Wearing His Mistresss Coat Tonight

It was two in the morning when my husbands mistress called.

Mrs. Lockwood? Harrison got into a brawl over me. The paparazzi are swarming. Her voice was a cocktail of feigned panic and genuine triumph. You need to come down here. Bring a change of clothes. Fix this.

The audacity wasn't new. In the three years Harrison and I had been married, Paiges brazenness was the third person in our relationship.

To the public, I was the shield that deflected every scandal, the grace that smoothed over his hedonism. In private, I had screamed, packed bags, and had breakdowns that left me hollow. I had become the punchline of the Upper East Sidethe wife who wouldn't leave.

But tonight, I wasn't screaming.

"Fine," I said, my voice steady. "Im on my way."

When I arrived at the VIP lounge, the scene was a tableau of chaotic indulgence.

Paige Miller was draped over Harrison, her face flushed, hair artfully messy, clinging to him like a vine. She had mastered the art of looking fragiletears trembling on her lashes, ready to fall but never quite ruining her makeup.

Harrison Lockwood sat on the velvet sofa, looking bored. Even with bruised knuckles and a split lip, he didn't look defeated. He looked dangerous. His collar was unbuttoned, tie loose, radiating that specific brand of arrogant aggression that comes from knowing you own the building youre sitting in.

The heir to the Lockwood empire, getting into a fistfight over an assistant. The tabloids would eat well tomorrow.

Seeing me, Paige scrambled up, shedding her coat to offer it to me. "Mrs. Lockwood, thank god."

As she handed it over, the challenge in her eyes settled into a smug calm.

"Harrison hit someone. Its going to be hard to bury," she whispered, ensuring only I could hear. "But if people find out it was over me, the stock price will tank. Im sorry you have to do this. But if the narrative is that he was defending his wifes honor... well, thats just romantic, isn't it?"

Harrison watched from the sofa, a smirk playing on his lips. He was waiting for the explosion.

"So, Norah," he drawled. "How are we playing the victim tonight?"

Usually, Paiges "selfless" act was the spark that lit my fuse. But tonight, he miscalculated.

I took the coat. It smelled like her perfumeheavy, floral, cloying. I draped it over my shoulders with the casual indifference of someone accepting a napkin.

"Let's go," I said, checking my watch. "The press is already at the barricades."

They both froze.

Clearly, my compliance was not on the bingo card. Harrisons amusement shifted into a narrow-eyed scrutiny. Then, he laughed.

"Playing the obedient wife today, Norah?"

Paige, sensing the shift, poured gasoline on the fire. "Im so sorry, Mrs. Lockwood. I know Im just a distraction for when Harrison is bored. Youre the one he loves. Please don't blame him. If you want to scream at someone, scream at me."

Her tone was humble, but her voice carried the rasp of a woman who had just spent the last hour screaming in pleasure.

Harrison watched me, waiting. Waiting for the mask to crack. Waiting for the tears.

But I was too tired for madness. I was too tired for grace. I just wanted the circus to leave town.

I extended a hand toward Paige. "Give me your bag, too."

"If were selling a lie," I said flatly, "we might as well sell it all the way."

In the few seconds it took Paige to hand over her clutch, Harrisons smile vanished.

He strode over, snatched the bag from my hand, and tossed it into a nearby trash can. Then, he ripped the coat from my shoulders.

Before I could react, he stripped off his own suit jacketheavy, warm, smelling of cedar and expensive scotchand wrapped it around me.

"Norah," he murmured, his voice dropping an octave. "Are you angry?"

He hated my calm. He needed the reaction, the proof of life. But the surface of the water was glass; nothing moved underneath.

"No. This is my job."

Professionally, I was the PR Director for Lockwood Holdings. Privately, I was the wife hired to clean up the mess. I was the target dummy they wheeled out to absorb the arrows of public scrutiny.

But, I thought, as the silk lining of his jacket warmed my skin, this is the last time.

"You've grown up, Norah," he said, sounding almost proud.

I ignored the patronizing praise and pushed open the exit doors.

