Eight Years as His Hidden Mistress

1 In the eight years my mother worked as a housekeeper for the Mercer family, I only stepped foot into their estate seven times. She always believed I hated their son, Gavin. Until the night she brought home a tote bag packed with high-end dinner leftovers. "How can a woman have so little self-respect?" my mother muttered, unpacking container after container. "The young master is getting engaged, and she's still clinging to him like a leech." She shook her head, letting out a heavy sigh. "I'll give her credit, though—she’s slippery. Mrs. Mercer has been digging for months and still hasn't figured out who she is. Mrs. Mercer said when she finally catches her, she wants to meet the girl's mother to see if the apple fell far from the tree." My mother kept talking, completely oblivious to how pale my face had turned. That exact night, in a private high-rise downtown, I told Gavin it was over. I sobbed until my throat was raw, while Gavin sat in total silence. When my cries finally faded into ragged breaths, he lit a cigarette, looked down at me, and laughed—a cold, dismissive sound that cut straight to the bone. "Break up?" he sneered, exhaling a plume of smoke. "Tess, did you actually think we were dating? Don't forget who you are. You're just the maid's daughter." He leaned in, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "We were just having fun. But listen to me carefully—if you walk out that door, I'll make sure everyone knows it was you who seduced me." An hour earlier, I was sitting on my battered motor scooter outside the gates of the Mercer estate, scrolling through my phone while waiting for my mother to finish her shift. Suddenly, a sharp, furious shriek echoed from inside the manor. "I will track down that shameless little tramp if it's the last thing I do!" I flinched, my eyes darting toward the main entrance. A moment later, my mother walked out, carrying heavy plastic bags that stretched her arms, the veins on the back of her hands bulging against the strain. The moment she spotted me, her tired face broke into a warm smile. "Honey, come grab these." I stepped off the scooter, took the bags from her, and arranged them carefully in the front basket before handing her a helmet. "Why were you running so late tonight?" She strapped on the helmet with a sigh. "Mr. Gavin came back for dinner with his fiancée tonight. The whole house was upside down catering to them." Boom. My mind went instantly, terrifyingly blank. Gavin... was getting married. I froze, the blood in my veins turning to ice. My mother, noticing my trance, patted my shoulder briskly. "What are you staring at? Let's go before it gets dark." "It's nothing," I mumbled. I twisted the throttle, and the scooter rumbled out of the gated neighborhood. The suffocating summer air rushed past us, mixing with the cold sweat prickling my forehead. Behind me, my mother's voice drifted over the engine roar, eager to share the high-society gossip. "It was a mess in there tonight," she called out. "Mr. Gavin and Miss Audrey were right in the middle of dinner when some woman called his personal cell. He didn't even care that his fiancée was sitting right across from him—he just got up and stepped outside to take it." She chuckled nervously. "Mrs. Mercer looked like she swallowed glass, but she had to keep her composure. We found out later that this girl has been harassing Mr. Gavin for years." My mother’s tone turned sharp with disdain. "Word is, she's just a nobody. No family name, no background. Can you imagine the delusion? Who does she think she is, trying to climb into a family like the Mercers?" "The young master is about to get engaged, and she's still trailing after him like a lost dog. Absolutely shameless," my mother sneered. "Mrs. Mercer was so furious she swore that when she finds out who the girl is, she's going to track down her parents and ask them how they raised such a disgraceful daughter." A wave of dizziness hit me. My fingers twitched uncontrollably on the handlebar. The scooter jerked violently, losing balance. The heavy tote bags tumbled out of the basket, crashing onto the asphalt with a sickening spill. Containers popped open, scattering delicate sea bass, butter-poached lobster, and expensive truffles across the dusty pavement. My mother gasped in horror. She scrambled off the bike, dropping to her knees to gather the ruined food, before whirling around to snap at me. "What is wrong with you?! Why would