My Husband Broke My 3 Ribs For Slapping His Mistress-I Told My Father, Leave No Survivors In Thatt – Part 2

I played the part of the fragile, forgiving wife. I’d sit in the garden, a blanket over my lap, sketching in my old notepad. Barrett would come home, kiss me on the forehead, and ask how I was feeling. A little better everyday, darling, I’d say. His parents, Garrett and his wife, came over for dinner. It was a production. My mother-in-law, who had always treated me like hired help, was now fussing over me, cutting my food, fluffing my pillows.

Oh, Mallerie, dear, we are just so sorry about this whole misunderstanding, she gushed. Boys will be boys, you know. We’re just so glad you’re part of this family. Me, too, I said, sipping my soup. Family is the most important thing. Garrett, Barrett’s father, was a little more transparent. He was nervous. Mallerie, he said, clearing his throat.

I heard your father Don Dominic has been buying up some uh some bonds in the city. Big moves. Oh, I wouldn’t know about that, I said, smiling sweetly. We don’t talk business. We just reconnected after all these years. Of course, of course, he said, dabbing his forehead with a napkin. They were all terrified. Not of me, but of my father.

They thought I was a broken bird with a powerful protector. They had no idea the broken bird was learning to fly and hunt. Meanwhile, Barrett continued his clumsy dance. He was subservient to me in public, but my PI, a gift from my father, was sending me daily reports. Barrett and Taran were still meeting, not at fancy hotels, but at a cheap motel on the edge of town.

They were getting sloppy. They were getting desperate. I spent my days recovering. I’d have Rocco drive me to physical therapy, which was really a meeting with Wesley in a secure office downtown. “He’s bleeding money,” Wesley said, pointing to a chart. “He’s trying to cover the $3 million hole, but he’s doing it by taking out highinterest unsecured loans.

He’s desperate to make the East River project work.” Good, I said. How’s our end? We’ve quietly acquired 3% of Hayes Construction stock. Wesley smiled. Through a Shell Corporation, and I’ve been in contact with two minority shareholders who are very unhappy with Barrett’s leadership. They’re willing to sell.

My phone vibrated. It was a message from my father. The anniversary party for Hayes Construction is in one week. You will be there. You will be the perfect wife. And then you will burn them to the ground. I looked at Wesley. It’s time to prepare for the party. And Wesley, I need you to find me a financial prodigy from Wall Street.

Someone handsome. Someone who will make Barrett jealous. I want you to attend the party as my guest. Wesley adjusted his glasses. I think I know just the man, he said, a small smile playing on his lips. Me. This was getting better and better. I spent the next week preparing. I picked out a dress, a deep crimson blood red with a slit that showed off my leg.

My ribs were still healing, so I couldn’t wear a corset, but the pain was manageable now. It was a good reminder. The night of the party, Barrett came into the guest room as I was getting ready. “Wow, Mal,” he said. “You look stunning. It’s an important night,” I said, fastening an earring. “The 25th anniversary.

I can’t have you losing face, can I?” He breathed a visible sigh of relief. “The foolish man.” He really thought I was back. The party was held at the plaza. The ballroom was dripping with crystals and champagne. The moment I entered on Barrett’s arm, hundreds of eyes turned to us. They were filled with curiosity, surprise, and mostly the eager anticipation of a public spectacle.

“The scandal of a tycoon’s wife being locked in a basement had been the whisper of the elite for weeks, but my forgiveness had confused them.” “Malerie, you look stunning tonight,” Barrett whispered in my ear. His hot breath on my neck made my stomach churn. I suppressed my disgust and gave him a radiant smile. My father-in-law, Garrett, and his wife approached, their faces plastered with awkward smiles.

“My dear, how are your ribs?” Garrett said, ringing his hands. “We’re so grateful for your understanding.” I responded with a smile and scanned the room. I soon spotted Taran by the champagne tower. She was wearing a white lace dress, making her look like a cheap wedding cake. She shot me a look full of resentment. She hadn’t been invited, but as the daughter of Leel and Vance, a major partner, she was here.

“I need to go say hello to an old friend,” I said, releasing Barrett’s arm. I walked over to Taran. Taran, it’s been a while. I said, my voice just loud enough for people nearby to hear. Mallerie, she sneered. Don’t be so smug. Barrett is only with you because he’s afraid of your father. I silenced her by placing my index finger on her lips.

