Revenge on My Husband's Betrayal

I positioned myself strategically in the hotel lobby, tucked behind a large potted plant near the elevators. My heart hammered against my ribs as I waited, my phone clutched tightly in my hand. The Presidential Suite was on the fifteenth floor—David had confirmed it. Now I just needed to see for myself.

The elevator doors slid open with a soft chime. I held my breath.

And there they were.

Benson stepped out first, looking relaxed and satisfied. His suit jacket was slightly rumpled, his tie loosened. Then came Felicity—my cousin Felicity—her hair tousled, lipstick smudged. She was laughing at something he'd said, her hand resting possessively on his arm.

I felt like I'd been punched in the chest. The air left my lungs in a rush.

"Impossible," I whispered, though I was staring directly at them. "This can't be happening."

But it was. Right in front of me.

Felicity reached up and straightened Benson's tie, her fingers lingering against his chest. He caught her hand and pressed it to his lips, then pulled her closer.

"I've missed you," he murmured, his voice carrying across the quiet lobby.

"Three years, Aura," Felicity replied, her voice dripping with false sympathy. "You've been so blind."

I watched, frozen, as Benson kissed her—not just a peck, but a deep, passionate kiss that spoke of familiarity and desire. His hands slid down to her waist, pulling her against him.

My phone trembled in my grip. I had to get this. Evidence. Proof.

I raised it slowly, making sure to stay hidden behind the plant. The camera clicked softly as I captured image after image—Benson's hands on Felicity's hips, her head thrown back in laughter, their foreheads touching as they whispered to each other.

"Let's go back upstairs," Felicity suggested, her voice husky. "We have time before dinner."

"Perfect," Benson agreed, his hand sliding down to squeeze her buttock.

They turned toward the elevators again, oblivious to my presence. I kept shooting photos until they disappeared behind the closing doors.

Only then did I allow myself to breathe again.

"I need to think," I whispered to myself, my mind racing. "I need evidence. Real evidence."

I pulled out my phone and scrolled through my contacts until I found Marcus Chen's number. Marcus was an old friend from college who'd become a private investigator after graduation. If anyone could help me now, it would be him.

"Marcus?" I said when he answered. "It's Aura. I need your help."

"Aura? What's wrong?" His voice was instantly alert.

"I think—no, I know—Benson's having an affair." The words tasted bitter on my tongue. "With my cousin Felicity."

There was a pause on the other end. "Where are you now?"

"Seattle. At the Westin. I followed him here."

"Okay, stay put. I'll be on the next flight. Don't confront them yet—let me help you gather evidence first."

I nodded, even though he couldn't see me. "Thank you, Marcus."

Two hours later, Marcus met me in a quiet corner of the hotel bar. His expression was grim as he listened to my story.

"We need hotel records, financial transactions, communication patterns," he said, his investigator's mind already at work. "I'll start digging immediately."

"Thank you," I said again, feeling a tiny spark of hope. "I just want the truth."

Three days later, I was back home, waiting for Benson to return from his "business trip." I'd maintained my facade perfectly—calm, collected, unsuspecting.

When he walked through the door with a bouquet of roses and a small gift bag, I smiled and embraced him.

"Welcome home," I said, my voice steady despite the storm raging inside me.

"How are you, sweetheart?" he asked, kissing my cheek. "I missed you so much."

"I missed you too," I lied, accepting the flowers. "How were your meetings?"

"Productive," he replied smoothly. "I think we're going to land that new client."

"That's wonderful," I said, forcing enthusiasm into my voice. "Tell me all about it."

As Benson launched into elaborate stories about fictional meetings and clients, I nodded and smiled in all the right places. Each word he spoke felt like another knife in my back, but I refused to show it.

"I brought you something special," he said, handing me the gift bag. Inside was a delicate silver bracelet with a charm in the shape of Seattle's skyline.

"It's beautiful," I said, slipping it onto my wrist. "Thank you."

He smiled, satisfied with my reaction. "I knew you'd love it."

I touched the bracelet, thinking of how it had probably been bought on the same trip where he'd betrayed me with my own cousin.

"I made dinner reservations at Romano's," I said, maintaining my perfect wife act. "Your favorite."

"You're the best wife a man could ask for," Benson said, pulling me close.

As I leaned into his embrace, I thought about the evidence Marcus was gathering and the plan forming in my mind. Soon, very soon, Benson Spencer would learn exactly what happens when you betray Aura Richardson.

But for now, I would play the role of the unsuspecting wife perfectly.