you brake like that?!" she yelled, her voice tight with anger. "Do you have any idea what this is? This was the leftover spread from the Mercer dinner! Top-tier food I had to beg the head chef for! Normal people like us could never afford this!" I crouched beside her, watching the dusted gourmet spread on the ground. A bitter sting burned behind my nose, and the dam inside me finally broke. "Mom, can you please stop bringing home their trash?" I choked out. "Just stop, please." "What do you know?!" Her voice spiked, filled with frustration and disappointment. "Do you know what level the Mercers are on? People work their whole lives and never touch food like this! If I had money, do you think I'd spend my days scrubbing another woman's floors?" She wiped a streak of dirt off a container, her voice softening into a familiar, painful lecture. "If you had any ambition, if you managed to marry someone with status, would I have to slave away like this?" There it was again. It was always about marrying into status. Always about finding a wealthy man to lift us out of the dirt. I squeezed my eyes shut, swallowing down the suffocating wave of shame and grief. Without another word, I dropped to my knees and helped her pick up the spilled containers. Once everything was repacked and she climbed back onto the passenger seat, I revved the engine again. We rode in silence. The grand wrought-iron gates and manicured lawns of the Mercer estate faded into the distance, replaced gradually by the cramped, concrete sprawl of our low-income apartment complex. The stark contrast was stripped bare right before my eyes. When we walked into our dim, narrow apartment, exhaustion washed over me. I wanted nothing more than to crawl into my bedroom and disappear. But as I stepped toward my room, my mother called out from the kitchen. "I'll make a couple more dishes with what we saved. Go out to the balcony and trim the veggies." I walked to the balcony, my thumb numbly snapping off the ends of greens. The warm night breeze carried the humid stench of the alley below. "Oh, by the way," my mother’s voice floated through the doorway. "Your Aunt Jenna called again today about that guy, Andrew. He asked about you again." She let out a sharp sigh. "Jenna says she’s embarrassed to keep bringing it up because you keep turning him down. I really don't get you, Tess. What kind of man are you looking for?" "A family like ours needs to stay grounded," she continued, her tone matter-of-fact. "Find a decent guy with a stable job, settle down, and live a quiet life." She paused, as if remembering her earlier gossip. "Just don't end up like those foolish girls who reach for things way above their station. Reaching for the stars when you're stuck in the mud only makes you a laughingstock." My fingers froze. A bright green leaf snapped clean between my nails. "Mom," I said quietly, my voice eerily still. "Tell Aunt Jenna... I'll meet him." 2 Late that night, I lay awake in the pitch-black bedroom. The moment I closed my eyes, an obnoxious car horn began blaring from the alley below. I glanced at my phone on the nightstand. It was completely powered off. It has nothing to do with me, I told myself, pulling the duvet over my head. But the horn was relentless, piercing through the quiet night like a weapon. Angry shouts erupted from neighboring windows. "Hey! Some of us have to work in the morning!" "Who park a luxury sports car in an alley at two in the morning?! Show some respect!" My heart hammered against my ribs. My mother suffered from severe insomnia and depended on heavy sleeping pills just to get a few hours of light rest. If this noise continued, she was going to wake up. I dragged myself out of bed, crept over to the window, and parted the blinds. Parked under the dim streetlamp was the sleek, recognizable silhouette of Gavin’s Aston Martin. I gritted my teeth, grabbed a jacket, and hurried downstairs. Gavin was leaning casually against the driver's door, a lit cigarette held loosely between his fingers. As I stepped into the shadows, his eyes locked onto mine instantly. He had known, with absolute certainty, that I would come down. A faint, mocking smile touched his lips. Furious, I pulled open the passenger door and slid inside without looking at him. He tossed the cigarette stub into a trash bin, got into the driver’s seat, and slammed his foot onto the gas pedal. The car roared to life, shooting out of the alley. Neither of us spoke a word. I knew why he