I Asked For Divorce When His Mistress Returned

“Ah!” Victor Williams yelped, clutching his head and jabbing a finger at me. “You crazy bitch...”

“Watch your mouth,” I snapped, snatching a shard of glass off the table and pressing it to his throat. “You owe money, and you’re still acting all high and mighty? Let me make one thing clear: you’re paying what you owe—plus interest. Call your finance team and have them transfer the money. Now.”

The women he’d hired to entertain him screamed and scrambled out, leaving chaos in their wake.

I was so blinded by rage—so focused on teaching Victor a lesson and getting my money—that I forgot about his other companions.

Just as Victor fumbled out his phone, a hand fisted in my hair from behind.

The yank hauled me backward, and I gasped as pain shot across my scalp.

Victor caught his breath and slapped me hard across the face.

“You pull this stunt on me? You’ve got a death wish!”

One slap wasn’t enough for him. He raised his hand to strike me again.

I squeezed my eyes shut on instinct, but the blow never landed. Instead, Victor’s sneer cut through the silence. “Didn’t expect Saul Tucker’s daughter to be such a looker.”

I opened my eyes and found Victor’s cold, malicious stare locked on me. He smirked. “Strip her.”

“Let go of me!” Panic ripped through my voice. “I’m Carlos Richards’ wife. If you lay a finger on me, the Richards family will make you pay!”

In this city, the Richards name carried weight. I prayed it would make them think twice.

But liquor had made these old men reckless. My warning didn’t scare them.

The man holding my hair scoffed. “Carlos Richards? Ha! If your husband were that powerful, would he let you come to a club alone to collect debts?”

I could only watch as Victor reached for me.

Despair sank its claws in. I had no way out.

“Bang!” The door burst open, light slicing in from the hall.

Security guards in black suits stormed in and took control of the room—Victor included.

Carlos Richards stepped inside, his strides long and steady, until he stood before me.

His chiseled face was cold and unreadable. His dark eyes narrowed slightly as he fixed that inscrutable stare on me.

“Our mistake put Mrs. Richards at risk!” the manager stammered from the doorway, stiff with fear.

“Risk?” Carlos repeated, mockery sharpening the word as his icy gaze swept over my bruised face.

The spot where Victor had hit me still throbbed with a sharp, hot pain.

“Are you suggesting my wife deserved to be hit?” Carlos asked coldly.

The room seemed to drop ten degrees.

The manager ducked his head, his voice trembling. “I’m sorry! That’s not what I meant!”

Then he rushed at Victor and slapped him hard, again and again.

Victor reeled, too stunned to speak.

Carlos didn’t tell him to stop, and the manager didn’t dare. Victor’s face swelled and reddened fast.

Carlos glanced at me. “Come with me.”

Without a word, I followed him out of the club.

His Bentley SUV waited at the curb.

Once we were in the car, I wanted to explain, but I realized he probably didn’t care about my side of things.

In the end, I just muttered, “Thanks.”

Carlos stayed as aloof as ever, ignoring my thanks completely. His face was a mask of ice as he drove.

Since he clearly wasn’t in the mood to talk, I wisely kept quiet.

Maybe it was the pregnancy, but I dozed off against the window.

I woke with a start when the car stopped.

I thought we were home, but Carlos had driven me to the hospital instead.

A knot of worry tightened in my stomach. What was he planning?

Was I supposed to apologize to Leilani in person? Or was this some kind of prenatal checkup?

“Why are we at the hospital this late?” I asked nervously, staying put.

Carlos shot me an impatient look. “Get out of the car.”

In the treatment room, the doctor examined my face, handed me an ice pack, and told me to keep it on for thirty minutes before I could leave.

I glanced at Carlos, standing apart and aloof. For a split second, he didn’t seem completely cold toward me.

Then the illusion shattered. He caught my gaze and said coolly, “This won’t go public. Don’t show your face until you’ve healed.”

Right. I was his wife in name only—the public face of the Richards family. My behavior affected the family’s reputation. Carlos had brought me here for damage control.

I nodded, accepting his terms.

Thirty minutes wasn’t long, but I cherished every moment alone with him.

Carlos stood by the window, tall and composed, staring into the night, his gaze deep and thoughtful.

I watched his handsome profile, and old memories came flooding back.

“Carlos, why didn’t you tell me you were coming to the hospital?” A soft female voice cut through my thoughts.

I snapped back to reality. Leilani Olson was walking into the room in hospital clothes. The second she saw me, her expression changed.

“Adele, why are you here? Give me back my child!” she screamed, lunging for my collar, her face twisted with rage.

I was a mother now, too. I could feel her grief.

I didn’t fight her off. I just looked at her with quiet regret. “I’m so sorry.”

Leilani’s loss wasn’t my fault, but I couldn’t bring myself to be harsh with a grieving mother.

Carlos came over and gently pulled her into his arms, soothing her in a tender voice. “You haven’t recovered yet. Don’t upset yourself. I’ll take you back to your room.”

Leilani looked up at him, tears streaming down her face. “Carlos, our baby died because of her. You promised you’d avenge him!”

Carlos stroked her hair, his voice soft enough to melt. “Yes, I promised, and I will. Come on. Let’s get you back to your room.”

His words from that night came rushing back—how he meant to compensate her with our child. My heart ached like it had been pierced with needles.

I’d told myself he’d only said it in anger, that he hadn’t meant it.

I bit my lip and lifted my gaze to glare at Carlos. “I didn’t hurt her! She provoked me that day. She came at me first!”

Whether he believed me or not, I had to tell him the truth.

“Carlos, I didn’t. She’s lying. She’s wanted me gone from the start!” Leilani shot back, her voice desperate.

I looked her dead in the eye. “Leilani, do I need to repeat what you said to me that day?”

“Shut up!” Carlos thundered, cutting me off. His eyes went icy. “Get out!”

Of course. He would never believe me.

Leilani nestled against Carlos’s chest, sobbing.

Seeing his anger at me, she even flashed a sly, triumphant smirk.

She played her part perfectly—tear-streaked face and all, enough to tug at anyone’s heartstrings.

Carlos cradled fragile Leilani and left the room.

I watched them disappear. My nose stung, and the tears I’d been holding back fell before I could stop them.

Why was Leilani allowed to take refuge in Carlos’s arms when she was sad, while I carried his child and still had no right to even be acknowledged as a mother?