Eavesdropping on My Husband’s Chat with a Mate Revealed the Real Reason He Married Me

Enough with the handsy, Victor hissed, his voice low as he paced the highceilinged drawingroom, constantly straightening his perfectly slickedback hair. Sorry for the bluntness, but Im about to lose my mind! This is a real kicker, you hear me? A real kicker! Do you know that word? He stopped, glancing at Eleanor, who was curled into an overstuffed armchair, clutching a cooling cup of tea. Vince is giving us the chance to get in at the groundfloor. In a year those flats will double in value. We put in ten million, we pull out twenty!

Eleanors fingers trembled around the porcelain. She wanted to shut her eyes and drown in silence, but for two weeks Mark had left no room for peace.

Mark, ten million is the entire cash reserve of the company, she said, voice barely a whisper. Its our safety net. If anything goes wrong we wont be able to pay wages, we wont be able to buy fabric. You know the season is comingschool uniforms, then the Christmas parties

Again with your ragcloth excuses! Mark snapped, rolling his eyes dramatically. Len, youre a savvy businesswoman, but you think like a seamstress with a needle. Your workshop isnt going anywhere. This is a onceinalifetime chance. Victor is my oldest friend; he wouldnt steer us into rubbish. Hes putting his own money on the line.

Eleanor inhaled sharply. She loved Markhis youthful spark, his burning eyes, his way with words and with gestures. When theyd met three years ago shed been fortyfive, he thirtyseven. She owned a chain of boutiques and a modest tailoring factory, used to carrying the whole weight herself. Her first husband had left her for a younger woman, taking their teenage son and a mountain of debt. Shed clawed back, built a business, raised her son. Then Mark appearedcharming, carefree, never demanding that she become an iron lady. She melted.

He worked as a sales manager for a construction firm. He wasnt a star, but Eleanor didnt mind. What mattered was that he greeted her after work with a hot meal, flowers for no reason, and holidays at the seaside.

Lately his projects had grown more insistent. First an expensive car to match the husband of a business owner, then a push into cryptocurrency. Now this construction deal.

Mark, let me think it over, alright? I need to check the paperwork, talk to a solicitor.

Which solicitor? Your oldtimer Arthur Pennington? He lives in the Victorian era! Hell tell you to stash cash under the mattress. Len, decisions have to be swift. Tomorrow is the last day we can lock in this price. Victors already holding the reservation for us.

Mark dropped to his knees in front of her, taking her hands in his warm, firm palms.

Len, trust me. Im doing this for us. I want us to live betterso you dont have to work around the clock, so we can travel, build a house. For our future.

She stared into his deep hazel eyes, yearning to believe that he truly cared, not just for an easy payday.

Fine, she whispered. Ill go to the bank tomorrow morning, but I need time to arrange the transfer.

Youre brilliant! Mark leapt up, scooping her into his arms and spinning her around despite her weak protests. Youll see, well be millionaires! Ill call Victor right nowthis will make his day!

The next morning Eleanor indeed drove to the banknot to withdraw cash, but to verify the accounts. The inner voice that had once warned her against signing a shady supplier contract whispered urgently, Dont rush.

The day turned chaotic. First, the main sewing machine in the factory broke down; then the tax office arrived for a routine audit. Eleanor ran like a hamster on a wheelsigning documents, calming staff, answering endless calls. By evening her head throbbed as if a hammer were pounding inside.

She decided to head home early, skipping the office laptop. All she wanted was a hot bath and to collapse on the sofa.

Pulling into the driveway, a sleek black SUV sat by the entrance. Probably the neighbours, she muttered, parking her own car.

The flat was silent. She slipped the key into the lock, the door opening with a soft click. From the living room drifted muted voices and the clink of glasses.

Strange, Mark never mentioned guests, she thought, ready to shout Im home! but something held her back. The tone was offtoo relaxed, too loud.

She slipped off her shoes, tiptoed down the hallway, and peered through the slightly ajar livingroom door.

Mate, you actually went through with it? a gruff, hoarse laugh boomed. Victors voice, unmistakable. And Markso smug! I told you the right approach: a little pity, a few compliments, drop to your knees, and the clients signed. Tomorrow shell wire the money.

