The Billionaire's Wife vs. The Killer Secretary

"Grace, your trashy mom ruined Jessica's dress. Bitch deserved to die!"

Blake stepped on the bloody corpse, shoving me down to grovel at Jessica's feet.

The bastard forgot already? My mom sold our Texas ranch to make him rich! But once he hit it big, he let his secretary Jessica beat her to death like she was some street bum.

I looked at the body wearing that emerald ring, trying to tell him the truth, but he backhanded me hard.

Then the asshole ordered her thrown in the septic tank just to kiss up to Jessica.

I wiped blood from my mouth and laughed.

Idiot had no clue—that wasn't even my mother.

Grace's POV

My phone wouldn't stop buzzing.

I was sorting divorce papers when Jessica sent me a video.

The shaky footage showed our Long Island mansion. Blood pooled across the manicured lawn.

"Grace, look what your pathetic mother did!" Jessica's voice came through the speaker, way too cheerful. "Stupid bitch snuck in to steal my purse! I had the guards teach her a lesson."

My stomach dropped. What happened?

She laughed. "Who knew you country trash were so weak? Bitch just died. Get over here and clean this shit up before Blake's party."

The camera showed a woman around fifty, face beaten to mush with a golf club, wearing a bloody tweed coat.

"What the hell?" I shot up from my chair. "Jessica, are you fucking INSANE—"

She hung up.

But those bloody images kept flashing in my head. So real... Christ! Had she actually killed someone?

My hands shook as I remembered Mom saying she'd visit today. But I'd told her I moved out of the mansion!

"No way—"

I grabbed my keys and bolted. Drove like hell, hands shaking on the wheel. All I could think about was Mom.

If Blake and Jessica really killed my mother over a damn purse, I'd destroy them both.

Brakes screamed as I hit the mansion gates.

A guard walked toward my car: "Mrs. Cooper, you can't—"

"MOVE!"

I crashed through the side gate and stumbled toward the backyard.

A crowd surrounded the lawn. Blake's executives, society wives. They held champagne glasses, pointing and whispering about the corpse.

"Grace, you finally showed."

Jessica stood there in a white dress, martini in hand, looking down at me. Her heel pressed casually on the dead woman's arm.

I was shaking, seeing red as I rushed the body.

"Mom!"

I reached for the victim's destroyed face, but something was wrong.

This wasn't my mother.

The face was beaten beyond recognition, but that tweed coat wasn't Mom's style. My mother worked the ranch her whole life, always wore rough work clothes—she'd never own something this fancy.

If this wasn't my mom Mary, then who was this woman?

I spotted the wrist Jessica was stepping on. A deep purple, twisted scar ran across it.

That scar! I remembered instantly. Margaret had told me once that twenty years ago in a fire, she'd burned her wrist protecting young Blake.

Blake never knew about that.

The world spun. My stomach lurched.

I gasped, bile rising in my throat.

Wasn't Margaret supposed to be at that London care facility? When did she come back?

But now wasn't the time for questions. A life—Blake's own mother—beaten to death by his whore!

"BLAKE! GET OUT HERE!" My voice cracked. "LOOK WHO YOU KILLED!"

The crowd parted.

Blake walked out slowly, cigar in hand.

"Well, well. Look what the cat dragged in." He walked over slow. "Thought you were busy screwing me in court. What the hell are you doing here?"

Staring at this face I used to love made my chest tight.

Five years ago, we were broke nobodies. He'd work three days straight while I ate ramen beside him in our shitty apartment, dreaming big.

"Grace, when I make it, I'll buy you everything," he used to say, holding me. "You'll never hurt again."

I gave him everything. Sold Mom's ranch, dumped every penny into his company. Pulled all-nighters on his paperwork, sat through boring investor meetings.

But success changed him.

When he first put on that designer suit and started hitting upscale venues, I suddenly became baggage.

"Grace, can you just not talk when investors are around?" he'd started saying. "That hick accent makes us look like trailer trash."

Then Jessica appeared.

MBA, perfect manners, five years younger. She knew how to work these rich assholes.

"Blake, you know what Jessica did?" I pointed at the blood. "She MURDERED someone! Over a fucking purse!"

"Oh, that." He didn't even look at the corpse, just walked over and wrapped his arm around Jessica's waist. "Your klepto mom tried stealing from me. Jessica was defending my property."

He paused, smirking.

"Who knew the old bag had such a weak heart? Died after a few hits. What, calling the cops?"

"Defending?" I pointed at the body, voice shaking. "She wasn't even armed! You beat her face to mush! Blake, this isn't some thief—she's—"

"SHUT UP!"

Blake cut me off sharp.

"Think I'm stupid? Using some dead hag to squeeze money out of our divorce? Grace, you and your mom's greed makes me SICK."

I stood there stunned. Looking at this stranger wearing my husband's face, I didn't recognize him anymore.

"Blake, I'm not joking." I steadied my voice. "She's not my mother—"

"Not your mother?" Blake laughed coldly. "Then who the hell is she? My mother?"

"YES! She IS your mother!" I screamed. "Look at the ring on her hand! Don't you fucking remember we picked that out together?"

Blake went dead still.

Slowly, he looked down at the corpse's finger, where that emerald ring caught the light.