My Groom’s Mistress Tried to Kill Me in a Parking Garage

The charity gala at the Fox estate was a masterclass in performative philanthropy. Crystal chandeliers trembled under the bass of a string quartet covering pop songs, and the air smelled of expensive perfume and desperation. I moved through the crowd in a dress that felt like armor—midnight blue silk that whispered against my skin, chosen by Mathias.

I needed a moment of silence. I slipped toward the cloakroom, the heavy velvet curtains dampening the roar of the party. But the silence didn't last.

A hand clamped around my upper arm, fingers digging into the soft flesh. I spun around, my breath hitching in a familiar, jagged rhythm.

River. His eyes were glassy, his tie askew. He looked like a man who had been running a race he didn't know he’d already lost.

"Stop it," he hissed, leaning in close. The smell of scotch was overpowering. "The dress. The way you're looking at him. It’s too much, Sophia. You’ve made your point."

I tried to yank my arm free, but his grip tightened. "I’m not making a point, River. I’m living my life."

"Don't lie to me!" His voice cracked, a desperate edge that used to make me soften, but now just made me cold. "You're doing this to make me jealous. You want me to fight for you? Fine. I'm fighting. Come home."

"Home?" I laughed, a dry, brittle sound. "Home is where you don't treat people like chess pieces."

"Let her go."

The voice didn't boom. It didn't shout. It cut through the air like a scalpel. Mathias emerged from the shadows of the hallway, his hands relaxed at his sides, which was infinitely more terrifying than if he’d raised fists.

River sneered, though I felt the tremor in his hand before he released me. "This is between us, Fox. You're just the bankroll."

Mathias stepped into the light. His gaze was devoid of emotion, flat and dead. "You are mistaken. She is my wife. You are a security risk. If you touch her again, I won't call your father. I won't call the police. I will simply remove the problem."

The threat hung heavy and absolute. River paled, stepping back as if physically shoved. For the first time in my life, standing in the shadow of a man didn't feel like being eclipsed. It felt like being shielded.

***

An hour later, the party migrated to the terrace. The infinity pool stretched out toward the city lights, the water black and glass-still. I stood near the edge, clutching a glass of sparkling water, trying to steady my pulse.

Mya appeared at my elbow. She was shivering, though the night was warm. Her eyes darted around, assessing the audience.

"You think you've won," she whispered, her voice trembling with a manic energy. "But you don't know how to keep a man like River."

"I don't want to keep him," I said, turning to leave. "He's all yours, Mya. If you can stand the weight."

She grabbed my wrist. "He's looking at you again! He's looking at you!"

Before I could pull away, she shrieked—a piercing, theatrical sound—and threw herself backward. The splash shattered the conversation on the terrace.

"Help!" Mya thrashed in the shallow end, sputtering water. "She pushed me! Sophia pushed me!"

The crowd gasped. River rushed forward, his face a mask of confusion. He looked at Mya, then at me, the old accusation forming in his eyes. "Sophia?"

My chest tightened. The asthma ghosted at the edges of my lungs. They were going to believe her. They always believed the tears.

"Liam," Mathias said. He hadn't moved from my side. He held up his phone, the screen bright in the dim light. It was connected to the estate’s security system.

"Project it," Mathias commanded.

A large monitor set up for the charity auction flickered. Suddenly, the live feed replaced the logo. The footage rewound ten seconds. It showed me standing still. It showed Mya grabbing me. It showed Mya looking over her shoulder, checking the crowd, and then launching herself backward into the water.

The silence on the terrace was deafening.

River froze halfway to the pool's edge. He stared at the screen, then down at Mya, who was paddling toward the stairs, her mascara running in black streaks. The doubt in his eyes wasn't subtle anymore; it was a dawn of horror.

"Get a towel," Mathias said to a waiter, his voice bored. "And call a cab for Ms. Johnston. She seems to have lost her balance. And her dignity."

***

I fled to the ladies' lounge to escape the suffocating triumph. My hands were shaking. I needed quiet. I needed air.

But the lounge wasn't empty.

"...disaster! Complete disaster!" Mya’s voice came from the inner vanity area, echoing off the marble. She was hysterical, pacing. "He's slipping, Jess. He looked at her like he used to. I need a new angle."

I froze behind the partition wall.

"No, you don't understand," Mya snapped into her phone. "I put three years into this. I researched his jogging route. I staged the coffee shop spill. I timed it perfectly while she was in the hospital for that stupid asthma attack after the snowstorm! I literally waited for her to be on a ventilator so I could make my move on him."

The world stopped. The air left my lungs, but not from asthma.

The snowstorm. The night I nearly died freezing on a mountain to get River help. The night my lungs were permanently scarred. While I was fighting for every breath in the ICU, she was using my absence to stage a "meet-cute."

My hand moved instinctively to my clutch. I pulled out my phone, my fingers trembling with a cold, lethal rage. I hit *Record*.

"I am not losing a Fox fortune because of a bad dive," Mya hissed. "I'll fix this. I always fix it."

I watched the waveform on my screen dance with her confession. I wasn't just a victim of bad timing. I was a casualty of a heist.

I stopped the recording and saved it. I didn't confront her. I didn't scream. I simply turned and walked out, the phone burning a hole in my pocket, ready to burn her world to the ground.