Mistress Joined the Meeting—Shock Hit When the Billionaire CEO Entered… She Was His Wife

They say you never really know who you’re sleeping with. Marcus Thorne certainly didn’t.

He walked into the most important business meeting of his life holding his mistress’s hand, convinced he was about to become the CEO of Orion Holdings. He thought his wife, Clara, was at home crying over his cold indifference.

He thought she was weak. He thought she was clueless.

But when the boardroom doors swung open and the chair turned around, Marcus realized two things instantly. First, his life was over.

Second, the ruthless billionaire owner he had been trying to impress for months was the woman he had forgotten to kiss goodbye that morning. The rain in Seattle was relentless, hammering against the floor-to-ceiling windows of the penthouse like a warning Marcus Thorne refused to hear.

“Clara, where is my gray tie?” “The silk one.” Marcus bellowed, his voice echoing off the marble walls of the master bedroom.

He was standing in front of the mirror, adjusting a cufflink on his bespoke Brioni suit worth more than most people’s cars. Clara Thorne, a woman of 34 who looked 40 due to the exhaustion in her eyes, rushed out of the walk-in closet.

She held the gray tie gingerly. She was wearing a faded oversized cardigan and leggings, her hair tied back in a messy bun.

To the outside world, she was the invisible shadow behind the brilliant Marcus Thorne, the rising star of the tech investment world.

“Here it is, Marcus.” She said softly, reaching out to hand it to him.

Marcus snatched it from her hand without making eye contact.

“Took you long enough.” “You know today is the merger meeting with the board of Vanguard Logic.” “If I secure this deal, I become the youngest partner in the firm’s history.” “Everything has to be perfect.” He snapped.

“I know.” Clara said, stepping back, her hands clasping together nervously. “I made you a protein shake; it’s on the counter.”

“I don’t have time for your sludge, Clara.” He sneered, finally turning to look at her.

His gaze was critical, sweeping over her plain attire.

“Look at you.” “You’re the wife of a future billionaire, yet you dress like you’re ready to clean toilets.” “If the partners saw you, they’d think I married the help.” He said.

Clara flinched but didn’t look away.

“I’m comfortable, Marcus, and I’m just staying home today.” “You said you’d be late tonight.” She said.

A smirk played on Marcus’s lips.

“Very late.” “The negotiations with the Vanguard representatives will likely go into the night.” “It’s high stakes, Clara; concepts you wouldn’t understand.” “Just don’t wait up, and don’t call me; my phone will be off.” He said.

“Okay.” She whispered.

He checked his Rolex, a gift Clara had bought him with her inheritance money five years ago back when he was a nobody. He didn’t remember that anymore.

“I’m leaving.” “Do something productive today; maybe read a book on fashion.” He said.

He grabbed his briefcase and stormed out of the apartment without a goodbye. The heavy oak door slammed shut, leaving a ringing silence in the penthouse.

A Calculated Betrayal

Down in the underground garage, Marcus tossed his briefcase into the passenger seat of his Porsche Panamera. He pulled out his phone and dialed a number saved as “Accountant”.

“I’m on my way.” He said, his voice dropping an octave, becoming smooth and seductive.

“I’m waiting, baby.” A sultry voice answered. “I’m wearing that dress you bought me; the one you said was too scandalous for a wife but perfect for a future CEO’s partner.”

Marcus laughed.

“Clara wouldn’t know what to do with a dress like that.” “Be ready, Jessica; we’re going to the Ritz-Carlton first.” “I want you by my side when I walk into that lobby.” “Today I take over the company, and soon I’ll be taking over a new life with you.” He said.

Jessica laughed, a sharp tinkling sound.

“Is she suspicious, Clara?” She asked.

Marcus scoffed, revving the engine.

“She’s a mouse.” “She thinks I’m a god.” “She has no idea I’m filing the divorce papers the second this deal is signed.” “I’m taking everything, Jessica; the house, the accounts, everything.” “She signed that prenup seven years ago without even reading it.” He said.

“You’re bad.” Jessica purred.

“I’m a winner.” Marcus corrected.

He peeled out of the garage, leaving the building behind. Upstairs, the mouse was no longer trembling.

As soon as the door clicked shut, Clara’s posture straightened. The nervous tremor in her hands vanished.

She walked over to the window and watched the black Porsche emerge into traffic. She picked up the protein shake Marcus had rejected and poured it slowly down the sink.

Then she walked into the bedroom, stripped off the leggings and the cardigan, and opened a hidden panel at the back of the walk-in closet. Inside wasn’t the wardrobe of a housewife.

It was a row of sharp, tailored suits: Armani, Chanel, Tom Ford. She pulled out a sleek navy blue power suit.

She sat at her vanity, not to cry, but to apply makeup with the precision of a surgeon. Sharp eyeliner, bold red lipstick.

She pulled the messy bun loose, letting her dark, glossy hair cascade in waves over her shoulders. She reached for her phone.

It wasn’t the cracked iPhone she used around Marcus; it was a secure satellite phone. She dialed a number.

