over to the still-sobbing boy.

"Don't be afraid, I'll take you to the hospital." I reached out to wipe away his tears.

My fingertip had just touched his cold little face when everything went black.

The last thing I felt was my body falling forward beyond my control.

I woke up to the smell of disinfectant.

My lower abdomen throbbed with a clear, dragging pain.

"Miss, you had a miscarriage." The nurse's words were calm, like she was commenting on the weather.

I blinked at the white ceiling.

Strange---it wasn't the earth-shattering devastation I'd imagined.

Maybe I'd been hurt too much and gone numb.

Or maybe that man's kick had also destroyed my last pathetic hope for Ethan White.

The hospital room door was gently pushed open.

It was the Maybach's owner.

The man held my examination report, his brow tightly furrowed.

"You're awake?" His voice was low, carrying a trace of barely perceptible remorse. "How do you feel?"

"Thank you!" My voice came out hoarse and dry.

He poured a glass of warm water and handed it to me.

The gesture was gentlemanly, maintaining just the right distance.

"The police came by to say that child was abducted from a mall this afternoon. They thanked you for inadvertently helping them out."

I pulled at the corner of my mouth without speaking.

"That man wasn't caught." He paused, looking at me.

"Do you... need to contact family?"

Family?

Ethan?

Tell him he might have once had a child, but not anymore?

I closed my eyes and shook my head.

"No need."

Silence spread through the hospital room.

The pain in my lower abdomen came in waves, like a dull knife twisting inside.

But worse than the physical pain was the enormous hole in my heart.

That little life I hadn't even had time to anticipate before losing.

Finally, when I was at my most wretched and desperate, the only thing that truly belonged to me.

Also gone.

"I've already paid the medical expenses." The man's voice sounded again, carrying an non-negotiable tone. "You need to rest."

I opened my eyes and looked at him.

There was no pity in his eyes, only a sense of responsibility based on principle.

"That's not necessary." I refused decisively. "I'll take responsibility for what I should bear. The medical expenses and car damages---I'll settle everything once I'm discharged."

He looked at me, didn't insist further, and only left a business card.

The door closed gently.

I was alone in the hospital room again.

Dawn was breaking outside the window.

Enduring the pain, I slowly sat up. I reached for my phone on the bedside table. The screen was still cracked but still functional.

I opened Ethan's chat interface.

The last message stopped at his text: "Family dinner tonight, don't be late."

I stared at those words for a long time.

Then my finger moved.

Block, delete, all in one fluid motion.