Wife Uncovers Husband's Affair

Sarah's ballet teacher shared a photo of the children's performance on Instagram. "Our little Aliya shone with her swan dance today. Give it some love!" My eyes were drawn to the girl in the center. Her ballet shoes looked uncannily similar to the pair I'd had custom-made for my daughter. But why wasn't Sarah in this performance? I called my husband, Jameson, to discuss it, but he brushed off my concerns. "It's common for things to look similar. As for Sarah not performing, she was just in a mood and didn't want to go." Later, I noticed that things mysteriously missing from our home often appeared with the dance teacher and her daughter. Something odd was definitely going on! --- After wrapping up a shoot, I finally had time to check my family's messages.

Chapters

Chapter 3

Look at the way she talks; as if it's not quite normal for me, the lady of the house, to be here. I crossed my arms, feeling slightly taken aback. "Gwen, what brings you here so early in the morning?"

Perhaps sensing the tension in my voice, she replied with a sheepish grin, "Oh, I'm just here to pick up Sarah for her ballet practice. It's on my way to the studio."

My eyes caught a glimpse of her bag, which revealed a pink Hello Kitty bottle that looked exactly like the one I had brought back for Sarah from London.

"For an adult, you've got quite the playful spirit, Gwen."

She shifted her bag uneasily and glanced towards the door. "Chelsea, could you have Sarah come out? I've got more students to pick up today."

Thinking my daughter was probably still asleep, I gestured for Gwen to come in and wait. Just then, a loud alarm went off from the children’s room, and Sarah dashed out, fully dressed with her hair neatly done.

I stood in shock, glancing at the clock on the wall. It was only 8:10. She usually didn't get up until around 8:30. Since when did she become an early bird?

"Morning, Mom, morning, Miss Spencer."

Her young voice rang out, and I didn’t have time to ponder it. I quickly grabbed her little backpack and slipped it onto her shoulders. Then I rushed to the kitchen to grab some milk and a croissant, stuffing them into her bag as she headed out the door.

"Gwen, didn't you bring juice for me today?"

Sarah asked, looking up at Gwen with expectant eyes. Gwen, looking flustered, tugged her towards the elevator. "Uh... I was in such a rush this morning, I completely forgot. I'll bring it next time."

Her guilty expression didn't escape my notice. I quickly changed into something more presentable and discreetly followed Gwen to the dance studio in an old BMW I barely used.

Sarah was at the far end, preparing to change into her ballet outfit and shoes. I immediately spotted a problem!

Last month, for her birthday, I had given her a limited-edition silk dance outfit, which was quite an investment. But now, she had on something rough-textured and dull—a cheap imitation! As for her dance shoes, she winced as she held the stiff, uncomfortable pair, obviously hesitant to wear them.

When she removed her socks, I saw her toes were covered in blisters—red and inflamed!

Throughout practice, Gwen was relentless, treating my daughter harshly with verbal and even physical abuse. She kept swatting her on the back and even kicked her on the backside and thighs.

Barely containing my rage, I recorded five minutes of Gwen's mistreatment on my phone. Then I burst through the studio door, marched up to Gwen, and slapped her hard across the face, leaving her cheek instantly swollen with five distinct marks.

"Who are you? Why are you hitting my mom?" A young girl shouted, rushing over to shield Gwen.

And she was wearing the very dance outfit I had bought for Sarah!

I picked up my daughter, who was miserably curled up behind me, and glared at Gwen. "If you ever mess with my daughter again, you'll regret it!"

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The shrill ring of my phone cut through the peaceful afternoon silence like a blade. I was sketching seagulls in my notebook, lost in the gentle rhythm of pencil strokes, when the call shattered everything. "Is this Quinn Lawrence?" The voice was clinical, urgent. "This is Seattle General Hospital. Your sister Hayley has been admitted to our ICU. You need to come immediately." The pencil slipped from my fingers, clattering to the floor. "What happened? Is she—" "Ma'am, please come as soon as possible. She's in critical condition." The drive to the hospital blurred past in a haze of terror and disbelief. My hands gripped the steering wheel so tightly my knuckles went white.