was angry. I had turned off my phone. Gavin’s need for control was pathological; on normal days, if I took more than ten minutes to reply to a text, he would freeze me out for days. Shutting off my phone and cutting off contact for an entire night was a direct strike against his authority. So he had broken our unwritten rule—he had driven straight into my dilapidated neighborhood, using public humiliation to force me out into the light. The air inside the vehicle was suffocating. The speedometer climbed higher and higher, the engine whining as the wind whipped violently against the glass. Suddenly, a black sedan sped up alongside us, sharply cutting into our lane. The driver rolled down his window, yelling, "Hey kid! Think owning a high-end car gives you the right to own the road?!" Gavin didn't even blink. He slammed the accelerator all the way to the floor. The engine screamed. The two cars lunged forward into a reckless, terrifying race down the empty midnight highway. At first, I tried to stay numb. But as the speed needle hit terrifying numbers and Gavin swerved aggressively around curves, panic overtook me. "Stop it, Gavin! Please!" My voice broke into a terrified sob. "Gavin, stop!" He flicked a cold glance sideways at me. The faint smile was still plastered on his face, but it was hollow. I knew him too well. The angrier Gavin was, the calmer he looked. With a brutal twist of the steering wheel, he cut off the other driver, left them behind, and dived straight into the underground garage of a high-rise residential building. The car glided into a private spot and engine cut off. The rush of speed vanished, leaving me frozen in the seat, my back soaked in cold sweat. Silence swallowed the interior. Gavin leaned over, unbuckling my seatbelt. His dark eyes fixed on mine, heavy and unreadable. Seeing me sitting there frozen, his voice softened just a fraction. "Get out." Everything I had bottled up over the last twenty-four hours—the news of his engagement, the razor-sharp insults from my mother, the suffocating shame—erupted all at once. I buried my face in my hands and broke down, crying hysterically. Gavin’s frame went tense. He reached out, his thumb gently catching the tears spilling down my cheeks. "Don't cry," he murmured, his voice low and raspy. "I'm right here. What are you scared of?" The bitter absurdity of his words burned in my chest. What was I scared of? I couldn't speak. I couldn't explain the endless loop of shame and desperation strangling me. Gavin sighed softly, pulling me firmly against his chest. Overwhelmed by a sudden, violent surge of hatred, I bit down hard on his shoulder. I bit him with everything I had, pressing deeper until the copper taste of blood flooded my mouth. I snapped back to reality, my chest heaving. Oh god. Gavin never allowed me to cross the line. Before I could pull back, his hand clamped tightly around my jaw, forcing my head up. His eyes were dark, swirling with a dangerous, possessive heat. "Getting brave, aren't we?" he whispered coldly. Without giving me a chance to answer, he scooped me up into his arms. This apartment was our secret sanctuary—a luxury condo registered under his friend’s name specifically to keep it hidden from his mother’s private investigators. It was the place he kept me hidden away from the world. The second the front door clicked shut, all gentleness evaporated. Driven by the dark mood he had harbored all night, he pressed me up against the wall. The sheer intensity was overwhelming. Lost in tears and distress, I lifted my arm and brought my palm violently across his cheek. SMACK. The sharp sound echoed through the entryway. Gavin froze instantly. The darkness in his eyes flickered, and his movements subconsciously softened. This was the only time Gavin ever tolerated my defiance. When we were behind closed doors, he allowed me to scream, to hit, to cry out all my frustrations—as long as I remained his. I sobbed until I could barely breathe, my voice hoarse as I repeated the same words over and over: "I hate you, Gavin. I hate you so much." 3 He let out a low, vibrating chuckle against my neck. "Good. Hate me." "But your body isn't saying that at all." My lips trembled. The question I had suppressed a thousand times burned in my throat: What am I to you? In the end, I kept my mouth shut. When it was over, Gavin patiently cleaned me up with a warm towel. He pulled me against his bare chest, his arms wrapping gently around my waist. "Are you hungry?" he