Let His Mistresses Destroy Him Instead

In my past life, I was known as the most vicious, unhinged wife in our high-society circle.

Any woman who dared breathe too close to Christian was met with my fury. I tracked them down to their pristine brownstones, slapped them in their own entryways, and dragged their names through the mud.

If any of them were foolish enough to accept his penthouse keycard for a late-night rendezvous, I was always there, kicking down the door, turning their polished lives into a public circus.

At first, Christian actually enjoyed it. He loved the ego stroke of watching me claw other women's eyes out for him.

Until I went after Daisy, his newly hired personal assistant.

In a fit of rage to protect his precious little muse, he bribed witnesses and framed me for attempted murder by poisoning.

I was sentenced to twenty years in a maximum-security prison, where I met a bitter, miserable end.

Even my funeral portrait and ashes were tossed into a dumpster like yesterday's trash.

But now, I am back. This time, my vision is clear, and my hands are steady.

I have absolutely zero interest in playing the scorned wife or fighting over a garbage man. This life, I'm only here for the money.

In my previous life, it all started falling apart when I went to the office and slapped Daisy.

The catalyst was simple: I found her black lace thong tucked neatly into the inner pocket of Christians bespoke suit jacket.

When I confronted her, she made a grand spectacle of running to the roof of the corporate tower, threatening to jump. She sobbed to the gathering crowd below about how her dignity had been stripped away, how death was preferable to the public humiliation Id caused.

The moment Christian got the call, he abandoned a multi-million dollar merger and sped to the scene.

Instead of comforting his hysterical wife, he stood before the entire board of directors and slapped me. Hard. Ten times, twenty times, until my lip split and blood dripped onto my Chanel collar. Only then did he stop.

He rushed over to Daisy, gently lifting her from the ledge and pulling her into his arms, cooing like she was a fragile bird.

"Don't be afraid, Daisy," he whispered, loud enough for everyone to hear. "Anyone who hurts you will pay a thousand times over."

Just like that, I became the laughingstock of Manhattan's elite.

"Helena finally hit a wall," they whispered over mimosas. "She touched Christian's golden girl. Shes done for. Let's see how loud she barks now."

"Good riddance. She had it coming."

"For someone born into the Hastings dynasty, she has zero class. Chasing down mistresses like a stray dog. It's embarrassing to the rest of us."

"Honestly, if I were her, I'd rather drown myself than live with that level of pathetic desperation."

When I opened my eyes again, I was standing in the exact moment Daisy confessed her affair to me.

"Mrs. Harrington, you're getting older, and frankly, you can't keep your husband happy," she said, looking at me with wide, mock-innocent eyes. "Why shouldn't you give younger girls a chance? Do you have any idea how brutal the job market is right now?"

My muscle memory flared. My arm tensed, preparing to swing a heavy leather handbag right across her cheek.

But a sudden jolt in my brain stopped me. Don't make the same mistake twice.

Daisys eyes were already glassy, her tears primed and ready to fall. When my hand dropped to my side, her expression crumbled into utter confusion. She didn't know whether to cry or speak.

My best friend, Paige, who had marched into the office with me as backup, frowned. "Helena, are you okay? Or did you just think of a slower, more painful way to destroy her?"

"Right," Paige muttered, glaring at Daisy. "We can't let this little leech run to Christian and play the victim. We don't touch the face. Let's have the security detail take her down to the basement pool and hold her under until she remembers how to respect a married man."

Paige signaled the security team we'd brought. But I stepped in.

"Let it go," I said quietly.

Daisy, who had clearly rehearsed her entire routine of collapsing into Christian's arms to sob about my cruelty, panicked. Seeing me refuse to play my part, she tried to bait me.

"The one who isn't loved is the real intruder, Helena," she sneered, dropping the sweet act for a split second. "Christian told me he feels absolutely nothing when he's with you. I'm the only one who satisfies him."

Paige practically vibrated with rage. She grabbed a hot cup of coffee and stepped forward. "You miserable little bitch!"

Before she could throw it, I caught her wrist, pulling her back with surprising force.

In my past life, Paige had thrown that coffee right into Daisys face to defend me. Christian never forgot it. On her next birthday, he hired men to lace her drink at a club, leading to a brutal, orchestrated assault by a dozen men. They took photos and leaked them across the dark web. Paiges spirit was entirely broken. Three months later, she jumped from her apartment balcony.

This time, I was going to protect her. At all costs.

"Paige, don't," I murmured. "That's imported Kona coffee. It's fifty dollars an ounce. Wasting it on her face is a crime."

