My Husband Moved His Mistress In On Our Wedding Night — The Reversal Was Chilling
Part 2
Craig turned a sickly shade of pale, stammering that the Duke misunderstood.
Tyler cut him off, his eyes locking onto my husband with the force of a predator zeroing in on fragile prey.
He declared that he understood perfectly.
He stated that Craig had brought a street corner distraction into his home and allowed her to speak to his lawful wife.
Tyler didn’t even look at Brenda, treating her as less than dust.
He issued a chilling ultimatum that echoed in the silent ballroom.
If Brenda was not out of his house in exactly one minute, he would personally dissolve Craig’s shipping lines.
He promised to have the royal banks call in every debt.
He swore Craig’s name would be utterly ruined in the city before sunrise.
Brenda gasped, shrinking back into the shadows of the crowd.
Craig trembled visibly, completely emasculated in front of all of London society.
Tyler then turned his back on them, dismissing their existence entirely.
He looked down at me, the dangerous edge in his eyes melting into something fiercely protective.
He held out his white-gloved hand.
He asked softly, ensuring only I could hear the reverence in his tone, for the absolute honor of a dance.
I looked at his hand, then up into his dark, unwavering eyes.
For the first time in a year, a spark of genuine hope flared in my chest.
With a trembling hand, I placed my fingers in his.
As Tyler led me to the center of the ballroom floor, he pulled me slightly closer than propriety dictated.
He leaned down, his lips brushing against the shell of my ear as the orchestra began a sweeping waltz.
He whispered a vow that sent a shiver down my spine.
He promised I would never hide in a corner again.
He told me to let Craig have his mistress.
From that moment on, Tyler declared, I was his.
The morning after the ball, the atmosphere in our townhouse was violently fractured.
Craig paced the morning room, his face a mottled mask of terror and rage.
He had attempted damage control at his exclusive club, only to be informed his membership was suspended.
The Duke had spoken, and London society had listened.
I sat quietly by the window, my embroidery untouched, feeling a strange and terrifying calm.
Craig rounded on me, his fists clenched, screaming accusations.
He claimed Tyler was a monster in the financial sector who could collapse his entire shipping venture.
He blamed me for provoking the Duke by playing the wounded wife.
I looked up, my expression utterly serene.
I reminded him that I did absolutely nothing but breathe the air.
I suggested he direct his anger toward the mistress who insulted a Duke’s guest.
Craig raised a hand as if to strike me, the ultimate coward’s resort.
Before he could take a step, the heavy oak doors swung open.
Brenda burst in, her predatory grace replaced by sheer panic.
She clutched a sealed parchment, announcing the jewelers had refused her credit.
She revealed the bank was freezing Craig’s private accounts pending an audit.
Craig snatched the letter, the color draining from his face as he read the damning script.
He collapsed into an armchair, whispering that Tyler had bought all his debt.
The Duke held the mortgage to the London house.
I stood up, smoothing my skirts with cold satisfaction.
I told Craig his empire was built on sand, and the tide had just rushed in.
Would Craig surrender his pride and beg for mercy, or would the Duke have to utterly destroy him?
