The day I got the confirmation of my second pregnancy, a notification popped up in the family group chat. The sender, a username I knew belonged to my husband’s mistress, had tagged me: “Griffin says you’re the most generous woman, Evelyn, so I’m thrilled to share our husband’s $300,000 ‘Perfect Attendance Bonus’ with the family.” “A small token of appreciation for the three hundred nights I kept him company this year.” “Hope you’re not too deflated about your own little $30 ‘Participation Trophy,’ honey.” “Don’t worry, I know the difference between the Queen and the joker. I’ll stick to my job: making sure Griffin is satisfiedin the bedroom.” “And thank you to the entire Maxwell family for accepting me. I’ll keep up the good work and aim for an eight-figure Christmas bonus next year.” The thread went silent. Even my usually chatty mother-in-law was quiet. Just then, Griffin Maxwell walked in. Seeing the blood drain from my face, he gave me a look of practiced calm. “The girl was insistent about joining the family thread,” he confessed smoothly. “She’s pregnant, Evie, and emotional. I had to manage her feelings. This is my fault, so I have a responsibility to her.” My heart turned to ice. It finally clicked why he had sent me a $30 Venmo an hour earlier, with the note: “Perfect Attendance.” Staring at the husband who had completely forgotten the path we’d walked together, a crushing weight settled in my chest. I knew, with absolute certainty, that I was done with him. 1 Griffin saw my silence and reached for my face, holding it with a sickening, devotional promise. “Evie. You will always be my Primary. My wife in every sense of the word. The woman I respect most.” “No one can touch your position as Mrs. Maxwell. Don’t let this little thing upset you, okay?” I stared at him, hollowed out. In that instant, he was a stranger. The man I’d loved with my whole heart, the man I’d built an empire with, was gone. And the title of ‘Mrs. Maxwell’? I didn't want it anymore. Meeting his gaze—a patronizing blend of expectation and reassurance—I crushed the tempest inside me and managed a faint smile. “Okay,” I whispered. Griffin let out a breath of relief, attempting to pull me into a hug. “That’s my girl. The most understanding wife in the world. I’m the luckiest man alive.” I stiffened, taking an involuntary step back. His phone rang, stopping him mid-movement. Right in front of me, he answered it, his voice dropping into a soft, concerned murmur. “You threw up again? I’m on my way.” “You want cake? Sure. I’ll have my wife bake one for you. Just try to keep it together, I’m leaving now.” He hung up, eyes full of frantic worry, and addressed me in the tone one might use for a hired hand. “Honey, be a sweetheart and bake Blair one of your strawberry layer cakes. It’s her favorite.” He didn't give me a second glance, rushing toward the door. I stood there, a punchline to a terrible joke. My mind struggled to catch up. I hadn't realized my home had been utterly ransacked. The woman who slept with my husband had also eaten the cake—my cake. I had spent months perfecting that recipe because Griffin said he loved it. Now, I understood. She loved it. I pulled out my phone. First, I booked a consultation for the abortion. Then, I texted Harrison Bell, my former law school mentor and now a top divorce attorney: “I want a full divorce, half the assets, and sole custody of our daughter.” The phone was still in my hand when my ten-year-old daughter, Paige, rushed down the stairs. “Mom, seriously? Stop spacing out! Go make Blair’s cake.” “Don’t you know pregnant women can’t be kept waiting? Hurry up!” I froze, as if struck by lightning, and turned to face her, disbelief written all over my face. “You knew? You knew your father was having an affair?” Her lack of concern, her casual dismissal, stabbed me deep in the heart. “Well, yeah. Blair just posted it in the family thread, remember?” she said, rolling her eyes. “Since you know, I’ll be honest.” “Blair is my best friend. She’s completely genuine with Dad and me. I’ve loved her since I was six, Mom, she’s a really great person.” “And she’s giving me a little brother. I really hope you can just try to be nice to her.” 2 Every word Paige spoke was a twist of the knife. I couldn't comprehend that this was the child I had raised with every fiber of my being for ten years. My hand trembled. My throat burned. I fought back the stinging tears. “You like her?” “Of course! She’s sweet and pretty and fun. Everyone loves her. And don't blame Dad.” “Just try to understand one thing, Mom: Blair is joining our family. She’s not here to break it up.” She didn't care about the devastation on my face. With a final piece of self-righteous advice, she turned and headed back to her room. I looked at her retreating back and gave a cold, faint laugh. I deleted the last text and sent a new one to Harrison: “Forget the custody. Just start the proceedings.” The crushing weight in my chest slowly began to lift. I wiped away the tears that fell, giving up on this rotten marriage with a newfound clarity. Griffin called and texted, badgering me