The Mistress Killed My Mother, Now Her Daughter Stole My Husband

### Chapter 2

My assistant leaned close to my ear, his voice tight with urgency. "Ms. Young, you really should hire her. Her family, after all—"

I cut him a cold look.

He fell silent at once and shrank back half a step.

"I know. You're the Barrett heiress."

The corners of Serena's mouth curled up instantly, and she arched a brow in triumph.

"That's right. Since you already know who I am, Ms. Young, then you should understand—if you hire me, all it takes is a word or two to my father down the line, and the Youngs stand to gain plenty."

She paused, hands behind her back, chest lifted like a proud swan.

"Not to mention, my boyfriend happens to be—"

Beside me, the assistant let out a sharp cough, chopping off the name before it left her mouth.

He worked up his nerve and leaned in again, dropping his voice. "Ms. Young, the Barretts may not carry the weight they used to, but they still have pull in Chicago. Frank Barrett dotes on his daughter like his own life. If he finds out you turned her away, he could make things very difficult for the Youngs."

"Shut up. I'll deal with you later."

The assistant froze, confusion and fear flickering in his eyes, and obediently closed his mouth.

I looked back at Serena. "Do you think I care?"

The smile on her face went stiff.

"Whatever the Barretts have to offer, I don't want it." I tossed her portfolio back in front of her. "I'm busy. Miss Barrett may leave now."

The triumph on her face finally crumbled to nothing.

She clenched her teeth, fury burning in those pretty eyes. A girl adored and fawned over her whole life—when had she ever been rejected and humiliated like this?

She swept the papers to the floor with one swipe of her hand.

"Jennifer Young, don't you regret what you said today!"

Serena slammed the door and stormed out, still blazing. The assistant was frantic as an ant on a hot pan, opening his mouth, not daring to say a single word.

I slammed my palm down on the desk.

"Assistant Salazar, you'd better get one thing straight. Whose money are you taking, and whose interests are you supposed to serve?"

The assistant went blank.

I fixed my eyes on him, spacing out each word.

"I want every piece of evidence that John Farley is cheating with Serena Barrett."

Cold sweat visibly beaded on his forehead. His eyes went wide, filled with shock. "You—you already know?!"

"If you want to keep living in Chicago, you know what to do."

The assistant gave a start and rushed to swear it to me. "Ms. Young, don't worry! Give me two days and I'll get it done!"

"Get out."

The door eased shut, and the office sank back into silence.

I stood at the window, the highest view in the city spread out beneath my feet.

This tower—John Farley had a hand in designing it himself back then. He'd held me close and told me he'd give me the whole world.

Now the one who'd destroyed half my world was him too.

I laid my hand over my stomach, my palm pressed to the thin fabric, and held it there a long while. In the end I closed my eyes, and when I opened them again my gaze was cold.

I dialed my best friend, the doctor, and said quietly, "Yuki, I need you to book me an abortion."

"What? Are you out of your mind?" On the other end, she was aghast. "That baby was so hard for you and John Farley to get. What on earth happened?"

John had a low sperm count. The doctors had once said our odds of having a child were slim.

But he wanted a whole family, and his parents were deeply traditional, prizing the family bloodline and its name above everything. They insisted there be a child before they'd hold a wedding for us.

So through more than a year of a secret marriage, he'd swallowed countless bitter medicines, gritting his teeth through round after round of grueling tests, and at last we'd gotten this baby.

Since John didn't treasure it, I'd give him what he wanted.

"Are you free tonight? Let's grab dinner. I'll tell you in person."

"Sure. It happens to be my day off today."

That night, in a private room at the restaurant, I gave my friend the short version of it.

Her fists had only just clenched when, from outside, came the sound of high heels drawing closer.

"Ma'am, there are guests inside, you can't go in!"

Over the waiter's frantic protests, the next second the door was shoved open roughly from the outside.

A woman with the look of a wealthy society wife stood in the doorway, her sharp gaze sweeping over me and my friend.

"Which one of you is Jennifer Young?!"