My Husband Saved His Mistress Instead of Me

Two days later, Layne walked back into my room. She wore a tight red dress and sunglasses pushed up on her bleached hair. She didn't bring the dog this time, but the sweet reek of her vanilla perfume made my stomach turn.

She stood at the foot of my bed, tapping her French-manicured nails against the metal rail.

"You look awful, Em," she said. Her voice was light, almost sing-song. "The dark circles under your eyes are really setting in."

I looked straight at her. My cast felt like lead on my legs, but my spine was straight. "Get out of my room, Layne."

Layne scoffed. She leaned closer over the rail. "You don't tell me what to do. Jaxson brought me here. He cares about me. He pities you. There's a big difference, honey."

"Get out," I repeated, each word flat and hard.

Her eyes flashed with sudden rage. She stepped around the side of the bed. Before I could move, she reared her hand back and slapped me.

*Crack.*

The sound split the sterile air like a gunshot.

The force whipped my head to the side. Pain flared white across my cheekbone, hot and sharp. My ear rang.

I didn't cry out. I turned my head slowly back toward her. My cheek felt like it was on fire.

Then I saw him.

Jaxson was standing right in the open doorway. His hands were shoved into his trouser pockets. He had seen the whole thing. He hadn't moved an inch to stop her.

"Jaxson," I said, tasting copper on my lip.

He didn't look angry. He just looked annoyed, like I was an unruly child interrupting his busy day.

"Stop making trouble, Em," he said quietly. He walked in, his expensive leather shoes squeaking on the linoleum. He reached out and rested a hand on Layne’s bare shoulder. "Layne's just trying to be nice. You're pushing everyone away."

"She just hit me," I said, staring into his cold eyes. "She walked into my room and struck me in my bed."

"You provoked her," Jaxson said with a shrug. "You're bitter and combative. Layne was just being honest with you." He patted Layne's waist. "Come on, Layne. Let's go grab some sushi. We have that meeting with the insurance adjusters."

Layne smirked at me, smoothed her red dress, and hooked her arm through his.

They turned their backs on me and walked out. A second later, their bright, easy laughter echoed down the quiet corridor.

I sat in the bed, shaking. Not from fear. From rage.

Five minutes later, the door squeaked open again. Clara Mendez, the night charge nurse, hurried in. She carried a tray of fresh gauze, but she set it aside immediately.

Her brown eyes went wide when she saw my face.

"Oh, sweetheart," Clara whispered, stepping close. She gently turned my chin. The five red finger marks were already swelling into deep purple bruises. "I saw them leave. Did that blonde woman do this?"

"Yes," I whispered.

Clara cursed softly under her breath. She reached deep into the pocket of her navy scrubs and pulled out a small, black burner phone. She pressed it into my trembling palm and closed my fingers over it.

"Keep this hidden," Clara whispered, checking the hallway over her shoulder. "I've been writing down everything. The dates, the times, the things they say to you. I took pictures of the dog hair on your bed after your allergic reaction. I'll testify. Whenever you're ready to burn them, I'll stand right beside you."

I swallowed the lump in my throat. I looked into Clara's fierce, honest eyes.

"Thank you," I said. My voice was steady now. "You have no idea what this means to me."

"Don't thank me. Just make them pay," she said, squeezing my hand before slipping out.

That night, under the thin hospital blanket, I turned on the burner phone. I didn't call my father yet. I wanted the legal noose tied first. I dialed a private number I had memorized years ago.

Harrison Sterling, my family’s top corporate litigator, answered on the second ring.

"Harrison," I said into the cheap receiver. "It's Emberlynn. Start drafting the divorce papers. And prepare an ironclad criminal complaint."

***

The next afternoon, Jaxson strolled into the room holding a clipboard and a file folder. He didn't even look at my bruised cheek.

"Good news," he said, pulling up a chair. "I figured out the living arrangements."

I stared at him in silence.

"The earthquake caused structural cracks in Layne's apartment building," he explained breezily, tapping his gold watch. "So I’m having her move into our place for a few weeks to help with the post-quake cleanup. You obviously can't manage around the house right now. You can't even stand."

A sick disgust curled in my gut. "You want to move your mistress into my home?"

Jaxson's jaw tightened. "She is not my mistress! She’s my business partner and my friend. And it’s my home too, Emberlynn."

"No," I said, staring him dead in the eye. "She will not sleep under my roof."

Jaxson threw the clipboard onto the rolling tray with a loud clatter.

"The world doesn't revolve around you, Emberlynn!" he barked, his face turning red. "Not everything is about your feelings! You're selfish, you're jealous, and you're making a scene over nothing. She needs a place to stay, and she’s coming. End of discussion."

Before he could say another word, Clara walked in, holding a folder of billing paperwork. She gave Jaxson a cool look, handed me the documents, and stepped out.

I flipped open the folder. Clara had marked the internal hospital records in bright yellow highlighter.

My breath caught.

Three days ago, Jaxson had transferred sixty thousand dollars out of our joint savings account—money I had secretly funneled into his accounts through phantom venture grants to keep him afloat.

He hadn't paid a single dime toward my catastrophic spinal surgery or my upcoming nerve therapy. My accounts were marked past due.

Instead, the records showed where my money had gone.

Thirty thousand dollars to cover Layne’s private post-quake medical trauma evaluation.

Ten thousand dollars for Layne's luxury cosmetic treatments.

And five thousand dollars to a private veterinary clinic—for Bruno’s "earthquake stress therapy."

I stared down at the paper. My vision sharpened into blinding focus.

He was starving me out while feeding his ex-girlfriend with my family's wealth.

I looked up at him. Jaxson was adjusting his silk collar in the reflection of the window, totally unaware of who he had just robbed.

"Fine, Jaxson," I said softly, my voice smooth as ice. "Move her in."