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 True Owner

I watched them without the slightest satisfaction, only weariness. This was the cesspool I had been trapped in for 10 years. Luckily, I had managed to get out in time.

“You two sort out your affairs,” I said loudly over Julian’s insults. “I’m leaving. And Julian, take care of yourself for when we have to go to court. We’ll calculate the marital assets and common debts fairly.”

I dragged my suitcase to the door. Behind me, the crying, pleading, and insults continued. The door of the house closed behind me, shutting in the noise, the lies, and the tragedy.

I had barely left the gates of the community when a minivan screeched to a halt in front of me. The door opened and a large woman with a face caked in makeup and a young woman in flashy clothes got out. It was my mother-in-law Dolores and my sister-in-law Heather.

Seeing me with the suitcase, Dolores planted her hands on her hips and started screaming in the middle of the street.

“Oh, look at this tramp trying to escape! Julian told me you asked for a divorce and that you made a scene at his company party. Who do you think you are?”

Heather at her side lifted her chin with a disdainful air.

“Where are you going? If you leave, you leave with what you’re wearing. What’s in that suitcase? Did you steal money from my brother to run away? Open it! Let me check!”

The two of them lunged to grab my suitcase. I stepped back, clutching the handle, my gaze hardening. Before, I respected them because they were my elders, my husband’s family, and I always put up with their impertinence and their requests for money. But I didn’t have to anymore.

“Get back!” I shouted. “Don’t touch my things.”

Dolores froze for a moment, then became more aggressive.

“You dare to shout at me? You shameless hussy! Get out of my son’s house right now! Out! I’ll tell Julian to divorce you and throw you on the street with nothing so you can starve to death.”

“That’s right,” Heather added. “This house was bought with my brother’s blood, sweat, and tears. You’re just a freeloader. You have no right to take even a pin.”

I let out a laugh that stunned them. I put the suitcase on the ground, opened the outer pocket, and took out a plastic folder containing an official document. I held it up high, letting the sun glint off it.

“Look closely. What is this?”

Dolores squinted.

“The property deed. So what? It’s in my son’s name.”

“You’re mistaken, ma’am,” I said, articulating each word. “Open your eyes and read the owner’s name: Eleanor Hayes. And look at the date of acquisition: 2012. Two years before I married your son.”

Dolores and Heather looked as if they’d been struck by lightning. They snatched the deed, their eyes devouring the owner’s name. Sure enough, it was my name, and the date was correct.

“Impossible,” Dolores stammered. “Where did you get the money? You were just a low-level interpreter.”

“Low-level?” I laughed with disdain. “Did you know that 10 years ago, one day of work in the booth earned me what a blue-collar worker made in a year? I bought this house with my savings and earnings from some stock investments. When I married Julian, he was drowning in debt from a failed business. I let him live here to save his reputation. I never put the house in his name, nor did I declare it as community property. Legally, it’s my sole property.”

I snatched the deed back and put it carefully in my purse.

“So, the one who has to get out of here isn’t me, but your son and your entire family of moochers. I’m giving Julian one week to pack his things and disappear from my house. If not, I’ll call a process server and the police to evict him.”

The blood drained from Dolores’s face. She had to lean on Heather to keep from falling. Heather’s mouth was wide open, speechless. They never imagined that the freeloader daughter-in-law they had so despised was actually a wealthy woman who held all the cards.

I called over a security guard who was patrolling nearby.

“Please escort these two ladies off my property. They are disturbing the peace and bothering the neighbors.”

The guard nodded and approached Dolores.

“Please ladies, you need to leave. Don’t make us take further action.”

I dragged my suitcase to the exit and got into the waiting taxi. In the rear-view mirror, I saw Dolores sitting on the ground crying and wailing while Heather frantically called Julian. The war over assets had ended before it began because I always had the most powerful ace up my sleeve: my financial independence and autonomy.