My Husband Brought His Mistress To A Business Dinner To Humiliate His “Useless” Wife. He Didn’t Know I Speak Eight Languages Or That I’m The One Who Actually Owns Our Mansion. Am I Wrong For Letting Him Ruin Himself?
The Phoenix Rises
Mr. Richter jumped to his feet, signaling his entourage to gather their documents.
“We are leaving. There is nothing more to discuss here.”
Julian, in a panic, lunged to stop Richter, but his bodyguards blocked him. The situation was critical. A billion-dollar contract was about to vanish, and the prestige of Julian and his company was about to be buried right there in the Apex Club.
In my corner, I set my glass of water on the table, a soft click, but in my mind it echoed like a judge’s gavel. I stood up, adjusted the collar of my rustic knit dress, smoothed my hair, and began to walk. Not with the stooped, submissive posture of the housewife Eleanor of the past 10 years.
It was the posture of Eleanor the walking encyclopedia: back straight, head high, gaze firm. Each of my steps echoed rhythmically and decisively on the marble floor. I cut through the whispering crowd. People parted to let me pass, looking at me with astonishment.
“It’s Julian’s wife. What is she going to do? Is she going to beg or make a jealous scene?”
I ignored them all. I walked directly toward Mr. Richter, placing myself in his path. Julian saw me, his eyes wide with a mixture of rage and panic.
“Eleanor, what are you doing? Get back to your seat right now. Don’t come here and cause more trouble. Get out!”
Chloe, regaining her composure, shrieked.
“Eleanor, are you crazy? Do you know where you are to come and make a fool of yourself?”
I didn’t look at them. I only stared into the sharp blue eyes of Mr. Richter, which were burning with fury. I took a deep breath, feeling the cool air from the climate control fill my lungs, awakening every dormant cell in my brain.
And then I spoke. Not in Spanish, not in my so-called high school English. I spoke in German. A perfect Hannoverian German, deep, clear, and full of authority.
“Mein Herr Richter, einen Moment. Dear Mr. Richter, I beg you to calm yourself for a moment. There has been an unfortunate misunderstanding in the translation.”
My sentence was like a bucket of cold water on a forest fire. Mr. Richter stopped in his tracks. The entire room held its breath. Julian and Chloe’s jaws dropped, their eyes nearly popping out of their sockets.
My moment had arrived. In that instant, I was no longer the submissive housewife from Greenwich. There I stood, back straight, facing the cutting gaze of the most powerful man at H&G. Around me, time seemed to stand still.
The buzz of the party faded away, leaving only my intense focus and that of my interlocutor. Mr. Richter halted his departure, his thick white eyebrows knitted together. He observed me with a mix of scrutiny and surprise. He did not expect, in this distant country, at such a chaotic and unprofessional party, to find someone who spoke the pure German of Hanover, his homeland.
It was that refined, unadulterated German, the language of nobility and academia, of which he had always been proud. He turned slowly to face me. His voice, still tinged with coldness, was slightly less harsh.
“You speak German? And with such a pure accent. Who are you?”
I offered a smile, a perfect protocol smile I had practiced thousands of times in front of a mirror 10 years ago. I gave a slight bow, a curtsy that followed European diplomatic protocol—not so low as to seem servile, but deep enough to show respect.
“I am the wife of Mr. Julian Thorne. But at this moment, I am here as someone who understands the true value of this contract and does not wish for a linguistic error to ruin a great opportunity.”
Without waiting for him to ask more, I went straight to the point, gesturing to the folder of documents lying abandoned on the table.
“The interpreter used the word ‘übertragen,’ which means to transfer ownership. However, I know that in the original draft, clause 4 section two, the term is ‘teilen,’ which means to share or to license. My husband meant to say that we will utilize the technology internally within our subsidiaries to optimize production, strictly adhering to your licensing regulations. We never had any intention of stealing your intellectual property.”
Richter was silent. He stared at me, his expression shifting from suspicion to astonishment. Finally settling on a discreet admiration, he turned to his assistant, who nodded vigorously, confirming that what I had just said was legally precise.
Behind me, Julian and Chloe seemed to wake from their initial shock. Julian lunged toward me, pale as wax, sweat running down his face and smudging the light makeup he wore. He didn’t understand what I had said, but he saw that Richter had stopped, that the tension was easing, and he assumed I was begging or making a fool of myself.
He grabbed my arm, squeezing so tightly I felt a sharp pain.
“What the hell are you telling him? Do you want to humiliate me even more? Get back to your seat. Don’t go showing off what you don’t know.”
Chloe chimed in, her sharp, strident voice breaking the solemnity I had just created.
“Eleanor, don’t be crazy. What do you know about business contracts? If you say something stupid, they could sue us and ruin us. Julian, get her out of here. I’ll handle the rest.”
