My Mogul Mother Gifted Me A Younger Lover

After five years of marriage and two children, my body was a roadmap of stretch marks and the soft, loose skin that now draped my midsection.

Predictably, my CEO husband, Blake Harrington, had found himself a young secretarybarely out of collegeand was now flaunting her on his arm, in the open, for anyone to see.

Consumed by a grief so sharp it felt like physical pain, I fled to my wealthy mother's office to cry.

She sat behind her massive mahogany desk, lit a cigarette, and watched me with unconcealed disdain. "He keeps a mistress, why don't you keep a boy?"

I sputtered, "Mom? Are you telling me to cheat?"

She shook her head. "No, Anna. I'm teaching you to love yourself."

I was driving the boys to school when I found out Blake was cheating.

Amid the cacophony of the morning traffic and the usual sibling squabble in the back seat, my own pulse was a frantic, off-key drumbeat.

I managed to hit the power button on my phone, killing the screen and hiding the image of Blake and Kira Bellhis new secretarylocked in a desperate, office-supply-closet kiss.

My hands trembled on the steering wheel.

Landon, my older son, demanded, "Mom, please hurry. I'm going to be late."

He was the spitting image of Blake: polite, reserved, and strangely self-sufficient. I used to be proud of his composure, convinced I had raised a remarkably mature child. Now, looking at his cool, indifferent hazel eyes, I felt a sudden, chilling fear.

"Honey," I asked, the words catching in my throat. "If your father and I were to separate, who would you choose?"

Landon Harrington glanced at me, his expression flat, and said nothing.

When we reached the school curb, he gathered his backpack.

He looked at me with the calculation of a much older man. "Mom, you don't have a job, and you haven't spoken to Grandma Sterling in years. If you separate, I'll have to choose Dad."

My younger son, Carter, who usually followed Landon's lead on everything, piped up instantly. "I want Dad too. I'll choose Dad!"

I felt as if Id plummeted through thin ice into a freezing lake.

After dropping Carter off at his pre-school, I drove to the nearest empty park and finally allowed myself to open the image again.

The sender was an anonymous account, but the message was a deluge. Mrs. Harrington, you're too sweet and devoted. I didn't want you to be blindsided. Kira, she explained, had started as a client assistant. Blake, upon meeting the "cute and hyper-competent" girl, immediately promoted her to his executive assistant.

Stop being a naive housewife, Anna. You need to start thinking about yourself.

If you don't fight back, she's going to take your life.

Blake is flying out this week, and he specifically requested her. He had someone book a king-sized suite and a bouquet of a hundred roses.

A king-sized suite. A hundred roses. The symbols of romance Blake had only offered me during our brief, feverish courtship were now being packaged for another woman.

My palm felt icy cold. I clenched and unclenched my fist, leaving half-moon indentations in my skin.

I knew I wasn't a master strategist. I certainly wasn't the cunning type. After exhausting all my useless internal debates, I reached for my phone and called my mother's private line.

Dana, my mother's secretary, escorted me into Vicky Sterling's presence half an hour later.

Five years had passed, and my mother was more formidable, more stunning than ever. The sharpness in her dark eyes felt like a physical assault. My legs went soft, and my first instinct was to bolt.

"Scared, Anna? Still so gutless." She saw right through me.

That was always the way it was. Even at my lowest, my mothers first instinct was to wound. My eyes immediately began to sting, and my throat tightened.

"Yes, I'm useless," I whispered, the bitterness overwhelming me. "That's why my life is a mess. That's why I'm here." He promised to love me forever. It had only been five years.

Vicky ignored the plea for comfort and twisted the knife. "What can you do besides throw temper tantrums at my feet? You couldn't even keep a mediocre man interested. Are you satisfied with your failure?"

Her words broke the dam. The tears Id been holding back all morning streamed down my face.

"I am useless! I'm a mess! I don't know what to do when my husband cheats!" I wailed, collapsing onto the leather sofa, grabbing fistfuls of tissues. "Go ahead, call me a loser! I don't even want to live anymore!"

Vicky looked past me to Dana. "Record that, Dana. This pathetic display is perfect for the internet."

My sobbing stopped instantly. I stared at her, horrified.

"Mom! How can youI'm your daughter!"

Vicky walked over and sharply poked me in the forehead.

"How did I give birth to such a pathetic coward?"

She was a force of nature. When she found out my father had cheated right after I was born, she divorced him without a word. She took his small appliance company and built it into a multinational high-end electronics firm. Once, when a foreign vendor tried to fleece her, she swept the entire negotiation table clean. "Do you think we Americans are easy to cheat? If you try to back out of this contract, I'll make sure you never see home again. We'll both go down."

My fierce, lioness of a mother had somehow produced mea classic example of a doormat. Other than decent grades, I had none of her fire. I was a hopeless romantic, a love drunk who had married Blake simply because I was obsessed with his handsome face, despite my mother's warnings that he was untrustworthy.

