My Husband Gifted His Mistress Luxury Watches

Eleanor Vance's office exuded the quiet confidence of old money—understated elegance that whispered rather than shouted. Much like the woman herself. She studied the prenuptial agreement through tortoiseshell reading glasses, her silver-streaked hair pulled into an immaculate bun. I sat across from her, fingers drumming nervously against the leather armchair.

"Interesting," she murmured, turning to the final page.

"What's interesting?" I leaned forward, the memory of Ethan's cartoon watch still burning on my wrist despite my attempts to scrub it away.

Eleanor removed her glasses, fixing me with a penetrating gaze. "Did you ever actually read this document before signing it, Mrs. Foster?"

Heat rushed to my cheeks. "I... skimmed it. We were three weeks from the wedding. Ethan said it was standard protection for his startup."

"Standard, indeed." A smile played at the corner of her mouth. "Except for this clause here." She turned the document toward me, pointing to section 8.3.

I squinted at the legal jargon, struggling to decipher its meaning.

"In layman's terms," Eleanor explained, "this clause stipulates that in the event of infidelity, the injured party is entitled to fifty percent of all assets acquired during the marriage, plus an additional twenty percent of pre-marital assets."

My breath caught. "That's... unusually generous."

"Extraordinarily so. These clauses typically favor the wealthier spouse—which at the time of signing was Mr. Foster, correct?"

I nodded slowly. "His startup had just secured first-round funding."

"Yet he signed a document that would devastate him financially if he cheated." Eleanor tapped her manicured nail against the paper. "Either he never intended to be unfaithful, or..."

"Or he never thought I'd find out," I finished, a cold clarity washing over me. "Or never thought I'd leave."

Eleanor leaned back, studying me. "You have evidence of the affair?"

I pulled out my phone, opening a folder of screenshots—Amber's Instagram posts, expense reports, hotel reservations. "Plenty."

She reviewed them with clinical detachment. "Good. Very good. With this clause and this evidence, we're in an exceptionally strong position."

For the first time since discovering Amber's watch, I felt a glimmer of satisfaction. "What's our next step?"

"I'll draft the divorce petition today. In the meantime—" she fixed me with a stern look, "—secure your finances. Immediately."

I left Eleanor's office with a strange lightness in my step. The prenup that Ethan had pressured me to sign—the document I'd resented for years as a symbol of his distrust—might be my salvation.

My phone buzzed as I stepped onto the sidewalk. A company-wide email from Ethan:

*Due to unexpected budget constraints, all non-executive salaries in the Carter Project Division will be reduced by 30%, effective immediately.*

My stomach dropped. The Carter Project Division—my team. The people who had just secured the company's largest deal ever.

This wasn't about budgets. This was punishment.

I called Liam immediately. "Have you seen the email?"

"Just opened it." His voice was tight with controlled anger. "Everyone's freaking out. Sarah's in tears."

"I'm so sorry, Liam. This is because of me."

"Because of you? Victoria, we all know what's happening. The timing isn't exactly subtle."

I closed my eyes, leaning against the cool stone of the building behind me. "I'm meeting with lawyers. Filing for divorce."

A beat of silence. "Good."

The simple approval in his voice nearly broke me.

"What can I do for my team?" I asked.

"Nothing right now." Liam's voice dropped lower. "But just so you know—we're with you. All of us. Whatever happens."

"He's cutting your salaries by thirty percent, Liam. You have families, mortgages—"

"And we have loyalty." His voice was firm. "You built this team. You fight for us every day. We know who deserves our allegiance."

Tears pricked at my eyes. "Thank you."

As I hung up, another email notification appeared—this one from Amber Sullivan to the entire company:

*Please join us in congratulating Amber Sullivan on her promotion to Executive Assistant to the CEO with expanded responsibilities in client relations.*

Attached was a photo of her wrist, the Patek Philippe gleaming against her skin.

The message couldn't be clearer. Ethan was declaring war—not just on me, but on everyone loyal to me.

What he didn't realize was that I'd spent seven years learning from the best. If he wanted war, I would give him one he'd never forget.