My Son-In-Law Spent My Money on His Mistress

In the end, all she said to me was a lighthearted joke:

“Mom, focus on work—but don’t forget to take care of yourself.”

I had no idea she was enduring such hell in silence.

That moment, I swore—everyone who laid a hand on my daughter would pay. Dearly.

Just then, my secretary leaned in and whispered, “Ma’am, we’ve landed. The car is waiting.”

We were en route to the Postnatal Recovery Suite when a call came through. It was that same smug manager from before, her tone dripping with disdain.

“Marla’s mother, when are you finally picking her up? Our center caters to elite clients, not mountain folks pretending to be royalty. If it weren’t for the Camden Group’s name, I wouldn’t waste time with your kind.”

She let out a cold laugh before continuing.

“Mr. Eric Harlan and the real daughter of the Camden family said you’d offended them. So we’re not obligated to be nice anymore.”

“Your daughter’s in the basement throwing a fit—first whining there’s no food, then complaining it’s too hot. So dramatic. The water still runs. She can walk out and dig through the cafeteria trash if she’s so hungry.”

I cut her off, voice low and deadly calm.

“I strongly suggest you treat my daughter with basic human decency… or I promise, you’ll regret ever being born.”

My secretary flinched.

She’d been with me for eight years—and she knew. When I spoke like that, it meant someone’s fate was already sealed.

But the manager? She just scoffed and hung up.

Seconds later, our car screeched to a halt in front of the Postnatal Recovery Suite. I didn’t wait. I marched straight to the basement, security team behind me.

Before I even turned the corner, I heard it:

Screams. Curses. My daughter’s muffled sobs.

I ran.

There she was—on her knees, cradling her infant in her arms, drenched in sweat and shaking.

“The basement’s too hot…” she cried, her voice cracking. “Please… just take the baby upstairs. I’ll stay. Do whatever you want to me… Just let her breathe…”

Vivien sneered and shoved her, sending both mother and child sprawling.

“You filthy little bitch,” she snarled. “Just like your whore of a mother. You should both die in this heat.”

She kicked again, and this time added with venom, “I might’ve gone easy on you, but your mother dared to offend us. Now? I’ll make sure you suffer every second.”

My daughter turned to Derrick, desperation in her eyes.

“Derrick… She’s your daughter too. Can’t you see she’s suffocating? Please…”

He hesitated—just for a breath.

Marla’s eyes lit with faint hope.

Then he stepped forward.

And kicked her—hard—in the stomach.

“You think that brat can compare to my son?” he snapped. “Vivien just gave me an heir. You gave me a liability.”

My blood boiled.

No mother could witness this and remain calm.

Fortunately for me, I’ve been training every day overseas for years—and it paid off.

With a snarl, I lunged forward and kicked Derrick square in the jaw. His head snapped back, and two of his teeth flew across the room.

Then I turned and slapped Vivien across the face—once, twice, three times.

Silence fell. Every onlooker froze.

Then Derrick staggered back, clutching his mouth and roaring, “What are you all waiting for?! She just assaulted the president and the Camden Group’s daughter! Beat her to death!”

The crowd jolted—but before anyone could move, my bodyguards stepped forward and blocked the path.

I grabbed Derrick by the collar, dragging his bleeding face up to mine.

“Who are you going to hit? Say it again.”

He looked at me—and finally, recognition flickered in his eyes.

“Derrick. Vivien,” I hissed, “I took you in when you had nothing. Fed you, clothed you, educated you. And this—this is how you repay me?”

I shoved him back.

“You bullied my daughter in the dark. Now I’ve come to bring your sins into the light.”