Paige's brow furrowed. "Since when do you care about fifty dollars? We used to charter a private jet to Paris just to catch him in a hotel room. And what about last month? You threw a row of antique Chinoiserie vases off the mezzanine, and you didn't even blink when only one of them managed to clip that sales associate."

That was the old me. The me who didn't realize that a man is never worth more than cold, hard cash.

I leaned in, whispering in her ear, "Im done with the violence. It takes two to tango. Why should I waste my energy and bank account on a dirty, stray dog? It's bad for business."

Paige stared at me like Id grown a second head. "So youre just going to let her walk? Shes standing here gloating, she literally just spilled orange juice on your custom Givenchy dress, and tomorrow shell be whispering in Christian's ear to divorce you so she can take your place."

I looked up, my eyes sweeping over Daisy's youthful, plump face. "She is fresh, isn't she? No wonder Christian forgets he has a home."

I turned back to Daisy. "Since he likes you so much, I won't stand in your way..."

Before I could even finish my sentence, Daisy dropped to her knees, weeping beautifully. It was a masterclass in performative vulnerability.

"Mrs. Harrington, I know you're consumed by jealousy. I know what happens to the women Christian smiles at. If you want to use your influence to fire me, I can't stop you. But please, I beg of you, take better care of him. He works so hard to provide for you. We women shouldn't be so selfish, only thinking about shopping and spending his money."

She sniffled, wiping an imaginary tear. "And please, remember he likes soy milk in the morning. Don't just give him regular dairy because it's easierhe's lactose intolerant. He might look like a strong, six-foot-two man, but he kicks his blankets off at night and catches cold easily. It breaks my heart."

"Oh, and he's at a critical point in his career right now. He doesn't have time for domestic drama. When you... force him into bed, please make sure you use protection. He doesn't need a child stressing him out."

I let out a soft, dry laugh. "Are you quite finished?"

In my past life, this exact monologue had sent me into a blind, screaming rage. I had torn her hair out, giving Christian the perfect ammunition to lock me away.

But right now, I could hear the faint click of leather shoes in the hallway. Christian was at the door.

I looked down at her calmly. "Since you care so deeply for my husband, I think it's only fair you stay close. I won't fire you. In fact, I'm promoting you to his personal executive assistant. And I'm doubling your salary."

"You... you're doing what?" Daisy stared up at me, frozen on the floor. This wasn't the script she had written.

She remained glued to the carpet until Christian cleared his throat from the doorway.

"Helena is rarely this understanding, Daisy," Christian said, stepping into the room with a smooth, patronizing smile. "It seems the two of you actually get along. Stand up and thank her."

Once we cleared the lobby and walked out onto the bustling Manhattan street, Paige let out a frustrated groan. "Why are you playing nice with that little leech? We should have dragged her out by her hair, let the whole office see her for the home-wrecker she is. Instead, you basically paved a golden runway straight to Christian's bed!"

I offered her a sad, quiet smile and shook my head.

"Paige, don't you see? Christian is actually infatuated with her this time. If I kept screaming and throwing fits like I used to, he would have found a way to quietly dispose of me. I like being alive too much to play his game."

Paige studied my face, her anger softening into deep concern. "So what's the plan? You can't just let her parade around in front of you forever. The Helena Hastings I know doesn't lay down and take a beating."

She was right. In my first life, I cared too much. I put a man at the center of my universe, and it destroyed me.

That evening, Christian did something unprecedented: he came home early and handed me a small gift box. It was a sterling silver braceleta complimentary freebie given to high-tier clients who purchased custom jewelry. I knew this because Daisy had already posted the actual prize on Instagram hours earlier: a flawless five-carat diamond necklace and matching ring, paid for with Christian's primary black card.

Her caption had been a masterclass in passive-aggressive gloating: 'So sweet to be young and adored by a gentle protector ten years older. True love doesn't care about age. Honestly, I'd rather die than grow old, bitter, and ignored by my husband.'

I played my part flawlessly. I smiled, thanked him, and let him clasp the cheap silver around my wrist.

But the moment he left, claiming an urgent late-night board meeting required his presence at the office, I unclasped the bracelet and threw it straight into the kitchen trash chute. "Trash belongs with the trash."

The next morning, I traded my usual loud, logo-heavy designer dresses for a sleek, tailored pantsuit and flat leather loafers. I packed a thermal lunchbox with warm soup and headed to Christian's office, playing the doting wife.

