My Husband's Mistress Hired Me

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f Julian strapping on his shoulder holster. The sound cut sharply thro

his heavy boots retreating from the room. A beat of

o note on the marble counter, no coffee brewing, and no sign of breakfast. By the codes of our

ors. My fingers moved across the keyboard, and I

come?"

ies, imported fruits, and a gleaming silver pot of coffee. The food had been de

t's hot," th

bered when he used to leave me similar notes during our early years, back when the turf wars w

message thread with my husband. There was a

rni

my chest, a physical weight so heavy I

rain. The thick liquid gurgled as it disappeared. I turned on the disposal. The grinding sound was loud in the silence. I leaned over the sink, my forehead resting on th

n. I left the penthouse and drove to the Family's legiti

ached precision. The door was slightly ajar. I overheard a

his time with that bartender," the girl

in my throat, but it was too tight to escape. Instead, I mocked my own

channel. It was a screenshot of Julian's private, burner Instagram account-a thing I had

ead: "Smoothe

messages to Julian from last night ab

the chat. "He said, 'I will nev

left completely alone in our old apartment during the rival syndicate attacks. I remembered holding a loa

keys with hard, precise taps. "Tell him you need him

ffice was agonizing before Elena for

u want me to w

remembered the time Julian had locked me out of his office during a crisi

ena forwarded a barrage of frant

ht your food. I brought your m

rveillance video from the camera

cked

standing in the pouring rain outside a cheap apartment door. In his arms, he clutched a pap

d looked at the text I

ome for the Famil

sk, right next to the video of my husband groveling i

n that fractured moment, I was no lo

. My face felt like a mask of stone. "This is

e encrypted chat logs. I saved the surveillance screenshots and downloaded the of

d it into my pocket. I stood up. I slowly u

ooked up at me with red-rimmed eyes. "It gets better," I told her, my voice f

to the sile

stove from last night-now empty, scrubbed clean. I looked at the pale, sickly layer of grease congealing on the surface of his abandoned meal.

and placed it in the sink, next to the pot. I would not wash