Cooking Dinner For My Husbands Mistress

The New Year's Eve Dinner That Exposed My Husband's Double Life

It was my second year running my upscale private catering service, Crescent Catering, when a wealthy client dropped a massive retainer for a New Year's Eve dinner.

I walked her through all the standard package menus, but she kept shaking her head. Then, her eyes landed on the list of humble, comfort dishes I'd planned for my own family.

"The cream of mushroom soup has to have truffle added. Then, when you drizzle white vinegar on it, it must turn that black-purple color my husband loves."

I was stunned. I couldn't believe anyone else in the world shared such a niche, peculiar culinary fetishthe exact one my husband, Silas Montgomery, insisted on.

I asked her if she had any dietary restrictions.

She blushed, fumbled for her phone, and handed it directly to me. "My husband oversees everything I eat now that I'm pregnant. You'll have to ask him."

The next second, a familiar male voice came through the receiver:

"My wife doesn't eat green onions or ginger. Not a single piece."

My hand froze mid-air, suddenly rigid. The voice was unmistakably Silas's.

My professional training forced me to maintain a facade of calm, but my voice still trembled uncontrollably.

"Sir... could I just confirm your name for the order?"

The man on the other end didn't seem to hear me. He just repeatedly emphasized:

"All ingredients must be flown in from the source to ensure absolute freshness. It's imperative that my wife is satisfied."

The line went dead, snapped off with ruthless efficiency.

Chelsea Wells pulled the phone back, staring at me with a smirk. The smugness in her voice was undisguised.

"That's him. Hes like that. Hardly spares a single word for other women, but he dotes on me and the baby in my belly."

"His name is Silas! Silas Montgomery!"

She bit down hard on the syllables of his name. Each one felt like a needle, plunging into my eardrum.

My hand, clutching the menu, shook violently. The tip of my pen scraped a messy, inky streak across the paper. I couldn't write another word.

Noticing my obvious distress, Chelseas lips curved into a knowing smile. She calmly folded her arms, studying me with the pity of a victor looking down on the vanquished.

"Poor thing, the woman he has at home. Seven or eight years of marriage, and she couldn't hatch an egg. Now she's just fit to be swept out, left to serve food to other people."

I closed my eyes. The dam of all those old, suppressed wounds instantly broke.

Twenty-five years ago, my father found a half-dead, starving boySilason the street, gave him a hot meal, and gave him a home.

Later, we fell in love and got married. We started a modest food truck in the Culinary District, and our food was the hottest thing on the street until a jealous rival smashed up our pop-up and kidnapped me. By the time Silas scraped together the ransom and arrived, I was barely alive.

I survived, but the doctors said my uterus was severely damaged; it would be nearly impossible to conceive.

As I lay in the hospital, my life hanging in the balance and the bills piling up, Silas worked three jobs to pay off the debt. He constantly found ways to cheer me up. He swore hed wait for me to recover, that we would have a beautiful life together, and that having children didn't matter.

I believed him. I stood by him as we went from having nothing to building his empire.

But he broke his promise.

Two years ago, I would have slapped Chelsea, torn apart her veneer of fake concern and bravado.

But now, I was the sole proprietor of Crescent Catering. This business was the one thing I'd fought to keep, and I couldn't let personal vendettas destroy it.

"Ms. Wells, please be assured. Our food quality and chef expertise are beyond reproach."

Chelsea smiled, a meaningful, ambiguous twist of her lips.

"It better be. Oh, and my husband is extremely protective of me and the baby. When you come to make the New Year's Eve dinner, you should probably bring a few cooks who are currently pregnant or have recently had a baby. We don't want any bad juju."

"Otherwise, if he gets angry, your little catering brand might not make it."

That comment was a bullseye on my deepest pain point. Staring at her thinly veiled provocation, I suddenly understood: this wasn't an order for a New Year's Eve dinner. It was a calculated ambusha Roman feast designed to humiliate me.

I met her eyes and spoke with deliberate authority:

"All of our employees are medically cleared before deployment. If you still have these concerns, I suggest you find another caterer."

