Side Chick Tax: Everything

On the first day of her marriage, Lyra Leighton told her CEO husband, Wesley Cheswick,

"I don't care if you fall for someone else later. But if she ever shows up in front of me, you'll never see me again."

So when he did fall for a schoolteacher, he kept her tucked away.

Gave her everything she wanted.

Everything except permission to cross Lyra.

But the side chick got bold on his affection and ignored the line.

She showed up with a baby bump and shoved it in Lyra's face.

"Wesley said it himself. He never loved you. He married you for your family's status. Know your place. Get an abortion and divorce him. Now. Otherwise, when Wesley dumps you, you won't get a dime."

Lyra smiled and called her father.

"Pull the investment from Cheswick Tech. I'm getting a divorce."

Ravenport, Carmoria

Lyra Leighton sat in the VIP room of the nail salon while the technician shifted awkwardly. "Ma'am, the store credit on your account isn't enough."

Lyra froze. Last month, her husband, Wesley Cheswick, had handed the loyalty card to her and said it had three thousand dollars on it.

This was her first time using it.

The technician checked the screen again. "Ms. Leighton, there was a twenty-eight-hundred-dollar charge last Thursday afternoon."

"Last Thursday? Twenty-eight hundred?" Lyra's fingers stilled. "I was at the office that day."

The technician hesitated. "M-Mr. Cheswick brought a woman in. Before leaving, she said to count twenty-six hundred as a tip for one of our staff."

Lyra's heart slammed, a sharp buzz filling her ears.

Last Thursday, Wesley had told her he was meeting a client. He hadn't come home until eight and complained nonstop about how exhausting the meeting was.

She remembered cutting her own meeting short just to rush home and make him honey lemon tea.

"Pull the security footage." Her voice stayed calm, even as her chest dropped.

On the screen, Wesley walked in with a girl in a light blue dress tucked close to his side.

The girl looked up and said something. Wesley smiled and ruffled her hair.

Lyra stared. That easy intimacy made them look like a couple.

If Wesley weren't her husband.

Then, Wesley knelt under the technician's direction and started painting the girl's toenails.

When he finished, he lifted her foot and pressed a kiss to it.

Lyra's blood went cold. Wesley had actually lowered himself to paint another woman's nails.

And that night, he'd come home and kissed her with the same mouth.

Her stomach lurched. She gagged.

The footage kept going. Wesley stayed glued to the girl's side. On their way out, he reached for her white handbag as if it were second nature.

Lyra stared at the screen. That bag—

It was identical to the one in her closet.

Wesley had brought it back from his "business trip" last week as a gift.

So it wasn't just for her.

"Send the video to my email." Lyra stood, legs shaky, grabbed her purse, and rushed out.

Back at the house she shared with Wesley, she went straight to the study.

Her fingers trembled as she dialed the private investigator. "I want Wesley's full schedule. Everything."

Three hours later, a dozen photos flooded her inbox.

Wesley and the girl—Irene Shmuck—buying groceries. Holding hands at the movies.

The worst one sat at the bottom.

A photo of a marriage certificate.

Dated over a year ago.

Lyra couldn't stop trembling.

She remembered Wesley standing at the altar, looking straight at her as he swore, "Lyra, I will never betray you in this lifetime."

So this was his lifetime? That short?

Her phone buzzed. The investigator sent a follow-up message: "Irene, 24, schoolteacher. The marriage certificate is fake. Wesley paid cash to have it made. He goes to her apartment every Wednesday and Friday afternoon."

Her hands shook as she dialed. "Dad, if we pulled out of Cheswick Tech's renewable energy project..."

"What happened?" Victor Leighton's voice sharpened. "Did Wesley do something to you?"

That single question broke her.

She remembered Victor at the wedding, eyes red as he placed her hand into Wesley's. "If you ever make my daughter suffer, I'll make sure you never work in this industry again."

"He—" Her throat locked, thick and tight.

Another memory surfaced. Last year, she'd been burning with pneumonia. Wesley had carried her into the ER in the middle of the night and stayed by her bed for three days.

The man who'd lost sleep over her—how had he ended up "married" to someone else?

"It's nothing for now." She bit down on her knuckle to keep her voice steady. "Wait for my word."

She hung up just as the garage door opened.

Wesley walked in with a folder, his expression warm and familiar. "You're home early?"

"Yeah. Went to get my nails done." Lyra held out her hand. "Used the store credit card you gave me."

Wesley froze for a split second.

He smoothed it over fast, but she caught it.

"Oh," she added lightly, "the staff said you brought a girl there last Thursday?"

His expression flickered as he studied her face.

When he saw her calm, he smiled. "Mrs. Brook's daughter from next door. She wanted to try it but didn't want to go alone, so I took her to the place you like."

He stepped closer and wrapped his arms around her. "Hungry? I'll make dinner."

Lyra watched him walk into the kitchen, her chest tightening.

If she hadn't found out, how long would he have kept playing her for a fool?

She picked up her phone and texted Victor: "Pull out next week. I'm filing for divorce."

After sending it, she looked toward the kitchen.

Wesley was slicing vegetables, movements smooth and practiced.

He must have learned all that in that side piece's kitchen over the past year.

Lyra walked into the bedroom, slid her wedding ring off, and set it on the nightstand.

Then she turned and went to bed.