Let’s not spoil the mood. There’s going to be a fun little show later. Make sure you keep your composure. Before she could react, I turned away and came face to face with Wesley. He was dressed in a perfectly tailored navy suit, his eyes sharp. “Miss Romano,” he said, kissing the back of my hand. “The dawn speaks very highly of his daughter.” “Mr. Croft,” I smiled.

“I was hoping we could speak after.” As the party got into full swing, Garrett Hayes took the stage to boast about the glorious achievements of Hayes construction, conveniently omitting any mention of a $3 million hole in their finances. “Finally, I want to thank my daughter-in-law, Mallerie, for her understanding and grace,” Garrett announced.

“What’s important is that the family remains strong. Let’s raise a glass to this lovely couple.” Everyone raised their glasses. I lowered my head to hide the contempt in my eyes, then looked up with a warm smile. “Barrett,” seemingly moved, took my hand. “Malerie, I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you. You won’t need a lifetime,” I said softly.

“You can start right now.” Leaving him with a puzzled look, I walked up to the stage, taking the microphone from the MC. “Thank you all for attending.” My voice was clear and steady. As the wife in this family, I’ve prepared a special anniversary gift. I gestured towards the lighting booth. The ballroom lights dimmed and a massive screen slowly descended from the ceiling.

Barrett’s face tensed. No, Mallerie, please don’t. He tried to rush the stage, but Rocco appeared behind him, his hand clamping down on Barrett’s shoulder like a vice. Enjoy the show, darling. I said, pressing a button on the remote. The highdefinition screen lit up. A crystal clear video of Barrett and Taran writhing on my marital bed. Complete with graphic audio.

A date stamp in the bottom right corner showed it was filmed just 2 days after I’d returned from the hospital. The ballroom erupted. Taran screamed and ran for the exit, but was blocked by security. My father-in-law’s face turned ashen. But that’s just the beginning, I announced, switching the screen. Bank statements.

Casino surveillance footage. My husband embezzled $3 million of company money to gamble in Atlantic City. And finally, I played an audio recording. Barrett on the phone with a demolition crew. I don’t care if one or two of them die. The important thing is that the site is cleared by tomorrow.

The ballroom fell dead silent. I walked step by step towards the ashenfaced Barrett. For 3 years, my designs won awards that raised her stock price 30%. My voice was quiet but sharp. And in return, you gave me betrayal, violence, and three broken ribs. Barrett’s legs gave out. He collapsed to his knees. Mallerie, I’m so sorry.

I was wrong, but I forgive you. I suddenly raised my voice, turning to the stunned guests. Because I am just that loving of a wife. The room buzzed with confusion. My father-in-law, Garrett, as if granted a pardon, scrambled onto the stage and snatched the microphone. It’s a misunderstanding. As you can see, my daughter-in-law has forgiven my son.

Now everyone, please enjoy the party. He was trying to do damage control, but the damage was done. The investors were already clustered in a corner, their faces grim. The reporters were frantically typing on their phones. I descended from the stage, walking through a sea of complicated stairs toward the corner where Wesley was waiting.

He handed me a glass of champagne, his eyes shining with admiration. A magnificent performance, Mallalerie. It’s just the beginning, I said, taking a sip. The next morning, the financial world exploded. The video had been leaked by Wesley to every major news outlet. The hashtag Hayes scandal was trending. By the time the ma

rket opened at 9:30 a.m., Hayes construction stock was in a freef fall. I was in Wesley’s high-tech office, which he’d set up in a discrete downtown building. We had three monitors open. One showed the stock ticker, one showed the news, and one showed a secure feed of our own accounts. “The board is requesting a trading halt,” Wesley said, his voice calm. “But it’s too late.

The short sellers are having a field day.” “Good,” I said, sipping my coffee. “When does our plan go into effect?” “Now,” he said. As the price hits rock bottom, our offshore corporation, the one you are the sole beneficiary of, will begin to buy. We’re not just shortselling, Mallerie. We’re executing a hostile takeover.

My phone rang. It was Barrett. I let it go to voicemail. It rang again. My father-in-law. I ignored it. The rest of the week was a blur of beautiful, calculated chaos. I retreated from the public eye, playing the part of the humiliated wife. I let Barrett leave desperate, pleading voicemails. Mallerie, please.

