My Husband Visited His Mistress Every Week

“Mom,” I said softly, my voice like ice, “tell me—if Mrs. Wallace found out that her husband’s most important business partner was sneaking off to a mistress’s apartment twice a week, do you think she’d still happily play golf with him next time?”

My mother‑in‑law went pale. Her lips trembled as she lurched forward, almost kneeling before me.

I slipped the phone back into my pocket. “I can keep this from Mr. Wallace,” I said flatly. “But Ethan needs to understand that I hold the power to drag down everything he treasures.”

I picked up my coat and walked toward the door.

“Where are you going?” she asked, her voice shaking.

“Riverside Residences,” I said as I turned the handle.

Her breath caught.

“But don’t worry,” I added, glancing back. “I’m not going in today. I’ll start at the property management office—ask who owns Unit 1502, Building 3. Whether it’s bought or rented.”

“And then?” she whispered.

“Then I’ll wait for Ethan to come back.” I locked eyes with her. “And I’ll make him tell me himself—whether the child is his.”

Her fingers dug into my arm. “Child? What child? Lila, what are you talking about?”

I handed her my phone.

Yesterday’s taxi record glared up at her: destination—City Women’s & Children’s Hospital.

“He told me he was meeting a client,” I said, my voice trembling at last. “Mom, guess who he was accompanying to a prenatal checkup.”

She stared at the record, then crumpled to the floor, clutching her head. “What a sin… what a sin…”

I shut the door behind me, leaving her sobs muffled on the other side.

In the elevator mirror, my face was bloodless, my eyes glacial.

My phone buzzed. A message from Ethan lit the screen:

Honey, I’m boarding the plane. I brought you a gift. Wait for me when I get back.

I typed back slowly: Okay. I have a surprise for you, too.

Rushing to Riverside Residences now would be the stupidest move I could make.

I pulled out my spare phone and dialed my best friend. “Maya, Ethan is probably cheating.”

“What?” Maya’s voice sharpened instantly. “Do you have proof? That bastard!”

I told her about the taxi records and my mother‑in‑law’s reaction.

“Give me the address,” she said without hesitation. “I’ll check property records, utilities, everything.”

“Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me. What’s your plan? Confront him?”

“No,” I said coldly. “I want a clean break, but not yet. First, I need to know exactly who she is, how deep this goes, and whether there’s money involved. Then I’ll clear her out of our lives.”

Maya Bennett gave a low whistle. “Okay, Lila. Cool. I’ll handle it. I’ll get you the owner’s info, hotel check‑ins, even surveillance footage if I can. Just sit tight.”

“I know. He’ll be back in three days. That’s plenty of time.”

“Wait for my news,” she said.

I hung up and walked back into the living room.

My mother‑in‑law was still slumped on the sofa, hollow‑eyed.

“Lila…”

“Mom,” I cut her off. “Don’t call Ethan. Don’t interfere. I’ll handle this.”

She opened her mouth but closed it again.

All day, I acted normal—even cooked lunch. She barely touched her food, sneaking glances at me.

In the afternoon, Maya’s message appeared on my screen:

[Owner identified: Olivia Reed, 25, living alone.]

[She has business ties to your husband’s company—project manager for a key partner.]

[Surveillance confirms: every Tuesday and Thursday night, Olivia’s BMW Mini and Ethan’s Audi A6 are parked side by side. Times match perfectly.]