Chapter 5 - The Mistress Unmasked
The atmosphere in the dining room had shifted from shock to pure, unadulterated hostility. Liam sat slumped in his chair, cowed by my father’s physical presence and utterly crushed by the sudden evaporation of his carefully constructed lies. His mother was weeping softly into a linen napkin, while my mother stood by the bassinet, rocking little Hailey with one hand while casting murderous glances across the room.
"Who is she, Liam?" I asked, my voice chillingly calm as I crossed my arms over my chest. "Do you want to tell them her name, or should I read it off the company directory I pulled up on your laptop?"
Liam’s lips trembled. He didn't say a word. He knew that the moment he spoke her name, the last shred of his dignity would be stripped away.
"I'll save you the trouble," I said, walking over to the sideboard where I had left my leather folio. I pulled out a single sheet of heavy cardstock paper—an enlarged, crystal-clear printout of a corporate directory profile, complete with a smiling, professionally edited headshot of a young woman in a sharp blazer. I walked over and dropped it squarely onto Liam’s plate, right on top of his leftover roast chicken.
My father-in-law leaned over to look at the paper. His eyes widened as he read the name printed in bold letters at the top.
"Chloe Vance," my father-in-law read aloud, his voice dropping into a dangerous growl. He looked up at his son, sheer disbelief etched into every wrinkle of his weathered face. "Chloe Vance? Isn't that the junior project coordinator you hired six months ago? The one you told us was just a hard-working kid straight out of business school?"
"Hard-working, indeed," I remarked dryly, pulling out a second sheet of paper and placing it beside the first. This one was a screenshot of a digital hotel booking confirmation for a boutique downtown hotel, dated three weeks prior. "She worked so hard that she managed to secure a weekend getaway with my husband, billed directly to the corporate expense account under 'client consultation.' Fascinating how creative architecture firms can be with their accounting."
Liam flinched violently as his father picked up the hotel receipt, his eyes scanning the details with trembling fingers.
"You embezzled company funds to pay for your mistress?" his father whispered, the horror in his voice cutting deeper than any scream. "You used my firm's accounts—accounts I built with thirty years of sweat and honesty—to fund your little affairs?"
"Dad, it was just a temporary thing—" Liam stammered, his voice breaking into a high-pitched, hysterical plea. "It didn't mean anything! Elena wasn't giving me any attention, she was always exhausted, she didn't care about me anymore! I was just looking for a little comfort!"
"Comfort?" My mother-in-law dropped her napkin and glared at her son, her eyes flashing with a sudden, fierce anger that matched my own. "You miserable, ungrateful boy! Your wife was taking care of your infant child! She gave you a family, a home, a life, and you traded it for a twenty-three-year-old girl who doesn't even know the meaning of sacrifice?"
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She turned to me, her eyes glistening with unshed tears, and reached across the table to take my hand. Her grip was surprisingly strong. "Elena, my dear... I am so sorry. I raised him better than this. I swear to you, I had no idea."
"I know you didn't, Mother," I said softly, giving her hand a gentle squeeze. "This isn't on you. This is entirely on Liam. And tonight, he gets to face the consequences."