The flashbulbs hit us like a physical blow, a wall of blinding white light.

"Mrs. Lockwood! Who was the woman in the lounge?"

"Is it true Mr. Lockwood was fighting over a mistress? Are you here for damage control?"

"Sources say youve been living apart for six months! Is this all a show?"

"Mrs. Lockwood, how do you feel about your husbands relationship with his assistant?"

The shutter clicks sounded like automatic gunfire. I stood my ground, waiting for the cacophony to dip, before I spoke. My voice was practiced, cool, detached.

"My husband was in a meeting with partners tonight. He encountered an intoxicated individual who was harassing guests. His actions were strictly to maintain the security and brand standards of the venue."

The questions got sharper, aiming for blood.

In the reflection of a camera lens, I saw Harrison watching me. He looked... stunned.

We had been in a cold war for six months. He barely spoke to me. He had no idea this was my Tuesday night. He had no idea how good I had gotten at lying for him.

After I finished the spin, Harrison suddenly stepped in, pulling me against his side.

"My wife is tired," he announced to the wolves. "Thats all for tonight."

The unexpected rescue threw me off balance.

Even more surprising, he followed my car home. For the last six months, I could count the number of times hed slept at the penthouse on one hand.

In the dim light of the underground garage, I could feel his eyes on me.

"Are they always that vicious?" he asked.

"Its fine," I said, unclipping my seatbelt. "Just another day in PR."

He was silent for a long moment. When he spoke, his voice was soft, laced with a nostalgia I no longer recognized.

"Norah, Ive been thinking about the old days lately. Back when I was a wreck, you were the only one who could talk sense into me." He reached out, fingers grazing my arm. "Ive neglected you. Im going to cut the distractions. From now on, its just us."

"Theres a gala tomorrow. Old friends. Come with me? Lets reintroduce ourselves."

I had heard this speech before. Three years of variations on a theme.

Harrison had cycled through eight 'distractions' since our wedding. When things were good, he let them walk all over me. When he got bored, he dragged them in front of me to apologize, like a cat presenting a dead bird.

And every time he decided to play the reformed bad boy, he paraded me around town to re-establish my status as "Mrs. Lockwood."

He didn't realize that every time we did this, the looks from society wives got more pitying.

Oh, look, Harrison is playing house again.

Lucky Norah.

wonder how long this one lasts?

The phantom echoes of their gossip rang in my ears. I closed my eyes, exhausted.

"Forget it, Harrison. Take Paige."

His gaze darkened. "Why?"

"Because I can't control you anymore," I said, and it was the truth. " maybe youll listen to your assistant instead."

I meant it literally. To him, it sounded like surrender, like jealousy.

He chuckled, tapping the tip of my nose like I was a sulking pet. "Jealous, Norah?"

"Don't be ridiculous. Paige can't compare to you. No one compares to my Norah."

He leaned in, his body heat radiating in the cool car, and instinctively reached for my left hand to stroke my ring finger.

But where the cold weight of the diamond should have been, there was only skin.

He froze. His posture stiffened. "Norah. Where is your ring?"

Right. He didn't know.

The one-of-a-kind, twelve-carat Tiffany cushion cutthe symbol of the Lockwood fortunewas gone. I had sold it.

And I got a hell of a price. Enough to fund the capital requirements for my new project.

"It's at the jeweler's," I lied effortlessly. "Getting cleaned."

Before he could press, his phone buzzed. Paiges voice, sweet and melodic, filled the quiet cabin through the Bluetooth system.

"Harrison? I'm so glad you're okay. But please, don't fight anyone for me again. It makes the PR team work late, and I hate making your wife unhappy."

He cranked the volume up, watching me. He was waiting for the water to boil.

I just checked my nails.

After a few seconds of my silence, he laughed.

"You know, Norah, I think I see why you don't like her. Shes a bit of a stirrer, isn't she? Makes our dignified Mrs. Lockwood look bad."

His voice was gentle, coaxing. "Say the word, and Ill fire her. Okay?"

It sounded like love. It sounded like compromise.

But I heard what he was really saying.

