Keep the Mistress, I'll Take the Black Card

"I can pretend none of this happened. But as compensation, you need to wire me money." In my past life, I discovered my husband's infidelity.

I tore our lives apart, walked away without a dime, and ultimately bled out on a freezing pavement after working three minimumwage jobs.

Meanwhile, that cheating bastard took his company public and became the city’s newest billionaire. This time around, I stare at his dress shirt.

My fingers trace the unfamiliar lipstick stain. The cloying stench of cheap perfume fills my lungs. I don't scream. I don't shatter plates like I did before.

I just lock onto his banking app, a single mantra echoing in my skull: More. Give me more. Dying once cures you of being a hopeless romantic. A man's love is worthless garbage.

Cold, hard cash is the only truth. Chapter 1 In my past life, I unearthed Harrison’s dirty secret right in the middle of my grueling fertility treatments.

Overnight, the devoted housewife vanished. A raging lunatic took her place. I turned our home into a war zone for two solid months.

But no matter how many plates I shattered, Harrison would just wait for me to stop gasping for air before dropping the ultimate red flag: "How long are you going to throw a tantrum over one little mistake?" I demanded a divorce.

Harrison agreed, but threw up a roadblock. His tech startup was on the verge of an IPO. He needed stability before signing the papers. I refused to wait.

The very sight of him made my stomach violently churn. To get away from this man who caused me so much pain as quickly as possible, I walked away without a single cent.

I thought I could just reboot my life. I was wrong. A fiveyear gap on my resume left me radioactive to employers.

Survival meant flipping burgers, scrubbing floors, and waiting tables. I dragged my exhausted body to three different shifts a day just to make rent.

I didn't even dare to take a break when I was sick. Then came the flashing pedestrian sign. My blurred vision. I was hit by a speeding car and died on the spot.

Shortly after my pulse stopped, Harrison rang the bell at the New York Stock Exchange. His net worth exploded. He morphed into Manhattan's most eligible, filthyrich bachelor.

And me? I was just the discarded exwife nobody gave a damn about.

Whenever my name came up, high society just scoffed. "Wren just wasn't cut out for the high life." My eyes snap open. I am back in our bedroom.

Back to the exact moment I found the proof. My knuckles turn white as I grip his tailored shirt. The fabric smells of another woman's perfume and has a lipstick stain on it.

I tilt my head up and put on a perfectly innocent expression. "I can pretend none of this happened. But as compensation, you need to wire me money." Harrison freezes.

A deep crease forms between his brows. I know exactly why his brain is shortcircuiting. A millisecond ago, I was aggressively waving that shirt in his face.

I was yelling, demanding to know whose bed he crawled into last night. He cannot process this sudden emotional whiplash. Three years of dating. Five years of marriage.

To Harrison and the rest of the world, I am the ultimate, pathetic romantic. A girl completely blind to dollar signs.

I would have happily lived in a trailer park as long as I had him. I never asked for diamonds. I never demanded designer bags. I certainly never asked for cold, hard cash.

But they didn't live through my nightmare. They didn't wake up in cold sweats, mentally calculating if I had enough change for clearance aisle groceries.

I know the brutal, ugly power of money now. I know walking away emptyhanded just to protect my fragile pride was the dumbest thing I ever did.

This time, I still fully intend to divorce Harrison. But I refuse to pull the trigger yet. I will wait for his company to IPO.

I will watch him climb to the absolute peak of his wealth. And then, I will rip half his empire right out of his hands. Harrison finally blinks, snapping out of his trance.

He pulls his phone from his pocket, his face a mask of utter confusion. He taps open his banking app. I couldn't help but get on my tiptoes.

My eyes lock onto his thumbs as they hover over the digital keypad. My heartbeat thuds in my ears. More. Add another zero.

Don't be cheap… Chapter 2 Under the crushing weight of my stare, Harrison opens his app and wires a solid six figures directly into my account.