Vicky stared at me for a long time, and a sliver of softening appeared in her expression. She sighed.

"He keeps a mistress, why don't you keep a boy? We certainly have the funds."

"I have a dozen students I sponsor for college. Pick one."

I was dumbfounded. "Mom! Are you telling me to cheat?"

She shook her head again. "No, Anna. I'm teaching you self-respect."

I was still reeling. I didn't see the connection, but I knew my mother's logic was absolute.

"Relationships are currency, Anna. They're built on mutual transaction," she stated, leaning back.

"When you married him, you were fresh, beautiful, and compliant. He was happy to spend his time and attention on you."

"Five years later, the novelty is gone. You stay home all day, looking like a tired house-sitter. To Blake, you have no business value, and you certainly have no emotional value. What, exactly, does he need you for?"

I mumbled, "But I gave him two children..."

"Any fertile woman can do that. And you are not a broodmare."

Vicky lit another cigarette, a slight, knowing smile playing on her lips.

"Anna, your grandparents raised you. I was working. I know they instilled a lot of outdated values in you. Things like 'be loyal' and 'be conscientious.' Those values aren't inherently wrong."

"But if you apply them to someone who doesn't deserve them, you're a fool. You're easy prey."

"I don't think Blake is wrong for cheating, frankly. If I were in his shoes, I'd probably do the same. It costs him nothing. He's secure in the knowledge that you'll just quietly suffer."

Her words sliced straight to my core. I wiped my eyes.

"So what do I do?"

"Go find a fun, young guy to play with."

I had never contemplated anything so scandalous in my entire life.

I just stared at her blankly.

"...A what?"

"You're going to get yourself looking drop-dead gorgeous. Stop revolving your life around a husband and two kids who barely notice you. Cultivate your own interests, your own life, and find a handsome boy to keep you entertained."

Vicky sat at her desk, tapping a manicured finger on the polished surface.

"Anna Pierce. You can be a queen or a caretaker. You choose."

"You only get one chance. Mess this up, and I won't help you again. We won't speak again."

She meant it. When I insisted on marrying Blake, she hadn't taken my calls for five years. Shed even moved abroad and had my younger half-sistertwenty-five years my junioressentially saying shed wasted time on her "first draft" child and needed to start over.

Her force of will was terrifying. If I hadn't been absolutely desperate, I never would have groveled to her.

"Mom," I said weakly. "Can I just think about it?"

She pointed to the door. "Twenty-four hours. After that, the offer is off the table. Now get out. I have a board meeting."

She dismissed me like a nuisance.

On the drive home, my mind raced. Shed once told me she hated Blake because he was the youngest child in his family. Men like that, she said, were spoiled, entitled, and lacking empathy. Hed been cheating since junior high, a fact I'd willfully ignored because of his striking face.

My mother, I had to admit, had foresight.

When I stepped into the house, I realized the atmosphere was strangely domestic.

Blake was home, and hed brought company.

Kira Bell, an undeniably beautiful girl in a white summer dress, was curled up on my pristine, designer sofa. My two sons were flanking her, watching her play a mobile game, while Blake sat nearby, reviewing a document.

From my angle, they looked like the perfect family portrait.

But I knew the truth: my family of four hadn't sat down for a meal together in months. Blake was always in his study, and the boys avoided me, claiming I was too strict and complicated.

Now, Landon, usually aloof, was excitedly gripping Kira's arm.

"Ms. Bell, you're amazing! You actually beat the final boss! My mom can't even play."

Kira smiled, her eyes crinkling. "Well, I was the core player on my college's esports team."

Blake smoothly handed her a glass of milk.

"Here, Kira. Drink this first, or you'll get a stomach ache."

"Anna will be back soon to make her famous shrimp scampi. I'm sure you'll love it."

They spoke about me so casually, as if I were not the mistress of the house, but the hired help.

I glanced at the reflection in the hall mirrorthe ghost staring back at me with sallow skin and exhausted eyes.

I instinctively dropped the grocery bag in my hands and bolted.

I drove back to the city, arriving at Vickys corporate tower less than twenty minutes later.

I didn't knock. I rushed in, slid across the marble floor, and knelt before her.

"Mom," I choked out, my voice loud and desperate. "Help me. I don't want to be a tired house-sitter anymore. I'll listen to every word you say."

Vicky put down her chopsticks and walked over.

She didn't hesitate. She delivered a sharp, stinging slap across my face.

The force made my ears ring, and my cheek instantly felt hot. But the fog of misery in my mind seemed to be violently shaking apart.

Vicky's voice was ice. "Does that hurt, Anna Pierce?"

"Y-yes," I stammered.

"Good. You remember that. I hit you because you wasted five years. You made a terrible choice, and now you expect me to clean up the mess. You take your punishment, and you stand straight."