about the cake’s progress. I ignored him. Thirty minutes later, I saw the mistress in the flesh. It was her. The girl I had helped four years ago, the one I had pulled from a disastrous situation with her stepfather and given an entry-level job at Maxwell Global. My kindness now felt like a cruel joke. I should have left her to the wolves. I shouldn’t have had pity. “Evie.” She stood before me, hand linked with Griffin’s, smiling sweetly, an image of pure, guileless innocence. Nausea rose in my throat. My hands, hidden in my sleeves, clenched into fists. Initially, I had only planned to target Griffin, believing his betrayal was the greater sin—his inability to control himself. But now, driven by a fury I didn't recognize, I stepped forward and slapped her across the face. “Blair Hartley! You have a hell of a conscience!” Tears instantly welled in her eyes. She clutched her cheek, a picture of apologetic distress. “I’m so sorry, Evie. You’re right to hit me. I thought... I thought you’d accepted me. I wouldn’t have come if I knew you hadn’t.” She played the victim so well it was sickening. Griffin roared, pushing me back hard. “Evelyn Reid, what the hell! She’s pregnant! How could you hit her!” In fifteen years of marriage, this was the first time he had ever laid a hand on me in anger. The force was tremendous; I fell hard, a sharp, searing pain shooting through my body. More than the pain, I was stunned. This was the man who once cried with sympathy when I accidentally got a minor burn while cooking. Now, he’d shoved me to the ground for his mistress. Blair, ever the peacemaker, bent over us. “Griffin, no, stop. This is our fault. Please, I’m just thirsty for some lemonade. Go get me a glass, will you?” Griffin hesitated, his eyes still blazing with anger at me. She gave him a reassuring look. “Evie’s a kind person. She won’t do anything. Go on, please.” Griffin, who now obeyed Blair like he once obeyed me, glared at me one last time. “Don’t touch her again.” He left, glancing back over his shoulder repeatedly, his anxiety visible. Blair knelt next to me, offering a hand to help me up, her voice a low, vicious sneer that only I could hear. “Hate me all you want. Even if it wasn't me, it would be someone else. He’s done with you.” Her triumphant eyes raked over my face. “I was actually going to let you stay as the little housekeeper, out of gratitude for the past. But you’re not playing nice, so you can’t blame me.” She smiled in pure self-satisfaction. “But I wasn’t that bad to you, was I?” “Why do you think you got that $30 ‘Participation Trophy’?” “You didn’t know, did you? I convinced him to give you that much. He told me he wouldn’t give you a cent—that a housewife like you was just the Maxwell family’s free nanny.” She stifled a giddy laugh. “Oh, and your daughter said you were just the nanny, too.” “See? He didn’t want to give you anything. I’m the one who begged him to give you the thirty dollars. How good am I to you?” 3 Her smug, wicked face was like something pulled from a sewer. I was trembling with fury, but I gave her a cold, dismissive snort. “You don’t need to provoke me. Even if I give you the title of Mrs. Maxwell, you don’t have the strength to hold it.” A person who only knows how to harvest fruit but never how to plant a tree will eventually reap what they sow. She gave a contemptuous pout. Just as the sound of Griffin’s returning footsteps grew near, she suddenly pulled a small paring knife from her pocket and plunged it into her own abdomen! I gasped, frozen in horror. Before I could move, she pressed my hand onto the handle, screaming in anguish: “Evie, I promised I’d leave Griffin and get rid of the baby! Why are you killing me!” I tried to yank my hand away, but it was too late. Griffin’s foot slammed into my side, sending me sprawling again. “Evelyn! Are you insane?!” My daughter, Paige Maxwell, rushed downstairs. She glared at me, righteous fury in her eyes. “Mom, murder is illegal! Do you want to go to jail?!” Both father and daughter were convinced I was trying to kill Blair. I laughed, a bitter, hollow sound. “I didn't touch her! She did that to herself!” They refused to believe me. Griffin was apoplectic. “Don’t you dare lie now!” Blair, struggling to speak through sobs and pain, was lifted into Griffin’s arms. She clung to him, apologizing repeatedly. “I... I’m so sorry, Griffin. Our baby... it’s gone.” Griffin panicked. He yelled at the staff to call the private family doctor immediately. Then, he tried to comfort Blair. “This is my fault, Blair. Don’t worry, you’ll be fine.” He carried her into a guest room, barking orders to a bodyguard. “Watch her! Don’t let her near Blair!” Less than ten minutes later, my mother-in-law, Dorothy Maxwell, arrived, rushing in with a look of pure dread. She marched up to me and slapped me hard across the face. The woman who had been nothing but kind for decades looked like a cornered beast, ready to rip me apart. She jabbed a finger at my nose, her voice low and furious. “If anything happens to my grandson, I swear I will end you!” She didn't know that she was also cursing the grandchild in my own belly. A lifetime of devotion to her had yielded nothing. “She stabbed herself. I didn’t—” “Mom! Why are you still lying?! I saw you try to kill Blair!” Paige ran out of the guest room, interrupting me, her eyes burning with indignation. Dorothy Maxwell poked my nose again, hard. “You wicked woman! You couldn’t give Griffin a son, so you’re jealous of Blair!” “If you had only given this family a male heir, none of this would have happened!” Paige put an arm around her grandmother. “Mom, you committed a felony. You killed an innocent life. Blair’s baby is gone.” “I can’t just stand by and watch you destroy yourself. I’m calling the police. Don't blame me for doing the right thing.” 