The moment I stepped into the marble lobby of the Kerwin Group, the air felt charged. The HR director, whom I had quietly put on my payroll months ago, rushed over to whisper in my ear.

"Daisy arrived in Mr. Harrington's car this morning. They were wearing matching designer suits. Half an hour ago, they had a courier deliver a box of condoms to his private office."

"Got it. Thank you."

The entire floor was holding its breath, waiting for the inevitable explosion. I walked toward his office suite, and before I even reached the door, the muffled, unmistakable sounds of giggling and heavy breathing drifted from his private lounge.

Daisys voice was unmistakable, pitchy and breathy. "Stop it, Christian... you know I'm sensitive there..."

I stood at the secretary's desk. Across the room, two junior analysts were already whispering, making bets.

"Five bucks says Daisy is dragged out of there naked in under five minutes, getting her face clawed off."

"Are you new?" the other whispered back. "That's Helena Harrington. Five minutes isn't even a warm-up for her. It'll be ten minutes minimum. She'll take photos first, throw a vase through the window, and we'll have to call NYPD to pull them apart."

Instead of storming the door, I turned on my heel, walked into the communal breakroom, poured myself a cup of black coffee, and sat down to wait.

Ten minutes passed. Then fifteen.

Suddenly, the elevator doors chimed open. The sharp, rapid clack-clack-clack of stilettos echoed down the corridor, moving with frantic urgency.

Right on cue. Just like in my past life, she had arrived.

Isabelle. The gorgeous, untouchable first love Christian had spent his twenties mourning.

When Isabelle kicked open the office door, a high-pitched shriek tore through the suite. Inside, Christian was frozen in shock.

"Isabelle? What are you doing back in New York?"

A loud slap echoed, followed by another. Isabelles voice cracked with tears. "If I hadn't come back, were you going to let this cheap little receptionist take over my life? You promised me, Christian! You swore on the phone that I was the only woman you ever loved! It was all a lie!"

Within seconds, the office turned into a war zone. Objects were flying, glass shattering, screams multiplying. At one point, a torn black lace thong flew out of the doorway, landing perfectly over the frame of Christian's corporate portrait.

I sipped my coffee, listening to the employees around me mutter in disgust.

"Jesus. Does he think this is a brothel or a hedge fund?"

"Typical. Don't look, just get back to work before HR sees us."

As the crowd dispersed, I heard a quiet whisper. "Wait, where's Helena? Why isn't she in there?"

I closed my eyes, remembering the horror of my previous life. In that timeline, I had been the one inside that room, locked in a feral claw-fight with Daisy. Christian had stepped innot to protect me, but to shield Daisy. He had kicked me off her so hard that two of my ribs fractured. I spent weeks in the hospital while he cut off my allowance to punish me for "embarrassing" him.

And Isabelle? In that timeline, she had stood quietly in the hallway, waiting for me to be wheeled out on a stretcher before sliding back into Christian's life as his comforting, elegant savior.

But this time, I was the spectator.

Seeing the moment was ripe, I gave a subtle nod to the HR director.

A crew of tabloid journalists, armed with heavy cameras and blinding flashbulbs, burst through the glass doors of the executive suite, pushing past the weak protests of the secretary.

Christian panicked, shielding his face. "Who let you in here? Get out! Delete those photos! Now!"

But the photographers didn't stop. The shutters clicked rapidly, capturing every angle of the chaos.

"This is gold," one reporter muttered. "The golden boy of Wall Street having a three-way with his assistant and his ex. This is front-page news for a month."

Daisy, completely naked, tried to burrow into Christian's chest, sobbing hysterically. This only enraged Isabelle further, who lunged forward to scratch at her face.

"You pathetic little leech! Still posing for the cameras? You're disgusting!"

By the next morning, the Kerwin Group was trending globally for all the wrong reasons. The scandal cost the firm several major international mergers, resulting in an immediate loss of nearly a billion dollars in market value.

At the Harrington family estate in Connecticut, Christian's grandfather, Franklin Harrington, was livid. He threw the morning papers directly at Christian's face.

"You useless fool!" the old man roared. "I spent forty years building this legacy, and you drag it through the mud for a cheap thrill!"

Christian, pale and trembling, noticed me sitting quietly beside his grandfather, pouring the old man a cup of chamomile tea. He immediately pointed a finger at me.

"Grandpa, Helena set this up! You know how insane she is. Shes been looking for a way to ruin me because of my personal life. She tipped off those reporters!"

I let my shoulders tremble. I squeezed my eyes shut, and within seconds, tears began to stream down my cheeks.