Married to My Mother-in-Law’s Ex

The crystal chandeliers cast a golden glow over the ballroom as Miami's elite mingled beneath them, their laughter and conversation creating a symphony of success. I smoothed my emerald silk gown and checked my reflection in the mirrored wall one last time. Perfect. Just as Father expected.

The Vance Corporation's twenty-fifth anniversary gala was in full swing, and I had spent weeks ensuring every detail was flawless. The ice sculptures, the champagne selection, the guest list—everything had to reflect our family's impeccable standards. Tonight was about celebrating Father's empire, and I was his crown jewel, the perfect daughter who had married into the perfect family.

"Bridgette, darling, you look absolutely radiant," gushed Mrs. Whitmore, one of Father's longtime business associates. Her eyes swept over my gown with barely concealed envy. "That Valentino is simply divine on you."

"Thank you," I replied with the practiced smile I'd perfected over years of these events. "I'm so glad you could join us tonight."

As she drifted away, I scanned the crowd for Derick. My husband had been notably absent from my side for the past hour, which was unusual. He typically enjoyed showing me off at these gatherings, his arm possessively around my waist as he networked with potential clients.

I spotted Father near the bar, his silver hair gleaming as he held court with a group of investors. Arthur Vance commanded attention wherever he went, his presence both magnetic and intimidating. He caught my eye and gave me a subtle nod of approval. Everything was proceeding according to plan.

But where was Derick?

I made my way through the crowd, accepting compliments and making small talk, all while searching for my husband's familiar figure. The ballroom was vast, with several adjoining rooms for more intimate conversations. Perhaps he was in one of those, discussing business.

As I approached the corridor leading to the private meeting rooms, I heard familiar laughter echoing from behind a partially closed door. My heart lifted—Derick's laugh was distinctive, rich and confident. I quickened my pace, already planning to tease him about abandoning me at our own party.

The door to the Wellington Room stood slightly ajar, golden light spilling into the hallway. I reached for the handle, ready to make my entrance with a playful complaint about being left alone to charm the guests.

But the words died in my throat.

Through the gap, I could see them clearly. Derick, my husband of three years, had his hands tangled in familiar auburn hair. Agatha, my stepsister, was pressed against the wall, her cocktail dress hiked up around her thighs as Derick's mouth moved hungrily against her throat.

"God, I've missed this," he groaned, his voice thick with desire. "Missed you."

"Shh," Agatha whispered, though her breathless laugh betrayed her excitement. "Someone might hear us."

"Let them," Derick replied, pulling back to look at her with an intensity I had never seen him direct at me. "I'm so tired of pretending with her. You're the one I want,