When My Husband's Mistress Became My Maid

The kitchen timer chimed softly as I pulled the roast from the oven, its golden-brown surface glistening under the warm light. Ten years of marriage had taught me exactly how Gideon liked his dinner—medium-rare beef, roasted vegetables arranged just so, and a glass of his favorite Cabernet waiting at his place setting. I smoothed my apron and glanced at the clock. Six-thirty. He'd be home any minute.

I moved through our dining room with practiced efficiency, adjusting the placement of the silverware, ensuring the candles were lit just right. Everything had to be perfect. It always was.

"Honey, I'm home!" Gideon's voice echoed from the foyer, followed by the familiar thud of his briefcase hitting the marble floor.

"Welcome home," I called back, forcing warmth into my voice. "Dinner's almost ready. How was your day?"

His footsteps approached the kitchen, and I turned to greet him with the same smile I'd worn for a decade. Gideon looked tired, his usually pristine suit wrinkled, his dark hair slightly disheveled. There was something different about him lately—a distraction that seemed to pull his attention away even when he was standing right in front of me.

"Long day," he said, loosening his tie. "I forgot some files upstairs. Mind if I grab them real quick before we eat?"

"Of course." I watched him disappear up the staircase, his steps heavy with exhaustion—or perhaps something else entirely.

I finished plating our meal, arranging everything with the same meticulous care I'd always taken. The dining room looked perfect, like something from a magazine spread. But as I stood there, surrounded by the fruits of my domestic devotion, an uncomfortable feeling settled in my chest. Something felt off, though I couldn't quite place what.

Fifteen minutes passed. Then twenty.

"Gideon?" I called up the stairs. "Dinner's getting cold."

"Just a minute!" came his muffled reply.

I frowned. How long could it take to grab a few files? The uncomfortable feeling grew stronger, morphing into something that made my stomach clench. Without really thinking about it, I found myself climbing the stairs, my heels clicking softly against the hardwood.

Our bedroom door was ajar, and I could see Gideon rummaging through his dresser drawers, his movements hurried and almost frantic. "Did you find what you were looking for?" I asked from the doorway.

He startled, spinning around with wide eyes. "Yeah, just... just looking for that contract from the Henderson deal. Thought I might have left it up here."

But his hands were empty, and the dresser he'd been searching through contained only clothes. I stepped into the room, my gaze sweeping across our perfectly made bed, the pristine nightstands, the—

There. On the white comforter, near Gideon's pillow, lay a small silver tube that definitely didn't belong to me.

My breath caught in my throat. I moved closer, my heart beginning to pound as I recognized the shape, the size. A lipstick. Not just any lipstick—an expensive brand I'd never owned, in a shade of deep