My Husband's Secretary Called Me a Mistress

Chapter 4

As soon as Andrew's voice echoed through the door, Emily froze. For a brief moment, I saw a flicker of panic in her eyes, but it was gone in an instant, replaced by a smile that could cut glass.

“Mr. Johnson,” she said, her voice sweet with false concern, “the sun’s so brutal today. What if you get too hot? I can have Jenny bring the lunch to you instead.”

Andrew’s reply was as dismissive as ever. “I’ll be passing by the office anyway.”

“Well, alright then,” Emily replied, her voice coated with syrupy sweetness. “I’ll have Jenny meet you in the underground parking garage.”

“Okay.”

The conversation was over, but the air felt thick with tension. Everyone around me continued to praise Emily, calling her thoughtful and attentive.

She walked around like she owned the place, wearing that smug “I’m the one who’s won” look. “Of course,” Emily said, smiling wide, “True love is all about understanding each other, right?”

Then, as if the thought just hit her, she spun on me, eyes narrowed in disgust. “And anyone who dares look at my man?” she sneered. “I’ll crush you, without hesitation.”

My face burned with humiliation, my swollen features barely holding together. My tattered clothes hung off me like rags, and my belly, once rounded with life, was now flat.

I knew I wasn’t walking out of here alive today.

I reached down, touching my empty stomach. Silent tears filled my eyes.

I was sorry for my baby, the one I’d never get to hold.

My gaze swept the room, my mind locking onto each face. I’d remember them all. They’d pay for this. Especially Emily. She would suffer, and I would make sure of it.

“What’s with that look?” Emily sneered, eyes glinting with malice.

Slap! The sting of her palm across my face felt like fire. “You never know when to quit, do you?”

She stepped in closer, eyes flicking to my chest with a cruel smile. “Is that chest of yours fake? Maybe I should deflate it for you.”

I couldn’t even respond before she pulled out a utility knife from her bag, its blade gleaming under the harsh lights.

She looked like a predator, and I, the prey.

“Ah!” My scream was cut off as the knife plunged into my chest, searing pain coursing through me as blood spilled out, soaking my clothes. I could barely comprehend what was happening, the agony almost too much to bear.

And then I heard it.

“Emily! Where are my documents?”

Andrew’s voice, so close, sounded like a lifeline. I wanted to scream, to beg for help, but no sound came.

Emily froze, her hand trembling. The knife clattered to the floor. She quickly adjusted herself, signaling to the other secretaries to stand back.

“I’ll be right there, Mr. Johnson,” Emily chirped, her voice dripping with sweetness as though nothing had just happened.

“Mr. Johnson, you’re here already?” she greeted him, her voice a nauseating melody of false warmth.

“Documents,” came Andrew’s impatient reply.

“Here, I’ll get them for you.”

There was a moment of eerie silence, the tension thick enough to suffocate. And then the door clicked shut behind her.

I wanted to scream. I wanted to crawl toward that door, beg for help, but my body refused to listen. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t even make a sound.

But I wasn’t done yet. I had to get his attention. I couldn’t let this be the end.

I forced myself to reach for something, anything. My trembling hand brushed against the edge of a chair, and with every ounce of strength I had left, I shoved it forward. But it barely moved, just a soft nudge against the table.

The secretary glanced over at the noise, but it wasn’t enough to make her react. She simply sighed, oblivious.

Emily, sensing the moment was safe, yanked the knife from my chest again.

With lightning speed, she covered my mouth with her hand, forcing me down with the other as she stabbed the blade into my hand, pinning it to the floor.

I couldn’t even scream. My voice was trapped in my throat, every breath shallow and painful.

Inside, I was seething.

How could Andrew be so close, just on the other side of that door, and not know what was happening to me?

How could those secretaries stand there, watching me die, and do nothing?

“Mr. Johnson,” Emily’s voice rang out, sweet and syrupy once more. “Here are the documents you requested.”

“Okay.”

She didn’t wait for a response before asking, “Do you want me to accompany you?”

“No.”

I could hear his footsteps moving away, the distance between us growing. I wanted to scream, to make him stop, but I was slipping away. The darkness was creeping in.

But then, as if fate was playing its final card, Andrew paused.

“By the way,” he asked, his tone a little off, “Where’s that woman you mentioned earlier?”

Emily froze, just for a moment, but she recovered quickly. “Why would you ask about her now? I’ve already taken care of it.”

“No reason,” Andrew replied, though his voice was tinged with doubt. “I just felt a little... uneasy. If she’s gone, then that’s that.”

I wanted to scream out. I needed him to know. To feel that this wasn’t over.

But then he stopped again, and my heart gave a beat of hope.

He pointed at the lunchbox I had brought. “Where did this lunchbox come from?”

His voice carried an uncertain edge. He had noticed.