My Husband’s Mistress Handed Me Her Coat, Thinking I Was The Housekeeper. She Had No Idea She Was Standing In My Multi-Million Dollar Estate.
Chapter 1: The Fur-Trimmed Illusion
Then, the silence of the afternoon was abruptly broken by the electronic sound of the front door lock beep-beeping into submission.
I didn't move from the kitchen island. I just tracked the sharp click-clack of Christian Louboutin heels echoing across the hand-laid herringbone oak floor of the grand foyer.
A woman in a cream silk blouse and tailored trousers stepped inside, her skin practically glowing from high-end facials, her eyes scanning the vaulted ceiling with an appraising, slightly dissatisfied hum. She looked like she had walked straight out of a luxury catalog, and she carried herself with the unearned confidence of someone who had recently been promised a crown.
Then she saw me.
She took one look at my oversized grey crewneck, my makeup-free face, and the messy claw clip holding my hair up, and her lips curled into a faint, pitying sneer.
"Oh, good. You're actually here," she said, peeling off her heavy, fur-trimmed designer coat and casually throwing it toward my chest. "Tell Elliot I’m here. And hang that carefully; it costs more than your monthly pay."
I caught the coat. The silk lining was warm, smelling faintly of an expensive Jo Malone perfume I had bought Elliot for Christmas last year.
"Elliot isn't back from his meeting yet," I said, my voice deliberately flat, matching the harmless persona she had instantly manufactured for me.
She rolled her eyes, pulling a gold iPhone from her leather clutch. "Of course he is. He texted me ten minutes ago saying he was pulling into the neighborhood. Just go get him, okay? And please make me an iced latte. Oat milk. Two pumps of vanilla. Don't burn the espresso."
She walked past me, her heels clicking aggressively as she made herself at home, running a manicured finger over the custom marble edge of my kitchen island.
"Nice place," she murmured, looking around the kitchen that I had spent six months designing. "A little traditional for my taste, but Elliot says he’s going to let me completely redecorate the master wing once the divorce goes through."
I smiled. It was a small, quiet thing. "Is that what he told you?"
"Look, I don't pay you to chat," she snap-retorted, glare-checking me from over her phone. "What's your name anyway? Maria? Rosa?"
"Victoria," I said smoothly, draping her precious coat over the back of a barstool.
May you like
Before she could process my lack of a uniform, the deep roar of an engine echoed up the private drive. Elliot’s black luxury sedan had arrived.
"Finally," she sighed, smoothing down her silk blouse. "Go open the door for him, Victoria. And don't forget my latte."
