My Husband’s Mistress Framed Me for a Crime

I stared at the document Kingston had slid across the desk, my hand frozen above it. The pen felt impossibly heavy.

"I won't sign it," I said, my voice steadier than I expected.

Kingston's expression darkened. "You're making a mistake."

"No." I pushed the paper back toward him. "I'm not going to claim I harassed you. I'm not going to lie."

His hand slammed against the desk. "You think you have a choice? After everything I've done for you?"

"Done for me?" The laugh that escaped my lips was bitter, hollow. "You mean to me."

He stood abruptly, looming over me. "Sign the statement, Vivian. Or I swear—"

"Or what?" I challenged, meeting his gaze. "You'll fire me? Demote me further? Destroy my reputation? You've already done your worst."

His jaw clenched, a muscle twitching beneath the skin. For a moment, I thought he might strike me. Instead, he snatched the document and stormed out, leaving me alone in his office.

---

The hospital room was quiet except for the steady beep of monitors. I stared at the ceiling, counting the tiny holes in each tile to distract myself from the hunger gnawing at my stomach.

A soft knock interrupted my counting.

"May I come in?" Charles's voice was gentle.

I turned my head slightly, surprised. "Mr. Black."

"Charles," he corrected, entering the room. "How are you feeling?"

"Like I've been steamrolled," I admitted.

He smiled slightly, setting a small bag on the bedside table. "I brought you something to eat. The hospital food isn't known for its nutritional value."

The kindness in his gesture made my throat tighten. "Thank you."

He pulled a chair close to my bed and sat down, his eyes serious now. "I want you to know that my offer still stands, Vivian."

"Your... marriage proposal?" I couldn't keep the disbelief from my voice.

"A contract marriage," he clarified. "Protection for you. A way out."

I studied his face, searching for ulterior motives but finding only sincerity. "Why would you help me?"

"I have my reasons," he said simply. "But right now, you need to trust me."

He reached into his jacket and produced a set of keys. "I've paid your hospital bill and arranged a safe apartment for you. No one will find you there."

"I can't just disappear," I protested, pushing myself up against the pillows. "I need to clear my name."

"By returning to work?" His eyebrow arched. "Into the trap Estella has set?"

I shook my head stubbornly. "I won't be driven out. Not like this."

---

The office was eerily quiet when I returned the next morning. My computer hummed softly as I logged in, determined to prove my innocence.

What I didn't know was that Estella had been there before me.

Hours later, I found the files—audio recordings that sounded like me negotiating with a hitman. My voice, distorted and edited, discussing payment terms with someone whose voice I didn't recognize.

"No," I whispered, clicking through the files in horror. "No, no, no."

But there was worse. In my desk drawer, tucked beneath a stack of innocuous paperwork, was a withdrawal slip from the company accounts—a substantial sum, far more than I could afford.

With trembling fingers, I pulled out the slip. The signature at the bottom was mine—or rather, a perfect forgery.

---

The lobby of Black Enterprises erupted into chaos just before noon.

"Where's my daughter?" Ronald's voice echoed through the marble hall. "I need to see Vivian!"

I froze in the hallway, my heart sinking as security guards tried to restrain him.

"She paid me to scare that rich girl!" he shouted, his face flushed with alcohol and desperation. "Said she'd give me more if I made a scene!"

Employees stopped to stare, whispering behind their hands as my father continued his drunken tirade.

"Mr. Bennett," one guard said firmly, "you need to leave."

"Not until I get my money!" Ronald struggled against their grip. "Vivian promised! She said if I helped her, she'd pay for my rehab!"

---

The door to Kingston's office slammed open with such force that the glass panels rattled.

"Explain this," he snarled, throwing a folder onto the desk in front of me.

Papers spilled out—the withdrawal slip, transcripts of the audio recordings, photographs of my father's scene in the lobby.

"You crossed the line," Kingston's voice shook with rage. "From jealous ex-lover to criminal."

"Kingston, please—" I started.

"No." He cut me off, pacing like a caged animal. "You tried to have Estella hurt. You stole from my company to pay for it."

"I didn't—"

"I heard everything," he spat. "Your father confessed it all."

He stopped pacing and looked at me, his eyes filled with a mixture of heartbreak and fury. "I gave you everything. Everything. And this is how you repay me?"

Before I could respond, he reached for his phone. "I'm calling the police."

"Kingston, don't—"

"It's too late, Vivian." His finger hovered over the keypad. "You've gone too far."

As he dialed, I realized with sickening clarity that there was no way out. Estella had won.