She Swore Never To Be The Other Woman But He Made Her One Anyway Chapter 02

She Swore Never To Be The Other Woman But He Made Her One Anyway Chapter 02

I thought I wouldn’t follow in my mother’s footsteps.

But the cycle of fate had tied me and Silas together.

The man my mother followed—everyone in those circles called him Teddy.

A true heir of the Manhattan elites. While some families were wealthy for three generations, his had been a titan for five.

His mother lived modestly, choosing an apartment over a villa, and was neighbors with my grandmother. That’s how he and my mother met as kids.

From a high school romance to a high-society marriage, Teddy married the Princess of the Ivy League elites, but he didn’t let my mother go.

He bought her a house, sent monthly checks, and visited during the holidays.

My mother stayed in that house, waiting for twenty years.

Waiting for a dinner, waiting for a call, waiting for him to get drunk and say, “I’ll get a divorce.”

Until her very last day, lying in a hospital bed, she was still clutching her phone.

Her lock screen was a photo of Teddy at twenty, wearing a white shirt, smiling by The Serpentine Pond at Sterling College.

She told me:

“Cassie, don’t be like me.”

“But don’t hate him, either.”

“He had his own difficulties.”

I was nine years old then.

I didn’t understand “difficulties.”

I only knew this cruel man who was clearly my father but wouldn’t acknowledge me.

I only knew that at school, no one wanted to sit with me. They called me the mistress’s daughter.

On the way home, boys would throw stones at me, shouting, “Mistress! Mistress!”

I ran home, covered in mud, and asked my mother, “Mom, what’s a mistress?”

She didn’t say anything; she just held me and cried.

From then on, I swore I would never repeat her mistakes.

I studied desperately and got into a university in New Veridian, staying far away from that elite circle.

I thought as long as I remained clear-headed and careful, I wouldn’t end up on that path.

Then I met Silas.

The day I met Silas, I was working part-time at a high-end bar.

As I was serving drinks, a man stopped me.

He’d had too much to drink, grabbing my wrist and refusing to let go. He said my mother was a mistress and whispered in my ear, telling me to be his lover—offering a million a month with all expenses paid.

I couldn’t break free. The tray fell, and glasses shattered everywhere.

The manager stood by, too afraid to move.

He couldn’t afford to offend people at that table.

Then someone walked over, grabbed the man’s wrist, and twisted it slightly.

The man yelped and let go.

The newcomer looked down at me. “Are you okay?”

I looked up.

He wore a dark grey shirt, sleeves rolled up to his forearms.

His features were striking—so perfect they almost looked like a digital illustration.

I said I was fine.

Silas nodded and turned to leave.

I found out later that the man who stopped me was his childhood friend. By helping me, Silas had embarrassed him.

The friend came looking for trouble the next day, bringing a group to corner me outside my apartment.

I had just finished my shift. Seeing them smoking by the entrance, my legs went weak.

Then a Matte Black Escalade pulled up.

He got out, walked over, and stood in front of me.

“Jaxson Wilde, that’s enough.”

The one named Jaxson stood up, looked at him, then at me, and grinned. “Silas, what is this girl to you?”

“None of your business.”

“Fine, fine. She’s yours.”

Jaxson and his crew left.

I stood behind him, frozen for a long time.

He looked back. “What are you staring at? Go upstairs.”

I followed him up.

It was an old building with no elevator—six floors. He walked ahead of me without looking back once.

It wasn’t until we reached the door that I noticed a bruise on the back of his hand.

From when he grabbed Jaxson’s wrist.

“Your hand?”

“It’s fine.”

He glanced at it, then suddenly asked, “You live alone?”

“Yes.”

“From now on, call me after your shift. I’ll have someone pick you up.”

I was taken aback. “No need.”

He didn’t wait for a response before turning to head downstairs.

At the corner of the stairs, he stopped and said without turning around:

“My name is Silas Sterling.”

“Save it.”

He started coming over often after that.

He didn’t really do anything; he’d just sit on my small sofa, watching me cook, mop, or read.

After a while, he would look at me with a very deep gaze.

A long time passed before he said:

“Cassie, why don’t you actually be my girlfriend?”