The moment I turned and walked out, I heard a mocking snicker behind me. I leaned against the cold wall of the elevator lobby, taking a long time to steady myself before dialing Silas's number with a trembling hand.

He answered instantly, his voice its usual gentle tone.

"Babe, what is it?"

I felt a sudden sense of disorientation. I spoke tentatively. "I just took an order. The client's taste is... remarkably similar to yours."

He paused for half a second, then gave a light chuckle. "Just a coincidence. Oh, listen, about my partner's orphaned child? Im close to finalizing the adoption. That kid will finally be ours."

Before the words were out, the elevator door dinged and slowly opened.

Silas stood in the doorway, impeccably dressed in a suit.

But the normally cool and composed CEO, Silas Montgomery, was looking at me now with pure, unfiltered panic.

He recovered quickly, though. He smiled and ran a hand through my hair.

"You promised me you'd rest at home. What are you doing here?"

He turned to his assistant, Matt, who was standing behind him.

"Ill go check on my partners widow alone. You take my wife home, Matt."

I didn't move. I reached out and took Silas's arm.

"The 'partner's widow' you're visiting is Chelsea Wells, isn't she?"

His body stiffened instantly. His arm tensed underneath my grip, and he wouldn't meet my gaze.

Just then, his phone rang. Silas visibly relaxed, pulled his arm away without a trace of hesitation, and quickly walked off to answer it, flashing Matt a look that clearly meant: Get her out of here.

As the elevator doors closed, Chelsea's sickeningly sweet voice wafted into my ears.

"Honey, why are you still not here? I'm going to be late for my prenatal appointment!"

Downstairs, Matt politely held the car door open.

"Ma'am, it's almost time for your medication. We need to get you back."

Medication. Always the medication.

Ever since the damage to my uterus, taking medicine had become the dominant feature of my life.

Taking it to have a child.

Taking it so he wouldn't worry.

Seven years. One medicine bottle after another. Yet, my body grew weaker. I used to never get motion sickness, but now, even riding in a car was an ordeal.

But I never got pregnant. And Silas allowed another woman to carry his child.

I swallowed the rising nausea and said coolly, "Take me to the hospital."

In the OB-GYN's office, I managed to find the medical report Silas had deliberately hidden. It stated, clearly:

[Secondary Infertility (Permanent)]

The word Permanent shattered my last sliver of hope.

For years, he had held this report, forcing me to drink useless concoctions while whispering reassurances:

"We'll get pregnant eventually."

I used to foolishly comfort myself, thinking he just wanted our child so badly, that he didn't want to disappoint me.

Now I knew. This was a calculated, carefully orchestrated deception from the start, only meant to stabilize mehis 'useless' wife.

I handed the doctor all the prescriptions I had taken over the years, asking her to run a thorough analysis.

As I turned to leave the examination room, I saw Silas and Chelsea at the end of the hallway.

A group of nurses enthusiastically crowded Chelsea. "Mrs. Montgomery, your husband is so devoted! Hes at every prenatal appointment."

Chelsea leaned into Silas, stroking her belly shyly. "He is. He cant wait for the baby to be just like him."

Silas looked down at her, and the raw tenderness in his eyes was something I had never received in seven years of marriage.

There was no orphaned child. All he ever wanted was a woman who could give him a babya child that was entirely his.

When we had nothing, he called me his world. But once he made his fortune, his world no longer had room for a barren wife.

As I brushed past him, Silas's gaze remained fixed on Chelsea's stomach. He didn't spare me a glance.

I didn't cry. I didn't question him. I just drove home in silence.

But the moment I sat down, a message popped up from Chelsea:

[You've seen it with your own eyes. Be smart. Get out now!]

Attached was a DNA test result. The father was, indisputably, Silas Montgomery.

Despite my foreknowledge, something in my heart was still savagely pierced. I couldnt hold back the tears anymore; they streamed down my face.

I don't know how much time passed before Silas called.

"Babe, I'm coming home soon. Did you take your medicine?"

