My Husband Told Me To Leave The Yacht I Paid For

I almost hung up on Celia.

A part of me wanted to.

A part of me wanted to believe she was nothing more than the woman I caught with my husband on my yacht. It would have been easier that way. Easier to hate her. Easier to place all my anger in one direction.

But life has a way of becoming complicated right when you want it to stay simple.

“Start talking,” I said.

Celia exhaled slowly.

“I know you don’t believe me.””

“You’re right.””

“I know what it looked like.””

“What it looked like?”” I repeated.

“You were kissing my husband.””

Silence.

Then she said, “I was trying to get close enough to him to find out the truth.””

I leaned against the kitchen counter.

“That’s supposed to make me feel better?””

“No.””

Her answer came quickly.

That surprised me.

“No,” she repeated.

“It’s not supposed to make you feel better. I’m not asking you to forgive me.””

I studied the phone in my hand as if I could somehow see through it.

“Then what are you asking?””

“For you to listen.””

I almost laughed.

Grant had spent years telling me I listened too much. That I gave people too many chances. That my biggest weakness was believing people could change.

Maybe he was right.

Maybe that was my flaw.

But there was something in Celia’s voice that made me stay quiet.

Not innocence.

Pain.

“My mother’s name was Naomi Monroe,” she said.

The name landed differently.

I knew that name.

Everyone in my family did.

Naomi Monroe had once been a partner in the early days of Hart Monroe Enterprises.

Before me.

Before Grant.

Before the company became what it was.

My father rarely talked about her.

And when he did, he always changed the subject quickly.

“She was removed from the company unfairly,” Celia continued.

My fingers tightened around the phone.

“My mother spent years telling me your family stole her work. Her ideas. Her future.””

I swallowed.

“My father never told me that.””

“Of course he didn’t.””

Her words weren’t angry.

They were tired.

“Families protect their own.””

That sentence stayed with me.

Because I knew it was true.

My father was a good man.

But good people can still make mistakes.

Good people can still hurt others.

“What does Grant have to do with this?”” I asked.

“Everything.””

Celia’s voice lowered.

“When I met him, I thought he could help me understand what happened. He knew details nobody else knew. He knew about the old contracts.

The partnership agreements. The meetings.””

“And you started seeing him to investigate?””

“Yes.””

I closed my eyes.

That was the part I didn’t want to believe.

Because if she was telling the truth, then the woman I wanted to blame was actually another person Grant had manipulated.

“How long?””

“Six months.””

Six months.

My chest tightened.

Six months of lies.

Six months of my husband living two lives.

“Did you love him?””

A long silence.

Then:

“No.””

That answer hurt less than I expected.

Maybe because I already knew Grant was not a man who loved people.

Grant loved control.

“He knew about my mother,” Celia said.

“He knew exactly what to say.””

“What do you mean?””

“He told me he could help me expose your family. He told me he had proof that your father ruined my mother’s life.””

I looked toward the framed photograph on the wall.

My father.

Me.

A younger version of myself standing beside him outside the first company office.

“He made us both angry at each other,” Celia continued.

“What?””

“He wanted me to hate you.””

I didn’t respond.

“He told me Evelyn Hart was just like your father. That you inherited everything and never cared who got hurt.””

The words stung because they were the exact kind of words that created enemies.

Not facts.

Stories.

“I believed him,” she whispered.

“Why?””

“Because I wanted to.””

That honesty caught me off guard.

Celia continued.

“I wanted someone to blame. My mother died believing she was forgotten. She spent her whole life thinking your family erased her.””

I sat down slowly.

“And then what changed?””

“I found something.””

“What?””

“Documents.””

My heart started beating faster.

“Real documents?””

“Yes.””

“About Grant?””

“Yes.””

She paused.

“Evelyn, he wasn’t trying to expose your family.””

I waited.

“He was trying to steal what was left.””

A cold feeling moved through me.

“How?””

“He found out there were unresolved ownership issues from the original partnership. He planned to use the conflict between our families to make both sides destroy each other.””

I looked at the papers on my table.

The forged signatures.

The transfers.

The fake documents.

“He wanted me angry enough to attack you.””

“And me?””

“He wanted you distracted enough to lose everything.””

The room went silent.

Then Celia said:

“I copied everything.””

I sat up.

“You copied his files?””