My Husband Planned My Death for His Mistress

The mahogany doors of the Grant Enterprises boardroom loomed before me. I smoothed my charcoal Armani suit—power dressing had never been more appropriate. My heels clicked against the marble floor as I approached, each step a declaration of intent.

"Mrs. Grant," the receptionist stammered, clearly surprised to see me. "The board is in session."

"I'm aware," I replied coolly. "I'm expected."

The room fell silent as I pushed open the doors. Twelve pairs of eyes turned toward me—old men who'd known Mason since medical school, who'd built this empire with him and never imagined a woman would dare enter their sanctuary.

"Alexis," Mason said, rising from his chair at the head of the table. "What are you doing here?"

I didn't look at him. Instead, I addressed the room.

"Gentlemen, I believe introductions are in order." I placed my leather portfolio on the table. "As of 9 AM this morning, I am the interim CEO of Grant Enterprises, with majority voting control."

Mason's face drained of color. "What are you talking about?"

"The documents you signed last week," I reminded him, my voice steady. "Your temporary transfer of power during your recovery period."

I turned to the board. "I've prepared a comprehensive restructuring plan."

"Mrs. Grant," began Harold Winters, the oldest board member, "while we sympathize with your... situation, this is hardly appropriate—"

"Mr. Winters," I interrupted, sliding a folder toward him, "perhaps you'd like to review the company's marketing metrics from the past quarter before commenting on appropriateness."

For the next forty minutes, I dismantled every argument they threw at me. I knew their weaknesses—the aging infrastructure, the bloated executive salaries, the nepotism that had infected the company like a virus.

"Effective immediately," I concluded, "I'm terminating the employment of Victor Ruiz, our VP of Marketing."

Victor—Karina's brother—shot to his feet. "You can't do that!"

"I can and I have." I flipped to the next page in my presentation. "Your department has shown negative growth for three consecutive quarters. And that's just the beginning."

I named two other executives—all Karina's relatives Mason had installed. Their protests filled the room.

"If any of you would like to challenge my decision," I said calmly, "I'm prepared to release the audit of your expense accounts."

The threats died instantly.

---

Two weeks later, I stood at the entrance of the Metropolitan Museum, greeting guests at the annual charity gala. The theme was "Renewal"—how fitting.

"You look stunning," Marley whispered as she passed. "Are you ready?"

I nodded, scanning the crowd for the white dress I knew would appear.

There she was—Karina Ruiz, in a designer gown that probably cost more than most people's monthly rent. She hadn't seen me yet, her eyes searching the room for Mason.

I moved through the crowd with practiced ease, champagne flute in hand. When I reached her, I "stumbled," sending my red wine cascading down her pristine white silk.

"Oh my God," I gasped with perfect horror. "I'm so clumsy!"

Karina's face contorted with fury before she caught herself. "It's fine," she lied, though her eyes said otherwise.

"Let me help," I insisted, guiding her toward the ladies' room. "I have some club soda in my purse."

The restroom was mercifully empty. I wet a towel and handed it to her, watching as she dabbed at the stain spreading across her bodice.

"It's ruined," she muttered.

"Yes," I agreed softly. "Some stains never come out."

She looked up, confusion crossing her features.

I leaned closer, my voice dropping to a whisper. "I know about the texts, Karina. And soon, everyone will know you're driving a broke man."

Her face paled. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Don't you?" I smiled, stepping back. "Enjoy the gala. I hear the silent auction has some lovely pieces."

I left her standing there, wine staining her dress like blood.

---

"Sign here," I said, sliding the paperwork across my new desk—Mason's desk.

He scrawled his signature without reading. "What is this for?"

"Just some routine financial updates," I replied. "Given your condition, the board wants to ensure everything's in order."

Later that afternoon, my phone buzzed with a notification from our banking app. I watched the screen light up with Mason's location—Tiffany & Co.

I waited fifteen minutes before he stormed into my office, his face twisted with rage.

"My card was declined," he spat. "At Tiffany's. Do you know how embarrassing that was?"

"Oh?" I raised an eyebrow. "What were you purchasing?"

He hesitated. "A gift."

"For?"

"A patient," he lied.

I nodded slowly. "I see. Well, there have been some... irregularities in the accounts. Potential security breaches."

"What are you talking about?"

"Someone has been attempting to access our financial records. We've frozen all accounts pending investigation."

"Who would do that?" he demanded.

I shrugged. "Enemies, perhaps. Competitors. People who might want to harm you."

His eyes widened slightly. "You think someone's targeting me?"

"Given what happened on the highway..." I let the implication hang in the air.

He swallowed hard, his paranoia already taking hold. The painkillers I'd been ensuring he took would only enhance it.

"Don't worry," I said softly, placing my hand on his trembling one. "I'll protect you."

And as he nodded gratefully, I wondered if he could hear the smile in my voice.