My Kept Husbands Fatal Mistake Chapter 1

My husband is a kept man, but no one in my family would ever dare breathe a word of it to his face.

Because I protected him like my life depended on it.

When my best friend made a fleeting joke about him marrying into money, I cut her off entirely. When my father tried to use my husband’s financial dependence to control him, I didn't speak to my father for three months. When my husband felt suffocated working under the umbrella of my family's empire, I quietly bought a tech firm, rebranded it, and installed him as the CEO so he could play the big boss.

Today was his mother’s fiftieth birthday. I had rushed through my morning meetings, planning to catch a quick nap at my private pied-à-terre in the city before heading to the luxury hotel to celebrate her. I had spent an entire week meticulously planning the gala, inviting everyone who mattered.

I had barely closed my eyes in the quiet dimness of my apartment when a hand suddenly twisted into my hair, violently dragging me off the mattress and onto the hardwood floor.

"You shameless whore! You dare sleep with my husband? Look at you, you piece of trash!"

"If I don't rip your face off today, my name isn't Vera!"

* * *

A hand yanked my scalp backward, forcing my chin up. I found myself staring at a circle of looming figures.

"Vera, look closely. Is it her?!"

"It’s this cheap bitch. I saw her getting into my husband's car yesterday with my own two eyes. I'd recognize that face even if she were burned to ashes."

"Her apartment gate code is my husband’s birthday. I knew it!"

The searing pain radiating from my scalp made me wince, but more than anything, I was profoundly disoriented.

The women standing over me were dressed for a country club brunch. The one leading the pack—Vera—was wearing a flowing, immaculate Zimmerman maxi dress. She had long, perfectly blown-out hair and the kind of face that usually looked innocent. But right now, her eyes were so contorted with venom that she looked monstrous.

This was absurd.

I was just taking a midday nap in my own private sanctuary. Somehow, a group of strangers had broken in and mistaken me for a mistress.

I have always despised infidelity. Figuring that this woman had simply lost her mind out of grief over a cheating husband, I decided not to escalate things. I looked up at her, my voice cold and steady.

"You have the wrong person. This is my apartment. Get out right now, or I'm calling the police."

The moment the words left my mouth, Vera’s hand cracked across my cheek.

"You slut! Are all mistresses this arrogant now? You want to call the cops?!"

Her blonde friend standing next to her scoffed, her face flushed with self-righteous fury. "Caught red-handed and still no shame. Disgusting."

"If she had an ounce of shame, she wouldn't be sleeping with a married man. Everyone knows how much Vera and her husband love each other, and this rat just had to ruin it!"

"Just looking at her makes me sick!"

And then, the kicking started.

Blows rained down on my ribs, my back, my shoulders. After a flurry of vicious kicks, my face was bruised and my nose was bleeding. I curled into a ball, terrified to provoke them further. Women blinded by this kind of mob-fury were capable of anything.

I swallowed the metallic taste of blood, gritting my teeth. "You have completely misunderstood. I am married. My husband and I are very much in love. I would never be a mistress." I pointed a shaking finger toward the console table. "There's a framed photo of me and my husband right there. I'm not lying to you."

Vera glanced at the silver frame. She let out a sharp, breathless laugh. Pulling her phone from her designer bag, she shoved the screen inches from my bloody face. Her jaw tightened.

"Then take a good look at my husband. Look familiar?"

The breath left my lungs. My eyes widened in absolute, paralyzing horror. My voice trembled as I stared at the screen. "That… that's impossible. They just look alike. It can't be... My husband's name is Harrison."

"What a coincidence," Vera sneered. "My husband's name is Harrison, too. The CEO of the Harrison Group."

The Harrison Group. The company I had bought and handed to my husband.

Something deep inside my mind fractured like fragile glass. My body went completely limp against the floorboards.

I stared at the photo of Harrison and Vera, their arms wrapped around each other on some sun-drenched beach, and my vision blurred with hot tears. I couldn't process it. The man in that photo was Harrison. My Harrison. The man I had loved with everything I had.

We had been college sweethearts. It was love at first sight freshman year, followed by four years of quiet, beautiful simplicity.

Just as we were talking about marriage, Harrison's mother was diagnosed with a terminal illness. My father—a ruthless billionaire who controlled half the city's real estate—approached Harrison privately. My father promised to pay for the experimental treatments and secure his mother's future, but on one condition: Harrison had to sign an ironclad prenuptial agreement, sever his own ambitions, and essentially marry into the family as a kept man, a silent accessory to the Hastings empire.

Harrison hadn't hesitated for a single second. He agreed.

Because of that sacrifice, I had spent my entire marriage feeling like I owed him. I owed him his pride. I owed his family.

That was why I never allowed a single soul, not even my own father, to mention the terms of our marriage. It was why I bought his parents two sprawling luxury estates in the suburbs so they could live in comfort. I worried he would feel emasculated in my father’s boardroom, so I bought him his own company, letting him play the titan of industry. I nurtured his ego. I gave him everything, completely and unconditionally.

I had foolishly believed that a love given entirely would be returned entirely.

I was wrong.

Now, Vera was holding a photo, telling me that Harrison had been cheating on me. And from the look of it, for a very, very long time.

The throbbing pain in my ribs snapped me back to the present. I closed my eyes, a hollow, freezing emptiness settling in my chest.

"Leave," I whispered, my voice completely dead. "Get out of my house. I won't press charges for what you did today."

This was between me and Harrison now. Vera had been played by him, just like I had. I didn't want to destroy her.

But my mercy was a foreign language to her.

Vera grabbed my jaw, her perfectly manicured nails digging into my skin. She smiled, a terrifying, manic thing.

"You spend my husband's money, you live in the apartment my husband bought for you, and you won't press charges?" she hissed. "Fuck you. If I don't destroy your pretty little face today, my entire life has been a joke."