My Husband Forced Me to Welcome His Mistress

I stood in Beckett's study, the crystal decanter of his favorite Macallan 25 catching the afternoon light. My fingers traced the elegant curves of the bottle as I unscrewed the cap, the rich aroma of aged scotch filling my nostrils.

"Such a shame," I whispered to myself, "that you'll never enjoy this again."

From my pocket, I withdrew a small vial containing a tasteless herbal supplement—one that, when combined with high stress and certain medications, was known to spike blood pressure dangerously. The compound had been difficult to obtain, but Judge Perry's connections had proved useful once again.

I carefully measured three drops into the decanter, watching them dissolve into the amber liquid. Beckett never drank more than two fingers at a sitting, but over time, the cumulative effect would be... significant.

"Just like before," I murmured, remembering the stroke that had left him partially paralyzed in my previous life. "History repeats itself."

I replaced the cap and returned the decanter to its place on the mahogany bar cart. The bottle of blood pressure medication sat nearby—the real pills now replaced with identical-looking sugar tablets. Another piece in my carefully orchestrated chess game.

The study door opened, and I quickly moved to the leather armchair, picking up the financial report I'd been reviewing.

"Still here?" Beckett asked, his tone suspicious. "I thought you'd be preparing for tonight's gala."

"Just finishing up," I replied calmly. "I want to make sure everything is perfect for your big night."

He approached, adjusting his cufflinks—his tell before delivering a cutting remark. "Wear the beige dress I selected. Nothing too... attention-seeking."

"Of course," I agreed, keeping my eyes downcast. "Whatever you think is best."

---

The mirror reflected a woman transformed. The bold red Valentino gown hugged my curves before cascading to the floor in a waterfall of silk. Diamond earrings—my mother's, not Beckett's gifts—glinted at my lobes, catching the light as I turned.

"Mrs. Ferguson?" Presley stood in the doorway, her eyes wide. "Beckett is asking for you downstairs."

"Thank you, Presley." I smoothed an invisible wrinkle from the dress. "And it's Ms. Perry, remember?"

The ballroom of the Plaza Hotel glittered with New York's elite. Crystal chandeliers cast a golden glow over the crowd as string musicians played softly in the corner. I paused at the entrance, feeling every eye turn toward me.

Beckett stood near the stage, champagne flute in hand, Ivory clinging to his arm in a pale blue gown that seemed washed out compared to my crimson. His face darkened when he saw me.

"Mariah," he hissed as I approached. "What the hell are you wearing?"

"Red," I replied innocently. "It's the color of passion, don't you think?"

Before he could respond, camera flashes erupted as photographers captured the moment. I turned slightly, allowing the light to catch the diamonds at my neck and ears.

"Mrs. Ferguson! Over here!" a reporter called.

Beckett's grip tightened on his glass. "You're making a scene."

"No, darling," I smiled, leaning in to kiss his cheek for the cameras. "I'm just being noticed."

---

The gala was in full swing when I spotted Richard Thornton, the most senior board member after Grandma Ferguson. He stood alone by the dessert table, studying the financial reports on his tablet.

"Richard," I greeted him warmly. "How lovely to see you outside the boardroom."

"Mariah." He nodded politely. "That's quite a statement you're making tonight."

"Is it?" I glanced down at my dress. "I suppose I'm just tired of blending into the background."

He studied me with new interest. "Beckett mentioned you've been... different lately."

"Did he?" I kept my voice light. "How interesting."

I hesitated, then leaned closer, lowering my voice. "Richard, I hate to be indiscreet, but have you heard anything about the SEC investigation?"

His eyebrows shot up. "Investigation? What investigation?"

"That's exactly what I asked Beckett," I replied, looking troubled. "Apparently there are questions about some of the offshore accounts. The Cayman ones, specifically."

Richard's expression shifted from surprise to concern. "I wasn't aware of any investigation."

"Neither was I," I admitted. "But given the stress Beckett's been under... I worry about his health. The doctor mentioned his blood pressure..."

I trailed off as a server passed with champagne. Richard frowned, his eyes drifting to where Beckett stood with Ivory.

"Thank you for the concern, Mariah," he said finally. "I'll look into this."

As he walked away, I caught sight of Grandma Ferguson watching from across the room, a slight nod of approval barely perceptible in her rigid posture.

The seeds of doubt had been planted. Now I just needed to wait for them to grow.