I swung my purse and cracked it across his skull. Then I seized the girl by her hair and slammed her face into the corner of the table.
"Roger Simmons."
My voice was ice.
"I won't let this go."
Then I turned, took my coworker's arm, and walked out of the restaurant.
She'd only been at the company six months. I'd trained her myself, mentored her from day one.
Now she sat in my passenger seat, face creased with worry. But I just stared at my phone, perfectly calm, as Roger's messages flooded in:
[Lorraine! You went way too far today!]
[Do you have any idea—someone filmed your little scene at the restaurant and posted it online! If this spreads, how is Judy supposed to show her face?!]
[Post something immediately to clear this up. Do that, and I'll pretend nothing happened.]
[Lorraine, don't forget—your parents are retired. Your entire family depends on ME now. I'm not the man I used to be!]
Then a friend request popped up.
From the girl Roger had been so desperate to protect.
Judy Fox.
She sent videos. Photos. And a message:
[Lorraine, Roger stopped loving you a long time ago. Staying with you was just obligation.]
[Since we're all done pretending now...]
[Why bother hiding anymore? So what if public opinion destroys me? The brave get to enjoy the world first!]
[The more people attack me, the more your husband loves me. The better my odds. Believe it or not!]
I watched the video she'd sent.
Roger, already making arrangements to transfer assets. His voice on a phone call, giving instructions:
"Separate everything from my marriage to Lorraine—including my overseas holdings. Transfer it all into Judy's name. Make it seamless. Lorraine has zero tolerance for deception, so I need to prepare for the worst."
"Understood, sir."
"If Lorraine can accept this situation, admit she was wrong, and make room for Judy... then fine. She stays Mrs. Simmons."
"But if she refuses to know her place?"
"Then I'll make sure Lorraine ends up with nothing."
I stared at that familiar face on my screen.
A chill seeped through me, settling deep in my bones.
The man I'd shared a bed with for years—the moment I caught him cheating, his first instinct wasn't fear. Wasn't remorse.
It was demanding that I clear his mistress's name.
So he wanted me to legitimize his mistress—and then tolerate her existence.
I laughed. Actually laughed.
But Roger wasn't wrong about one thing.