Letters From A Mistress Novel – Maya picks up the phone and she sees what has me completely shattered that my husband’s strong arms tightly bound around a woman’s body wearing nothing, her head buried in his neck. I can feel the waves of anger rolling out of her as she passes the phone to Summer, whose gasp fills the room. “I’m going to get that good-for-nothing son-of-a-gun,” Maya growls, with curled fists. Summer places a hand on my shoulder, “Oh my God, Vee, I’m so sorry!” “I don’t care if you’re working on a multi-million dollar app, Jeremy. I’m your boss, and I’m telling you to leave everything and track that email address,” Maya, yells over the phone. The mistress’ one hand is all over my husband’s chest, right above the scar he had gotten on our first date. It is clear that what I’ve held as being special between us has been forcefully taken away.
“Ma’am, a call came through for you from Mr. Qing,” Laura, my secretary, says, from her corner desk in front of my office door. “Why?” I ask, through furrowed brows. The last time the Chinese businessman had called, I had been specific enough that my husband is the CEO of the Frost companies, never mind that it was my family name on the buildings, and all business transactions should go through him. Laura’s eager look is quickly replaced by discomfort, as she looks everywhere but at me. “Well, he said that, um . . . um . . . I . . .” “Out with it, Laura,” I snap, too tired to be kept waiting. “Mr. Logan hasn’t been answering his calls, and he’s ordered everyone to refrain from disturbing him . . .” “What? Where is he?” She slowly points up, and I roll my eyes, before turning on my heel and taking the elevator to the uppermost floor, which is just above mine. I throw a glare in Scott’s direction when he scrambles in an attempt to stop me from barging into my husband’s office.
I push the door open and catch my breath. Even rumpled and worn out, the attraction I feel for James zings through me like electricity coursing through my veins. My mouth goes dry, and my skin suddenly feels clammy. “Violet, what are you doing here?” he asks, in confusion. Years ago, he used to call me “honey.” “What’s wrong? Did the operation go well?” he approaches me, peering into my eyes with concern. I shake my momentary distraction off and purse my lips. “Laura says you haven’t been picking your calls, and you’ve forbidden anyone from seeing you. Mr. Qing isn’t happy about that.” “Oh,” he simply says, like it’s not a big deal, running his fingers through his perfectly gelled-back hair. “I’ve been busy.” He waves a hand at the mess on his table. “Need I remind you that this deal is important for the expansion project we’re trying to secure for our hospitals in China? We cannot afford to cross a man like Qing, James; if we don’t secure this deal, then we’re going to sink further into debt.”
I whisper, in a deadly tone. “Give me a break, Violet—I’ll get to him when I’m less occupied,” he answers nonchalantly, taking a few steps away from me. I scoff in disbelief. “Excuse me? I don’t think you understand the gravity of our predicament. If it wasn’t for you . . .” “What?!” James’s dark eyes become stormy with anger. He yanks at his tie, looking even more disheveled, as he strides briskly to stand inches away from me. “If it wasn’t for me, we wouldn’t be in debt, right?” he bellows. “James, that’s . . .” “Isn’t that what you were going to say, Violet? Huh? I’m such a screw up; I’ve ruined everything your family left for you with my recklessness. Is that it?” “I didn’t say that.” “You’re thinking it,” he accuses, and I don’t bother denying it because he’s not wrong. He sighs, waves of frustration rolling off him. “I’m trying here, Vee, I really am trying to fix it, and if you can’t see that . . .” Chapter 2 My hand reaches out to his cheek unconsciously. “I can, James, and I’m proud of you. It’s just I— everything is crumbling, and there’s nothing I can do about it; it’s killing me. I’m sorry.”
His arms go around me, and I lose myself in my husband’s embrace, his warmth taking me back to the years when we had been so in love we couldn’t go a day without being around each other. Now, everything just seems different. “I love you, Vee, right up to the glittering stars and back,” he whispers, smooching my temple. A brief memory of him making this same declaration the first day I told him I was in love with him, fifteen years ago, flashes through my mind. And instantly, a knot gathers in my throat, and I hold on to him tighter, determined not to lose the man I love. “I love you, James. I always will.” A knock interrupts us, but not before James plants a sweet smooching on my lips. “I can’t ride home with you today, so I’ll see you back home for dinner tonight, okay?” I nod, “Don’t be late,” I warn, hoping the knowledge that our anniversary is tonight will motivate him.