She turned and went back to hug my little sister.

I wiped my face, stood up, and walked out.

When I got back to Blake's house, the Harringtons hadn't even noticed my brief return and disappearance. Carter, seeing the plastic bag on the floor, whined, "Mom, I'm hungry. I want your Coca-Cola chicken wings, and Landon wants shrimp scampi. Dad needs his special yam and pork rib soup for his stomach."

Not a single dish was simple.

Blake and the boys had notoriously finicky digestive systems, hereditary to the Harrington family. They were allergic to tomatoes, eggs, and certain spices. Anything too rich gave them severe cramps.

Before our marriage, we had a professional chef. But my mother-in-law insisted I was home all day, so I needed to learn to "care for my family." I had studied, taken classes, and learned to cook perfectly balanced, delicious meals to cater to their delicate systems.

I had become the perfect Harrington caretaker, and in doing so, had become a complete drudge.

A cold realization washed over me: Blakes company was worth hundreds of millions. The dividends from my mother'swedding gift alone netted me a six-figure income monthly. Why had I tormented myself like this?

I tossed the bags onto the kitchen counter and looked at them.

"I'm too tired to cook today. Order takeout."

"Tomorrow, I'm hiring a private chef. From now on, you can tell the chef exactly what you want."

I started to walk away, but Blake blocked my path.

"Anna, what is this attitude? We have a guest! You can't let her eat takeout!"

"A guest?" I slowly turned back to Kira. "She's your company secretary. Why do I, the lady of the house, need to personally cater to her?"

Kira's eyes instantly welled up. "I'm so sorry, Mrs. Harrington. I've caused trouble." She picked up her bag, looking suitably distressed. "I'll leave right now. Please don't fight with Mr. Harrington on my account."

Landon was the first to rush to her defense. "Mom, how can you be so rude? Kira is my friend!"

Carter, the little echo, added, "Yeah, Mom, you cook every day anyway. What's the big deal about making food for Ms. Bell? Isn't that what Dad married you for?"

Their righteous indignation made me feel like a complete joke.

The slap from that afternoon still stung. My husband, who I'd given my youth to, and my sons, who I'd risked my life to bring into the world, were all siding with a stranger.

I couldn't help but laugh, a cold, dry sound. Anna Pierce, you are a spectacular failure.

Blake, mistaking my reaction for a childish tantrum, gave a dismissive sigh. "Fine, if you won't cook, then don't. Come on, Kira, I'll take you out."

The boys clamored to go with them.

As they left, Landon deliberately took Kira's hand, looking back at me as if to prove a point. He hated physical affection, yet he was practically clinging to her. It was clear he adored her.

I reached up, touching my chest, expecting the familiar ache of heartbreak. But the space was hollow, filled only with an infinite cold.

My heart was too frozen to break.

I took a long shower and went to bed.

The next morning, no one came to wake me up or ask me to drive them to school.

I slept until eleven.

After a long, indulgent bath, I checked my phone. Dana had scheduled an entire week of appointments: a new salon, wardrobe shopping, spa treatments, and over a dozen aesthetic consultations.

As I got into the car, Dana looked at me, a polite embarrassment on her face.

"Is something wrong?" I asked.

She gave a strained smile.

"No, Mrs. Harrington. I just assumed when I saw your casual attire the other day, you were running errands. I didn't realize that your entire closet was..."

She didn't have to finish the sentence. My wardrobe was 90% T-shirts and ill-fitting, baggy jeans.

A wave of self-pity washed over me. "I know. I've been an embarrassment to my mother."

Dana chose her words carefully.

"I think Ms. Sterling is simply protective of you. She just doesn't know how to show it."

"I understand," I sighed.

I truly was dense. It took me twenty-seven years and a monumental betrayal to understand the simple truth: If you don't value yourself, no one else will.

I followed Dana's instructions, first to a high-end salon, where my messy, utilitarian bob was transformed into cascading, coppery waves. Then, we bought dozens of outfitssilks, leathers, form-fitting dresses, and designer heels.

The final stop was a specialized medical aesthetic center for a consultation on postpartum restorative treatments.

Emerging from the doctor's office, my face was hot. "Dana," I whispered. "Is this really all necessary?"

Dana was utterly professional. "Mrs. Harrington, this is not just a health issue. It is a matter of physical and psychological well-being. It is, in fact, the most important thing you can do for yourself right now."

She was right. Id been embarrassed by pelvic floor issues for years. Since Carters birth, a simple sneeze sometimes meant an immediate wardrobe change. During the few intimate moments Blake and I shared, he found me frustratingly unsatisfying.

Eventually, he stopped touching me altogether. When I tried to initiate intimacy, he'd often find an excuse to sleep in his study.

Dana was absolutely right. This was not a luxury. It was a foundational repair.