Teaming Up With My Husband's Mistress to Destroy the Scumbag

The Q3 margins were down two percent.

I dragged my pen across the mahogany surface of my desk, circling the deficit on the printed spreadsheet. The CEO office was quiet, save for the hum of the air conditioning.

A shout shattered the silence.

"You can't go in there! Ms. Thorne is reviewing the quarterly reports!"

The heavy oak double doors flew open. They slammed against the wall stops with a violent crack.

A twenty-two-year-old blonde shoved past my panting head of security. Chloe Mercer. Julian's executive assistant.

"Get your hands off me," Chloe snapped at the guard, yanking her arm away.

"Ma'am, I'm calling the police," Marcus warned, reaching for his radio.

I raised a hand, not looking up from my paperwork. "It's fine, Marcus. Shut the door behind you."

Marcus hesitated. "Are you sure, Ms. Thorne? She bypassed the front desk entirely."

"Close it."

The heavy doors clicked shut, sealing us in.

Chloe marched straight toward my desk. She didn't bother sitting in the leather visitor's chair. She leaned over the polished wood, her posture aggressive, and slapped a glossy strip of paper down right on top of my financial projections.

An ultrasound scan.

"I'm ten weeks along," she announced.

Before I could form a reply, she raised her left hand and fanned her fingers out. A massive three-carat diamond caught the overhead fluorescent light, throwing fractured rainbows across the room.

"Julian proposed last night," she said, her chin tilting up in a victorious angle. "We're keeping the baby."

I picked up the ultrasound by the corner. The blurry gray mass meant absolutely nothing to me. No surge of heartbreak. No sting of betrayal. Just another problem to categorize.

"Congratulations," I murmured, setting the paper aside.

Chloe's jaw tightened. She clearly expected screaming. Tears. A shattered coffee mug against the wall.

"Sign the divorce papers, Eleanor. Today." She reached into her designer tote bag and pulled out a thick manila envelope. She tossed it next to the ultrasound. "Julian is done with you. He's been done for a year. I'm giving him the family you couldn't. Stop dragging this out and let him go."

"Is that what he told you?" I asked, stacking my spreadsheets into a neat pile.

"He told me you're a cold, barren workaholic who cares more about this company than your own husband." Chloe smirked. "He said you haven't shared a bed in eight months."

"Nine months, actually." I tapped the stack of papers against the desk to align the edges. "But who's counting?"

Her smirk faltered for a second. "You think this is a joke? I have his child inside me. I have his ring on my finger. You have nothing."

"I have the company," I corrected her. "The one my father built. The one Julian married into."

"And soon he'll have half of it," Chloe shot back. "Unless you sign the papers now and keep it out of court. He said he'll settle for a clean break if you don't fight him."

"A clean break." I repeated the words, testing their weight. "Julian always did love a clean break."

The intercom on my console buzzed. "Ms. Thorne, do you need me to call the police?" my assistant asked through the speaker.

I reached over and pressed the red disconnect button. I cut the line entirely.

Silence thick and heavy filled the spacious office.

"Have you ever looked at Julian's personal accounts, Chloe?"

She blinked, completely thrown off by the pivot. "What?"

"His personal accounts. The ones outside the Thorne corporate umbrella." I grasped the edges of my curved monitor.

I spun the screen one hundred and eighty degrees until it faced her directly.

"I don't care about your corporate intimidation tactics," Chloe sneered, though her eyes darted to the glowing display. "Julian handles the money. I just need you to sign the papers so we can start our lives."

"You should care." I uncapped a red marker. "Because you're currently liable for his debts."

I pointed to the top line of the digital ledger displayed on the screen.

"Last month, Julian took out a two-million-dollar loan."

Chloe scoffed, tossing her blonde hair over her shoulder. "Julian makes that in a week. Two million is pocket change for him."

"From a traditional bank, yes." I tapped the glass screen. "But he didn't go to a bank. He went to the Maroni syndicate. Underground lenders. Loan sharks."

Her smug expression faltered. A tiny crease formed between her manicured eyebrows. "Julian wouldn't do that. He has limitless credit."

"He had limitless credit. Until I froze his assets pending our separation." I dragged the red marker across the monitor, drawing a thick crimson circle around a digital signature at the bottom of the PDF document. "The Maronis require collateral. And a guarantor."

Chloe stared at the red circle.

"That's your signature, isn't it?" I asked.

"He... he told me it was paperwork for the new condo in Tribeca."

"He lied."

I leaned back in my leather chair and crossed my legs.

"You didn't just sign for a condo. You signed as the sole guarantor for two million dollars of syndicate money. Money Julian has already lost at the baccarat tables in Macau."

The power dynamic inverted instantly.

Five seconds ago, she was the triumphant mistress demanding my surrender. Now, her chin dropped. Her shoulders caved inward, pulling her chest down in a defensive hunch. The aggressive fire in her eyes extinguished, replaced by raw panic.

"They charge twenty percent interest monthly," I stated, my voice completely flat. I sounded exactly as I did when reading the revenue reports to the board. "By next Friday, you owe them four hundred thousand dollars just to keep your kneecaps intact."

"No." She shook her head, a frantic, jerky motion. "Julian wouldn't do that to me. I'm having his child."

"Julian protects Julian. He used your name because mine is legally untouchable."

"You're making this up." Chloe pointed a trembling finger at the screen. "You fabricated this document to scare me away."

"I don't need to scare you away." I folded my hands in my lap. "I already kicked him out. You're the one who took out the trash for me. I should be thanking you."

"Shut up!" Chloe yelled, her voice pitching high. "He loves me! He bought me this ring!"

"Did he? Or did he put it on a credit card he can no longer pay off?"

Chloe stared at her left hand. The three-carat diamond caught the light again, but this time, it didn't look like a victory prize. It looked like a shackle.

"He told me we were going to Paris next week," she mumbled, her eyes wide.

"He's fleeing the country," I clarified. "And leaving you here to deal with the Maronis."

"No. No, no, no." Chloe reached out. Her fingers, painted with bright red polish, dug into the edge of my mahogany desk. Her knuckles turned stark white under the fluorescent lights.

Her eyes remained glued to the digital ledger, tracking the terrifying reality of the numbers.

"Call him," I suggested.

"What?"

"Call him." I gestured to the phone clutched in her other hand. "Ask him about the Maroni loan. Ask him why his phone has been going straight to voicemail since Tuesday."

She flinched. She already knew he wasn't answering.

"He said his battery was broken," she whispered.

"Loan sharks don't care about broken batteries, Chloe."

She squeezed the wood tighter, her throat working as she swallowed hard. Her nails scratched against the polish.

"How do I..." Her voice cracked, scraping out of her throat in a desperate rasp. "How do I get out of it?"