After Sharing Half My Husband with His Mistress Chapter 10

After Sharing Half My Husband with His Mistress Chapter 10

“What did the police find on the wall last year?” I asked, staring at my reflection in the vanity mirror.

Evan stepped up behind me, resting his hands on my bare shoulders. “Two words painted in black. ‘I lost.'”

I picked up my diamond necklace. “He lost the moment he lied to me.”

“And he is still paying for it,” Evan murmured. “Marcus sent the final surveillance update this morning.”

“On our wedding day?” I arched an eyebrow.

“I prefer a clean slate.” Evan tapped his phone screen and placed it on the makeup counter.

The video feed showed a dark, empty room. Bruce sat on the bare hardwood floor of his foreclosed villa. The luxury furniture was gone, repossessed by creditors months ago. He stared at a glowing phone screen, his face gaunt and covered in thick, unkempt stubble.

“He broke back into the property last night,” Evan explained. “The power is shut off. He just sits there in the dark.”

“What is he looking at?” I asked.

Evan zoomed in on the feed. “Your old photo album. The pictures from three years ago.”

I felt absolutely nothing. No pity. No anger. Just a profound, hollow indifference toward the man on the screen. He threw away his marriage, his career, and his family for sheer arrogance.

“Turn it off,” I commanded.

Evan locked the phone, plunging the screen into blackness. “The local police will drag him out by noon. He has nothing left.”

“Did Thorne’s lawyers ever find Judy?” I asked, turning to face my groom.

“They stopped looking,” Evan chuckled, adjusting his tuxedo cuffs. “A private investigator spotted her in a rust-belt town last week. She sets up a folding table near the public bus station.”

“Selling what?”

“Knock-off purses and cheap phone cases. Her reputation is entirely radioactive. No wealthy man will ever look her way again.”

I stood up, smoothing the heavy silk skirt of my wedding gown. “Then the trash has finally settled at the bottom of the bin.”

A sharp knock echoed through the room.

My father pushed the heavy oak door open. He wore a sharp black suit, a white rose pinned to his lapel.

“The guests are seated,” my father announced.

Evan leaned down and kissed my forehead. “I will see you at the altar.”

He slipped out through the side exit.

My father walked over and offered his arm. “Are you ready?”

“I have never been more ready,” I replied, looping my arm through his.

We walked out onto the cliffside terrace.

The sunset painted the ocean in brilliant shades of gold and crimson. Hundreds of guests stood up as the string quartet began to play a soft melody. There were no fake smiles here. No forced corporate alliances. Every person in the crowd genuinely supported us.

I kept my chin high, my eyes locked on the end of the aisle.

Evan waited under an arch of woven white roses. The ocean breeze ruffled his dark hair. He watched me approach with an intensity that made my pulse race.

My father stopped at the altar. He placed my hand directly into Evan’s palm.

Evan laced our fingers together. His grip was warm and grounding.

The officiant spoke, but I barely heard the traditional opening remarks. My entire focus narrowed down to the man standing across from me.

“Iris,” Evan began, skipping the written cards entirely. His voice carried over the silent crowd, steady and completely sincere. “This time, there are no lies. There are no grievances. No hiding in the shadows.”

I squeezed his hand.

“There is only me,” Evan vowed, his eyes shining with absolute devotion. “Staying by your side, walking through the rest of our lives together.”

Tears pricked the corners of my eyes, but I refused to let them fall. I smiled, a genuine, radiant expression that stretched across my face.

“I am never letting you go,” I promised.

The crowd erupted into applause as Evan pulled me into a deep, lingering kiss. The string quartet shifted into a lively, triumphant tempo.

We walked back up the aisle as husband and wife.

The evening reception hummed with music and laughter. I stood near the towering champagne pyramid, watching my father toast with the new board of directors.

I was no longer the discarded, obedient wife. I controlled Kensington Corporation. I commanded my own fate. I was a queen who had walked through the fire and emerged entirely untouched.