As my phone chimed, vibrating against my palm with the deposit notification, the raw reality of my second chance finally sank in.

Shoving the crumpled, foulsmelling shirt hard into his chest, I forced down the wild spike of adrenaline in my veins. "Trash this.

I'll buy you a couple of new ones tomorrow." I spun on my heel and marched straight back to the master bedroom, leaving him frozen in the hallway.

I collapsed onto the familiar mattress. Smelling the comforting scent in the air, I couldn't help but let out a soft sigh.

Outside the door, minutes ticked by in heavy silence before Harrison finally dragged his feet back toward the bathroom. I already held my phone tight in my grip.

I pulled up the contact who sent me those photos—Camilla—and slammed the block button.

In my past life, seeing those intimate shots of Harrison tangled up with another woman triggered instant denial. I fully believed someone photoshopped them to mess with my head.

But then he stayed out all night. He sprinted straight for the shower the second he walked through the front door. Those glaring red flags piled up.

Finding his white dress shirt in the hamper—smeared with crimson lipstick—snapped the last thread of my sanity. Sleepless all night, I completely lost all my reason.

Back then, I kicked the bathroom door open. I demanded to know whose bed he crawled out of while he stood there fiddling with the shower dial. Harrison didn't even flinch.

His expression remained a blank, unreadable wall. He calmly claimed he drank too much at his networking event.

He blamed it on the alcohol, saying he told his assistant, Reid, to book him a hotel room so the smell of booze wouldn't wake me. He fed me the exact same lie.

The old me shoved my phone screen right into his wet face. I jabbed my finger at the phone screen, asking him if the person in the photo looked familiar.

His silence made me angrier. I threw the lipstickstained shirt in his face, asking if he knew how disgusting he was.

A memory flashed through my mind—the toxic aftermath of that screaming match. I had actually burned down the walkin closet in a fit of madness.

The corners of my mouth twitched up at the memory. I curled my lips into a small smile, closed my eyes and prepared to catch up on sleep.

Just as the edges of my consciousness blurred, the bedroom door clicked open. Harrison stepped in, smelling of sharp, fresh bergamot body wash.

Through the thick fog of sleep, I felt the heavy weight of his stare lingering on my skin. His gaze prickled my nerves.

I rolled over, turning my back to him, and let the darkness completely take over. I crashed hard for eight straight hours. My eyes finally snapped open right at 4:00 PM.

Harrison had already vanished. I shoved the thought of him aside, refusing to let him occupy another second of my time.

I splashed cold water on my face, grabbed my designer tote, and headed out into the afternoon rush. I booked a corner booth with Piper at a dimly lit downtown dive bar.

When she slid into the seat across from me, I swallowed the very last bite of my takeout fried rice. Chapter 3 Piper pressed her cool palm against my forehead.

Finding no fever, she slid into the booth beside me, her brow furrowed in deep concern. I shoved another massive bite of greasy takeout into my mouth.

As I chewed quickly, I felt a sense of relief. Another past regret, wiped clean. In my previous life, a brutal fever had completely drained my energy.

I ordered a cheap box of greasy takeout fried rice. But when the delivery guy dropped it off, my stomach rolled. I collapsed on the couch and blacked out.

When my eyes snapped open, I had exactly twenty minutes to clock in for my next shift. I knew my dirtbag manager would dock my entire two weeks' pay if I ghosted.

So, I dragged my burning, feverish body out the door. The impact of the SUV shattered my ribs. Lying on the freezing asphalt, bleeding out, my consciousness flickered.

As I felt my life rapidly slipping away, the only thing I could think of was… that unopened box of cold fried rice sitting on my kitchen counter.

That was exactly why I craved this highsodium garbage the second I woke up. I needed to taste the grease. I needed to feel alive again.

I washed the heavy food down with a sharp swig of orange juice. Then, I finally locked eyes with my best friend. "God, Piper. I missed you so much," I choked out.

