The Mistress: Her revenge [18+]

Ch. 11

DANI VITELLO

The host's question cut through the air like a knife, sharp and deliberate. I felt my heart stutter for a beat before resuming its pace. The spotlight, the cameras—all of it focused on me, waiting for my perfect response.

"Dani, you're one of the most envied wives in the whole country, seeing how devoted your husband is to you. What advice would you give to women dealing with unfaithful partners?"

The irony hit me like a slap. I could feel the tight smile spreading across my face, even as the fury churned beneath my calm exterior. It was a well-rehearsed look—the one I had perfected after years of standing beside Sebastian, pretending everything was fine.

"Thank you," I replied, my voice controlled, my tone light as silk. "First and foremost, I'd say to those women: know your worth. Infidelity can be devastating, but it's crucial to remember that it doesn't define you. Seek support from those closest to you, and never shy away from standing up for yourself. Every woman deserves to be treated with respect and love."

The applause that followed washed over me, hollow and meaningless. I kept my practiced smile in place, feeling the cameras linger on me, drinking in my poise, my elegance. If only they knew the truth. If only they saw through the cracks.

The rest of the interview passed in a blur—questions about my charity work, upcoming projects, all blending together. But my thoughts kept slipping back to last night. Our fight at the charity gala. His cold, dismissive words ringing in my ears.

"I won't be coming home tonight."

I knew exactly where he'd gone. To her.

The whispers had followed me for months now. Rumors of Sebastian's infidelity swirled through the social circles like poison, tainting every glance, every whispered conversation behind my back. And yet, there I was, playing the part of the adored wife. The one who had it all—except for the heart of her husband.

Once the cameras stopped rolling and the crew began their polite farewells, I thanked everyone with the same polite charm I was known for. Not a single crack in my composure, not even as my insides burned with resentment. Only when I slipped into the backseat of my car, did I allow myself to breathe, the weight of the charade pressing heavily on my chest.

At home, I kicked off my heels, sinking onto the couch with a long exhale, the quiet of the house settling around me like a shroud. I rubbed my temples, willing the headache away, but the tension was relentless. I could feel it creeping through my body, refusing to let me rest.

My phone buzzed, and for a moment, I considered ignoring it. But curiosity won out, and I glanced at the screen. A message from Sebastian.

"I'm sorry about last night. Let's talk when I get home."

I scoffed, tossing the phone aside as if his words were nothing more than an annoying buzz in my ear. How many times had I heard those apologies? How many times had we "talked" only for the same cycle to repeat, over and over again? His apologies were as hollow as our marriage had become, routine and empty, offering no real solution to the widening chasm between us.

He wasn't sorry. Not really. If he were, he wouldn't keep running into her arms every time we fought. He wouldn't keep making promises that dissolved the moment my back was turned.

No, his remorse was nothing more than a temporary bandage. And I was tired of pretending it could heal the wound that had already festered too deep.

I leaned back, closing my eyes, the weight of it all pressing down on me. I had been playing the part of the perfect wife for so long, I wasn't sure I remembered who I was beneath the mask anymore. But I did know one thing: I wouldn't be Sebastian's fool for much longer. The facade was cracking, and when it shattered, there'd be no going back.