murmured, his voice soft against my hair. "I can have something delivered." Inside this hidden apartment, away from his title and his family's expectations, Gavin allowed himself to drop his arrogant armor. He treated me with a gentle affection that felt agonizingly real. My chest hurt. I turned around and wrapped my arms tightly around his neck. He didn't push me away; he just held me in the quiet darkness. Then, like a splash of ice water, the events of the afternoon invaded my mind. Mrs. Mercer's ruthless insults. My mother’s casual disdain for "that shameless girl." I stiffened, pushing him away with all the strength I had left. Gavin’s brows furrowed. Thinking I was just being moody, he exhaled patiently. "What do you want to eat? I'll call the kitchen at the club. Whatever you want." "Mango pudding? Strawberry cheesecake?" He paused, looking down at me. "I know how much you love sweets." That was how Gavin had always been. He ran a vast corporate enterprise and held absolute power, yet he remembered every single detail of my life—my minor quirks, my favorite foods. It was that exact attention that had kept me trapped for years, making it impossible to pull myself away. But that tenderness was a golden cage. It was cheap, and it was deadly. I swallowed the lump in my throat, refusing to answer. I turned my back on him and began putting my clothes on, completely ignoring his presence. "What is this supposed to mean?" Gavin’s patience snapped. He stepped forward, snatched the belt from my hands, and pinned my wrists behind my back, pressing me flat against the cool wall. His massive frame hovered over me, heavy and suffocating. He stared down into my eyes, his tone laced with irritation. "What are you throwing a tantrum for now?" he demanded. "Jealous? You should be used to how things work by now. Or are you just trying to pick a fight?" I stared back at the face I had loved and feared in equal measure, and forced out every syllable clearly: "Gavin, let's end this. We're done." The air in the room instantly turned to stone. The grip on my wrists tightened until it bruised. "What did you just say?" "Say it again." I stared into his dark, storm-filled eyes, my own filled with tears, and raised my voice: "I said we're done!" Gavin slowly loosened his grip. He looked down at me, his expression turning ice-cold. "Give me a reason." "You're getting engaged. You're getting married," I whispered, my voice shaking with raw exhaustion. A cruel, mocking smile slowly spread across his lips. "Because of that?" My heart shattered into a million sharp pieces. "What do you mean, 'because of that'?!" I screamed. "While you were sitting at dinner with your fiancée today, your mother was calling me trash! She told everyone I was shameless, that I was leeching off you to climb social ladders! And my own mother—my own mother joined in, laughing at how desperate I must be!" I choked back a sob, laying bare every ounce of humiliation I had suffered. Gavin just stood there, looking down at me like I was a tragic, ridiculous child. "You've been with me for eight years, Tess," he said softly, his voice chillingly calm. "And now you suddenly feel dirty?" "Who told you we were 'together'?" He stepped closer, leaning down until his lips almost brushed my ear. "Did you actually believe we were dating?" He let out a short, terrifying laugh. "Don't forget your place. You're just the maid's daughter." He straightened up, his eyes locking onto mine with ruthless finality. "If you dare step out of this room tonight, I will make sure the whole world knows. I'll tell everyone it was you who used every dirty trick in the book to seduce me." 4 I hailed a cab home in the dead of night. The yellow streetlights flickered against the passenger window, reflecting my red, swollen eyes. Tears fell quietly, soaking through the sleeves of my jacket. So that was all I was to Gavin Mercer. A scheming, low-class girl who had tricked her way into his bed. No one knew that this secret, humiliating affair had held me hostage for eight long years. It had all started back in high school. After my parents' messy divorce left us with nothing, my mother landed a job as a live-in housekeeper for the Mercer family. Using her employer's influence, she managed to get me transferred into the city's top private preparatory academy. She repeatedly drummed it into my head that I had to show utter devotion and gratitude to Mrs. Mercer. I remember standing awkwardly at the gates of