I stared at her face, memorizing every living, breathing detail. The back of my throat burned. Tears blurred my vision.

I threw my arms around her neck and clung to her like a drowning woman to a life raft. My fingers dug fiercely into the fabric of her jacket. "Hey, hey, what's wrong?

Did you and Harrison get into it?" Piper’s voice cracked with rising panic. "Did that bastard do something to you?" I smoothed my shaking hand down her narrow back.

Leaning close to her ear, I spilled the entire, impossible truth.

I told her how, in my past life, while I was tearing the city apart hunting down Harrison’s mistress, she crossed paths with Vance.

The guy was old money, weaponized charm, and a master manipulator. He gaslit her so flawlessly that she fell dangerously obsessed within a month.

By the time I found out, Piper was already pregnant with that monster’s baby. Right after I walked away from Harrison, I desperately tried to call her. I needed my best friend.

But her phone went straight to voicemail. It wasn't until I was dead that I saw the ugly truth. Vance played her from day one.

When he found out about the pregnancy, he coerced her into a dangerous, offthebooks medical procedure to get rid of it. But Piper had an underlying medical condition.

That routine procedure triggered a massive hemorrhage. She bled to death on a cold operating table.

According to the timeline I watched unfold after my death, Piper’s first encounter with that psychopath was supposed to happen today.

That was why I dialed her number the exact second my feet hit the floor. Fate had forcefully hit the reset button.

Neither of us was going to end up in a body bag over some toxic, manipulating men ever again. I finished pouring out the nightmare. Piper gently peeled my arms off her shoulders.

She unzipped her purse, her expression completely unreadable as she yanked out her phone. "On my way here, I exchanged numbers with a guy who bought me a drink.

He matched your description of Vance," she said, quickly blocking him on her phone. "You actually believe me?" The air rattled in my lungs.

Before she arrived, my brain spun in endless circles trying to figure out how to pitch this insane scifi plot. But uttering the words out loud was effortless.

The sheer terror of sounding crazy vanished. The real miracle was that Piper didn't hesitate for a single second. "We grew up in the same sandbox, Wren.

I know your soul," she said, locking her fierce eyes onto mine. "Except for that monumental blind spot you have for Harrison, you have never lied to me.

Ever." The crushing weight of our past lives crashed down on me. We died completely alone, shivering in the dark without each other. My chest caved in.

A raw, guttural sob ripped its way up my throat. Hot tears spilled over my lashes, scalding my cheeks as they fell.

Chapter 4 I scrubbed my face hard, violently wiping away the tear tracks.

I sucked in a shaky breath and dropped the second bomb of the night. "I squeezed a massive wire transfer out of Harrison today. Let's start a business, Piper.

Men are useless garbage. We need to build our own safety net." We grew up practically attached at the hip.

But as Harrison's tech startup exploded into a massive empire, Piper slowly distanced herself from me.

Whenever I pushed her on it, she always gave me the same excuse. "Wren, I will drop everything the second you need me. But I have to work hard right now.

I want to be your strong support system…" I knew what the highsociety wives whispered behind my back. I was just trophy wife material—a pretty face and a killer body.

I was completely out of Harrison's league intellectually. My college transcripts were embarrassingly average. I couldn't write code. I couldn't pitch to Silicon Valley investors.

So, I poured my entire soul into our home instead. I knew that even if I went out to work with my degree, I wouldn't make much money. I wouldn't survive a day in a real office.

Instead, I poured my useless degree into mastering interior design, obsessively colorcoordinating every corner until our sprawling penthouse was transformed into a flawless, magazineready sanctuary.

I curated his wardrobe every single night. I would personally iron every single piece of his clothing until it was perfectly smooth.

I adjusted his diet according to the changing seasons and his personal tastes, trying my best to keep him from getting sick.

I hustled every day, blindly happy in my little domestic bubble. I never felt ashamed of being a stayathome wife. But Piper saw the glaring red flags.