Eleanor pressed her back against the wall, heart pounding like a drum in her throat.

Ten million? Victor asked.

Ten. Shell drain it all clean. Foolish old hen. She really thinks were building an elite complex.

Ah, the complex lives only in our dreams, Victor snorted. She wont see the paperwork, right? Ill slip her a loan agreement for a oneday shell company, shell sign on the spot. She trusts me like a saint. Shes got that look Marky, Marky

A glass was being poured.

Heres to your acting chops! Victor toasted. Do you feel a pang of conscience? Shes not exactly shabby, you know. Shes polished.

Mark sneered. Look at her neck, her handsno amount of cream will hide the rot. Every night I lie in bed and picture Clara. Shes already packing. As soon as the cash hits, were off to Bali. Ill tell Len Im off to a site inspection, then Im gone. Let her chase the police, let her run into the wind.

Hardcore, Victor said, admiration in his tone. What if she goes to prison?

She wont. Shes proud. Shed never admit a young gigolo duped her. Shell keep quiet. The loan agreement is legitjust a bankrupt shell. Business risk, love.

Eleanors legs gave out; she slid down the wall onto the floor. A cold wave rushed through her veins, as if ice had replaced blood. Old hen, work, Clarathe words of her husband, the man who had kissed her hand only yesterday, hammered into her mind like scorching nails. Three years of illusion, three years shed thought shed found happiness, only to discover a cold, calculated investment.

She wanted to burst through the door, smash the table, claw at his smug grin, scream until the windows shattered. Yet she stayed rooted. Decades of running a business, surviving 1990s mob threats and 2000s bureaucratic nightmares had forged a steel spine. A hysteric breakdown would be a gift to the enemy; it would signal weakness, and she was anything but weak.

Taking a measured breath, she rose, grabbed her shoes, and slipped out as silently as she had entered.

On the landing she summoned the lift, descended, and slid into her car. Her hands trembled on the wheel, but her mind cleared, frighteningly clear.

Bali, Clara, a oneday company, she thought, eyes scanning the flat windows where two vultures now divided her lifes skin.

She started the engine and drovenot to a mothers house to sob, nor to a friends couch, but to the office. In the safe there lay her passport, the articles of incorporation, the company seal.

Two hours later she returned, bags of takeaway from a fancy restaurant and a bottle of fine Scotch in tow. She flung the door open, dropped her keys, and shouted, Mark! Im home!

From the living room a bleary head poked out. Mark managed a rehearsed smile, fear flickering in his eyes.

Len, youre early. We were just having a meeting with Victorcelebrating your wise decision.

She entered, radiant with forced cheer.

Victor, good to see you! Ive just bought some delicacies, lets celebrate!

Victor, a bulky man with darting eyes, rose.

Mrs. Eleanor Whitfield, my respects! Glad youre with us. Mark told me you agreed? Thats the right move. Big money favors the decisive.

Yes, Ive thought it through, Eleanor began laying out the food. Enough dreaming about gold. Its time to grow. Mark opened my eyes.

She planted a kiss on Marks cheek. He tensed, then relaxed.

Youre my clever one, he purred, pulling her close. I knew youd back me.

Of course, love. Tomorrow were off to the bank. Ive arranged cashbetter than transfers and fees. Ill withdraw everything and hand it to Victor under a receipt.

Victors eyes glittered greedily.

Cashperfect! Thats the way we do it.

The evening blurred into a haze. Eleanor smiled, poured whisky, listened to their toasts for a bright future. She watched Mark, marveling at how shed missed the false smile, the icy calculation behind his eyes. Love, indeed, is blind. Betrayal, a sharp optometrist.

When Victor staggered out, humming a tune, Mark embraced Eleanor.

Ready for bed? Big day tomorrow.

Yes, darling. You shower, Ill tidy up.

Lying beside the man who had plotted her ruin, Eleanor couldnt close her eyes. She heard his steady breath and, in her mind, said goodbyenot to him, but to the naïve trust that had died the moment his laughter echoed down the hallway. She was saying farewell to herself, to the woman who would ever again be fooled.

At dawn she roused him with a kiss.

Get up, millionaire! Moneys waiting.

Mark sprang up, dashing, donned his best suit, spritzed on cologne.

