My Husband's Secretary Called Me a Mistress

Chapter 3

The room went dead silent for a beat.

Slap!

Instead of any relief, Emily’s hand hit my face again—harder this time.

“You claim you’re Mrs. Johnson?” She sneered, her voice dripping with mockery. “Then who am I?”

“I’ve been with him for five years,” she spat, stepping closer, her words like daggers. “Known him for ten, and never once did he mention a wife.”

Her eyes burned with rage as she hissed, “Lying trash. You think you can pull one over on me?”

I barely had the strength to lift my head, blood pooling in my mouth as I forced the words out. “We’re childhood sweethearts. I’m his wife, I swear.”

The mention of Andrew’s name made a few of the secretaries flinch, their uncertainty palpable. But Emily didn’t flinch. She just waved them off like flies.

“Don’t worry,” she said, her voice cold as ice. “I know Andrew better than anyone.”

She sized me up, her gaze sweeping over my torn dress, my bare arms, everything about me screamed “out of place.” I wasn’t wearing jewelry or anything designer. My lunch was stuffed in a cheap cloth bag.

“Look at you,” she sneered, disgust curling her lip. “Not a single designer piece on you. How could you possibly be Mrs. Johnson?”

I gasped for air, but then the warmth spread between my legs.

“No...,” I thought, a chill racing through my veins.

“Blood,” a voice cried out in horror.

My heart hammered in my chest as panic set in. The blood flowed, soaking my dress, and I couldn’t stop it. I tried to move, tried to reach for something, but it was useless.

Emily’s eyes flicked to the growing puddle of blood beneath me, and she chuckled. “What’s the big deal? It’s just a little blood. It’s nothing to freak out over.”

She leaned in, a cruel smile stretching across her face. “She’s just a mistress with a bastard child. Seems fitting that a love child should be... disposed of.”

The room fell completely still. The air thick with tension.

I clutched my belly, the pain twisting inside me as I begged, my voice barely a whisper. “Please... call an ambulance. Please... my baby...”

No one moved. Not a single person. They all just watched, cold and indifferent, waiting for the inevitable.

Emily watched too, her eyes gleaming with satisfaction as I bled out on the floor. It was like she was savoring every second. Finally, she pulled out her phone and dialed.

I thought, Please, let her call for help. But the moment I heard Andrew’s voice, I knew there was no hope.

“What is it?” His voice was clipped, impatient.

“Mr. Johnson,” Emily cooed, her tone dripping with sweetness. “Another woman showed up today, trying to bring you lunch.”

Andrew sighed, clearly irritated. “Do I really need to deal with this? What do I pay you for?”

“Handle it yourself,” he said flatly, hanging up before she could say another word.

Emily’s smile widened, smug and victorious. “You heard him, didn’t you? Mr. Johnson said I should handle it.”

I opened my mouth to scream, but no sound came out. My strength was gone, my body betraying me.

Emily took a slow step toward me, her heels clicking like a countdown to my end. She stopped right in front of me, pressing her heel into my cheek, grinding it into the cold floor.

“You’ve really messed up this time,” she mocked. “A picture of this would be flagged as too graphic on any platform.”

Her eyes sparkled as she bent down, her smile sinister. “But you’re lucky. I’ll spare you that this time. But next time…”

She pulled a utility knife from her bag, the blade flashing in the light, and gestured toward my face.

Just as she was about to make her move, Emily’s phone rang again.

It was Andrew.

She picked up immediately, her voice suddenly sweet and syrupy again. “Hello?”

“I need the South City project documents now. Get them ready for me,” he ordered, his voice sharp.

“Of course, Mr. Johnson,” Emily purred. “I’ll have them ready for you.”

“I’ll be at the company in ten minutes,” he added, before hanging up.