You have to talk to your father. He’s the only one who can stop this. We’re losing everything. The banks are calling in my loans. The board is trying to oust me. Please, I’ll do anything. I sat in my hotel suite. I’d left the mansion, of course, and listened to his messages, a small smile on my face.

Wesley came by that evening with a bottle of wine. “We’ve hit our first target,” he said, pouring me a glass. “We now own 5% of Hayes Construction. The two minority shareholders, you impressed at the party. They sold their combined 8% to us this afternoon. You are now secretly the third largest shareholder. I took the glass. It’s not enough.

I want it all. Patience, he said. We’re just getting started. The board has called an emergency meeting for tomorrow. They’ve invited me as a representative of the new concerned investors. They invited the fox into the hen house. I laughed. Exactly. He said, “And I’m going to suggest a full independent audit of all company finances, especially the East River project.

and I’m going to nominate a new interim COO to oversee it. Someone with a fresh perspective. Who? I asked. He smiled. Me. This was better than I could have imagined. Barrett wasn’t just losing his company. He was being replaced by the very man who was helping me tear him down. While Wesley was handling the corporate demolition, I was handling the personal.

Something about Terren still bothered me. She had disappeared after the party, and her father, Leland Vance, had issued a statement condemning Barrett and supporting his poor, victimized daughter. It was all PR nonsense. But my gut told me there was more. I was still recovering from my ribs. The ache was a constant, dull throbb, a reminder.

I had a follow-up appointment with Dr. Evans. As I was leaving the discrete medical center, I saw a familiar figure trying to slip out a side door. It was Taran. She was wearing a hat, sunglasses, and she looked pale. But what caught my eye was the clinic she was exiting, obstetrics, and gynecology. I quickly ducked around a corner.

I called my private investigator, Taran Vance. She was just at the Chapman Clinic. OBGYn. I want to know everything. An hour later, I had the answer. Taran was pregnant about 8 weeks along. I did the math in my head. 8 weeks. The party was just last week. That meant I pulled up my phone and checked the files I’d stolen from Barrett’s computer.

the hotel receipts, the bank transfers, and his travel itinerary. My blood ran cold then hot. Eight weeks ago, Barrett Hayes was in Singapore and Hong Kong on a business trip, a six-w week long trip. He hadn’t been in the country at the time of conception. The baby wasn’t Barretts. I laughed. This was a soap opera.

So, who was the father? I called my PI back. I need you to look into Teran’s finances, specifically any large unusual payments. The next day, I got another report. Taran had been receiving monthly payments, $100,000 every month for the last 3 years. Not from Barrett, from a shell company. a shell company that my father’s team traced back in under an hour. It belonged to my father-in-law.

Garrett Hayes. I had to sit down. My head was spinning. Garrett, the old sanctimonious patriarch. He wasn’t just paying Taran to be his son’s mistress. He was what? Paying her to keep quiet? And then another darker thought clicked into place. The dates. The PI had pulled Taran’s visitor logs from her apartment.

Garrett Hayes had been a very frequent visitor, especially when Barrett was out of town. Oh my god. I called Wesley. I need you to do something for me, I said, my voice shaking with a new kind of rage. I need you to get a DNA sample from Garrett. A cup. He used a napkin. I don’t care. And I need you to run a test against Terran.

Mallerie, what’s going on? Just do it. I said I think I think I just found the key to destroying them all for good. Taran wasn’t just Barrett’s mistress. She was his father’s mistress, too. And she was pregnant with his father’s child. This family wasn’t just corrupt. It was rotten to the core.

This changed everything. My revenge plan had just been upgraded from demolition to a nuclear strike. The opportunity presented itself a week later. A major charity auction at the Metropolitan Club. One of those high society CNBC events. I knew Taran’s family, the Vancess, were major patrons. I also knew that Taran, desperate to save her reputation, would be there, playing the part of the wronged woman.

I bought a table front and center. I wore a dress of pure white silk, angelic, innocent. Rocco, as always, was my shadow, disguised as a chauffeur. Taran was there, just as I’d predicted. She was holding court in a corner, dabbing at her eyes, telling a circle of society women how Barrett had tricked her.

She was wearing a tight-fitting black dress, not even trying to hide the slight swell of her stomach. She was weaponizing her pregnancy. I waited until the live auction began. Then I walked over. “Taran,” I said, my voice carrying in the relative quiet. The group went silent. You look glowing. Pregnancy suits you. Her face went pale, then flushed with anger.