She worked herself to the bone in the corporate world just to prove to Harrison that I had backup. That she was my family, not some helpless dependent.

In my past life, scrubbing floors and flipping burgers, I realized exactly how screwed I was. A Liberal Arts degree was already a joke in the job market.

Add a fiveyear employment gap, and my resume was practically toxic. But those years playing house weren't a total waste. I understood aesthetics. I had a meticulous palate.

And I was absolutely obsessed with baking highend pastries. I was damn good at it, too.

Bleeding Harrison's bank account today wasn't just about my trauma of starving on the streets. I needed that cash to buy my freedom. I needed seed money.

I laid out the entire business pitch to Piper. Then, I anxiously waited for her reply. Piper just stared. The silence stretched thick and heavy between us.

Finally, she reached across the table and smoothed my hair. "You really survived a nightmare in that past life, didn't you, Wren?" My throat violently sealed shut.

My chest felt tight, and I cleared my throat to hide it. Piper pressed the pads of her fingers firmly under her eyes.

When she dropped her hands, her gaze was pure steel. "We don't know the first thing about running a startup.

Harrison is a walking ATM right now, but we cannot depend on a cheating bastard. I've got fifty grand sitting in my savings.

Combine that with whatever you drained from him, and we easily have enough capital to launch a boutique bakery." Her corporate marketing brain instantly snapped into gear. "You have the vision.

Your pastries are out of this world. You handle product development and the kitchen. I'll handle the PR and brand strategy. I'll take care of all the marketing and sales.

We build this from the ground up, Wren. This bakery is just step one…" I flagged down the bartender and ordered half the menu.

We spent the rest of the night tearing through greasy bar food, mapping out our absolute takeover. Chapter 5 It was nearly midnight when I finally unlocked the penthouse door.

I scrubbed the stale bar smell off in the shower, but when I stepped into the master bedroom, Harrison was still wide awake.

He ripped his reading glasses off the second he saw me. "Where the hell were you?

Do you have any idea what time it is?" In my past life, I was the one obsessively checking the clock.

I used to blow up his phone whenever he worked late, terrified he was burning out—or worse, giving in to temptation.

Having my entire emotional stability tethered to a man was suffocating. I refused to live in that toxic cycle of anxiety again. I officially stopped tracking his location.

I didn't care when he came home or whose bed he crawled into. Ironically, the second I pulled my attention away, he suddenly wanted to play the controlling husband.

A bitter retort burned on my tongue, but I swallowed it down. I still needed his bank account to bankroll my escape. I forced a polite, empty smile. "I caught up with Piper.

We talked late. Just so you know, we're opening a business together." He used to constantly gaslight me into getting a hobby so I wouldn't smother him.

But now that I actually had a plan, he bombarded me with an interrogation. I fired back flawlessly, laying out the business model and profit margins without missing a beat.

Harrison went dead silent for a long moment. "Let me know if you need anything.

I'll help where I can," he finally muttered. "Got it," I chirped, securing the exact blank check I wanted. I turned my back to him and instantly fell into a dead sleep.

The next morning, I woke up with only one goal: execution. Piper and I hit the pavement, touring commercial real estate until my feet bled.

Days later, we found a vacant storefront smack in the middle of a highfoottraffic shopping district. It was a stroke of absolute luck—the place used to be a bakery.

The previous owner, Paige, suffered from brutal morning sickness, forcing her husband Seth to sell the business.

I ran my fingers over the commercialgrade mixers and stainless steel prep tables in the back. Everything was pristine. I immediately pitched a buyout to Seth for all the equipment.

While he stepped aside to call his wife, my phone vibrated in my pocket. It was Harrison. I briefed him on the lease negotiations. He let out a heavy, patronizing sigh. "Hold on.

I'm sending someone down to review the contract so you don't get scammed." I wasn't arrogant enough to play lawyer, so I stalled.

I chatted with Seth about supplier contacts until Harrison's legal guy, Finn, walked through the door.

