After Serving Three Years in Prison for Him, I Came Home to His Affair and My Son's Betrayal

"Mr. Harris." I shielded my eyes against the blinding midday glare. "Where is Ryan?"

The old butler stood rigidly beside the black sedan. He stared at the pavement, refusing to meet my gaze. "Mr. Carter is wrapping up a shoot, ma'am."

"He promised he'd be here." I gripped the frayed strap of my canvas bag.

I spent three years in a concrete cell for tax fraud. I took the fall to save his acting career. I was his agent. I was his wife. I thought this was a sacrifice I willingly made for our family. Ryan held me the night before my sentencing. He promised he would take care of our son, Noah. He promised he would wait for me.

"When does his work finish?" I asked.

"Soon." Harris opened the rear door. "Please, get in."

"Give me my phone. I need to call him."

"We should head home first."

I slid into the leather seat, the cold air conditioning biting my skin. "Did he at least mention me this morning? Did he say he was sorry he couldn't make it?"

"Mr. Carter had a very early call time," Harris replied stiffly, shutting the door.

I stared out the tinted window as the prison faded into the distance. I assumed Ryan was just protecting his image. We were secretly married. He had to be careful.

The mansion felt entirely foreign when we arrived. I bypassed the silent living room and marched straight upstairs to the master suite.

"I'll bring up your belongings, ma'am," Harris called out from the bottom step.

"Just leave them in the hall," I answered.

I pushed open the heavy bedroom door. A black lace nightgown lay draped across the unmade mattress. A sleek new smartphone rested beside it.

"He remembered," I whispered.

A small smile touched my lips. Maybe I had been too hard on him. Maybe he really was just busy.

I peeled off my stiff prison uniform and pulled the lace over my head. The fabric immediately dug into my ribs. It bunched awkwardly at the chest. It was at least two sizes too small.

Frowning, I snatched the phone from the nightstand. The screen lit up instantly.

My pulse hammered in my ears.

The wallpaper wasn't a picture of me. It wasn't our son, Noah.

It was Ryan. His hands gripped the waist of Vanessa Moore, a C-list actress I had explicitly warned him to avoid before my trial. Her bare chest pressed flush against his open shirt. Her lips were kissing his neck.

"What the hell is this?" I muttered, my fingers trembling.

A notification chimed loudly in the quiet room. A private link flashed across the screen: *My Daily Life with the Best Actor.*

My thumb tapped the alert before I could process what it was.

A live video feed loaded. The camera angle pointed up from a bedside table.

"Fuck, Vanessa," Ryan's voice rasped through the tiny speaker.

The screen displayed their tangled bodies. Ryan thrust hard into her, his hands pinning her wrists to the mattress.

"Right there," Vanessa moaned loudly. "God, you're fucking deep."

"Take it all," he grunted, his hips snapping forward with brutal force. "Wrap your legs around me."

I froze. The phone felt like a block of ice in my palm.

Vanessa arched her back, her face twisting in pleasure. "Your wife gets out of prison today. Aren't you worried she'll be heartbroken? You're here fucking me instead of picking her up."

Ryan let out a harsh laugh. He slapped her thigh, leaving a red mark. "She's not crippled. She can find her own way back."

"But she took the fall for you."

"It was her duty." Ryan grabbed Vanessa's hips, pounding into her aggressively. "Without me, Charlotte Ashford is nothing. She's a nobody."

"Oh fuck, Ryan—harder!"

"You like that?" he grunted.

"Yes, fuck, yes."

"Besides," he sneered, his face contorting as he drove deeper. "She's a prude. She never spread her legs like this. You take my dick so much better than she ever did."

Vanessa giggled, her nails digging into his shoulders. "Aren't you afraid she'll divorce you?"

"Let her." Ryan drove into her one last time, groaning loudly. "If she leaves me, she's no different than trash on the street."

I checked the red icon at the top corner of the screen.

*1 Viewer.*

This wasn't a public broadcast. Vanessa had sent this directly to the phone she planted in my bedroom.

A raw scream ripped from my throat.

I dug my fingers into the lace nightgown and tore it off my body. The fabric ripped at the seams. I hurled it at the wall.

My hands shook violently as I yanked my faded jeans and gray t-shirt back on. I bolted out of the room, sprinting down the sweeping staircase.

"Who are you?"

I slammed to a halt on the bottom step.

A little boy stood in the hallway. He clutched a plastic toy car. He had Ryan's dark hair and my bright green eyes.

Noah.

He was only eight months old when I left. He had just learned to say 'Mama'. Now he was three. I missed all of his firsts.

Tears spilled down my cheeks. I dropped to my knees on the hardwood floor. "Noah. It's me."

He tilted his head. His face twisted in disgust. "Are you psycho?"

"I'm your mom." I reached out, desperate to pull him into my arms.

Noah shoved my shoulders hard. He stepped backward quickly. "Don't touch me! I already have a mom."

"No, sweetie." I wiped my wet face, forcing my voice to stay steady. "I went away to prison three years ago. I'm back now."

Noah crossed his arms over his small chest. "Oh. You're the ex-con nanny my mom warned me about."

The words struck me like a physical blow. "What?"

"Since you're out of jail, go make dinner." Noah pointed a tiny finger toward the kitchen. "And who said you could go in the master bedroom? Mom says you should be fined a year's salary for that."

"Noah, look at me," I pleaded, my voice cracking. "I'm your real mother."

"You're a liar!" he yelled. "Mom says you're crazy!"

My lungs seized.

I carried him for ten months. I nearly bled out on the delivery table bringing him into this world.

Now, he called Vanessa 'mom'. He called me the ex-con nanny.

I let out a harsh, broken laugh. No tears came this time. Just a hollow, scraping sound echoing from my chest.

Footsteps hurried down the hall. Mr. Harris appeared, quickly grabbing Noah's hand.

"Come along, young master. Let's go to your playroom."

Noah glared at me one last time before letting the old butler lead him upstairs.

Harris returned a moment later. He pulled a sealed white box from his coat pocket and held it out to me. Another phone.

"Perhaps you should wait in the nanny's quarters, ma'am," Harris said quietly. His eyes remained fixed on my shoes. "Mr. Carter will be home soon."

I stared at the box. Then I looked at the man who had managed this house since before I married Ryan. He knew everything. They all did.

"You knew," I stated.

Harris flinched. "Ma'am, I just follow orders."

I snatched the phone from his hand.

"No need," I said, my voice eerily flat.

Harris finally looked up, alarm flashing across his wrinkled face. "Ma'am? What do you mean?"

"I'm not waiting in the nanny's room." I turned toward the heavy oak front doors. "I'm going to find him. I know exactly where he is."

I pushed the door open, stepping back out into the blinding sunlight. I survived three years in a cage for him, and this was my reward. Now, he was going to find out what I could do when I wasn't locked away.