Chapter 4He Wanted Heirs I Gave Him Ruin

I found it increasingly unbearable to have Trevor play the role of husband in my life, but the transfer of assets wasn't complete. The cold war between us had to continue.

Maybe he was waiting for me to come to my senses. Maybe he was waiting for me to ask for a divorce. Either way, I had no intention of letting him off easy.

Twenty days after I discovered the affair, I met the woman he was keeping.

She must have heard something from Trevor, because she decided to provoke me directly, staging a "chance encounter" at the coffee shop I frequented. She was even sitting at my usual table by the window.

The P.I. I hired had sent me dozens of photos and videos of her. I recognized her instantly.

She was young, probably no older than twenty-five or twenty-six. The clothes she wore, the designer bag at her side—none of it was cheap. Trevor must have sheltered her well; she had a vibrant, almost naive energy about her. Her eyes held a sort of clear-eyed stupidity.

For a moment, I thought of myself at twenty-five. Trevor and I had been married for just over a year, living in a cramped, second-floor walk-up on a meager salary. Our clothes were worn for years, faded from countless washes. It was during those years that we scraped together every penny to fund our startup. Late at night, overcome with emotion, he would sometimes swear he would never betray me. I believe, back then, some part of him meant it.

What a pity that sincerity has such a short shelf life.

I acted as if I didn't know her. I ordered my usual coffee and sat at a table diagonally across from hers. I didn't give her so much as a sideways glance.

My initial assessment of her was quickly proven wrong. She moved to the seat directly opposite me, a provocative smile on her face. "Mrs. Hayes," she said.

So, she knew exactly who I was. This wasn't a case of being manipulated or lied to. She was a willing participant. And now, she was trying to challenge me, openly and brazenly.

Tsk. Did she have any idea that half of everything she ate, everything she wore, belonged to me?

I took a sip of my coffee, my gaze drifting over her slightly swelling belly. "I'm sorry, have we met?"

In the end, she didn't have the courage to admit her sordid role in all this. She stammered out a flimsy, ridiculous explanation of how she knew of me.

I said nothing, simply watching her with a half-smile. I wanted her to know that I saw right through her pathetic little game. A vine that spends its life clinging to a tree forgets how to withstand the wind and rain on its own. She didn't last thirty seconds under my gaze before she scrambled away, her hasty retreat a picture of utter humiliation.

I felt a pang of something like pity. For her, and for the state of the world. So young, with a whole life ahead of her, and this was the path she chose: to be someone’s broodmare.