“And pick up Mr. Qing’s call, please.” “Sure, Vee.” For some reason, his assuring words do nothing to put me at ease, but I smile anyway, if only to give myself hope . . . hope that everything will be fine. Dimming the bulbs, I light the candles with a big grin on my face, feeling incredibly charming in the blood-red lingerie I’ve chosen for the night. I spare a quick glance at the clock and see that it’s already seven o’clock, but I don’t let that bother me. James had said he’d be a little late anyway, and that just gives me more time to set everything up for our romantic anniversary dinner. Christ, I can’t believe it’s been fifteen years since my husband and I got married, despite all oppositions, most especially from my mother. An hour has passed with my daydreaming and going down memory lane. I sniffle, placing a hand on my abdomen, as if to stop my ovulation from passing us by.
“Where are you, James?” I ask the empty room and receive no answer. Shakily, I pick up my phone to see if I’ve missed a message from him, but the screen stares right back at me. With an angry shout, I hurl the phone against the wall and watch it shatter into pieces. I couldn’t help but sink into a ball, hugging myself, as I shed painful tears. What made me think today was going to be different from the other days when he promised to show up but never did? I have no doubt that he has no idea that today is our anniversary; he hadn’t indicated anything that would suggest otherwise this morning, or when I stormed up to his office. How could he do this? Especially now, when we decided to start trying for a baby again . . . I watch as the candles slowly burn out, my energy burning out at the same pace, and finally, when the room is shrouded in darkness, I rise dejectedly and find my way into the bedroom that has turned cold, from the days my husband has been absent from it.
I have no idea when I drifted off, but sometime in the middle of the night, I jolted awake from a horrible nightmare, where I’d been desperately searching for my husband in the middle of vast and vacant fields. Unwanted tears trickle down my eyes when my outstretched, searching hands find nothing but emptiness beside me. I heave myself off the bed and into the bathroom, about to yank off the charming lingerie I donned earlier, when I hear the sound of the bedroom door opening slightly. Heart racing, I grab the first thing my hand can reach and turn abruptly, only to meet my husband staring at me, with raised brows. His eyes trail downwards and mine follow; I huff when I realize I’m holding a hairbrush. I throw it onto the counter and turn away from James, too disappointed to speak. “Violet, honey, I’m so sorry” Did James just call me honey? My heart continues to race for a different reason now. “I was so caught up at a meeting that I lost track of time; have you been waiting up?” “A meeting, at—” I grab his arm and peer into his Rolex “—two o’clock in the morning? I’m not a fool, James.” “Vee, I swear that’s what it was.” I sigh inwardly, so much for “honey,” as he continues.
“I’m sorry I missed dinner, okay? We’ll reschedule or something.” Teeth chattering, I whirl on him. “I’m not some kind of appointment you have to fit into your work schedule, James! I am your wife, for Christ’s sake, and I can’t believe you forgot about our anniversary.” His eyes widen, as he realizes his mistake. “Oh God, Vee, I’m so . . .” “Yeah, you’re sorry; these days, you always are.” I brush past him, heading back into the bedroom, as he follows right behind me. He places his briefcase gently on the floor at the foot of our bed before coming to place his hands on my rigid shoulders. “I’m so darn stupid, Violet. Please, just let me make it up to you.” His large hands rub up and down my arms, making me suddenly hot everywhere. Curse my intense attraction to him. “It doesn’t matter anymore.” I shrug him off, wiping a lone tear from my cheek. “My ovulation is probably over by now.” His hands come to rest delicately on my cheeks. “Then we’ll do this for us, just you and me, like it used to be.”
Any accusation I plan to throw at him dies as soon as his lips touch mine. Neither of us could resist and we gently lower ourselves onto the bed. I wake up feeling satisfied, with a huge grin on my face and a wide stretch, but as soon as my hand reaches out to touch the empty spot beside me, my happiness is short lived. I don’t even bother calling out my husband’s name because I can already feel his absence in the house. Refusing to break down in tears, I pull myself out of bed and into the bathroom, staring at myself in the mirror whilst tracing my fingers along my body in an attempt to recall how James’s hands had felt on me. The cold shower does its job in waking me up completely, and I make sure to take extra care in dressing up today, if only to show my husband that while last night had been absolutely wonderful, this morning could have been better. My hands shake slightly as I pour myself a cup of coffee, the memory of how James used to do this for me every morning briefly flashing in my mind. I wonder when our loving routine began to change and the romantic gestures stopped.
