The Mistress, The Baby, And The CEO's Wife

I flew from Texas to Boston, a bouquet of yellow roses beside me, ready to surprise Chloe for our fifth anniversary.

I imagined her delight, the simple life waiting for us back home.

But when I used her spare key and found her in that sterile city apartment, the surprise was all mine.

Chloe was heavily pregnant.

The roses fell as she confessed: our five years of shared sadness over infertility was a lie.

This baby wasn't ours; it was for her ex, Julian, who allegedly had a terminal illness.

Then Julian himself walked in, casually possessive, and Chloe defended him, shooing me out of what I thought was our home.

My heart didn't just break; it evaporated.

A "noble sacrifice"?

It felt like a sick joke, a cheap trick to excuse an unthinkable betrayal.

Why was he really here, and why did her story about his illness sound so rehearsed?

Something snapped.

Instead of walking away, I opened my laptop.

"Julian Croft Boston."

What I found-that he was already married to a powerful heiress, Scarlett Ashworth-Croft-ignited a cold fury.

I sent his wife an email.

Now, I had a plan.