I raised my hand and slammed the bowl of herbal medicine the housekeeper had brought me to the floor. "Silas Montgomery, are you still going to act? I went to the hospital!"

The door burst open. Silas rushed in. He grabbed my hand and anxiously examined it.

"Are you hurt?"

I violently shook him off and gave a cold laugh. "I heard everything Chelsea told the nurses."

He immediately dropped to his knees in front of me, uncaring that shards of porcelain might stab him. He pleaded:

"June, let me explain. She is just an incubatora tool. My wife will only ever be you! Once the baby is born, I'll announce that you are the mother. Don't cause trouble, okay?"

"Just... for the next few months, don't show your face in public. At least pretend you're resting and carrying the child so everyone believes the baby is yours. Can you do that for me?"

I scoffed internally. I didn't know whether to be touched by his meticulous planning or disgusted by his selfish infidelity.

Crescent Catering was finally gaining traction, and the business was fully expanding. It was peak season, and he wanted me to abandon it all for his illegitimate child.

I looked at him, my heart tearing in two.

"So, you want me to hide, pretend to be happily pregnant, and then watch while another woman's child is given my name?"

"Silas, have you forgotten? The Crescent Room is my family's legacy. Crescent Catering is the dream I fought tooth and nail for. And you want me to give all that up for your bastard?"

He fell silent, letting out only a heavy sigh.

He had promised, years ago, that he would help me revive the family legacy and make me the happiest woman alive.

But in seven years, he hadn't just forgotten his vows; he had become the man who would destroy me.

Our eyes met for a long, heavy moment. Then, I spoke, deliberately and clearly.

"Silas Montgomery, we are getting a divorce."

Silas immediately let go of my hand and tugged at his tie, his eyes clouding with irritation and impatience.

"June Caldwell, I just wanted a child. Is that really grounds for divorce? I remember the kindness when you took me in, but your emotions can't handle this level of irrationality!"

I grabbed the nearest throw pillow and hurled it at him.

"Kindness? Silas, you repaid my 'kindness' with seven years of lies, another woman's child, and a deliberate attempt to ruin the business I poured my heart into? Your gratitude is a burden I can no longer bear!"

The irritation vanished from his face. He took a step toward me, trying to touch me, but I swiftly dodged him.

His shoulders slumped slightly, and his tone softened inch by inch.

"June, I messed up. I shouldn't have lied to you. I shouldn't have put you through this."

"Tomorrow, I'll go with you to the cemetery. We'll talk it out in front of your parents. After this, I'll agree to anything but the divorce. Just don't do this, please?"

Listening to his belated plea, my heart felt like it was being ground repeatedly by a dull knife.

Seven years of deep affection, only to end up here.

I didn't answer right away. After a torturous internal debate, I slowly nodded. At the same time, a sudden, cold dread washed over me. Chelsea wouldn't back down easily.

I quietly opened my work chat and sent a message: All field service personnel must log work in real-time and save all evidence for every job.

The next day was New Year's Eve. As the car sped toward the cemetery, Silas's phone blew up.

"Honey, where are you? My stomach hurts so bad!"

Without a moment's thought, Silas swerved the car. He didn't even realize I was still in the passenger seat until he blew through a red light.

"Babe, something's happened with Chelsea. I have to rush over to check on the baby. I'll have Matt drive you to the cemetery."

"No need." I calmly pushed the door open and stepped out. "The baby is more important."

He gave me a look of gratitude. The car screeched away before I could even find my balance.

I watched the taillights disappear quickly, my heart feeling like a hollowed-out shell.

He once told me that no matter what happened, he would always protect me first. Turns out, those promises had long since expired.

I stood in the cold wind for a moment, letting the reality sink in, before calling a ride-share service straight to Westwood Memorial Park.

As I got out of the car, Matt rushed up, breathless.

"Ma'am, please don't be angry. Mr. Montgomery truly has no feelings for Chelsea. She's just a 'good luck charm' woman he paid a psychic to finda total utility player."

"He cares about you most. He specifically sent me here to accompany you."

I didn't want to engage. His sincerity or utilization didn't matter. Infidelity is infidelity; labeling it 'sacred' doesn't change anything.

