I Asked For Divorce When His Mistress Returned

The next morning, Mr. Smith called to tell me Victor Williams had wired roughly $120,000 into the company account and was begging for forgiveness. That was the cost of crossing Carlos Richards—and it did Victor no good. Carlos wasn’t the forgiving type.

Mr. Smith sounded thrilled and sang my praises. I gave a wry smile and let it go, then took the money straight to the police station and posted bail for my father.

After just two days, my father looked worn down to the bone.

“Adele, you have to keep the Tucker Group alive,” he begged. “It’s my life’s work.”

“Dad, go home and get some rest. I’ll take care of the rest,” I said with a gentle smile, then told the driver to take him home.

As the car disappeared from view, I let out a deep breath. I’d just paid $15,000 for bail. The rest of the money, plus my savings, came to about $150,000—and every cent of it went to the victims’ families.

But I was still $300,000 short. How the hell was I supposed to cover that?

My phone rang. Carlos’s name flashed across the screen. “Come to my office. Now.” His voice was cold and detached, and he hung up before I could answer.

I checked the time. The workday was almost over. What could Carlos want at this hour?

After we married, I’d joined the Richards Group. Carlos wasn’t just my husband—he was my boss. Defying his orders wasn’t an option, so I drove straight back to the company.

The CEO’s office was empty. Carlos was nowhere in sight, but the sharp smell of whiskey hung in the air.

I had a hunch and knocked on the door of the adjoining suite—his private lounge.

A moment later, the door opened.

Carlos leaned against the doorframe, tall and imposing. His dark, unreadable eyes fixed on me, and the whiskey scent clung to him, thick and heavy.

“Have you been drinking?” I asked, startled.

Carlos could usually hold his liquor. Yet here he was, clearly drunk in his office. I couldn’t imagine how much he’d had.

He didn’t speak. He just stared at me—then pulled me inside, his grip firm.

“Carlos, what’s going on?” I’d never seen alcohol make him lose control like this. My surprise gave way to worry. “Did something happen?”

His arms came around me tight, his chin resting on top of my head. “Do you regret it?” His voice was rough.

“Regret what?” I asked, confused.

Carlos didn’t answer. He went silent—then I felt the slow drag of my zipper.

His breath turned heavy against my skin.

Then he lifted me like I weighed nothing and laid me down on the bed.

His kisses were gentle, almost reverent—a softness I rarely got from Carlos.

“Carlos…” Heat climbed into my cheeks.

I knew he was worked up—maybe from the alcohol, maybe because Leilani was still recovering and couldn’t satisfy him.

One thing was clear: it wasn’t because of me.

Maybe, in his drunken haze, he thought I was Leilani.

The thought made my stomach twist.

I couldn’t help myself. “Carlos, do you know who I am?”

“Hmm.” His head stayed down, his answer muffled.

“Tell me. Who am I?” I pressed, cupping his face in both hands, trying to make him really look at me.

His eyes were dark and deep, and in them I saw my own reflection.

His lips parted. He was about to speak.

Then Leilani’s voice drifted in from outside. “Carlos? Are you in there?”

Carlos jerked like he’d been shocked awake. The haze in his eyes vanished.

He stood and straightened his clothes, hesitating, something like pain flickering in his eyes.

“Stay here.” His voice was low—an order. Then he left the room.

The door opened and shut in a heartbeat.

I didn’t catch a glimpse of Leilani outside, and she had no way of knowing I was in here.

That was exactly how Carlos wanted it.

I sank back onto the bed with a bitter smile. I was his wife—his legal wife—and yet here I was, hidden away in a dark room like some shameful secret.

Outside, Leilani’s voice trembled with hurt. “Carlos, I don’t want to stay in the hospital anymore. Can you take me home?”

“Be patient. You can’t leave until the doctor clears you,” Carlos said, his tone gentle.

“Why have you been drinking? Is it me? Did I make you unhappy? Tell me what I did wrong, and I’ll fix it…” Leilani’s voice started to shake.

Carlos sounded exhausted, but he kept comforting her anyway. “Leilani, don’t overthink this.”

Leilani sniffled, then asked softly, almost pleading, “When I’m discharged, will you take me home and let me move into your room?”

I was surprised. Since she’d come back to the country, they hadn’t been sharing a room?

Carlos didn’t agree. He didn’t disagree, either. “Let’s get you back to the hospital.”

Their footsteps faded down the hall.

I stayed frozen for a moment, then got up to dress and leave.

The door wouldn’t budge. It had been locked from the outside.

After a few tries, I thought about texting Carlos to have someone unlock it.

But when I reached for my phone, I realized it was dead. I’d forgotten to charge it last night.

I searched the suite for a charger—anything I could use to reach someone—but found nothing.

Was I really stuck here all night?

Would Carlos come back?

Right. With Leilani trailing him to the office, there was no way he’d come back easily.

At least the suite had the basics. I could survive one night.

I went to the bathroom to shower. I was about to dry my hair when the power cut out.

I remembered then: the building cut power at 10 p.m. every night unless there was a special request. Security had no idea I was still inside, so they’d flipped the main switch.

It was winter. Without heat, the room went cold fast.

I threw my clothes back on and wrapped myself in a blanket, but the cold seeped right through. I shivered.

Soon I was sneezing.

Damn it. If I spent the night here, I’d end up sick.

I thought of the baby growing inside me, and panic spiked. I stumbled to the door and pounded on it, hoping to catch a patrolling guard.

“Is anyone out there?” I shouted, desperate.

For a while, no one came to help. Then a dull ache started throbbing low in my belly.

Cold sweat beaded on my forehead. I couldn’t keep banging on the door. I had to save my strength until morning.

I struggled toward the bed—and a sharp, blinding pain ripped through my abdomen.

The agony dropped me to my knees with a thud.

A warm rush spilled beneath me. Trembling, I looked down. Blood was trickling down my thighs.