His Mistress Threatened The Wrong Woman Chapter 2

“Harrison?” Eleanor repeated.

Hailey tossed her designer bag onto the silk cushions of the armchair as if she held the deed to the property. “Stop playing dumb. You’re only clinging to him because his parents like you, aren't you? You think their blessing is going to keep him from divorcing you?”

Martha’s face went entirely bloodless. “Miss, you don’t understand—this is—”

Eleanor raised a single, commanding hand, silencing the housekeeper instantly. Her eyes locked onto Hailey, her voice dropping into an icy register. “Say what you came here to say. Every single word.”

Hailey mistook the composure for defeat. Her smirk widened, dripping with condescension. “What? Scared now? Paige, if you had any dignity left, you’d pack your bags and vacate a position that was never yours to begin with.”

She reached into her bag, pulled out a thick envelope of photographs, and slapped it down onto the glass coffee table with theatrical force.

The glossy prints scattered across the surface.

Harrison kissing her against the hood of his sports car. Harrison holding her on a balcony in the Hamptons. Harrison slipping an arm around her waist as they checked into a boutique hotel in Tribeca. Frame after frame of undeniable betrayal, laid bare right beneath Eleanor’s eyes.

Eleanor stared at the photographs. The color drained from her cheeks until she was paper-white.

Her fingers twitched slightly at her sides.

Hailey folded her arms across her chest, tilting her chin up in triumphant defiance. “Take a good look. Harrison loves me. He told me you’re boring, rigid, and completely frigid—like a decorative vase he was forced to put on display. He says every time he walks through this front door, he feels like he’s suffocating.”

She leaned in, her voice dripping poison. “If the Prescott family didn't demand a daughter-in-law with a clean background to look respectable in the papers, do you honestly think you’d be sitting here?”

Eleanor slowly lifted her gaze. “Harrison told you that? Directly?”

“Every word,” Hailey sneered. “He told me that as soon as the timing is right, he’s filing for divorce. And that little anchor in your stomach?”

She paused, her eyes narrowing into slits of pure venom.

“It’s nothing more than a chore his parents pressured him into. You actually think he wants a child with you?”

Eleanor stood up so abruptly the crystal vase on the side table rattled. “Say that again.”

For a split second, Hailey recoiled, startled by the sheer, suffocating authority radiating from the woman before her. But her arrogance quickly surged back.

“What? Did I hit a nerve? Paige, don't fool yourself into thinking a pregnancy can trap a man like Harrison. He told me this pregnancy happened at the worst possible time. If you’re smart, you’ll schedule an abortion this afternoon, sign the papers, and walk away.”

Before the final syllable had fully left Hailey’s mouth, Eleanor’s hand cracked across her face.

The slap echoed through the vaulted room like a gunshot. Hailey’s head whipped to the side, stumbling back two steps, her cheek flaring crimson. She stood frozen, stunned into utter silence.

Upstairs, I sat in the dim light of the bedroom, staring at my phone. My fingertips were like ice.

In my last life, that slap had been meant for me, and those photographs had shattered my world in front of my own eyes.

In this life, they had landed squarely in front of Harrison’s mother.

His web of polished lies had unraveled, and there was nowhere left for him to hide.

Hailey clutched her burning cheek, let out an ear-piercing shriek, and lunged. “You hit me? You crazy bitch, you hit me?!”

Eleanor’s voice was lethal, cold enough to freeze water mid-air. “I did. A vulgar, home-wrecking parasite who has the audacity to strut into this house and make demands deserves far worse.”

Hailey was completely unhinged now. She tried to charge forward again, but Martha threw herself between them. “Miss! Stop! You cannot put your hands on her!”

Hailey shoved Martha into the console table and pointed a shaking finger at Eleanor. “Who the hell do you think you are? You think being Mrs. Prescott makes you untouchable? When Harrison was in my bed last night, he told me just how sick you make him!”