Perhaps it was just a result of being married for too long; it’s not like we are the same people we were fifteen years ago. Maybe all I have to do is just get used to how things are now and stop having high expectations, like we’re a newly wedded couple. I place a call to the fifty-three-year old driver who has been in the Frost family since he was only a boy. “Hola, Manuel, please get the car ready.” I’m so glad that’s all I have to say to let him know I’m ready to take on the day despite my own struggles. As a neurosurgeon, I don’t always have one hundred percent success. Patients with severe cases who need my expertise aren’t as common as the regular ones, but it doesn’t matter. I still put in the efforts, to the best of my ability, to ensure none of my patients die on my table. Loving my job too much is why I put my husband in charge of the hospitals, even though I know my parents and grandparents would be rolling in their graves at the very idea. The Frost hospitals are my family’s legacy—one they built from scratch as far back as the First World War—and they protected them like an overbearing hen with its chicks.
If only they knew the amount of debt that now threatens to ruin their creation. They, like my cousins, will call for blood—specifically James’s. I shake off the frightening thoughts, choosing to trust my husband’s reaffirmation that he’s working on clearing the debt, and step out of the car, heading inside the large, tall, opulent skyscraper that has the words Frost Specialist Hospital written boldly far atop it. My first stop is the hospital room in which Mr. Tom, my last patient, is occupying. The sight of his wife holding on to his hand while he sleeps lights a whole different kind of happiness in my heart. This here is why I wanted to heal people, much like my mother. It does marvelous things to my soul, seeing that look of relief and elation in the eyes of the patients’ families. “Mrs. Tom, it’s lovely to see you this morning. I see you took my advice.” I smile, noting how freshened up and healthier she now looks, compared to the previous day. She manages a small laugh before standing to hug me, taking me completely off guard. “Thank you so much, Doctor, you have no idea how much this means to me. He woke up last night, and he was talking . . .” She trails off in a sob while I awkwardly pat her back. “Just thank you.”
She sniffles and sits back down, quickly taking his hand back in hers, as if that second she let go was too precious to lose. I go through her husband’s chart, nodding intermittently, as I take in his steady progress. Even for a man who was just in surgery the previous day, everything is looking good already. I assure his wife of this before taking my leave to check on my other patients. It isn’t until two hours later that I get the chance to go up to James’s office, but I only walk away with nothing but embarrassing disappointment. “He didn’t tell you? He left for France today on a business trip,” his secretary, Scott, had informed me. I receive my husband’s short and impersonal mail later that night, informing me of his trip, like I’m nothing but an afterthought. I spot my cousins as soon as I make my way into the fancy restaurant; we usually meet up at least once a week for lunch.
“Sorry, I’m late; I lost track of time,” I huff, as I take my seat across from the two sisters that could easily pass as being twins. Maya and Summer are the offspring of my father’s younger sister, and they are the only cousins I have. Uncle Michael never fathered a child. Their mother, my Aunt Rachael, is currently in a home for the elderly. “We forgive you,” Maya eyes me while Summer continues to shovel food into her mouth, as she nods in agreement with her older sister. “How’s that husband of yours?” Maya asks instantly while Summer looks everywhere but at the two of us. “I don’t want to fight, Maya.” The last time she asked this same question, we ended up having a big fight that completely messed with my morale, and I didn’t see my best friends for a whole month. She purses her lips, visibly holding herself back, and I know it’s difficult because I can see the brow above her left eye twitching. “What makes you think I want to fight; I’m just checking in, like a good cousin.”
Unlike Summer, who is only twenty-eight, Maya is just a year younger than me, which puts us at a stalemate most of the time, but it also means we’re the closest, as we knew each other long before Summer came along. I clear my throat. “Well, if you must know, he’s in France on a business trip,” I square my shoulders, failing to mention that he had simply went on his way without telling me, and it’s been two weeks since he sent that email. “Why didn’t you go with him?” Summer asks curiously, her tone free of malice—unlike Maya’s. “France is lovely this time of the year. In fact, Joshua and I were only just saying last night that we should go on a weekend vacation sometime this month.” Her smile widens at the mention of her boyfriend’s name while Maya and I roll our eyes. Neither of us approves of Joshua, but I’m one to talk, aren’t I? Maya stabs her fork into her steak, glaring at me.
