Husband Took His Mistress to a Business Meeting — But the New CEO Walked In…
Before anyone could respond, he leaned slightly towards David Chen, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper just loud enough for those nearby to hear.
“It’s a different level up here, isn’t it? Makes you feel for the ones left behind. I was on the phone with Kate this morning. She was agonizing over which caterer to use for some luncheon. God bless her.”
He shook his head with a look of fond exasperation.
“Different worlds.”
David offered a noncommittal grunt, but Marcus knew the seed was planted. He was painting a picture of himself: a high-flying executive, unburdened by domestic trivialities, married to a simple woman who handled the home front while he conquered the world. It was a crucial part of his personal brand.
Tiffany, sitting beside him, preened slightly, feeling the implied contrast. She was part of the real world—his world.
The tension in the room suddenly shifted. A palpable wave of deference and respect washed over the Vanguard executives as they subtly straightened in their chairs, their eyes all turned towards the frosted glass doors. The quiet conversations ceased.
“Looks like showtime,” Richard Sterling murmured, a hint of relief in his tone.
Marcus felt a surge of adrenaline. His moment had arrived. He smoothed his tie one last time, squared his shoulders, and focused on the entrance. He prepared his power smile, the one that conveyed both respect and ambition.
This woman, whoever she was, was about to meet the man who would be the most valuable asset in her newly acquired company. He would make himself undeniable.
The heavy glass doors swung inward with a faint hydraulic hiss. A pair of expensive-looking but understated black heels clicked purposefully on the marble floor. They were followed by the sharp crease of a navy-blue pantsuit, tailored with a precision that bespoke immense wealth and a refusal to compromise.
The woman who entered was tall and carried herself with an unshakable poise that instantly commanded the room. Her dark hair, which Marcus had last seen in a messy ponytail, was styled in a sleek, elegant chignon at the nape of her neck.
Her face, free of makeup that morning, was now expertly and minimally enhanced to highlight her strong cheekbones and piercing blue eyes. She wasn’t smiling. Her expression was one of cool, detached authority.
She strode to the head of the table, her gaze sweeping over the assembled executives, acknowledging each with a slight, almost imperceptible nod. And then her eyes landed on him.
For a horrifying, brain-freezing second, Marcus Thorn’s world stopped turning. The blood drained from his face, replaced by an icy dread that started in his stomach and spread through his veins. His confident smirk dissolved, his mouth falling slightly agape.
The room, the table, the people—they all blurred into a meaningless background. There was only her. The unassuming housewife. The woman he thought was deciding on canapés. His wife.
She stopped at the head of the table, placing a slim tablet before her. Her voice, when she spoke, was not the soft, familiar tone he heard over breakfast. It was a voice honed for command: crisp, clear, and laced with steel.
“Good morning, everyone. I apologize for the delay. Thank you all for being here. For those of you from Innovate Dynamics whom I haven’t had the pleasure of meeting, my name is Catherine Vance. I am the Founder and CEO of Vanguard Holdings.”
She paused, letting her name—her maiden name—and her title sink in. Her cool blue eyes then moved deliberately down the table, past the other executives, past David Chen’s stunned face, past Tiffany’s utter confusion, and locked directly onto her husband’s.
A flicker of something cold and sharp passed through them before she addressed him directly, her voice cutting through the stunned silence of the room.
“Mr. Thorne, it’s a pleasure to finally meet you in a professional capacity.”
The words Mr. Thorne struck Marcus with the force of a physical blow. It was the name of a stranger, a subordinate, a line item on a balance sheet. In that single formal address, fifteen years of shared history, of intimacy and marriage, were vaporized.
He was no longer Marcus, her husband. He was Mr. Thorne, the employee.
His mind reeled frantically, trying to assemble the puzzle pieces that were crashing down around him. Catherine Vance. Vance. Her maiden name. The name on her old college degrees, the ones he’d packed away in a box in the attic—artifacts from a life he thought she’d left behind. Vanguard. Vance.
The connection was so obvious, so insultingly simple that he had never once thought to make it.
He stared at her, this woman in the power suit who looked like his wife but felt like an alien queen. The quiet observer from his breakfast table was gone. In her place was a formidable executive who held his entire future in the palm of her hand.
The condescending joke he’d made to David Chen just moments earlier replayed in his head, each word a self-inflicted wound. She was agonizing over which caterer to use. The humiliation was a physical sensation, a hot flush that crept up his neck and burned his ears.
Beside him, Tiffany was a statue of confusion. She looked from Catherine to Marcus and back again, her brow furrowed. The resemblance was undeniable, but the context was impossible. She saw the blood drain from Marcus’s face and the rigid terror in his posture.
A sick, dawning realization began to curdle in her stomach. This powerful, intimidating woman… She couldn’t be.
Catherine, meanwhile, betrayed no emotion. She was the very picture of corporate control.
“Let’s begin,” she said, her gaze sweeping the room again, deliberately avoiding Marcus now. “As you all know, Vanguard Holdings has officially completed the acquisition of Innovate Dynamics. For many of you at Vanguard, this is business as usual.”
She paused.
“For our new colleagues from Innovate, I understand this is a time of uncertainty. Let me be clear: my goal is not to dismantle what you’ve built, but to identify its core strengths, trim its considerable fat, and integrate its viable assets into our global strategy.”
The phrase trim its considerable fat hung in the air like a guillotine’s blade. Every executive from Innovate Dynamics shifted uncomfortably. Marcus felt a cold sweat break out on his forehead.
“I have spent the last six weeks performing a deep dive into every department,” Catherine continued, tapping her tablet.
A massive screen behind her lit up with complex charts and data streams.
“Finance, Operations, R&D, and Marketing. I’ve read every report, analyzed every metric, and reviewed every five-year plan. Which brings us to today’s agenda.”
Her eyes, like a hawk’s, finally settled back on Marcus.
“Mr. Thorne, I believe you have a presentation for us regarding a proposed expansion into the South American market.”
It was a command, not a request. Marcus’s throat was dry. His hands, resting on his laptop, were trembling slightly. All the confidence, the swagger he had walked in with, had evaporated. He felt naked, exposed—a fool in a thousand-dollar suit.
He looked at the faces around the table. The Vanguard executives were watching him with predatory curiosity. David Chen was staring at him with a mixture of shock and what looked sickeningly like pity. And Tiffany? He risked a glance at her.
Her face was pale, her lipstick suddenly garish. The confusion in her eyes had been replaced by the horrified understanding of a person who realizes they have walked willingly into a trap. The boring, placid wife was the CEO. The woman she had dismissed as a sad relic was about to decide her fate.
The perfect cover had been blown to smithereens.
“Mr. Thorne,” Catherine’s voice was sharp, now impatient. “We don’t have all day.”
Jessica Miller, the sharp-eyed legal counsel who was clearly Catherine’s second-in-command, leaned forward slightly.
“Perhaps Mr. Thorne is feeling unwell. The pressure of presenting to a new board can be… significant.”
The undertone was mocking, and Marcus knew she was in on it. She knew everything. Summoning every last shred of his professional facade, Marcus cleared his throat.
“No, I… I’m fine.”
“Of course,” Catherine replied.
“My apologies, Madame CEO.”
The honorific felt like acid on his tongue. He opened his laptop, his fingers fumbling on the keys. The presentation he had been so proud of now seemed juvenile, a child’s crayon drawing presented to a master artist.