“Mr. Sterling.” She said, her voice commanding and icy.

“Mrs. Thorne.” The voice on the other end answered instantly. “Or should I say, Madame Chairman?”

“Chairman will do, Arthur.” Clara replied. “Is the board assembled at the Vanguard headquarters?”

“They are all seated, waiting for the acquisition meeting.” “Marcus Thorne is expected in forty-five minutes.” Arthur said.

“Good.” Clara said, fastening a diamond necklace around her neck, a piece worth two million dollars left to her by her grandmother—a detail Marcus never cared to ask about. “Make sure security is tight; I don’t want any interruptions when I fire him.”

“Understood.” “And the mistress?” Arthur asked.

“Let her in.” Clara said, checking her reflection.

She didn’t see a victim; she saw a predator.

“If he wants to bring a circus to my boardroom, I’ll make sure he enjoys the show.” She said.

The Arrival at Vanguard Logic

Jessica Vance adjusted the strap of her crimson dress as she slid into the passenger seat of Marcus’s Porsche. She was twenty-four, beautiful in a manufactured way, and hungry for status.

She worked as a junior analyst at Marcus’s firm, a job she barely performed because her real job was inflating Marcus’s ego.

“You look stunning.” Marcus said, placing a hand on her knee as he drove toward the financial district.

“And you look like the president of Vanguard Logic.” She teased. “Are you nervous about the meeting?”

“No.” “The current CEO of Vanguard is a ghost; no one has ever seen him.” “They say he runs the company through proxies; it shows weakness.” “I’m going to walk in there, present the acquisition strategy, and offer to buy them out.” “If they refuse, I’ll crush their stock value by noon.” “I have the leverage.” Marcus said.

“You’re so powerful.” Jessica cooed, visualizing the penthouse and yachts in her future. “And what about her?”

Marcus sighed, feigning burden.

“Clara is just dead weight, Jess.” “Honestly, it’s charity that I’ve kept her around this long.” “She has no ambition; she spends her days knitting or whatever it is housewives do.” “She’s boring.” “You, you are fire.” “I need fire if I’m going to run an empire.” He said.

“I just hate that you have to go home to her.” Jessica pouted.

“Not for long.” Marcus promised. “I’ve already moved the assets.” “My lawyer, Jeffrey Bloom, found a loophole in the prenup.” “Since she hasn’t contributed financially to the marriage in five years, I can cut her loose with almost nothing.” “Maybe a small condo in the suburbs so she doesn’t starve.” “I’m not a monster.” He said.

“You’re too generous.” Jessica laughed.

They pulled up to the Vanguard Logic skyscraper, a glass monolith that pierced the gray Seattle sky. It was the headquarters of the most secretive and profitable tech conglomerate in the hemisphere.

Valet rushed to open the doors. Marcus stepped out, buttoning his jacket, radiating arrogance.

He extended a hand to Jessica, who stepped out like she was walking a red carpet.

“Marcus Thorne.” He announced to the head of security at the revolving doors. “Here for the 10:00 a.m. acquisition meeting with the board.”

The security guard, a large man with a stoic face, checked a tablet. He paused, his eyes flicking from Marcus to Jessica, and then for a split second, a look of amusement crossed his face.

“Right, Mr. Thorne.” “And the guest?” The guard asked.

“This is my associate, Miss Vance.” “She is critical to the transition team.” Marcus lied smoothly.

“Very well.” “Top floor, the executive suite.” “They are waiting for you.” The guard said.

Marcus took Jessica’s arm.

“Showtime.” He said.

As they stepped into the elevator, Marcus checked his reflection in the mirrored walls.

“After this, we celebrate.” “Champagne at Le Mer.” He said.

“I can’t wait to see you destroy them.” Jessica kissed his cheek.

Neither of them noticed that the elevator didn’t stop at the 40th floor, the usual conference level. It continued rising all the way to the 60th floor, the penthouse boardroom, a level restricted to owners only.

When the doors opened, the atmosphere was different. It wasn’t the bustling noise of a corporate office.

It was silent, heavy. The carpets were thick.

The art on the walls was original Basquiat and Rothko. A woman in a sharp gray suit stood by a massive set of double oak doors.

This was Sarah, the executive assistant.

“Mr. Thorne.” Sarah said, unsmiling. “You are late.”

“I am precisely on time.” Marcus countered, checking his Rolex. “It is 10:00 a.m. on the dot.”

“The CEO values early arrivals; it shows eagerness.” Sarah droned.

She looked at Jessica with open disdain.

“Capacity in the boardroom is limited.” She said.

“She stays.” Marcus barked. “She’s with me.”

Sarah hesitated, then pressed an earpiece.

“He insists on the plus-one.” “Understood.” She said.

She stepped aside.

“Go right in.” “The CEO is ready for you.” She said.

Marcus smirked at Jessica.

“See? You just have to be firm with these people.” He said.

He pushed open the heavy oak doors, ready to see a trembling old man or a board of gray-haired puppets.