“Since when does Vee attend to her own business? Her dear husband has to take care of everything. It’s what has gotten the hospitals into such a mess, isn’t it?” “Maya!” Summer warns, watching me carefully to gauge my reaction, but I merely roll my eyes, waving a waiter my way to place my order. “Has he, at least, said anything about handling the debts?” she continues. “You know I can help you, Vee, but only if you take back control. Christ, even Summer, with her ballet nonsense, manages the line of clothing stores she inherited by herself. What’s your excuse?” Before their deaths, all three of us had been handed a large part of the Frost Empire by our grandparents, to be taken control by us, as soon as our parents retire. Maya was bequeathed the Tech Company, which is both the latest and largest addition, but no one else deserved it more than her. I got the hospitals, and Summer relinquished control of the hotels to the management of the three of us, instead focusing on the smaller and more manageable clothing stores.
“Summer with her ballet nonsense? Jesus, Maya, why can’t you just respect other people’s decisions about their lives? What I do with my inheritance is nobody’s business—certainly not yours. I don’t tell you how to run Frost Tech.” “Because you don’t have to . . . I run it well enough and proudly, just as our grandparents would have wanted.” Her light blue eyes flash with steely determination. Something bangs against the table, and Maya and I both turn to see Summer slamming her hand down on the table. “Are you two going to fight every time we hang out because if so, I won’t come to our weekly lunch again,” she says angrily. “Can’t you two just get along? Please? Maya, I know that you’re worried about Vee. I am too, but it’s her life. If she needs us, we have to trust that she’ll come straight to us. Right, Vee?” “Of course,” I mutter. Maya is about to say something else when Jose, the restaurant’s head chef, makes his way towards us. “How are my favorite ladies doing?” He flashes his gorgeous smile at us, and then turns to me. “Looking stunning, as always, mi sol hermosa.”
He takes my hand and plants a gentle smooching on it. “Thanks, Jose.” I blush coyly. Jose has always been extra flirty with me, and I know he finds me attractive and possibly wants more, but I’m too committed to my husband to ever consider it. “Now, that’s a man.” Maya takes a dig at me, after Jose walks away with my order, but I’m too preoccupied with the mail I’ve just received on my phone to reply her. A painful sound escapes my mouth as I stare at the picture attached to the simple message: “He’s mine now.” I don’t know when I drop the phone, with a loud clatter, onto the table. “Vee?” Maya calls. “What’s wrong?” Summer asks, and the two immediately get out of their seats and rush to my side. Maya picks up the phone and she sees what has me completely shattered. I can feel the waves of anger rolling out of her as she passes the phone to Summer, whose gasp fills the room. “I’m going to get that good-for-nothing son-of-a-gun,” Maya growls, with curled fists.
Summer places a hand on my shoulder, “Oh my God, Vee, I’m so sorry!” Now, as I stare at the one largely displayed on the screen of my home computer, I realize my hatred for pictures is actually fear, and it has come to haunt me in more ways than I can count. The man staring back at me, eyes crinkled with carefree laughter and face alight with joy, is one I cannot, for the life of me, mistake him as being anyone but the man I’ve lived with and loved for fifteen whole years. Once upon a time, James had looked that same way around me, making me feel like I was the only one who could see through this particular window of his soul. However, with his strong arms tightly bound around a woman’s body wearing nothing, her head buried in his neck, it is clear that what I’ve held as being special between us has been forcefully taken away.
“I don’t care if you’re working on a multi-million dollar app, Jeremy. I’m your boss, and I’m telling you to leave everything and track that email address,” Maya, ever the hard, yells over the phone, through gritted teeth. She pauses a while to listen before continuing much louder. “Get Yasmin on the phone and do as I say—don’t make me come over there, Jeremy.” I watch her walk into the room adjacent to my home office to continue her call, before turning back to the screen. I notice the mystery woman’s nails are painted red, as she has a hand all over my husband’s chest, right above the scar he had gotten on our first date.