His Million-Dollar Lies, Her Vengeful Rise

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cilia's words hung in the stale air, heavier than the mildew tha

My mind raced, trying to find a logical explanation, any explanation th

d, her voice small. "When he thinks I'm asleep. He says, 'I miss you, my love,' and 'Can't wait to see you and the kids.'" S

was a new, agonizing twist of the knife. And Cecilia, my perceptive, quiet Ce

ulled her into a tight embrace, burying my face in her hair, in

r small arms clinging to me. "You always look so tired. And Daddy alwa

d corrupted Cecilia's trust, forced her into his web of deceit. The shame, the guilt, burned through me. I had been so bl

protected you. I should have seen it." The words tore from my chest, raw and ragged. My body shook with

all hands. "It's okay, Mommy. You tried. You always try." Her wo

ound resolve. "We don't need him, Mommy, do we? Not if he has another fam

ged, clutching a tiny, almost imperceptible device. It

ainst my ribs. "What

corded him. When he was talking on the phone. Because...

ker crackled to life, filling the r

er? Gotta keep up appearances for my 'humble' life. The girl's asthma is just an excuse anywa

rs gets in the way of my luxury, Justin, you'll regret it. I w

l get in the way of us. My 'other life' is just a side inconvenience. Easily manag

silence that followed was dea

a raw, adult pain. "He said my asthma was an ex

o going back. No forgiveness. No second chances. This man, Justin Mitchell, was a viper, a monste

hat ignited every cell in my being. For my daughter. For her innocence h

rumble. I pulled Cecilia into a fierce hug. "Well, he's abou

his. Everything. I promise you, baby. You will never have to worry about fres

ermined look on her small

thless bulldog I knew from a high-profile case. I didn't want alimony. I didn't want his

onymous tips, enough to raise an eyebrow about Justin Mitchell's rapid ascent and questionable trading patterns. I hinted at

social media. Photos of her at charity galas, draped in diamonds. Pictures of h

will be graced by the presence of the esteemed actress, Ms. Fiona Wilson, who is generously sponsoring our new arts program for underprivileged childr

lia's school. It wasn't charity. It was a grotes

uquet of flowers. Fiona had her arm around Cecilia's shoulders, smiling dazzlingly for the camera. But Cecilia's face was pale, her shoulders hunch

ooked utterly humiliated. Her eyes, usually so bright

ashed over me. Fiona Wilson had crossed a line. Ju

noon, and I was going to crash it. I wasn't just going to speak to the princip

iza? You need to get here! It's Cecilia! She's having a severe asthma attack! And... and her inhaler

for justice anymore. This was my daughter. Fighting