After His Pregnant Mistress Destroyed Our Marriage Deal

I decided it was time to change the game. Paige had tried visibility at the Met Gala and failed. She'd tried confrontation in Dallas's office and failed. Now she was planning something new, something desperate. I needed to get ahead of it.

I spent the morning in my kitchen, preparing a homemade ginger broth. The recipe had been my grandmother's — good for morning sickness, she'd always said. I let it simmer while I reviewed the security reports from Paige's building. My sources had been thorough. I knew her schedule, her patterns, her weaknesses.

I arrived at her Midtown apartment at precisely 2:15 PM, when I knew she would be alone. The doorman let me up without question — the Ward name opened many doors. I knocked softly, the thermal container warm in my hands.

Paige opened the door, and for a moment, surprise registered on her face before she masked it with cool politeness. She was smaller than I remembered, or perhaps the pregnancy made her seem that way. Her apartment was modest but well-kept, with hints of Dallas's taste in the artwork and furniture.

"Mrs. Ward," she said, her voice carefully neutral. "This is unexpected."

"Athena, please," I replied, holding out the container. "I thought you might appreciate this. Homemade ginger broth. It helps with nausea, I'm told."

She took it, her fingers brushing mine. "How thoughtful. And how... strategic."

I smiled, the same smile I'd used at the Met Gala. "Just neighborly concern. We're all connected now, after all."

She invited me in, though I could see she didn't want to. We sat in her small living room, making stilted conversation. She was trying to read me, to understand what angle I was playing. I let her try.

"Dallas speaks highly of you," she said finally, her hand resting on her stomach. "He says you're very... capable."

"Does he?" I kept my tone light. "That's kind of him."

The door opened suddenly, and Dallas walked in. He stopped short when he saw us, his expression flickering between surprise and alarm.

"Athena? What are you doing here?" His voice was sharp, protective.

"Bringing Paige some broth," I said calmly. "A peace offering. We were just getting acquainted."

Paige's face changed instantly. She stood, moving toward Dallas with a vulnerability that seemed to appear from nowhere. "She's been very kind," she said, her voice soft. "I was just telling her how much you admire her capabilities."

Dallas's eyes narrowed slightly, but he nodded. "Athena is... efficient."

I stood, gathering my purse. "Well, I should go. The broth should help, Paige. Just heat it gently."

I moved toward the door, but as I passed Paige, she suddenly stumbled forward, throwing herself to the floor with a cry. Her hands clutched her stomach, her face contorted in what looked like pain.

"What are you doing?" Dallas shouted, rushing to her side. "Paige! Are you hurt? The baby—"

"She pushed me," Paige sobbed, looking up at him with tear-filled eyes. "I just wanted to thank her, and she pushed me. She said she wouldn't let me hurt the baby."

Dallas's face darkened with rage. He turned to me, and I saw something primal in his eyes — a protective fury that bypassed all reason. "What the hell did you do?"

I didn't raise my voice. I didn't defend myself. Instead, I reached for my phone and pulled up the security app. "The building has excellent cameras," I said quietly. "Let's see what happened."

I held up the phone, and we all watched the footage: Paige standing, Paige watching me approach the door, Paige deliberately throwing herself to the floor the moment Dallas's back was turned.

The silence was absolute.

Dallas stared at the screen, his face draining of color. He looked at Paige, still on the floor, then back at the phone. The truth was undeniable, captured in high definition.

Paige's sobs stopped abruptly. She sat up, her expression hardening. "You set me up," she hissed. "You knew I would—"

"I knew you would do exactly what you've been doing," I interrupted, my voice still calm. "Creating drama. Seeking attention. Making yourself the victim."

Dallas helped Paige to her feet, but his touch was mechanical, distant. He didn't meet her eyes. He didn't apologize to me. He simply walked to the door and held it open.

"I think you should go," he said quietly.

I walked out without another word, but I could feel the shift in the air. The crack in Dallas's perfect image of Paige was visible now, and it would only grow wider. In the elevator, I checked my phone. The footage had been automatically saved to my private cloud. Insurance, always.

Later that evening, as I reviewed Ward Enterprises' quarterly projections, my phone buzzed. A text from Renata: *Paige is telling everyone you're a cold-blooded manipulator. She's playing the victim again.*

I set the phone down without replying. Let her whisper. Let her try to erode my reputation with gossip and tears. She had no idea what was coming next.