Husband’s Mistress, Meet His Bankruptcy

My husband, James Woods, sent his secretary Holly Green to take me to what was supposed to be a business dinner.

From the moment we sat down, Holly made it her mission to humiliate me—egging on the client to pressure me into drinking despite knowing full well about my alcohol allergy. When I stood to leave, she blocked my path with a sneer.

"Eleanor, let's be honest—you're just arm candy. When I say drink, you drink. Stop being so dramatic."

I gave her a thin smile, ripped the contract in half, and called James.

"Your secretary just informed me the Woods family doesn't need me anymore. Care to confirm?"

Before he could answer, Holly snatched my phone. "Pathetic. You think running to Mr. Woods will save you?" She shoved a glass toward me. "Here's how this works—you drink. Now."

I met her glare. "And if I don't?"

"Try me." My voice didn't waver.

James's muffled voice crackled through the line: "Eleanor, stop this nonsense. Holly's acting in the company's best interest. Cooperate."

I almost laughed. Since when did my husband's secretary dictate how I handled negotiations? The so-called "partner" hadn't even spoken, yet Holly had already conceded 20% of our profits. And now this slimy client demanded I down an entire bottle of champagne to "earn" his signature—on a contract riddled with red flags.

Holly hung up before I could respond. "Hear that?" She smirked. "Even your husband sides with me. What's your move now?"

I tilted my head. "His opinion isn't law."

The client—Mr. Dash—leaned forward with a condescending grin. "Let's be real, Mrs. Woods. Some people aren't built for business. One little drink and you throw a tantrum? James will divorce you before you get home."

My smile sharpened. "How interesting. You and Holly seem... unusually aligned."

The flicker in his eyes confirmed it—this wasn't a negotiation. It was an ambush.