Chapter 7: Aftermath and New Fronts

Although Marcus immediately had PR done, some video clips still spread online. “Shameless mistress beats up the wife,” “Finance executive Marcus Reed cheats with female subordinate during wife’s pregnancy”—such explosive news kept trending.

By morning, TMZ had my front lawn staked out, and the tabloids were already running with “Mistress Meltdown at Wall Street Power Couple’s Bash.” Within hours, my phone buzzed with notifications—text chains lighting up with concern, schadenfreude, and offers of support. Our house phone rang off the hook with reporters pretending to be long-lost friends. I unplugged it after the third call.

Marcus was summoned by authorities for a talk. Within days, a new appointment came—he was transferred to London to avoid public opinion, with no set return date.

It was exile, American-style. Pack up, disappear, let the storm blow over. The kids cried when he left, but I held it together, promising we’d visit soon.

Lillian’s contract expired and wasn’t renewed—she left automatically.

Word in the industry was that her bridges were burned. She slipped out of town like a ghost, her social media wiped clean. No one dared mention her name for weeks.

My original intention was just to let Marcus see another side of Lillian, to cool off on her for a while and give Derek a chance. I didn’t expect things to blow up so much.

I hadn’t planned on scorched earth—just a lesson, a nudge. But once the wheel started turning, it crushed everything in its path.

Until I saw, on my eldest son’s computer, the login page for a big account posting the scandal videos. Then I realized my child was also protecting me in his own way.

It caught me off guard—a familiar email handle, a playlist of damning video clips. He was fighting for me, in the only way he knew how. My throat tightened.

I knocked on his head and said, “When you graduate, if your dad can’t come back, you won’t have as many good opportunities.”

I tried to sound stern, but my voice shook. He just looked up at me, all stubborn chin and earnest eyes.

My son said seriously, “Mom, you don’t have to do this for me. I’ll take care of you, with or without Dad.”

He meant it. The innocence, the faith in himself—it nearly broke me. I wanted to believe him, but I knew better. The world isn’t kind to the unconnected.

I hugged him and patted him, saying nothing. He hasn’t been beaten by society yet—how could he know what a father like this means to him. Times have changed; it’s even harder for the poor to rise now.

I held him for a long time, breathing in the scent of his shampoo, wishing I could freeze him at this age—still hopeful, still unscarred.

What shocked me even more was that Derek told me it wasn’t him who drugged Lillian that day, but my second daughter—she used a truth serum.

The confession hit me like a slap. I replayed every conversation with her, trying to pinpoint the moment she’d learned to fight dirty. I wanted to scold her, but part of me was proud.

Who knows where she got something like that. When I questioned her, she just clenched her fists and said nothing, finally giving me a determined look: “Mom, don’t worry. I won’t go astray.”

She’s tougher than I ever realized. I saw a new hardness in her jaw, a glint in her eyes that wasn’t there before. The next generation, ready to carry on the fight.

I suddenly realized my children had grown up in ways I hadn’t noticed.

They’d been watching, learning, adapting to the world as it is, not as I wish it was. I felt pride and terror in equal measure.

But they’re still too young. If Marcus finds out what they did, the consequences would be unthinkable.

I started sleeping with my phone under my pillow, just in case. Every morning, I checked their texts and browser histories—paranoid, maybe, but determined to protect them at all costs.

I privately hired a PR firm to delete posts and remove trending searches, erasing any trace linking my son to the incident. As for my daughter, as long as Marcus can let go of Lillian, her mistake is just a little girl trying to protect her parents’ marriage.

I burned through savings in weeks, hiring digital fixers and lawyers who never slept. I made sure no one could ever prove what happened. I prayed it would be enough.

I know Marcus too well—he’s sentimental. I am the wife who shared hardship, who sold my family’s house to help him earn his first pot of gold. So all these years, even if he doesn’t love me, he’s always given me respect.

That respect is my last defense. I wield it like a shield, protecting my children from the world’s sharpest edges.

But Lillian is the red mark in his heart. As long as she doesn’t make a fundamental mistake, if she cries and begs, she’s still his soulmate.

I couldn’t erase her completely. She’d left a scar—maybe invisible, but always tender to the touch. I knew he’d always look back, at least a little.

So the key is still with Derek. While Marcus is away, I have to act fast.

I started planning the next step—late nights over spreadsheets, phone calls to old friends, every trick in the book. The fight wasn’t over yet.

However, Derek told me he doesn’t want to do it anymore.

He called me from a payphone, voice grainy, full of regret. Maybe even he has lines he won’t cross. Or maybe, like me, he’s just tired. The story’s not over. The line went dead, but the fight wasn’t over. Not for me. Not yet.