Dying for Revenge While His Mistress Played Mother

I woke to the sound of laughter filtering through the penthouse walls. My arm throbbed beneath the bandages I'd applied myself after returning from the emergency room alone at three in the morning. Twelve stitches and a tetanus shot, with only a tired nurse for company. I hadn't bothered telling anyone where I'd gone after leaving the gala. No one had asked.

Pushing myself up from the bed, I winced as the movement pulled at the wound. The clock read 10:37 AM. I'd managed barely four hours of sleep, but the voices in the living room were too insistent to ignore. Wrapping myself in a silk robe that covered the bandages, I followed the sound.

I froze in the doorway. Nathan sat on the sofa with Charlotte perched beside him, her hand resting possessively on his knee. Eleanor stood nearby, nodding approvingly at whatever had been said before I arrived. All three turned to look at me, their expressions ranging from indifference to barely concealed irritation at my interruption.

"There she is," Eleanor said, her voice carrying the same warmth as a January wind off the Hudson. "We were just discussing last night's... unfortunate incident."

Nathan cleared his throat, then reached into his pocket and pulled out a small velvet box. My heart stuttered foolishly before I realized he wasn't looking at me. He was looking at Charlotte.

"For your incredible bravery last night," he said, opening the box to reveal a pair of diamond earrings that caught the morning light. "The way you pulled me away from that maniac..."

Charlotte's eyes widened in feigned modesty as she accepted the gift. "I just reacted, darling. I couldn't bear the thought of you being hurt."

I stood paralyzed, the pain in my arm suddenly dull compared to the sharp disbelief slicing through me. She hadn't pulled him away. She'd abandoned him. I had the stitches to prove it.

"How fortunate we all are that Charlotte was there," Eleanor added, her gaze sliding dismissively over me. "Such quick thinking."

I opened my mouth, then closed it. What was the point? It would be my word against Charlotte's, and I already knew whose version Nathan would believe.

"I need to check on something," I murmured, turning away before any of them could see the truth in my eyes.

Instead of returning to my room, I took the service elevator down to the hotel's laundry facilities. The head of housekeeping recognized me from previous visits and nodded at my approach.

"Mrs. Sterling. What can I do for you today?"

"The lost and found," I said quietly. "I believe something of mine was turned in last night."

She led me to a back room where items were catalogued and stored. There, hanging on a rack, was my blood-soaked gown, carefully bagged and tagged. The slash across the sleeve was visible even through the plastic.

"Terrible shame about such a beautiful dress," the woman said, handing it to me. "Security mentioned there was an incident."

I nodded, clutching the evidence of my sacrifice. "Yes. An incident."

As I carried the ruined dress back to my room, I heard Charlotte's laughter echoing through the penthouse again, followed by the sound of Nathan's voice, warm and affectionate in a way he had never spoken to me.

I tucked the dress deep in my closet. One day, perhaps, it would serve as evidence of a different kind.

* * *

The Hampton estate kitchen was freezing at three in the morning. I'd been working since midnight, preparing the elaborate Thanksgiving feast Eleanor had demanded. Ten courses for sixteen guests, each dish more complicated than the last. I'd offered to hire a catering team, but Eleanor had insisted this was my responsibility as a Sterling wife.

"Charlotte doesn't cook," she'd said with a dismissive wave. "But she brings other qualities to the table. You, however, need to demonstrate your... usefulness."

My hands trembled as I checked the turkey, the heat from the oven providing momentary relief from the chill. Someone had turned the kitchen heat off—accidentally, I was sure they would claim if I mentioned it. I'd found a thin cardigan in the pantry closet, abandoned by some staff member, but it did little against the November cold that seemed to have seeped into my bones.

The persistent cough that had been bothering me for weeks grew worse in the cold air. I covered my mouth, trying to muffle the sound. The last thing I needed was for anyone to hear and suggest I was contaminating the food.

By dawn, everything was nearly ready. The turkey was roasting to golden perfection. Homemade cranberry sauce cooled in crystal dishes. Pies lined the counter, their crusts flaky and golden. I'd followed Eleanor's instructions to the letter, down to the specific china patterns for each course.

My reflection in the polished silver serving trays showed a woman I barely recognized—pale, with dark circles under her eyes and a sheen of sweat despite the cold. A fever, probably. I pressed a cool cloth to my forehead and forced myself to continue.

By the time the guests began arriving at two o'clock, I had changed into the conservative navy dress Eleanor had selected for me and arranged myself at the dining table with a smile that took every ounce of my remaining energy to maintain.

Nathan barely glanced at me as he led Charlotte to the seat of honor at his right hand. She wore a stunning red dress that clung to every curve, her diamond earrings—my diamonds, technically—catching the light with every tilt of her head.

Eleanor beamed at the assembled guests. "Before we begin this wonderful meal that Isabella has prepared for us, I'd like to propose a toast to family... and those who feel like family." Her eyes lingered meaningfully on Charlotte.

The meal progressed through its carefully orchestrated courses. With each dish that was served and praised, I felt myself fading further into the background, becoming as invisible as the staff who silently cleared plates and refilled glasses.

