My Son Wished His Father’s Mistress Was Mom

I couldn't sleep. The numbers in my head kept spinning like a roulette wheel, each one landing on a different betrayal. At 3 AM, I slipped out of bed, careful not to wake Damon. The hallway stretched before me like a watchful guardian as I made my way to his study.

The family accounts were password protected, but I'd seen him enter it countless times—Beau's birthday. The irony wasn't lost on me as I typed in the six digits.

The screen illuminated my face with a blue glow as I navigated through the Alexander empire's financial labyrinth. My fingers hovered over the keyboard, hesitating. This was crossing a line I'd never crossed before.

"Come on, Mina," I whispered to myself. "You deserve to know."

I clicked on the private accounts tab, and a list of transactions appeared. My eyes widened as I scrolled through them. Consulting fees. Hundreds of thousands of dollars, all paid to Adalyn Stevens.

"Consulting services," I read aloud, my voice barely audible. "For what? How to destroy a marriage?"

I dug deeper, downloading statements onto a flash drive. The pattern was clear—regular payments, increasing amounts, all while Damon questioned me about a $500 charge for Beau's tutoring.

"Where did you even find this place?" he'd demanded, his voice sharp with accusation. "Five hundred dollars for what?"

Now I knew where that money could have gone instead.

---

"Look at this," Kyra whispered, sliding a receipt across the breakfast table.

I glanced down at the crumpled paper. Tiffany & Co. A diamond necklace—platinum setting, five-carat stones. The price made my stomach drop: $87,000.

"Where did you find this?" I asked, though I already knew.

"In Shawn's jacket pocket." Her voice trembled. "The same jacket he wore when he told me the necklace I wanted was 'sold out' when we were shopping for our anniversary."

The memory flashed through my mind—Kyra's disappointed face as Shawn had brushed off her suggestion, claiming the store had only one left and it wasn't her size.

"He bought it for her," Kyra continued, her eyes filling with tears. "While I was planning our anniversary dinner."

I reached across the table and squeezed her hand. "We need more than receipts and bank statements."

"What do you suggest?" Kyra's voice hardened with resolve.

"Proof they can't ignore."

---

"The cameras are undetectable," the technician assured us, adjusting a tiny device behind the living room bookshelf. "High definition, motion activated, and they upload directly to your secure cloud account."

Kyra paced nervously behind him. "And they can't be discovered?"

"Not unless someone knows exactly where to look." He pointed to his tablet, showing us the feed from the playroom camera. "See? Crystal clear."

I nodded, calculating the cost against the potential reward. "And the audio?"

"Perfect quality." He packed up his equipment. "Just remember—this is only legal if you own the property."

"We own half of it," Kyra said firmly. "At least for now."

After he left, we stood in the center of the living room, feeling oddly exposed despite knowing the cameras were hidden.

"Do you think this will work?" Kyra asked, her voice small.

"It has to," I replied, checking my watch. "They'll be at the spa for another two hours."

---

Three days later, we huddled in my bedroom, laptops open to the surveillance footage. Most of it was mundane—housekeepers cleaning, Beau playing alone, the occasional appearance of Adalyn reading magazines.

Then we saw it.

Adalyn stood in the playroom, phone to her ear, laughing. The sound was crisp, her voice dripping with malice.

"They're so pathetic," she was saying. "Mina actually thinks she can compete with me. And Damon—God, he's like a puppy following me around."

Kyra's hand flew to her mouth. "Oh my God."

We watched as Adalyn heard something—probably Shawn's car in the driveway. Her expression instantly changed, eyes widening in calculated fear.

In one fluid motion, she threw herself against the wall, then crumpled to the floor with a theatrical cry.

"Help!" she screamed. "Someone help me!"

The front door slammed, and Shawn's voice echoed through the house. "Addie? What happened?"

I felt sick as I watched Adalyn's performance unfold—the trembling lip, the tears that appeared on command, the way she pointed toward the kitchen.

"Mina," she sobbed. "She pushed me. Said I didn't belong here."

I looked at Kyra, my blood running cold. "I was in the kitchen making tea."

"I know," Kyra whispered, her face pale. "We both know."

Shawn stormed into view, his face contorted with rage. "Where is she? Where's Mina?"

Adalyn clung to him, her performance flawless. "Don't hurt her, Shawn. She's just... she's not well."

I closed the laptop, a strange calm settling over me. "They're too far gone to see it."

"What do you mean?" Kyra asked.

"They won't believe the footage." I met her eyes steadily. "Not yet. We need something bigger—something they can't ignore or explain away."

Kyra nodded slowly, understanding dawning in her eyes. "An exit strategy."

"Not just any exit strategy," I corrected her, a plan forming in my mind. "The perfect one."