The CEO Wife's Reckoning

My slender fingers traced across the financial statements on my computer screen, my brow furrowing slightly.

As CEO of Mitchell Development Group, I personally review the company's books every month—a habit my grandmother passed down to me: "Never let anyone else have complete control over your money."

But today, something felt off.

"Market research expenses, $15,000?" My voice echoed clearly in the empty office.

I clicked into the detailed records, and two unfamiliar payees caught my eye: Crystal's Wellness Center and St. Catherine's Private Academy.

My heart began to race.

"I never approved this expenditure." My voice turned ice-cold. "Derek, what the hell are you doing?"

I quickly pulled up Derek Thompson's credit card records and travel itinerary. As the Mitchell family heir, I had sufficient clearance to access any information I wanted.

The records showed that last weekend Derek claimed he was going to Cleveland to "survey investment projects," but GPS tracking showed he never left Columbus. Even more shocking, all his expenses pointed to the same area—near Crystal's Wellness Center.

"Not an investment project," I analyzed coldly, "but funding some woman."

I glanced at my phone—6 PM, one hour until quitting time. Derek always left right on time, saying he needed to rush home to make me lunch boxes. "Amanda, you forget to eat when you're working. I need to take care of your stomach."

I had to admit, Derek was indeed very caring. My chronic stomach problems had improved significantly under his attentive care.

Thinking about this made my emotions even more complicated. This man was so thoughtfully taking care of me while secretly funding another woman behind my back?

I felt a wave of nausea, unsure if it was from anger or disappointment.

I took a deep breath, forced myself to calm down, and picked up the intercom: "Derek, come to my office now."

Ten minutes later, Derek knocked and walked in, wearing his usual gentle smile: "What's wrong, honey? Did you forget to eat lunch again? I brought you dessert—"

"Sit down." My voice was so calm it frightened even me. "I need to talk to you."

Derek froze for a moment, set down the paper bag in his hand, and sat across from me: "Of course, what's wrong?"

"About the $15,000 expenditure." I turned the computer screen toward him. "Can you explain what this 'market research expense' is?"

I saw Derek's face instantly turn pale, but he quickly adjusted his expression: "Oh, that! It's strategic diversification investment! Crystal's wellness center is an emerging market!"

"Investment?" I felt my gaze sharp as a knife. "Then who is this Crystal?"

The name made my stomach cramp. I remembered something but didn't dare confirm it.

"She's... she's my business partner!" Derek's voice began to tremble, then suddenly turned angry. "Amanda, your Mitchell family is short-sighted, only doing traditional real estate! I have my own vision!"

I stood up, blood boiling in my veins. For four years, I had carefully protected Derek's self-esteem.

I defended him in front of my father, maintained his image in front of friends, and even deliberately created an "external investment consultant" position at the company to give him dignity. When his projects failed, I never blamed him, instead comforting him: "That's just the market. You've already worked very hard."

And now, this was how he repaid me?

"Business partner?" I laughed coldly. "Derek, your college sweetheart from back then is now your business partner?"

Yes, I remembered now. Crystal was Derek's college girlfriend, the girl who dropped out freshman year to become a massage therapist.

Derek's face turned ashen: "That was a long time ago! Now we're just... just normal business cooperation!" His voice grew weaker. "Besides, I need extensive networking to succeed. This is just part of my professional relationships!"

Professional relationships? I almost laughed out loud.

Just last month, Derek said he wanted to explore new markets, and I unhesitatingly gave him $200,000 in startup capital. I told him: "I trust your judgment. Tell me whatever resources you need."

Just three months ago, Derek said his investment projects needed more time, and I proactively suggested he temporarily stop coming to work to focus on developing his own business. I said: "I'll handle the financial pressure at home. You just pursue your dreams."

I had always silently supported him in my own way, making him feel like a capable man rather than a deadbeat living off his wife.

"Using my company's money to pay another woman's massage parlor rent and someone else's kid's private school tuition—this is your professional networking?" I sneered, anger erupting like a volcano in my chest.

Derek's eyes flickered: "Crystal is just... just a friend in need who needs help! She has a child, life is very hard, I can't just stand by and watch!"

"Stand by and watch?" I felt my voice rise an octave, rage surging like a tide in my heart.

A friend in need who needs help? What about me? What have I done for this marriage over the past four years?

I remembered every social occasion when someone asked about Derek's work, I always answered first: "Derek is an independent investment consultant with many private clients."

I remembered every time Derek was dejected after a project failure, I always comforted him: "Real investment masters all experience failure. You just need time."

I remembered every time I gave Derek investment funds, I called it "business cooperation" rather than spousal support, just to make him feel we were equal partners.

And him? He took my kindness for granted and trampled my trust underfoot! He claimed to help "friends in need" but never considered how much I, his wife, had sacrificed to protect his self-esteem!

"So you just embezzled company funds without authorization? Derek, this is embezzlement!"

Just then, Derek's phone started buzzing frantically. I saw him nervously glance at the screen, his face growing even uglier.

"Answer it," I said coldly. "Let me hear what your 'business partner' wants."

"No, it's not important," Derek hastily put his phone on silent. "Amanda, I know you're angry, but you have to understand—"

Ding dong! Ding dong! Ding dong!

The phone kept ringing incessantly. I saw sweat beginning to bead on Derek's forehead.

"Derek Thompson," I said each word slowly, each syllable piercing him like an ice pick. "Either you answer that call right now, or I'll have lawyers handle this matter tomorrow."

I saw Derek look at my cold eyes. He knew I wasn't joking. The Mitchell family legal team could destroy his life overnight.

"I... I need to handle some urgent business," Derek grabbed his coat and headed for the door. "We'll talk about this tomorrow, okay?"

"Derek!" I called after him, but he had already rushed out of the office.

The empty office returned to silence.

I stood alone by the floor-to-ceiling windows, watching Derek's figure disappear downstairs.

Four years of marriage, four years of trust, trampled so easily by him?

My phone buzzed with a text from Derek: [Amanda, let's talk properly tomorrow. I'll explain everything. Trust me.]

Trust him? I looked at the bag of desserts he'd brought, still packaged from my favorite bakery. False thoughtfulness.

I deleted the text and fell into thought.

If I went home to confront him now, Derek was already on alert. He would definitely be more careful. I wouldn't see anything and would only alert him to cover his tracks.

I needed a better plan.

That house I hadn't returned to in three months—our marital home.

Recently, because projects had been too busy, I'd been staying at the apartment near the company. Derek thoughtfully said: "Just focus on your work. I'll handle things at home."

So this was what he was handling.

I paid the down payment for that house. Derek insisted on handling the mortgage, saying that's what made him feel like a man. I was moved at the time.

Now thinking about it, where exactly did the money he used to make those punctual monthly mortgage payments come from?

Night fell through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting shadows over me as I quietly gazed into the distance.

Derek Thompson, do you think a simple "I'll explain tomorrow" can fool me?

I'm going to show you what price one pays for betraying a Mitchell family woman.