Blind Alley

Valerie’s POV

"Beatrice."

My heart ached, a physical pressure tight and unrelenting in my chest. Just saying her name tasted like ash on my tongue. I despised needing her. I loathed the fact that the very woman who shattered my life was the only key to my freedom. Shoving past the raw hatred simmering in my veins, I gripped the steering wheel of my car until my knuckles turned white. I forced myself to flatten my voice into an emotionless, mechanical drone.

"Who is this?" the voice on the other end stammered, caught off guard by the abruptness.

I clenched my jaw, staring at my reflection in the rearview mirror. My eyes looked hollow, yet dangerous. "Valerie Thornton. Gideon’s wife."

A thick, suffocating silence swallowed the line. I pictured her face draining of color, her breath catching in her throat. I felt a twisted sense of pride in my own icy calm. My world was falling apart, yet I held the phone with a steady hand.

"W-Why do you want to see me?" she finally asked, her tone trembling as she struggled to regain her footing.

"Meet me tonight. I will send you the location." I tapped my nails against the leather steering wheel. I possessed zero patience for theatrics or long-winded explanations. "I expect you to be there, Beatrice. It would be your profound loss if you refused."

I ended the call before she could formulate another excuse. Dropping the phone into my lap, I leaned forward and buried my face against the steering wheel. I squeezed my eyes shut, biting my bottom lip until I tasted copper. If I had to manipulate the board to get the outcome I desired, I would do it without a shred of hesitation.

The private room I rented sat tucked away in an exclusive, secluded restaurant on the edge of the city. I needed strict secrecy, a place free from prying eyes and the wagging tongues of Gideon’s corporate circle. I sat at the polished mahogany table, nursing a glass of sparkling water, staring at the empty chair across from me. Exactly twenty minutes past our agreed time, the heavy oak door swung open.

Beatrice walked in. Her posture was rigid, her facial expression undeniably fierce and defensive. She gripped her designer handbag like a shield, her eyes scanning the dim room before locking onto mine.

I refused to waste a single second on fake pleasantries. I did not stand to greet her. I did not offer her a drink or ask about her day. I simply crossed my legs, adjusted my posture, and stared the mistress down as she reluctantly took the seat opposite me. I wanted her to feel the weight of my gaze.

"I will ask you a direct question," I said, my voice cutting through the quiet room like a knife. "Woman to woman. Mother to mother."

She narrowed her eyes, bracing herself for whatever accusation she assumed was coming.

"What exactly is my husband’s relationship with your son, Milo?"

Beatrice stared at me. For a fleeting second, I thought she might crumble under the direct confrontation. Instead, her lips curved upward into a deeply insulting, falsely innocent smile. The sheer audacity of her expression made my skin crawl with irritation.

"You wasted money renting this lavish room just to ask me that?" she mocked, her tone dripping with unearned condescension. "You could have simply gone home and asked Gideon directly about Milo. Why go through all this trouble?"

I let out a loud, harsh scoff. I shook my head, my gaze turning lethal. "Money is not a problem for me, Beatrice. What I want is an answer."

I leaned forward, resting my elbows on the table, closing the physical distance between us. "Better yet, why don't you just convince Gideon to agree to the divorce?"

The smugness vanished from her face in an instant. A wave of genuine confusion washed over her features, her brow furrowing deeply. She blinked, her lips parting in silent shock. Her meticulously crafted armor cracked.

It became painfully clear in that single, silent heartbeat. The mistress had no idea. Gideon was furiously refusing to let me go, and he was keeping her in the dark. He likely spun a web of lies, making me out to be the desperate, clinging wife who refused to sign the papers, hiding his own obsessive control.

Seeing the vulnerability in her eyes, I pressed my advantage. My expression hardened into stone. I targeted the one thing I knew drove a woman in her position: maternal ambition.

"You surely don’t want your child to permanently remain an illegitimate secret, do you?" I asked, my tone sharp and calculated. "Think about his future. Convince Gideon to finalize the divorce. Once I am out of the picture, you will inherently receive all the social and financial benefits of being the official wife. Your son gets the Vance name. You get the status."

Beatrice’s eyes sharpened with burning indignation at the accusation. She slammed her hand on the table, fiercely defending the man who was ruining both of us.

