Empty Promises, Full Pockets

The second I found out Neil Schmidt was cheating on me, I wanted to rip him to shreds. But I played it smart. Stayed calm. Had someone dig up the dirt.

Cecelia Beech. College girl. Intern at SchmidtCorp. Seemed harmless enough—until six months ago, when Neil dragged his team to Ardenport and ended up in her bed.

The private investigator said it was supposed to be a setup. Neil's rivals planned to catch him with escorts and blow his reputation sky-high. But Cecelia? She somehow saved him from that mess.

Neil tried to pay her off. She refused. And, of course, she got pregnant.

Rowina Dunley, my meddling mother-in-law, wasn't about to let the Schmidt bloodline disappear. Naturally, she swooped in to "save" Cecelia.

Suddenly, everything clicked. Neil's constant "work trips," his last-minute dashes to the office—he'd been running to Cecelia. How many times had he bailed halfway through dinner, claiming SchmidtCorp needed him? Even our wedding anniversary had been trashed because of his "overtime." Turns out, he was just clocking hours at his other home.

So I waited. Sat there in the living room, stone-cold calm.

Neil came back just in time.

"Babe, I brought you those pastries you love."

He dangled a box from Bellmont's Bakery. Inside were their famous egg tarts.

I glanced at the box and met his gaze. "Neil, we need to talk."

"What's up?"

He sat next to me, sliding his arm around my shoulders.

The faint smell of her clung to him. I smiled. "Let's get a divorce."

Neil immediately turned me toward him. "Who's been putting that nonsense in your head?"

"No one." My voice stayed smooth, unshaken. "It's just... we've been married five years, and there's still no child. I don't want to leave you without an heir."

"I'm not getting a divorce, Angela. I love you. You're the only one I want."

Those words hit me like a punch to the gut. 'Neil, how can you say that when your heart's already split in two?'

"Rowina's always wanted a grandchild," I said quietly. "I've held you back long enough."

"I'll deal with my mom." His voice was firm. "You just focus on yourself. Kids or no kids, it doesn't matter. If it comes down to it, we can adopt.

"There are plenty of girls who can't keep their babies—they'd be happy to let us take one. You don't need to go through the pain of childbirth."

He pinched my cheek. "I'll take care of everything."

I leaned into him, let my head rest against his chest. The sound of his heartbeat didn't faze me. Not anymore.

Neil's game was clear as day: bring that kid into the Schmidt family and make me raise it.

How laughable. As if I couldn't have a child if I wanted to.

'Neil, you really don't know when to stop.'

I didn't bring up kids again. Instead, I focused on Cecelia.

She'd already quit her job and was holed up in some fancy villa on the south side of the city, complete with a maid to pamper her. Of course, Cecelia couldn't resist showing off. Her social media was a highlight reel of luxury goods and subtle flexes.

[Four months pregnant! My mother-in-law gave me gold jewelry again! I told her it wasn't necessary, but she insisted. She's just the sweetest!]

[My husband says this baby is the family's hope, and I'm the one making it all happen!]

[Can't wait to sunbathe with him—just the three of us!]

Her latest post was a picture in the garden. A man's arm was casually draped around her, his hand resting on her stomach.

Only the hand was visible, but I knew it instantly.

Neil.

'Bold move,' I thought.

He didn't even bother to take off his wedding ring. Maybe he was so caught up in the moment, he forgot. That ring wasn't just any ring either—I'd had it custom-made for him.

I set up a fake account and left a comment under her post:

[Are you Mrs. Schmidt? I heard you've been married five years with no kids. Congrats on finally getting your wish!]

When I refreshed the page, the post had already vanished.

I put my phone down, a slow smile spreading across my face.

'Guess you know homewreckers don't shine too well in the spotlight.'