His Mistress Broke My Marriage, So I Took His Empire

Noah woke up when the cab door slammed.

"Are we home?"

"We're home, bug."

I carried him up the elevator, his wet sneakers bumping my hip. Inside the apartment, I peeled off his soggy sweater and pulled a dry T-shirt over his head. He held his arms up like he was four again.

"I'm not hungry," he mumbled.

"Two bites of mac and cheese. Then you can be not hungry."

He ate.

"Mom, why do you have rain on your face still?"

I wiped my cheeks with the back of my wrist. "Because I forgot to dry it."

"You're silly."

"I am very silly."

By nine, he was tucked in, his fingers hooked into the sleeve of my sweater. I waited until his grip went slack. Then I sat on the couch in the dark and watched the front door.

...

It opened at 12:40.

Damian came in fast, tie already loose, keys tossed toward the bowl. They missed and hit the floor. He didn't pick them up.

"Elara? You're still up?" He crossed the room and bent to kiss me.

I turned my head. His mouth landed on my ear.

That was when I smelled it. Something sweet and heavy, Not mine. I wore nothing but soap.

I lifted my eyes to his collar. A faint smear of red sat right under the edge, the shade of a stoplight.

"How was the conference?" I asked.

"Brutal." He straightened and rubbed his neck. "Tokyo wouldn't budge on the terms. I'm sorry about the phone. I had it on silent the whole time. I didn't see your calls until we wrapped."

"I feel terrible." He pulled off his jacket. "Did Noah have fun? Did he ask about me?"

"He made you a name card."

Damian smiled. "Yeah? Where is it?"

"Under his folder. He hid it so I wouldn't feel bad."

His smile slipped a little. He headed for the kitchen and opened the fridge. "I'll talk to him tomorrow. Saturday, I promise—"

"Damian."

"Hmm?"

"Was the conference held in some woman's bed?"

The fridge door hung open. Cold light spilled across his face. For one second, he looked exactly like Noah does when he gets caught with a cookie. Eyes wide. Mouth half open.

Then the door swung shut.

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me."

"I heard you." He set a water bottle on the counter, hard. "I just can't believe you said it."

"There's lipstick on your collar."

He glanced down, then back up. Quick. Too quick. "That's from Marjorie in legal. She hugged everyone when we closed. She's sixty-two, Elara. You want to call her? I'll give you her number."

"And the perfume? Is that Marjorie's too?"

"I was in a room with fifteen people for six hours!" His voice climbed. "Do you have any idea what I do all day? What I carry? I come home at one in the morning, dead on my feet, and my wife is waiting in the dark like a detective?"

"I'm not waiting like a detective. I'm waiting like a wife."

"No." He jabbed a finger toward me. "A wife would ask if I ate. A wife would say, 'Hey, you look tired.' You're sitting here building some sick little story in your head, and you know what that is? That's humiliating. For me."

I almost laughed again. I bit the inside of my cheek until it stung.

"For you," I repeated.

"Yes, for me!"

"Mom?"

We both turned.

Noah stood in the hallway in his rocket pajamas, hair sticking up on one side. He squinted at the light. "Why is Dad yelling?"

I was across the room before Damian could move. I scooped Noah up and pressed his face into my shoulder.

"Dad's not yelling, baby," I said, my voice soft and low. "He's just tired."

"Did he get my card?"

Over Noah's head, I met Damian's gaze. His jaw worked. He said nothing.

"He's going to see it tomorrow," I said. "Come on. Back to bed."

I tucked Noah in again. He grabbed the hem of my sweater and twisted it around his fist.

"Stay," he whispered.

"I'm right here."

When I stepped back into the hall, Damian was standing outside the study with a pillow under his arm.

"I'm sleeping in here tonight," he said.

"Fine."

"Not because I did anything." He kept his voice down now, smooth again, the investor voice. "Because I'm not going to be accused in my own house while you work yourself into a fit. When you calm down, we can talk like adults."

"I'm calm, Damian."

"You're shaking."

I looked at my hands. He was right.

"Goodnight, Elara." He shut the study door. Then the lock clicked.

He'd locked it. Like *I* was the danger.

...

I didn't go to our bedroom.

I sat on the floor beside Noah's bed with my back against the wall. Every time I shifted, his fist tightened on my sweater, even in his sleep.

"I'm not going anywhere," I told him at three a.m.

I opened my phone and played the call log over in my head. Three calls. One answer. *Isn't this exactly how you like me?*

At five, I heard the study door unlock and the shower start.

I slipped Noah's fingers free, one at a time.

...

The garage under our building was silent and gray. Damian's black Audi sat in its spot. The spare key sat in my coat pocket. So did the camera, a black square no bigger than a button.

My hands were steady now.

I opened the driver's door and leaned in. Leather and that sweet, sugary perfume hit me all at once. I held my breath.

The camera tucked neatly behind the rearview mirror, its lens peeking past the little toll tag. I angled it toward the front seats. Checked the app. A grainy picture of the steering wheel blinked onto my screen.

Footsteps echoed somewhere above. I shut the door, locked it, and walked to the elevator without looking back.

Upstairs, Damian was in the kitchen, knotting a fresh tie.

"You're up early," he said.

"Couldn't sleep."

He sighed, like I'd proved his point. "Elara, about last night. Let's just put it behind us. Okay? I'll be home by seven."

"Okay."

He blinked. He'd expected a fight. "Okay?"

"Okay. Have a good day, Damian."

He studied me a moment longer. Then he kissed my forehead, grabbed his keys off the floor, and left.

...

I made Noah waffles. I walked him to school. I sat at my desk with the Harlow Street blueprints spread in front of me and didn't see a single line.

At 8:52, my phone buzzed.

*Motion detected.*

I opened the feed.

The Audi was parked somewhere, maybe a curb near his office. Damian sat behind the wheel. The passenger door opened, and a woman slid in. Dark coat.

He didn't say a word. He reached across the console, cupped the back of her neck, and pulled her to him. He dipped his head and kissed her slowly, like he'd done it a hundred times.

My coffee went cold in my hand.

The woman laughed against his mouth and finally pulled back. She lifted her face toward the mirror to fix her lipstick.

Right into the lens.

The cup slipped from my fingers and shattered on the floor.

I knew that face.

I'd hugged it at my wedding.