"Gideon has never once treated Milo as an illegitimate son!" she spat vehemently, her chest heaving. "He cares for that boy more than anyone else in the world. No matter how busy he is with the company, he always makes sure to spend quality time with Milo. He never misses a day checking on us. He has never once neglected us. I do not need the benefits you are dangling in front of me!"

Her words were meant to be a brag, a shield to protect her fragile pride. Instead, they pierced my heart like a physical blade.

I stopped breathing. The ambient noise of the restaurant faded away into a deafening buzz.

Gideon always made time for his hidden child.

He never missed a day.

Yet, he barely ever came home to see our own daughter. My mind flooded with agonizing memories. Maisie sitting by the front door, her small hands clutching her favorite stuffed animal, staring at the window, waiting for the sound of his car in the driveway. The nights she cried herself to sleep on the living room rug because he promised to be home early, a promise he broke time and time again. He constantly left her waiting for a father who never arrived, a devastating cycle witnessed time and again by our maid, Rosa.

The crushing realization hit me with the force of a falling building. He willingly abandoned Maisie. He starved our daughter of affection to prioritize his other family. He had the capacity to be a devoted, loving father, but he consciously chose to withhold that love from Maisie.

The pain morphed inside my chest. The sorrow evaporated, replaced by a burning hatred that instantly escalated to a boiling point.

Was this his twisted form of revenge? Did he still resent our complicated past so much that he intentionally punished our innocent daughter out of pure selfishness? Did he want to make me suffer hell because he still believed I framed him into that one-night stand years ago?

If he was ruthless enough to hurt Maisie, then I would be ruthless enough to destroy him. I concluded right then and there that I would without hesitation use his precious son as my ultimate ace. I would force his hand. This marriage was a dead end, a toxic wasteland poisoning my child. I no longer cared who got hurt or whose life got destroyed in the process. I was going to save my daughter’s future, no matter the cost.

Angered by my demands and the dark shift in my demeanor, Beatrice pushed her chair back, the wood scraping harshly against the floor. She pulled her mobile phone from her purse, her fingers trembling with rage.

"I am calling Gideon right now," she threatened aggressively, glaring at me. "I am going to tell him exactly what you are doing behind his back."

Right on cue, before she could even dial the first digit, a sharp ringing sound pierced the heavy air.

My own phone vibrated loudly on the wooden table between us. The screen flashed bright in the dim room, illuminating the sleek surface.

*Gideon.*

I maintained firm control of the situation. I deliberately let the phone ring out once, the shrill noise echoing off the walls, deeply unnerving Beatrice. Her eyes darted from my face to the glowing screen, panic flashing in her pupils.

When it began to ring a second time, I calmly picked it up. I swiped the screen to answer, keeping intense, unbroken eye contact with Beatrice's visibly worried eyes.

"Valerie!" Gideon’s voice barked through the receiver, loud enough that Beatrice flinched across the table. "Where is my daughter?"

My daughter. He still had the audacity to call her his daughter while discarding her for Milo.

The corner of my lips slowly rose into a dark, genuinely evil smirk. "I am currently with Beatrice."

A harsh, vicious curse erupted from Gideon. Then, a heavy, suffocating silence swallowed the line. The quiet crackle of the connection betrayed his escalating fury. He was cornered, and he knew it.

"Come home immediately," he ordered strictly, his tone tight with suppressed rage. "We will talk there."

I let out a sarcastic, mocking laugh, glancing at my wristwatch. "You are actually home early for once? How ironic. What a shame our maid, Rosa, isn't even there anymore to witness this miracle."

"Come fcking home, Valerie!" he roared, his voice booming through the small speaker, losing his temper. "I’m warning you!"

I remained icy and unfazed by his screaming. I took a slow sip of my water, my eyes still locked on his terrified mistress. "I am still busy talking to Beatrice. Since you stubbornly refuse to agree to the divorce, I decided to convince her to convince you. Maybe your mistress has the power to sway you where I cannot."

His heavy, ragged breathing loudly filled the phone line. I could perfectly picture him standing in our empty hallway, his jaw tightly clenched, his neck flushed red, his dark eyes radiating cold danger.

When he spoke again, his voice dropped significantly. The raw shouting was gone, replaced by a dark, chilling tone that made the hairs on my arms stand up.

"Come home and discuss the matter," he commanded slowly, every syllable dripping with malice. "This is my last warning, Valerie. If you do not come home immediately, I will ensure you live to deeply regret it."