the Mercer estate that first day, clutching a heavy paper bag filled with dried fruits my grandmother had packed from our rural hometown. Teenage Gavin was even colder and more arrogant than he was now. He had spared me a single, indifferent glance before walking straight past me into the house without a word. I didn't dare leave. I stood under the sweltering sun until Mrs. Mercer finally returned. When I nervously handed her the gift, she offered a polite, practiced smile and thanked me—but she never once reached out to take the bag. I stood there, paralyzed, not knowing whether to put it down or carry it away. Just then, Gavin came down the grand staircase. He glanced toward the foyer. "What's that?" With just those two words from her son, Mrs. Mercer’s posture changed instantly. She turned to me with a warm, maternal smile. "What a sweet girl. Why don't you wash some of those for Gavin?" I washed the fruit carefully and held the bowl out to him. Gavin looked at it, didn't take a piece, and stepped past me, his broad shoulder lightly brushing against mine. My heart hammered in my chest. After he left the room, Mrs. Mercer took my hand in hers, her voice dropping into an intimate, conspiratorial tone. "Tess, you're at the same school as Gavin now. I need to ask you a favor." She squeezed my hand tight. "Gavin is distant. He never opens up to us. I want you to keep an eye on him. If any girls try to get close to him—if he shows signs of teenage romance—you come tell me right away, okay?" She wanted me to spy on him. I hated the idea, but I knew I couldn't say no. Mrs. Mercer was our savior. Without her, my mother wouldn't have a job, and we wouldn't have a roof over our heads. So I nodded. From that day on, I reported Gavin’s every move to his mother. Until one afternoon, rumors spread that a girl had asked Gavin to meet her on the school roof. I snuck up the stairwell behind him. The rooftop was vast and completely empty. There was no girl. As I turned to leave, I saw Gavin standing by the door, his arms crossed over his chest, a dark, mocking smirk on his face. "I was wondering how my mother knew every single detail of my daily schedule," he whispered softly. "Turns out I have a little traitor living under my roof." My blood ran cold. I realized he had set a trap for me. Everyone at school knew Gavin Mercer had a terrifying temper. Trembling, I bowed my head. "I'm sorry. I was wrong." Before I could back away, he stepped forward, grabbed my wrists, and smashed his lips against mine. I froze, my eyes wide with horror. When he pulled back an inch, his smile was twisted and cruel. "Go tell my mother. Tell her I kissed you." I shoved at his chest, shaking uncontrollably. "Don't touch me! I'll tell Mrs. Mercer—I swear I will!" He didn't care. He stepped closer, backing me against the brick wall. "Go ahead," he sneered. "Let's see who believes the maid's daughter." That was the moment he broke me. My mother had just escaped an abusive marriage and finally found a stable job. It was her only source of dignity, our only lifeline. I couldn't gamble with her survival. From that afternoon on, Gavin owned me. He used that threat to push my boundaries again and again. What began on a quiet high school rooftop bled into my college years, and then into my post-grad life. Eight years. Eight years of being a dirty, hidden secret in the shadows. Whenever I went to the Mercer estate to pick up my mother, I deliberately avoided him. If we crossed paths in the hallway, I immediately lowered my head and took a detour, pretending to despise him. My mother genuinely believed I hated the wealthy, pristine young master. She often scolded me for being unreasonable, begging me not to harbor prejudice against our benefactor's son. I didn't hate him. I couldn't even bring myself to harbor anger. Gavin always believed I was dragged into his bed against my will. But the terrifying truth was... I had willingly surrendered. I knew the distance between heaven and earth separated us. I knew he was possessive, manipulative, and dangerous. But in my dark, impoverished youth, Gavin was the only brilliant moon hanging in my sky. He was right there, shining down on me—how could I stop myself from reaching up to touch the light? Eight years of delusion. Eight years of pathetic self-deception. It took today for me to finally wake up. To the moon I had spent eight years worshiping, I was nothing more than dirty, cheap, and conniving trash. I was finally, truly done.