I Uncovered His Affair with the Company's Fake Heiress

The drive back to our Malibu estate was silent. Lucas had fallen asleep in the back seat, emotionally exhausted from the day's events. I kept glancing at him in the rearview mirror, his innocent face now marred by the faint red mark where that woman—Jessica—had slapped him. My hands tightened on the steering wheel until my knuckles turned white.

Michael had offered to have security escort us to our car, but I'd declined. I needed those moments alone to process the magnitude of Ryan's betrayal. Not just an affair—a double life. And using my family's company as part of his charade.

By the time we reached home, twilight had settled over the Pacific. I carried Lucas inside, his warm weight against my chest both comforting and heartbreaking. How could Ryan deny him? His own flesh and blood?

"Let's get you ready for bed, sweetheart," I whispered as Lucas stirred in my arms.

I helped him through his bedtime routine mechanically, my mind racing with images from the park—Ryan's cold stare, Jessica's triumphant smirk before it all came crashing down, the crowd of strangers witnessing my humiliation.

As I tucked Lucas into bed, he looked up at me with eyes too serious for a five-year-old. "Mommy?"

"Yes, baby?"

"Why doesn't Daddy love us anymore?"

The question shattered what little composure I had left. I sat on the edge of his bed, carefully choosing my words.

"Sometimes grown-ups make very bad choices," I said finally, smoothing his hair back from his forehead. "But I need you to know something very important: what happened today was not your fault. And my love for you will never, ever change."

"But Daddy pretended not to know us," Lucas's voice quavered. "Did I do something wrong?"

"No," I said firmly, pulling him into a gentle hug. "You did nothing wrong. You are perfect just as you are. Daddy's choices are about him, not about you."

Lucas clutched Captain Blue tighter. "Will he come home?"

I swallowed hard. "I don't think so, sweetheart. But we're going to be okay, just you and me. I promise."

I stayed with him until his breathing deepened into sleep, then quietly slipped out of his room. In the hallway, I leaned against the wall, allowing myself a moment of weakness as tears finally came.

After collecting myself, I moved through the silent house with purpose. In our bedroom—my bedroom now—I opened the closet and pulled out the Tom Ford suit jacket Ryan had been wearing earlier. He'd left in such a hurry after Michael's revelation that he hadn't taken it with him.

I was about to toss it onto the bed when a distinctive scent caught my attention. Lily of the Valley—not my perfume. I searched the pockets methodically, finding a crumpled receipt from Tiffany & Co. for a diamond bracelet worth $75,000. A bracelet I'd never received.

Something cold and clarifying settled in my chest, replacing the raw pain with steely resolve. I reached for my phone and dialed Eleanor Vance, my lead attorney.

"Victoria," she answered immediately, despite the late hour. "I've been trying to reach you."

"I need you at the house tomorrow morning, eight a.m.," I said without preamble. "Bring the divorce papers. And Eleanor? Make sure the prenup is ironclad."

"Consider it done," she replied, her tone professional but sympathetic. "And Victoria? Whatever happened, I'm on your side."

After hanging up, I walked to the window overlooking the ocean. The moonlight created a silver path across the dark water, stretching toward the horizon. For five years, I'd been living in a beautiful prison of my own making, blinded by what I thought was love.

No more.

The next morning, Eleanor arrived precisely at eight, immaculately dressed and carrying a leather portfolio. We sat at the kitchen island, cups of untouched coffee between us as she laid out the divorce papers.

"The prenuptial agreement is airtight," she assured me, pointing to the relevant clauses. "Infidelity is explicitly covered. He walks away with nothing."

I nodded, scanning the documents. "And what about the company? I need to know how deep this goes."

"I've already initiated a full audit of Summers Entertainment Group," Eleanor said. "Preliminary findings suggest several unauthorized personnel changes in the past year—all relatives of Jessica Parker."

The pen felt heavy in my hand as I signed each page. With each signature, I was reclaiming pieces of myself, of my company, of my life.

"What happens now?" I asked, signing the final page.

Eleanor gathered the documents with efficient movements. "Now, we go to war."

As she left, I noticed a faint smudge of ink on my fingertip—a small mark, easily washed away. Unlike the mark Ryan had left on my life, on my son's life. That would take more than water to erase.

But I was ready to begin.