He knew. He knew exactly how his women smiled at me, how they dug their little knives in, how they undermined me. He wasn't deaf. He wasn't stupid.

He just didn't care.

The tragedy was that for a split second, that soft tone still worked on me.

But three years of marriage was a wound that wouldn't close. One touch, and the pain woke me up.

I wished, truly, that he had never loved me.

Harrison Lockwood at seventeen was a city legend. A face like a fallen angel, top of every class, but with a dark streak a mile wide. He made deals in shady backrooms and fought with a reckless disregard for his own safety.

We dated for three years before I realized who he really was. To me, he was just the boy who smoked too much.

"You think you look cool?" Id scolded him once, snatching a cigarette from his lips. "Do it again and Im walking."

I was naive. I thought I was saving him.

He had looked down at me, a helpless smile on his lips, and crushed the remaining pack in his hand. "Who else but Norah Kingsbury could keep me in line?"

When he proposed with a rock the size of a skating rink, I realized which Harrison he was. The gap between us was terrifying. I tried to run.

He caught my wrist. "Norah, Im marrying for love. Trust me."

I trusted him.

For six months, he was perfect. He protected me from the press, from his terrifying mother, from my own insecurities. He bought flowers. He brought me takeout.

I thought I had won the lottery.

Then came the first call from the PR department.

It was our first anniversary. I had cooked.

Instead of my husband, I got a call from the crisis team. I was shoved into a car, briefed with jargon I didn't understand, and ushered into a hotel suite.

The scene destroyed me.

Paigeback when she was just an internwas standing there in a sheer silk slip, calmly pinning up her hair. Harrison walked out of the bathroom, shirt unbuttoned, eyes glassy.

He looked at me, standing there frozen, and smiled a thin, distant smile.

"Norah? Whats wrong?"

Like this was normal.

"Youve been sheltered too long," he said, turning to Paige. " teach her the ropes."

"Teach me what?" I had screamed, my voice cracking. "How to clean up your adultery? How to pretend this is fine?"

Harrison just laughed, a cold, dry sound. "Its called discretion, Norah. Its called being an adult. Stick around. You have a lot to learn."

Paige had looked at me with dead, calm eyes. "Mrs. Lockwood, Harrison isn't a one-woman man. Youll be doing this a lot."

I don't know if he did it to impress her or break me, but he let Paige train me.

I became a cornered animal. I tore up endorsement deals of actresses he looked at. I bought back gifts he sent to other women and burned them in the driveway while he watched. I took a golf club to a Porsche he bought a model.

He never stopped me. He just watched, smiling, petting my hair afterward, saying he was glad I got it out of my system.

Then hed go out and do it again.

Eventually, I realized he wasn't afraid of my anger. He fed on it. My loss of control proved he still owned me.

But three years is a long time to bleed.

"Forget it," I said now, shaking my head in the car. "Paige has it hard enough. Besides, she understands you. Im comfortable leaving a... sympathetic ear by your side."

Harrisons eyes went flat. He looked at me with pure contempt.

"Norah, thats enough. The magnanimous wife act is getting old. Its exhausting."

I smiled. "Isn't that what you told Paige to teach me?"

He stared at me. "You are Mrs. Lockwood. Did you really think I wanted you to take orders from an assistant? If she was making your life difficult, why didn't you tell me?"

Gaslighting at its finest. He didn't want dignity. He wanted me to act dignified while suffering.

"She didn't make it difficult," I said softly. "She was very professional."

Professional at showing me I was disposable.

He crushed his unlit cigarette. "Is that so? Youre so obedient now. If I asked you to give up your title, would you do that too?"

I mentally tallied my assets. My apartment was packed. The auction house had the jewelry.

"If thats what you want," I said. "I can do that."

He gave a sharp, humorless laugh. "Fine. Don't regret it."

I wouldn't.

He ripped a red string bracelet off his wrist and threw it on the dashboard before storming out of the car.

I looked at the frayed red cord. I had bought it for five dollars at a temple in Chinatown during our first year. He wore it next to Patek Philippes and diamond cuffs. It was the only thing that made me feel special.