Scanning my surroundings, I noticed a few suspicious figures lurking in the nearby woods, furtively watching us.

A sense of foreboding rose in my chest. I quickly pushed Matt away. "Go! Separate! You call the police!"

I turned and ran into a nearby corner store to hide, dialing Silas's number with a trembling hand.

"Corner store by the South Gate of the cemetery. Silas, hurry! I need help!"

The man's voice on the receiver was full of intense annoyance.

"June Caldwell, will you stop being so dramatic? We just agreed last night! Have you forgotten already? What did you put in Chelsea's New Year's Eve dinner? Her stomach's been cramping since the first bite! I have to rush her to the hospital. You need to dial back the jealousy!"

When I was kidnapped years ago, he searched for me like a madman, crying, "I can't live without you. I'll never let anything happen to you again."

Now, a simple complaint of a stomachache from another woman was enough for him to immediately label me a spiteful perpetrator.

The call was disconnected. Just then, a flurry of messages popped up in my work group chat, each one more desperate than the last:

[Mr. Montgomery filed a complaint against Crescent Catering, and the Market Regulatory Bureau is coming to shut down the shop!]

[Ms. Caldwell, all the pre-booked jobs are canceled. They're demanding huge compensation. We can't afford the breach-of-contract penalties!]

I was about to reply when everything went black. A thick canvas bag was thrown over my head, and my phone was knocked from my grasp.

A foot slammed into my spine. I hit the floor, and someone instantly pinned my hands and feet.

"Alright, boys! Let's get this done and ruin her completely. Let's see if Mr. Montgomery still wants her after this."

"Don't forget to take plenty of photos. Let everyone see her shame."

My clothes were ripped. Evil, lecherous laughter echoed around me.

I struggled, I screamed, but all my resistance was futile.

Just then, the corner store door was banged open. A team of police officers rushed in.

The assailants' laughter died immediately. The bag was ripped off my head. Matt dropped to his knees in front of me, tears streaming down his face.

"Ma'am, I'm so sorry! I should have been faster!"

I looked at him and shook my head.

What was his fault? He got the police here in time, and he protected me when it mattered most.

The one at fault was the man who vowed to protect me for life, yet, in my moment of greatest danger, only had eyes for someone else.

I struggled to stand, taking the jacket Matt handed me and tightly wrapping it around myself.

[You ruined Chelsea's New Year's Eve dinner. I'm taking her home for a quick meal. I'll be back soon. Don't be mad.]

Every word in Silas's message felt like a thorn, piercing my heart.

At the same time, Chelsea posted to social media.

The photo showed her and Silas cheek-to-cheek, in the dining room of our marital home. She was sitting in my chair.

But I had no time to grieve. My work chat was already ablaze.

[Mr. Montgomery is doing the 'righteous' thing and throwing his own wife under the bus! The whole internet is trashing us, saying pregnant women should avoid Crescent Catering. They even dug up the fact that Ms. Caldwell can't have kids and are spreading rumors that all our staff have health issues!]

[All the jobs are canceled. We can't afford the penalties. Is our catering business really over?]

Two years of blood, sweat, and tears vanished in a single instant.

The Crescent Catering business, the revival of my family's legacythe thing I nearly died protectingwas so easily ruined by Silas and Chelsea.

I clenched my fists, letting my nails dig into my palms. I felt clearer than ever.

Since he delivered such an unforgettable humiliation, I would give Silas and Chelsea a New Year's gift they would never forget.

I opened the work chat and sent out a notification for an emergency New Year's Eve work session.

The anxiety in the group instantly dissipated. My team rushed to reply, guaranteeing their presence.

At that moment, Silas was likely sitting with Chelsea, having their New Year's Eve dinner in the warmth of my home.

Both their phones went off simultaneously:

[The entire staff of Crescent Catering will publicly apologize to Mr. Montgomery and Ms. Wells for sixteen consecutive days, starting New Year's Eve and ending on the 15th day of the New Year.]

They opened the apology video. Silas's face drained of color after the very first sentence.