Modern Mystery Romance

7.9

Coma Wife's Vengeance

7.9

The first thing I noticed was the beeping. Steady, mechanical, irritating. My eyelids felt like they were weighted with lead, but I forced them open anyway, squinting against the harsh fluorescent lights overhead. A hospital room. White walls. The antiseptic smell that never quite leaves your nostrils. Three years. For three long years, I'd been trapped in this unresponsive body, my mind perfectly alert while my limbs refused to obey. Three years of watching, listening, understanding everything happening around me while being unable to scream, to cry, to rage. Three years of watching my husband betray me with Cali Rogers.

Modern Mystery Romance

7.9

First Lady Out, Your Majesty In

7.9

For three years, Allison played the perfect First Lady in a marriage that never gave her love back. Nolan handed her divorce papers, sneering at her background while his mother mocked her as barren and his pregnant mistress claimed her place. So Allison walked away. On the very day she left him, the royal family reclaimed her as their lost princess. Crown, fortune, power, three terrifying brothers, and a handpicked royal consort now stood at her side. Her eldest brother-the world's most feared arms dealer-pushed a black card across the table. "Go on. Spend whatever you like." Her second brother-the genius doctor-twirled a scalpel between his fingers. "Tell me, sis. How many cuts do the ones who hurt you deserve?" Her third brother-a global martial arts superstar-stormed into her ex-husband's lair. "Who made my sister cry? Time to face the music." When her regretful ex begged for another chance, Allison only smiled. It was too late. She was no longer his wife. She was his worst mistake.

Action Modern Romance

9.5

I Exposed My Husband’s Affair Live on National TV

9.5

I woke to silence on my fortieth birthday. The California sun streamed through the curtains of our Beverly Hills mansion, painting golden patterns across the king-sized bed. Marcus's side was empty, the sheets cold and undisturbed. He hadn't come home last night. Again. I ran my fingers over the vacant space beside me, feeling the familiar ache of disappointment settling in my chest. Today was supposed to be different. Today was my birthday. "He'll remember," I whispered to myself, the sound of my voice startling in the quiet room. "He has to." I pushed myself up, catching my reflection in the mirrored closet doors.

Billionaire Modern Romance

8.2

Mafia Princess's Vengeance for Lost Heir

8.2

At my ten-week ultrasound, I was supposed to be celebrating the future of the Falcone family. I was Isabella Falcone, wife to the most powerful Don in the south. But when the nurse called my name, the man who stood up beside his pregnant mistress was my husband. In the sterile silence of that waiting room, he chose her. He later confessed he was being blackmailed by her family-a weakness that was a death sentence in our world. That night, he moved his mistress into our home, into my bedroom, and locked me away like a prisoner in the staff quarters. He wasn't imprisoning his wife; he was guarding an asset. He needed the legitimate heir I carried to save his crumbling empire. His betrayal was absolute when his own mother and my adoptive parents arrived while he was away. They forced me to sign divorce papers, then told me they were taking me to a clinic. His mother pulled out a gun and pointed not at my head, but at my stomach. "We're terminating this complication," she said coldly. As they dragged me from the house, my world went dark. But through the haze, I saw a fleet of black cars blocking the gate. An army of men poured out, led by a face I had only ever seen in a photograph. Days earlier, locked in my room, I made a single phone call to the only man more powerful than my husband: my biological father, the head of the Chicago Outfit. And he had come to collect his daughter.

Mafia Modern Romance

8.2

Mistress Meets Her Match

8.2

The soft afternoon light filtered through the floor-to-ceiling windows of our penthouse living room, casting gentle shadows across the cream-colored marble floors. I sat curled in my favorite armchair, a leather-bound novel resting in my lap while Whiskers purred contentedly against my thighs. His gray fur was warm beneath my fingers as I absently stroked behind his ears, finding comfort in the rhythmic vibration of his purring. The silence of our home wrapped around me like a familiar blanket—a peace I'd learned to treasure in these quiet moments. The sharp beep of the security system shattered that tranquility. I looked up from my book, my hand stilling on Whiskers' fur. The front door's electronic lock disengaged with a soft click, and I heard the distinctive tap of designer heels against marble. My stomach clenched with a familiar dread, though my expression remained perfectly composed. Only one person besides Kane had access to our home's security code. Nyomi Grant swept into the living room as if she owned it, her pregnant belly prominently displayed beneath a form-fitting designer dress that probably cost more than most people's monthly salary.

Billionaire Modern Romance

Wife Uncovers Husband's Affair

Chapter 3

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