How dare you? She hissed. Oh, I dare, I said, smiling. It’s just I’m a little confused. I’ve been looking at Barrett’s calendar. He was in Asia for all of May and June, and you’re what, eight, maybe 9 weeks along? The math is just so tricky. The women around us gasped. Their eyes darted from me to Teran’s stomach. You You’re lying? She shrieked.

Barrett was here. He He came back for a weekend. Did he? I said, figning confusion. That’s not what his passport says. But you know who was in town? His father, Garrett. He visited your apartment, let’s see, six times that month. Must have been comforting you while his son was away. Teran’s face crumpled. She knew. She knew I had her.

The circle of women melted away, not wanting to be associated with this. “You’re a monster,” Taran sobbed. “No,” I said, leaning in. “I’m just a woman who’s very, very good at math. I turned to walk away and then she did something stupid. She lunged at me, her hands raised like claws. I’ll kill you. I didn’t even flinch.

Rocco, who had been standing by the door, moved in a blur. He didn’t touch her. He just stepped in front of me. Taran, blinded by rage, tried to swerve. Her high heel caught on the edge of the plush rug. She stumbled, arms flailing, and fell hard. She fell spectacularly right at the foot of the stage in front of everyone. She screamed.

A horrible, gut-wrenching scream. And as she scrambled to her feet, a dark red stain was spreading across the back of her white dress. “Oh, my baby!” she shrieked, clutching her stomach. “My baby!” The ballroom descended into chaos. People were shouting. I just stood there watching, my face a perfect mask of shock and concern.

I calmly pulled out my phone. I dialed 911. “Yes,” I said, my voice trembling. “There’s been a terrible accident. A pregnant woman has fallen. Please hurry.” Then I made a second call to Barrett. Barrett. Thank God it’s Terran. She She fell. There’s blood everywhere. You need to come. She’s She’s losing the baby.

His first reaction before he could think was, “Damn it. Now my father’s going to kill me.” Click. I hung up. I watched them will tan out on a stretcher. Not only had she humiliated herself in public, but she had also lost the one thing she thought would save her. The gossip columnists would have a field day and I had his confession on tape. Now my father’s going to kill me.

I went back to the hospital. Not for my ribs, but for my father. He’d been quiet. Too quiet. I found him in his study surrounded by the scent of cigars and old leather. the Teran Vance situation. It’s done, I said. He nodded, not looking up from a faded photograph he was holding. I know it was messy. Dad, I said, sitting opposite him.

When I mentioned Taran’s name, Taran Vance, back in the car, you reacted. You knew her father, Leland. Why? Dominic sighed. He finally looked at me and his eyes were old. So old. I never wanted you to be a part of this, Mallerie. Your mother, she wanted you to have a normal life. My normal life got me three broken ribs and a cheating husband.

Tell me. He pushed the yellowed envelope across the desk. The same one from my mother’s things, but this time he took out a different photo. It was a picture of my mother, beautiful and smiling, standing next to a younger Garrett Hayes and a younger Leland Vance. What is this? I whispered. 25 years ago, my father said, his voice flat.

Your mother wasn’t just a designer. She was an activist. She was fighting a new development project. The company was cutting corners using non-code materials and the site was polluting the local water. What? What does this have to do with the company was Haze Construction? My father said a joint venture with Vance Industries. Your mother, she got proof not just of the pollution but of something worse.

A protester died at the site, beaten to death by company security. Your mother had a video. She was going to go to the police. I dug my nails into my palms. What happened? Garrett and Leland found out. They went to see her. They offered her money, a divorce settlement from me. Anything. She refused. The next day, the police ruled her death an accidental fall. I knew it wasn’t.

I’d been collecting evidence for 20 years, but their roots in politics and business run too deep. I could never make it stick. I stared at the photo, my vision blurring. The truth I had been told, it was all a horrific lie. My mother murdered by my father-in-law and the father of my husband’s mistress. What about the security guard who did the beating? I asked, my voice a raw whisper.

Dead. My father sneered. Died in a car accident 3 days after your mother’s funeral. You You are waiting for this, I said. A horrible realization dawning. You were waiting for me to find out. I didn’t want you to be blinded by my revenge, he sighed. But now, now you have your own reasons. I stood up and walked to the window.