When the main course was about to be served, Charlotte suddenly wrinkled her nose.

"Actually," she announced, loud enough for the entire table to hear, "I'm not really in the mood for turkey. Nathan, darling, don't we have that wonderful deli platter from Zabar's in the refrigerator?"

Nathan immediately signaled to the staff. "Bring that out instead."

"But the turkey—" I began, thinking of the hours I'd spent basting and monitoring it to perfection.

"I'm sure it's fine," Eleanor cut in, "but if Charlotte prefers something else, we should accommodate her."

I watched in silence as the turkey I'd labored over was replaced with a store-bought deli platter. Charlotte caught my eye across the table and smiled, a small, victorious curve of her lips.

"This is so much better," she declared, selecting a slice of prosciutto. "Sometimes simpler is best, don't you think, Isabella?"

I nodded mechanically, fighting back another cough that threatened to escape. My head pounded and the room seemed to tilt slightly. I gripped the edge of the table to steady myself.

"Are you quite all right?" Eleanor asked, her concern performative for the guests.

"Perfectly fine," I managed. "Just a little tired from the preparations."

"Poor thing," Charlotte said with mock sympathy. "Maybe you're coming down with something. You should probably keep your distance from everyone. We wouldn't want the guests getting sick during the holidays."

I excused myself shortly after, retreating to my room where I collapsed onto the bed, still in my dress. The fever burned through me as I drifted in and out of consciousness, dreaming of my parents and blood on hardwood floors and a revenge that seemed increasingly impossible to achieve.

* * *

The annual Christmas charity ball at The Metropolitan Museum of Art was the crown jewel of the Sterling family's social calendar. I stood at the entrance to the Temple of Dendur, where the event was being held, greeting guests in the white silk gown Eleanor had specifically selected—"to show we're a united family front," she'd explained.

The irony wasn't lost on me. White for purity, for a fresh start, for a happy marriage. White that would show every stain, every imperfection.

Charlotte had chosen red again—a backless Valentino that made her look like a flame among the crowd. Nathan couldn't keep his eyes off her, his hand constantly finding the bare skin of her lower back, his lips frequently brushing her ear to whisper something that made her laugh.

"Isabella," Eleanor approached with a glass of red wine in each hand. "You're neglecting the Abbotts. They've donated over a million to Sterling Foundation this year."

"I was just about to—"

Her movement seemed to happen in slow motion. Eleanor stumbled slightly—a perfectly calculated stumble—and both glasses of wine spilled down the front of my white dress, the red liquid blooming like blood across the expensive silk.

Gasps echoed around us. Conversations halted. All eyes turned to the spectacle.

"Oh my!" Eleanor's hand flew to her mouth in a gesture of shock that didn't reach her eyes. "How terribly clumsy of me. You should go change immediately."

She leaned closer, her voice dropping so only I could hear. "Perhaps stick to black next time, dear. Much more... forgiving."

I stood frozen as the wine seeped deeper into the fabric, the cold wetness against my skin a stark contrast to the heat of humiliation burning my cheeks. Across the room, I caught Nathan watching, Charlotte whispering in his ear, both of them making no move to help.

"Excuse me," I finally managed, turning toward the restrooms with as much dignity as I could muster.

Fortunately, I'd learned from previous "accidents" to bring a backup outfit. In the restroom, I changed into a simple black dress I'd hidden in my clutch—nowhere near as formal as the ruined gown, but adequate enough to avoid further embarrassment.

When I returned to the gala thirty minutes later, the crowd had shifted, forming a circle around the center of the room. Curious, I moved closer, only to stop short at what I saw.

Nathan and Charlotte were slow-dancing beneath the chandeliers, her red dress swirling around them, his face buried in her neck. The orchestra played something soft and romantic, and guests watched with approving smiles. Someone was filming with their phone—Ethan Vance, I realized—and he purposefully panned from the dancing couple to me standing alone at the edge of the crowd.

"For posterity," he mouthed with a smirk, making sure I understood that my humiliation would be preserved and shared.

I stood there, a black shadow at the edges of a glittering celebration, watching as Charlotte lifted her face to Nathan's. Their kiss, passionate and public, drew appreciative murmurs from the crowd. Eleanor stood nearby, beaming with approval.

In that moment, something shifted inside me. The pain was still there—pain I hadn't expected to feel, that had nothing to do with my mission and everything to do with the heart I'd promised Nathan was safe from him. But beneath it, my resolve hardened like steel being tempered in fire.

Let them have their dance. Let them think they've won. My time would come, and when it did, no amount of diamond earrings or public displays would save them from the truth I carried.

As I turned away from the spectacle, a sharp pain shot through my chest, forcing me to grab the nearest column for support. I pressed my hand against my sternum, willing the discomfort to pass before anyone noticed. These episodes were coming more frequently now, a reminder that my timeline wasn't just about patience and planning—it was about survival.

How much longer did I have? Enough to see this through?

I straightened my shoulders and moved toward the exit, unseen and unnoticed by the revelers. Behind me, Charlotte's laughter rang out, echoing off the ancient stone walls like a challenge.

A challenge I fully intended to answer.