I picked it up and dropped it in the console trash bin.

Being stupid for love was a rite of passage. Staying stupid was a choice.

Resigning was easy. I wasn't high enough on the org chart to require Harrisons signature.

Two days later, I walked into the Venture Capital Summit as Norah Kingsbury.

I was handing my card to a potential investor when a lazy, familiar voice drawled behind me.

"Mrs. Lockwood? I thought Harrison brought a date today."

It was a chorus of whispers.

"Shes here to put out another fire?"

"Honestly, the girl who spends the most time with Harrison isn't the wife."

"Remember the auction? He dropped a fortune on Paige."

"The wife is just a human shield."

I didn't hide. I stood in Harrisons line of sight.

He was entering with Paige on his arm. He saw me immediately. His eyes lit up with that familiar mix of mockery and satisfaction. He thought I was here to beg. He thought I was here to make a scene.

I didn't move toward him.

So Paige walked over to me.

"Mrs. Lockwood. Harrison is fully booked today. Big investors. He doesn't have time for... domestic issues. Should I pencil you in for next week?"

She raised her voice just enough for the circle around us to hear. Three years, and she finally couldn't hide the gloating.

"You misunderstand, Paige," I said. "I'm not here for him."

She laughed, a delicate, tinkling sound. "Oh, Norah. The act is getting stale."

The act.

"Paige," I asked quietly. "Are you tired of waiting?"

She leaned in, her mask slipping into a sneer only I could see. "Norah, do you really think he ever loved you? When you were chasing him around in high school, he was paying my tuition. He trusts me. The whole family treats me like one of their own."

She paused, savoring the kill shot.

"There were never eight other women. All those scandals? All those fires you put out? They were smoke screens to hide me."

She waited for the devastation. She wanted the tears, the shaking hands.

I just listened. And then, I almost laughed.

"If Harrison loves you so much," I asked, "why have you been a secret for three years? Why are you still the assistant while Im the wife? Have you ever considered that maybe youre just... convenient?"

Her smile faltered.

I turned my back on her and walked toward the man I actually needed to see. Carter Sterling.

"Mr. Sterling. Ive been following your portfolio. Do you have a moment?"

Carter took my card, surprised. "Mrs... Lockwood?"

"Kingsbury," I corrected. "Norah Kingsbury."

Before we could speak, a shadow fell over us.

"Mrs. Lockwood."

Harrison was standing right beside me.

Not Norah. Mrs. Lockwood. A reminder of who owned me.

He plucked the business plan from my hand. "Since when is PR boring you? Playing investor now?"

His tone was indulgent, like I was a toddler showing him a finger painting.

"Harrison, thats private," I said, keeping my voice level.

He flipped a page, chuckled, and then jerked his chin at Paige. "Paige. Come here."

She appeared instantly.

He handed her my business plan. "Whatever Norah is asking for, Lockwood Corp will fund 120%. You run the project, Paige."

Paiges eyes widened with greed, though she feigned hesitation. "Harrison, are you sure? I mean... can I?"

"You wanted to lead a project," he said, bored. "Consider this practice."

He handed my dreams to his mistress like a party favor. He didn't even look at me.

The crowd watched, delighted by the cruelty.

"Ouch," someone whispered. "Thats cold."

I dug my nails into my palms. This was his lesson. He was showing me that even my escape route belonged to him. He wanted me to beg him for it.

Boring.

I found him at the end of the corridor, staring out the window.

"Norah. Is it really that hard to just apologize?"

I stopped. I looked at the man I had loved from seventeen to twenty-seven.

"I didn't know I married you just so I could spend a lifetime apologizing," I said.

His brow twitched.

"I thought we might drift apart. I thought the love might fade. But I never thought that in less than three years, youd humiliate me for sport."

I reached into my bag and pulled out a document.

"Im done being the punchline, Harrison."

"Being Mrs. Lockwood is a full-time job. I quit."

I slapped the divorce papers against his chest.

Wearing His Mistresss Coat Tonight

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