4 I laughed, the sound cold and devoid of humor. “My sweet daughter. My own flesh and blood.” The laughter turned to tears, which tracked paths down my cheeks. Griffin, his eyes bloodshot with rage, yanked me into Blair’s room. The doctor had just finished bandaging her. Blair was a fountain of tears, playing the martyr to perfection. “It was just an impulse, Griffin. I won’t press charges. But... it’s Paige. I don’t want people to think she has a murderer for a mother.” Dorothy, having confirmed the baby was gone, rushed in again, hitting and screaming at me. Then she turned to Griffin, laying down the law. “If you don't divorce this monster, Evelyn, you’re no son of mine!” She was so agitated the doctor had to sedate her and escort her out. Griffin, his eyes wild, grabbed my throat. “Look how forgiving Blair is being! How can you be so utterly evil?!” I couldn’t speak. My vision began to narrow. The feeling of suffocation intensified. Blair, ever the concerned voice, said: “Evie’s state is a little frightening, Griffin. She looks like my relative who had a full-on breakdown. Maybe before the divorce, you should send her for treatment?” A flicker of cold, calculated cruelty crossed Blair's eyes, missed entirely by Griffin. At that moment, Blair’s word was his law. He really did send me to a psychiatric hospital. My days were a cycle of electric shock therapy. The piercing, sharp pain made me scream every time. It was during one of these sessions that I lost the baby I was carrying. My son. Griffin came to visit once. He stood outside the iron bars, his face cold. “Don’t think you can do whatever you want just because I loved you. You killed my own flesh and blood and almost killed Blair. You need to stay here and repent.” “This is your last chance. If you ever harm Blair again, I’ll be the one to send you to a real prison.” The mention of the baby made his eyes well up with pain. I stood in my patient’s gown, watching him, my heart utterly calm. Seeing my silence, he grew impatient. “Why aren’t you speaking? What are you thinking, Evelyn Reid?” A new, profound depth entered my eyes. I spoke softly. “I was just thinking about what happens when a person loses absolutely everything.” “Then you’ll stay right here and behave. As long as you’re compliant, the title of Mrs. Maxwell is still yours.” I smiled, an empty, private gesture. He didn't realize that the "person" I was talking about losing everything was him. A wild, insane plan was blooming in my mind. He simply saw it as me finally submitting. That night, Blair called me on a blocked number. Her voice was thin and soft, deliberately trembling. “Husband, I’m so afraid Evie will get out and try to stab me again.” I heard Griffin kiss her over the phone. “Don’t worry, baby. She comes out when you say she comes out.” Blair pressed him. “Can she just stay in there forever? I’m afraid our happiness will end if she leaves.” “Yes. Whatever you say.” Griffin agreed without a second of hesitation. My expression didn't change. I just gave a low, quiet chuckle. They didn’t know that Harrison had already filed the necessary paperwork. I could leave anytime. At 1:00 AM, I stood beneath the $10 billion headquarters of Maxwell Global and lit the match. I watched the skyscraper—the edifice Griffin and I had built brick by brick—erupt in a blazing inferno. Griffin woke up at 7:00 AM to a barrage of frantic calls. “Mr. Maxwell! Your wife… she burned the headquarters down. All the proprietary data, all the financial archives… they’re gone.” Griffin froze, his blood turning to ice. After a two-second lapse of shock, he sped to the scene. Staring at the charred, smoky ruin of his commercial empire, he could barely breathe. His eyes were bloodshot, but his voice was eerily calm as he asked his associate: “My wife. Where is she?” The associate, who expected him to vow to kill me, looked like he’d seen a ghost. “She ran, sir. She—” “Is she hurt?” Griffin interrupted, his voice tight. Stunned that Griffin was worried about my safety, the associate handed him a small video camera. “She left this, sir. She said it was a ‘gift’ for you.” The word "gift" was delivered with extreme caution. Griffin, pale and heavy with dread, took the camera. He watched the screen, and his world collapsed.
? Continue the story here ?? ? Download the "MotoNovel" app ? search for "389830", and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel