The Mistress I Paid For

It was an ordinary day, just like when I discovered Joseph Adams’s affair.

The only difference was that it was the first time he lost his temper because someone served his tea one minute late.

Joseph had always been good-natured.

As his thoughtful wife, I immediately contacted his assistant, Harry Bolton.

That was when I learned that the new secretary intern who had arrived that day had made many elementary mistakes.

“She’s just an intern. If she’s not capable, fire her,” I said casually.

There was a brief silence on the other end of the line.

“Mr. Adams wants her to learn from him.”

I gave a vague response, but the uncertainty in my chest continued to swell.

Yet until I went through Joseph’s phone, I remained convinced that perhaps he was simply being kind.

On the chat screen:

Joseph: [The format is wrong. Rewrite it.]

Monica: [This is so hard, Mr. Adams. Which font size is bigger, size five or size four?]

Joseph: [Size four.]

Monica: [Hehe, I guessed size four too! I’m so smart—I deserve a little cake as a reward!]

Joseph: [Hmm…]

Compared to accepting that Joseph had cheated, what I found even harder to swallow

was that the other woman was Monica Martin.

My chest felt painfully tight.

When Joseph came out of the bathroom, I handed him the phone.

On the chat screen, Monica had thrown out another question:

[Which two keys are copy and paste? I forgot again!]

She even added a crying emoji.

I had personally helped her choose her university major in computer science.

She should never have had to ask such a question.

“Make her leave, and I can pretend none of this ever happened.”

I swallowed the bitterness in my throat and tried to speak to him rationally.

Joseph’s handsome brows drew tightly together as he stared into my eyes.

“Natalie,” he began, “if it weren’t for me, you’d still be selling tacos on the street.”

…

Just as he wished, I returned to my old trade and set up a taco stand outside his company's building.

Over the years, I had frequently attended business banquets with Joseph, so the reporters were well acquainted with me.

The moment I pushed my taco stand to the entrance of Adams Inc., a bold reporter aimed his camera straight at me.

“Mrs. Adams, why are you running a stand outside the company? Is Adams Inc. planning to enter the food industry?”

I prepared a taco and handed it to him.

“Freshly made. My treat.

“My husband has recently been keeping a little mistress,” I added.

“I’m worried he doesn’t give her enough pocket money.

“You know how young girls are—never satisfied, always wanting more.”

I spoke with restraint, but when I replayed the interview footage later, I hated myself for not being vicious enough.

Any sense of conscience had long since been ground into dust by Monica’s daily displays of feigned concern.

The second time I set up my stand, Joseph sent the city enforcement officers to confiscate it.

That evening, Joseph came home unusually early.

“Is this amusing to you?” he demanded.

“Very,” I replied.

“Aren’t I just helping you make it official? The whole company must be buzzing by now.”

He sighed softly.

“If you hadn’t made such a scene, I might never have even cared about Monica,” he said wearily.

I let out a laugh, but my eyes betrayed me as the tears flowed.

Was he blaming me?

What right did he have to do that?

He was the one who betrayed our marriage, yet he stood on moral high ground, accusing me of madness, claiming that I had pushed him into Monica’s arms.

Was my emotional breakdown what made him realize he needed to defend true love?

“Joseph, I can be even crazier.”

I clenched my teeth as I spoke, forcing out every word.

Only when I tasted blood did I realize it had already seeped from the corner of my mouth.

That very night, Joseph moved into Monica’s apartment.