My Husband Kissed Another Girl in the Crowd

I swiped the back of my hand across my mouth, shooting her a cold stare.

“You’re practically across the room,” I muttered. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

Before I could even steady myself, Griffin’s fingers clamped around my arm, hard enough to bruise. He jerked me downward, forcing me onto my knees like he wanted to grind me into the floor.

“So you insist on behaving like filth?” he whispered, his voice razor-sharp, his eyes dead as stone. “Then stay where filth belongs.” His face hovered inches from mine, breath hot and furious. “Say you’re sorry,” he demanded, his voice trembling with barely contained rage. “Right now. Or I swear I’ll make you lick that mess off the tiles like the mutt you’re acting like.”

I stared straight into his face.

“You should’ve finished me off when you had the chance, Griffin,” I said quietly. “Because now? There’s nothing left of me you can threaten.”

Before he could reply, Celeste whimpered behind him, one hand clutching her stomach like she’d been stabbed.

“Griffin… the smell… I’m dizzy… I—I think I’m going to pass out.”

He dropped me like I was nothing and sprinted toward her, scooping her up as though she were spun glass.

“Clean it up,” he barked without so much as a backward glance, disappearing down the hallway with the people he actually cared about.

His mother brushed past, her voice a venomous hiss.

“Disgrace.”

I wiped my face. Cleaned the floor. Played the obedient wife. And then I went upstairs.

---

Our bedroom looked like the aftermath of a break-in—except I was the intruder dismantling my own life.

Five years. Five years of sleeping beside that man. Trusting him. Believing in the promises he fed me so easily.

I sat on the edge of the bed and opened the drawer. Inside was a sealed envelope—the resignation letter I’d written weeks before, back when I still believed peace was waiting for me after childbirth. Back when I still thought leaving the family business meant entering a softer, safer chapter.

That version of me was dead.

I folded the letter together with the incomplete divorce documents. Then I rose and began ripping everything else apart. Photographs of us in Italy, our wedding day, the housewarming party in our first home—lies stapled to the wall. I tore them down one by one. Tossed every necklace, ring, bracelet he’d ever given me into a box like scrap metal.

I’d just pulled a portrait off its hook when the door swung open.

Griffin stepped inside. His expression darkened.

“What the hell is all this?”

I didn’t even blink.

“I’m getting rid of everything you ever gifted me. I don’t need any of it.”

“Is this because of what happened earlier?” he asked, guiding himself toward me. “I lost my temper. I’ll buy you something better. Just… put in a little effort with Celeste, okay? She means a lot to me. I trust her completely.”

I lifted my eyes. “Fine.”

“She’s staying,” he said firmly. “Whether you like it or not. I’ll send her up so you two can patch things up.”

He kissed my cheek—because I refused to turn my face—and walked out as though the matter was settled.

---

Ten minutes later, Celeste strutted into the bedroom without knocking.

She looked around as though the space was already hers.

“Perfect. Clear your stuff out. I’ll be moving in soon.”

I didn’t bother turning to look at her. “Take it all. I won’t be here long.”

A laugh spilled out of her, high and victorious.

“Oh, Griffin filled me in. And since you’ve been such a headache, want to know something I’ve been keeping from you? My daughter—yeah, the one I ‘co-parent’ with my ex? She’s Griffin’s. I’ve been with him for years.” Her smile sharpened. “But I’m not the side piece anymore. I’m pregnant with his son now. A real heir. Unlike you. You gave him a girl… and well, she didn’t survive. Tough luck. But honestly? She was never meant to be part of the plan.”

I lowered myself onto the bed slowly, like the air had thickened.

“If that’s what you need to tell yourself to sleep at night… enjoy it. If my grief entertains you, go ahead. Soak in every drop.”

Her grin wavered.

“Why aren’t you yelling? Why aren’t you throwing things?” she snapped. “Aren’t you furious? Griffin did all of this because I told him to!”

I looked her in the eye, my voice steady.

“Congratulations. You win. He’s yours.”

Something inside her cracked.

“You pathetic little bitch!” she shrieked, lunging at me and grabbing my wrist.

“Let go,” I warned.

Instead, she jerked harder, trying to drag me toward the hall—then suddenly she dropped my arm, staggered backward, and screamed.

“Abigail—NO!”

She hurled herself backward down the stairs.

The sound—bones hitting wood, a scream shattering, a final sickening crash—echoed up the entire house.

Footsteps thundered toward her.

Griffin. His mother. His daughter, Sienna.

They froze at the bottom. Celeste lay twisted on the floor, blood pooling beneath her.

Griffin’s gaze snapped up to me. His eyes were wild, bloodshot, murderous.

“What the hell did you do?!”

I remained at the top of the staircase, clutching the railing, my pulse pounding like war drums. It wasn’t Celeste’s fall that tore me open—it was Sienna’s scream.

“Mama! Mommy!”

Her tiny hands shook Celeste’s body, tears streaming down her face.

Then Griffin looked at me again. Those eyes—once warm, once protective—were now an executioner’s blade.

“If she dies,” he said, voice cracking like ice under weight, “or if the baby does… you better pray hell takes you first.”

He lifted Celeste in his arms like a tragic hero while David clung to his side, sobbing.

Griffin’s mother spat at me as she passed.

“You cursed whore! Rot!”

No one asked for my side. No one paused to wonder. Celeste had always had them wrapped tight around her finger; all she needed was a scream and they turned me into a monster.

I stood there until my legs went numb.

Then two of Griffin’s guards stormed up the stairs. They didn’t speak. Didn’t hesitate. They seized my arms, twisted them behind me, and dragged me like I was a criminal they were eager to dispose of.

“Let go of me! I didn’t do anything!” I screamed, but my voice cracked, falling useless in the air.

Marrying the devil means your screams don’t matter.

They shoved me into one of Griffin’s black SUVs—the ones used for disappearances—and drove. When we stopped, my heart dropped.

His private clinic.

The same place where inconvenient bodies and mistakes vanished behind locked doors.

The guards hauled me inside. Griffin was waiting in the hallway.

“Griffin! Listen to me. I never touched her, I—”

His hand flashed. The slap snapped my head sideways. My mouth flooded with the metallic taste of blood.

He leaned in, hatred burning in his eyes.

“I’m finished with your lies. You’re going to donate blood to Celeste. You shoved her, and now you’ll save her.”

I spat blood onto the floor, wiped my lip, and glared up at him.

“I didn’t push her. And she’s not getting anything from me.”

That broke him.

His fingers closed around my throat so suddenly I lost my breath. I clawed at his hands, my feet scrambling against the tile.

“C-Griffin—please—” I choked, gasping, vision blurring.

“Enough, Mr. Mercer!” the doctor shouted, rushing forward. “You’ll kill her!”