With a ruthless professional handling the legal jargon, we inked the transfer agreement in record time.

Once the old owner handed over the keys and vanished, I paced the empty bakery, mapping out the layout.

I wrote down a list of things we needed and headed out to meet Piper, who had just submitted her resignation.

We needed to launch fast to start generating cash flow, so completely gutting the place was off the table. We had to work with the existing bones.

The entire block was dominated by trendy boutiques catering to younger crowds. I leaned hard into highcontrast, aggressive color blocking to grab attention.

We spent a grueling week tearing down the boring pastel aesthetics. I transformed the original simple aesthetic into a bright, dopamineinducing style.

The storefront kept its sharp, AliceinWonderland architectural edge. Even during renovations, girls were already stopping on the sidewalk to snap selfies for their feeds.

Catching the vibe, Piper immediately overhauled our marketing strategy.

She ordered a massive shipment of aesthetic photo props and sourced chaotic, customdesigned tableware to make sure every single pastry popped on screen.

Chapter 6 Piper and I spent our days tirelessly tearing down and rebuilding the bakery. At night, I locked myself in the kitchen, working on pastry recipes until my vision blurred.

I hit the mattress and blacked out instantly every single night. I didn't give Harrison a single second of my time. Because of that, I was completely missing the warning signs.

I never saw him standing over my side of the bed in the dead of night, his eyes dark and unreadable, as he stared at my sleeping face for hours.

Two weeks after signing the lease, we officially hit our soft launch. Piper had been working the algorithm nonstop, teasing the opening.

By the time we unlocked the front doors, the line wrapped around the block. Even with Sadie and another new hire working the registers, we were extremely busy.

I was trapped in the back kitchen, up to my elbows in flour and sugar. I never even heard the screaming match up front.

It wasn't until we flipped the open sign to closed and started counting the register that Piper casually dropped the bomb. "Does the name Camilla ring a bell?" she asked, leaning against the counter. "Two women came in today, demanding to see you.

I saw things were getting weird, so I took them outside to see what they wanted.

They kept repeating that you stole Camilla's man and that they were getting justice for their friend." My pen froze over the ledger.

I dug through my memories until the name finally clicked. Harrison's exgirlfriend. "Let her throw a tantrum," I scoffed, flipping the page. "I'm not signing the divorce papers yet.

If she wants the ring, she can get in line and wait." Sadie and the other girl held their breath, their eyes wide. Piper and I locked eyes.

We burst out laughing until our ribs ached. It was past midnight when I finally keyed into the penthouse. Harrison was still awake.

Just like every other night, he immediately grilled me on the bakery's daily revenue and tried to insert himself into my operations. I fed him a few minor issues we ran into today.

Then, I sharply pivoted. I let my shoulders drop.

I forced a raw, pathetic tremble into my voice. "Harrison, I already turn a blind eye to whatever you do on the side," I whispered, biting my lower lip. "So why are your people coming after my business?

Can you please just tell her to back off? If this bakery goes under, I have nothing left…" By the end of my sentence, my voice even carried a hint of a sob.

The room went dead silent. Harrison slammed his hardcover book onto the nightstand. The sharp crack echoed against the walls.

After a moment of stunned silence, his face darkened. "Wren.

Repeat exactly what you just said," his voice was dangerously low, vibrating with suppressed fury. "What do I do on the side?

What do you mean you turn a blind eye?" He sucked in a harsh, ragged breath.

When he spoke again, his voice trembled slightly. "Do you not love me anymore?" His tech startup was less than two months away from going public. I had to play the game.

I couldn't show any dissatisfaction, or I was afraid he would make things difficult for me in the divorce settlement. But asking me to look him in the eye and say I loved him?

My throat sealed shut. I couldn't erase the memory of my past life. The brutal, agonizing collapse of my sanity when I found the proof of his affair.

I remembered ripping my own dignity to shreds, screaming like a lunatic in public over a man who had already moved on. And through it all, he just stood there.

