After My Husband Chose His Mistress Over My Dying Mother

The rain hammered against the floor-to-ceiling windows of Cole Tower, each drop a tiny fist pounding the glass. I stood in the marble-floored lobby, watching Jason emerge from the private elevator with her.

Maren Green.

Even from across the cavernous space, the resemblance stole my breath. She looked exactly like the woman in the silver-framed photograph that Jason kept locked in his desk drawer—the one he thought I didn't know about. Indie Green. His first love. His dead love.

Except Indie was dead, and this woman was very much alive.

Maren's laugh carried across the lobby, light and musical, and I watched my husband's face transform into something I hadn't seen in the three years of our marriage. Wonder. The kind of unguarded joy that made my chest tighten with a feeling I refused to name.

I pressed my lips together, hard, and walked toward them.

"Jason."

He turned, and just like that, the warmth drained from his expression. His jaw clenched—that familiar tell when I'd interrupted something he deemed important.

"Savannah." My name came out flat. "This is Maren Green. Indie's twin sister. She's just returned from London."

Maren extended a delicate hand, her smile sweet enough to rot teeth. "You must be the wife. Jason's told me so much about you."

I seriously doubted that. I shook her hand anyway, feeling the coldness of her fingers even through her practiced warmth. Up close, the resemblance to the photos was uncanny, but something was different. Indie's eyes in those pictures had held light. Maren's glittered with something else entirely.

"Welcome back to New York," I managed.

"I've asked Maren to join Cole Enterprises," Jason said, already turning away from me, back to her. "She has an MBA from Oxford and extensive experience in corporate finance. She'll be taking over our financial operations."

The marble floor seemed to tilt beneath my feet. "Financial operations? Jason, that's—"

"Effective immediately, your household allowances will be suspended." His voice could have frozen the rain outside. "All financial requests go through Maren now."

I stared at him, waiting for the punchline that never came. "You're serious."

"Completely." He narrowed his eyes, and I saw it—that familiar suspicion that had poisoned our marriage from the beginning. "My mother was right about you, wasn't she? You married me to get access to Cole money. To spy on the company for her."

The accusation hit like a slap. We'd had this argument before, behind closed doors, but never in front of a stranger. Never with such cold finality.

"That's not—" My voice cracked. I swallowed hard, fighting the tremor in my hands. "Jason, I love you. I've never—"

"Love." He laughed, bitter and sharp. "Right. We'll see how long that lasts without the credit cards, won't we?"

Maren tilted her head, mock sympathy dripping from her features. "Oh, this is awkward. Should I give you two a moment?"

"No need," Jason said. "Savannah was just leaving."

I wanted to scream. To grab him by his thousand-dollar suit and shake him until he saw me—really saw me, not the corporate spy phantom his paranoid mother had planted in his head. Instead, I did what I'd learned to do in this marriage: I swallowed the pain and held my head high.

"Fine," I whispered.

I made it to the elevator before my phone rang.

The hospital's number flashed on the screen, and my stomach dropped. Mom. I'd been supposed to meet her for lunch today, but Jason had insisted I come to the office instead.

"Ms. Spencer?" The nurse's voice was professionally gentle, which somehow made it worse. "Your mother has been in an accident. A hit-and-run. You need to come immediately."

The phone nearly slipped from my shaking hands. "How bad?"

"Critical. The doctor will explain when you arrive, but—" A pause, heavy with meaning. "She needs surgery. Emergency surgery. The costs—"

"I'll handle it," I said, my voice steadier than I felt. "I'm coming now."

I spun on my heel and ran back through the lobby, my heels clicking frantically against the marble. Jason's office. Twentieth floor. I stabbed the elevator button repeatedly, my heart hammering against my ribs.

Please. Please let him help. Whatever he thinks of me, he can't refuse this.

The elevator crawled upward, each floor an eternity. When the doors finally opened, I burst into Jason's office without knocking.

He looked up from his desk, irritation flashing across his face. "Savannah, I'm busy—"

"My mother." I pressed my lips together, fighting the tears that burned behind my eyes. My hands wouldn't stop shaking. "She's been hit by a car. She needs surgery now, Jason. Please. I need—"

"Money." He leaned back in his leather chair, his expression carved from ice. "Of course you do. What a convenient emergency."

"This isn't—Jason, she's dying—"

"Enough." He held up one hand, dismissing my mother's life with a casual gesture. "I told you. All financial requests go through Maren now. Take it up with her."

He returned to his paperwork as if I'd already left.

I found Maren in the executive suite down the hall, settling into an office that had been empty yesterday. She looked up as I entered, and I watched her register my tear-streaked face with something like pleasure.

"Savannah! What a surprise." Her voice carried that singsong quality, like she was talking to a child. She traced her fingers along the edge of her new mahogany desk. "How can I help you?"

I forced the words out, each one scraping my throat raw. "My mother needs emergency surgery. I need access to funds. Please."

Maren's smile widened. She opened a drawer, pulled out a single bill, and tossed it across the desk. It fluttered to the floor at my feet.

One hundred dollars.

"There," she said sweetly. "That should be more than enough for whatever little problem you have."

I stared at the bill on the carpet, then at the woman who'd thrown it there, and understood with perfect clarity: this was no accident. This was war.

And I was losing.