Ready! Len, youve got the passport?

Of course.

They drove to the bank. Mark babbled nonstop, sketching grand houses, while Eleanor stared out the window.

The bank escorted them to a VIP boardroom. A familiar managerEleanors longtime contactplaced five thick bundles of £10million notes on the table.

Marks eyes glazed over in awe. His hands hovered, almost reaching.

Shall we sign off? the manager asked.

Yes, Eleanor said. Proceed.

She signed the withdrawal slip. The money slid into her briefcase.

Off to Victors office! Mark urged as they stepped outside. Hes waiting with a notary.

Wait, Mark, Eleanor halted beside her car. I have a surprise for you.

A surprise? What is it? he fidgeted. No time, Len!

Its quick. Get in.

She opened the boot, hauled out a large leather suitcase, and set it on the pavement before him.

Whats this? Mark stared, baffled. Are we going to Bali now?

She laughed, a short, cold sound.

Youre not. Youre going where exactly? To Clara? Or straight home?

Marks face drained of colour.

Len, what? Which Clara? What are you talking about?

The one you were planning to run off with, on my money. The one you whisper about when youre in bed, saying its like going to work. I heard everything, Mark. Yesterday, when you slipped home early.

Mark opened his mouth, but no sound emerged. He looked like a fish beached on the shore.

I heard every word. Old hen, the shell company, the plan to ditch me.

Len, it was a joke! Victor and I were drunk! Youve got it all wrong! He lunged for her hand, but she recoiled.

Dont touch me. Never touch me again. Inside this suitcase are all your thingsunderwear, socks, those cheap suits you bought before me. Im taking the car; its registered to the firm. Your cards, linked to my account, I blocked half an hour ago.

You cant! Were married! Half the money is mine!

The money? Eleanor slapped the briefcase of cash. No, love. Thats the companys money. I withdrew it for business expenses. You have no claim. As for our assets you told Victor, Shell stay silent. Im not silent. Im clever. Ive already sent the recording of your conversation to our solicitoroldtimer Arthur. Yes, theres a camera in the lounge with a sound sensor. I installed it to watch the housekeeper, but it caught a rat like you.

Mark staggered backward, realizing the game was over. The mask of the devoted husband fell, revealing a terrified, pitiful fraudster.

Len, please! I was misled! Victor pushed me! I love you, really! Dont throw me out! I have nowhere to go!

Go to Clara. Maybe shell take you. Though without money she wont need you.

Eleanor slipped into the drivers seat, locked the doors, and lowered the window.

Goodbye, Mark. Divorce papers will be mailed to you. Dont ever approach me or my business again. As you said, everythings covered. I may not send you to prison, but Ill ruin your life so badly that Bali will haunt you in nightmares.

She floored the accelerator, leaving the bewildered Mark standing in the parking lot with a suitcase in one hand and emptiness in the other.

Eleanor drove through the city, tears streaming down her cheeks. The pain was brutal, the collapse of hope, the shattering of faith in people. Yet amid the anguish rose a different feelingrelief.

She had rid herself of a parasite, saved her enterprise, refused to be broken.

The briefcase of ten million pounds sat on the passenger seat.

Nothing, she thought, wiping her tears with the back of her hand. Ill invest in new equipment. Ill buy those Japanese machines Ive dreamed of. Ill take a holidayby myself. Bali, perhaps. Or better yet, Italy, where men appreciate women of any age, not just their wallets.

That evening she sat at the kitchen table with her son, Arthur, now a grown, serious young man, listening intently.

Mum, Ill deal with him, he said, clenching his fist.

No need, love. Honor is enough. Hes punished himself. He lost everything chasing a phantom. We have everything we need.

She poured herself tea, bit into a slice of cake from her own boutiqueconfectionery, and for the first time in days tasted food without bitterness.

Her phone buzzed. A message from Mark: Len, lets talk. Ill explain everything.

Eleanor hit Block. She then opened her contacts, found Victors number, and blacklisted him too.

Life went on. She promised herself to be splendid, because now there was no more deceit. Eleanor Whitfield knew better than anyone: its better to be alone and strong than to cling to someone who keeps a pistol in their pocket. Love would return, but shed check passports and credit histories first.