Watching my mental breakdown with cold, dead eyes. The sickest plot twist of all? After I bled out on the street, I found out the actual truth about that specific hotel stay.

He didn't sleep with her. He actually held his boundaries. The physical line was never crossed. But it was entirely too late.

Chapter 7 The real reason I decided to divorce him wasn't the supposed cheating. It was his absolute refusal to explain.

It was the freezing, dead stare he gave me while I suffered a complete mental breakdown right in front of him. I always knew what the highsociety wives whispered behind my back.

Trophy wife. Clingy. Zero ambition. I never let their venom sting. I genuinely thought Harrison understood my sacrifices.

Before we exchanged rings, he looked me in the eye and begged me to manage our home. He needed me to anchor his chaotic life so he could ruthlessly scale his startup.

We struck a deal. I morphed into his flawless, stepfordwife fantasy. But somewhere along the line, the power dynamic shifted. He started looking down on my domestic life.

He never said a word. He just happily absorbed every ounce of my care while secretly deducting points from my worth in his head, entirely content to watch me drown.

So when the fake cheating scandal finally blew up, he didn't even bother to lift a finger to clear his name. He just stood back and watched me completely humiliate myself.

He used the silent treatment to force me to ask for a divorce. To Harrison, I wasn't an equal partner anymore. I was a depreciating asset on his balance sheet.

He completely stripped away his love and respect. So why the hell should I keep loving him? Ever since Piper and I started building the bakery, my schedule completely bypassed his.

I stopped spending my evenings meticulously curating his designer outfits. I didn't waste another second standing over an ironing board to steam out the wrinkles in his slacks.

And every day when I saw him, I was just wearing my pajamas. Over the past two weeks, Harrison's sudden, sloppy wardrobe had sent massive shockwaves through his tech firm.

The entire executive board was whispering that our marriage was crashing and burning. He heard the rumors.

That was exactly why my casual indifference totally shattered his composure. My prolonged silence pushed him over the edge. His hand snapped out, gripping my wrist tight.

He yanked me hard against his chest. "Wren, look at me!" His fingers dug heavily into my flesh. "What does this silence mean? Is this a hard question?

You're supposed to be obsessed with me." My muscles ached from pulling twelvehour shifts in the kitchen. Dropping the divorce bomb right now would wreck my entire payout strategy.

I swallowed down the sharp spike of irritation. "I've been working all day.

My brain is completely fried," I murmured, letting my eyelids flutter shut. "I didn't hear a single word you just said." Harrison stared heavily at my face, scanning for a lie.

My exhausted, halfclosed eyes finally convinced him. His iron grip loosened. He slowly lowered my spine against the mattress. "Go to sleep," he whispered into the dark.

The next morning, I woke up to an empty bed. I assumed he had already left for the highrise.

But the second I stepped out of the master bathroom, the heavy oak door of his home office swung open. Harrison lunged.

His thick arms wrapped securely around my waist and behind my knees, scooping me right off the hardwood floor. He tossed me onto the tangled sheets.

My back bounced against the mattress. Before my brain could even process the hit, his massive frame shadowed over me. Until he kissed me recklessly.

The sharp scent of his bergamot cologne invaded my lungs. His chest crushed against my ribs, heavy and solid.

My initial resistance melted into response as my tense muscles slowly relaxed against the sheets. He felt the shift in my posture.

A low, ragged growl ripped from the back of his throat. His calloused thumb dragged roughly against my jawline, his dilated pupils completely swallowing the blue of his irises.

The thick, humid air between our bodies practically vibrated.

But just as he was about to go all the way, I stopped him. "Where's the condom?" I demanded, my voice cutting cleanly through his ragged breathing. "I'm not taking Plan B." Harrison froze.

He hovered directly above me, his knees braced heavily on either side of my hips.

He asked expressionlessly, "What the hell does that mean?" The gravel in his voice scraped against the sudden silence. "Weren't you desperately trying to get pregnant