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