My Ex Chose His Mistress, the Billionaire Heir Chose Me

It was Labor Day weekend, and Les Henson insisted on stopping at an abandoned highway rest stop. Said the car was stuffy, said he needed to stretch his legs. He'd be right back. I sat in the car for twenty minutes, dread climbing in my chest, then went looking for him.

And there, behind the abandoned gas station, I saw him kissing Lila Bennett.

She was curled against him, her voice sweet and shameless: "Exciting, isn't it? Your wife's sitting in the car and you're out here fooling around with me?"

Les let out a low laugh. "You little temptress. Keep it down. Don't go upsetting my wife."

I stood at the corner, and suddenly I was back in the year he'd been pursuing me—

I told him the thing I hated most in this world was cheating. That my father had destroyed my mother that way.

He'd said: "Hope Swanson, I will never do that to you. If I do, you can deal with me however you want."

Now he'd done it.

So everything I'd given him—

It was time to take it back.

——

I answered a phone call, then turned and walked back toward the parking lot.

"Hope!" Les shouted behind me.

I didn't stop.

Lila's voice came chasing after me, thick with tears: "Hope… I'm sorry… it's all my fault…"

I reached for the driver's side door.

"Hope." Les caught up, planting himself between me and the door.

"Give me the keys." My voice was shaking. My grandmother was in critical condition—I needed to see her one last time.

"I'll have someone handle Grandma's situation," he said, pausing for a beat. "The best specialists. They can be there tonight."

I stared at him.

Lila trailed over too, eyes red, voice small and cautious: "Hope, please don't blame Les… it was me… I seduced him…"

Her voice cracked as she spoke, her shoulders hunching inward, shrinking into herself like something small and cornered.

Les glanced at her, then back at me.

"Look at her." His gaze went soft on Lila. "She's already like this. How far do you have to push her before you're satisfied?"

Lila kept her head down, shoulders trembling, tears dropping one by one onto the asphalt.

And just like that I remembered her first day at the company—hovering timidly in my office doorway, holding out a cup of milk tea: "Hope, my treat."

I hadn't drunk it. Les said he had. Said the girl was thoughtful.

After that, I kept thinking about how she'd made it all the way from some tiny mountain village on her own—a young girl, step by step, with no one behind her. So I helped her. At work, in life, wherever I could.

When I couldn't, I asked Les to.

And that was how it went—helping, helping, helping—until the two of them helped themselves into the same bed.

"Les." I turned to face him. "My grandmother raised me. She's in the ICU right now, and I need to see her one last time."

"You know how much she means to me, Les." My voice wouldn't stop shaking.

He said nothing.

My phone buzzed again.

A message from my mother: Grandma's fading fast. Where are you?

I gripped the phone until my knuckles went white.

Les saw.

He was quiet for two seconds. Then he reached out and wiped the tear from the corner of my eye with his thumb.

"Don't cry." His voice was soft, his thumb pausing against my cheekbone. "Grandma's going to be fine. Trust me."

"Just let her apologize," he said. "She feels terrible about it. All you have to do is nod. Then I'll give you the keys."

Lila was sobbing beside him, nodding along: "Hope… please just accept my apology… I won't be able to live with myself otherwise…"

Grandma was waiting for me.

"Fine," I said.

Lila jumped right in: "Hope, I'm sorry, it's all my fault—"

"Enough." I cut her off and looked at Les. "Keys."