The Billionaire Behind My Husband's Mistress Wants Me

That night was an unforgettable one for me.

Not only because I was going to meet a wealthy businessman, but also because I was meeting him for a reason I never could have imagined.

“Mrs. Eaton.” His voice sounded deep. “Please have a seat.”

I cleared my throat. “Thank you, Mr. Cross.”

I sat down, placing my handbag beside me.

Up close, he looked even younger than I’d imagined, maybe only in his middle of thirties, not older.

Clearly not old enough to have a twenty-year-old daughter, unless he’d married when he was very young but I pushed that thought aside because it was none of my business.

“I’m sure you’ve received my message,” I began.

“Yes.” He set his phone down and looked at me. “You’re Priscilla Eaton. Married to Christian Black.”

I nodded my head. “Yes.”

His gaze shifted briefly to my left hand, toward my wedding ring.

“Three years?”

I looked at her, surprised. “Excuse me?”

“You marry him for three years.” His words told me that he had done his own homework about me and my husband.

I took my phone out of my purse and set it on the table.

“This is proof that your daughter has a relationship with my husband.” I state firmly and to the point without wasting another time or showing any pain or sadness.

********

I never imagined that at the age of twenty-seven, I would do something so silly like send a message to a stranger that I didn’t know at all.

He is a very wealthy stranger, according to the information I’ve managed to gather over the past few weeks, but then again, I also never imagined that my husband would cheat on me with a twenty-year-old girl who works at the same company as him.

God, life certainly has a rather unpleasant way of surprising people.

I stared at the phone in my hand, reading the message I’d written for the fifth time.

Should I send it? I thought in confusion and decided I should think it over again.

Maybe I should just mind my own business, pack up my husband’s things, and let him face the consequences of his own stupidity.

Unfortunately, curiosity had already gotten the better of me.

Besides, I wasn’t contacting this man to ask for money or cause trouble. No, I just wanted him to know what his daughter was up to—or at least, that’s what I believed.

So, taking a deep breath, I finally pressed the send button.

Priscilla: ‘Your daughter, Anna, is having an affair with my husband. Please rein in your daughter before this tarnishes your reputation, Mr. Cross.’

I attached the video I’d recorded a few days earlier to him.

The video wasn’t very long, but it was clear enough.

Christian Black, my husband of five years, was kissing a young woman outside a fancy restaurant with his arm wrapped around her waist, and judging by the way she was looking at him, there was nothing innocent about their relationship.

I’ve watched that video more times than I care to admit, and every time I see it, my stomach turns.

I set my phone down and sighed.

Well… That’s over. Now I can get back to preparing tomorrow’s activities for my kindergarten students, I thought sadly.

I’d laid out a collection of colorful paper, glue, and small animal-shaped stickers on my dining table. The kids are learning about animals this week, and I’d promised them we’d make little paper lions.

That’s a much more enjoyable topic than my husband’s affair.

My phone vibrated, and I glanced at the screen, an unknown number.

Edward Cross: “Do you have any other evidence?”

I blinked in surprise.

Wow, that was fast. I didn’t expect a reply this quickly—especially one that sounded so formal.

Priscilla: “Yes. I have a few videos.”

Three dots appeared almost immediately, indicating he was typing.

Edward Cross: ‘Bring them here tonight. Eight o’clock. The rooftop restaurant at The Whitmore, Manhattan.’

I stared at the message. 

Is that it? No questions about what happened? No denials? No attempt to defend his daughter?

Then, I looked at the restaurant’s name again. The Whitmore, Manhattan, the Whitmore was one of those luxurious hotels I'd only ever seen in photographs. Its restaurants were famous for their expensive menus and breathtaking views of Manhattan.

I had never been there. In fact, I wasn't even sure I could afford a cup of coffee in a place like that.

Still, I had already contacted him and it would be rather embarrassing to back out now.

Priscilla: ‘All right. I'll be there.’

His reply came a few seconds later.

Edward Cross: ‘Eight. Don't be late.’

I frowned while reading it.

Ugh… What a pleasant man. I thought then put my phone down and returned to my little paper lions.

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