Who Is My Husband's Mistress?

To be honest, when my grandmother told me on her deathbed that Malachi had betrayed me, my first reaction was disbelief.

I met Malachi when I was eighteen.

Back then, he had nothing—just a street soldier with a ferocious glare and a refusal to lose.

He had said, “Freya, being with me is dangerous. But the day I take that throne, I’m going to make you the queen of New York.”

I took his hand without hesitation.

From street shootouts to family politics, from hitting dead ends to forcing the Five Families to bend the knee.

During our hardest time, a rival family set an ambush. He drew their fire alone while I, dragging a wounded leg, guarded the briefcase with all our cash.

What made me happiest was that Malachi had kept his promise, treating me like a priceless treasure for over a decade.

In the second year of our marriage, we survived an assassination attempt.

In that split second, Malachi shielded me with his body, taking a bullet straight through his back.

A moment before he lost consciousness, he still managed a pained smile and murmured, “Freya, don’t be afraid. I made you a promise.”

Who could believe a man like that was a traitor?

At the time, I had just smiled and blurted out, “Mamma, you have to be kidding.”

“Loyalty is everything. I trust Malachi.”

My grandmother took a sharp breath, followed by a cold snort.

“Freya, you’re still a child in so many ways.”

“There isn’t a man in this world who doesn’t stray!”

“I saved your life with my premonitions three times. You still won’t believe me now?”

My throat tightened, the words catching in my chest.

My grandmother’s premonitions were never wrong.

And Malachi had been acting strangely these past few months.

He had worn the family ring we exchanged at our wedding for seven years. Not long ago, he’d taken it off, saying the band was loose and needed resizing.

The last time I was in his car, I’d noticed the lingering scent of cheap perfume on the passenger side. Malachi was a notorious neat freak; he never allowed anyone else’s scent in his personal space.

His explanation had been simple: “Jessalyn borrowed the car to pick up her husband. He must have tracked the scent in.”

Back then, I trusted him completely. I didn’t think twice.

But now, looking back, every detail felt wrong.

I pushed the doubt down and forced a casual tone.

“By the way, Jessalyn, that shipment at the docks last night… Malachi said he and your husband handled it. Did it all go smoothly?”

Jessalyn paused for a second, then laughed.

“The Don must have misremembered. My husband went to Miami last week and isn’t back yet. A different team handled last night’s shipment.”

She said it so casually, her expression open and honest.

But a stone dropped in my stomach. My fingertips dug into the armrest of the sofa.

Miami? He left last week?

Malachi had told me, clear as day, that he and Jessalyn’s husband handled it together.

An icy chill shot up from the soles of my feet, so cold it stole my breath.

I forced a smile and nodded lightly.

“Is that so? I must have remembered it wrong.”

My voice was steady, but a storm raged inside me.

It seemed Mamma was right.

Malachi… he really had betrayed me.