Marrying My Father's Enemy-Chapter 85: Vanesa Witness Beatrice’s Affair

Chapter 85: Vanesa Witnesses Beatrice’s Affair

Beatrice paced her bedroom like a caged animal, clutching the stack of letters in her trembling hands.

The papers felt heavy, not just in weight but in implication.

The sepia-toned photographs of her, Steven, and Helen at that doomed summer house were haunting enough.

But the letters—those jagged scrawls accusing her of her role in their deaths—were suffocating.

She hurled the photos onto her bed, her breath hitched as her eyes darted to the window.

The blinds were closed, but she felt exposed. Vulnerable. Someone knew.

Her phone buzzed on the nightstand.

"Steven."

She snatched it up. "What did you do?"

There was a pause before Steven’s smooth voice filled the line. "Beatrice. Lovely to hear from you, too."

"Don’t play games with me," she hissed. "The package. The letters. The photos. Was this your idea of a sick joke?"

Steven chuckled, and that only fueled her rage. "I have no idea what you’re talking about."

"Don’t lie to me!" she yelled. "You’re the only one who—who would have these. It’s your handwriting on some of those notes, Steven!"

"I told you... it wasn’t me. And if you’re looking for someone to blame, maybe you should check on your precious stepdaughter."

Beatrice froze. "Eira?"

"She’s smarter than you give her credit for. And if she’s behind this..." He let the sentence hang ominously.

Beatrice’s grip on the phone tightened. "If you think I’m going to let her ruin everything—"

Steven interrupted with a dry laugh. "You’ve already done a good job of that yourself."

The line went dead.

Beatrice stared at the phone, thinking of the impossible.

Her paranoia coiled tighter around her chest. She needed to think.

No, she needed control.

She marched downstairs to Henry’s assistant’s study, where he was sitting behind his polished oak desk, scrolling through his laptop.

He looked calm and composed, only irritating her further.

"Do you have any idea what’s going on?" she demanded, slamming the stack of photos and letters onto the desk.

Mike didn’t flinch.

He leaned back in his chair, eyeing the items with a raised brow. "Good evening to you, too."

"Don’t patronize me!" she barked. "Look at these! Someone is trying to destroy us."

Mike picked up one of the letters. "Who sent them?"

"That’s what I’m trying to figure out," she snapped, pacing in front of the desk.

"Steven swears it wasn’t him, but of course, he’s lying. Or maybe it’s Eira. She’s been sniffing around where she doesn’t belong."

Mike set the letter down and fixed her with a cold stare. "You’ve been careless, Beatrice."

"Careless?" Her voice was louder. "This isn’t just about me! We’re both tied to this!"

Mike sighed, rubbing his temple. "If you’re done throwing a tantrum, maybe focus on fixing it instead of screaming at me."

Beatrice’s jaw dropped, but before she could retaliate, the door creaked open.

Vanesa poked her head in, her blonde hair swept into a high ponytail.

"Am I interrupting?"

"Yes," Beatrice snapped, spinning around. "What do you want?"

Vanesa stepped fully into the room, staring at the scattered photos and letters on the desk. "What’s all this?"

"None of your concern," Beatrice said quickly, moving to block her view. "Don’t you have somewhere else to be?"

Vanesa shrugged, but her curiosity was tense. "I was just going to ask if we’re still hosting the charity gala next week, or if you’ve canceled it for... whatever this is."

She gestured vaguely at the desk.

"We’re still hosting it," Beatrice said coolly, not looking up to face her daughter.

Then she clenched her fists. "Vanesa, get out!"

Vanesa raised her hands in surrender. "Fine, fine. God, no wonder Eira doesn’t want anything to do with us. Look how we behave in this house."

Beatrice’s face darkened, but before she could lash out, Vanesa was already heading for the door.

That girl was insufferable, Beatrice thought, pressing her fingers to her temples.

Everything felt like it was spiraling out of control. She needed to talk to Steven in person.

>___<

Later that night, Vanesa walked upstairs with her phone in hand.

Her mother’s shrill voice stayed haunting her ears.

She hated the way Beatrice always treated her like a child, dismissing her as if she weren’t part of this family’s mess.

Passing the guest wing, she paused.

She heard voices.

Voices that were low and urgent floated from one of the rooms.

Curiosity got the better of her.

She stepped closer. Her pulse quickened when she recognized her mother’s voice.

And then, unmistakably, Mike’s.

She leaned against the doorframe, peeking through the crack.

"Oh my God!" Her breath caught in her throat.

Beatrice was pressed against Mike’s. Her hands gripped his shirt.

His hands were on her waist, pulling her closer.

Their lips met in a feverish kiss, the kind that spoke of desperation and years of secrets.

Vanesa’s heart pounded as she stumbled backward.

She turned and fled down the hallway. "No..."

’They’re having an affair.’

She barely made it to her room before the nausea hit.

Her mother, with Mike...? The same Mike that worked for her father for more than twenty years...

Vanesa’s hands shook as she texted an unknown number she received a message from about her mother before.

"You were right about her. About everything. I don’t know what to do!"

Inside the guest room, Beatrice pulled away from Mike, her lipstick smudged.

"This is getting out of hand," she whispered. ƒreewebηoveℓ.com

Mike smirked, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "It’s only out of hand if you let it be."

Beatrice glared at him, but before she could respond, her phone buzzed with a notification.

She glanced at it and paused.

Vanesa’s text to an unknown number flashed on the screen, linked to the family group chat.

Mike frowned, noticing her expression. "What is it?"

Beatrice’s blood ran cold. "Vanesa. She saw us."

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

Then Mike chuckled darkly. "Well. That’s going to be a problem."

Beatrice clenched her jaw. Panic started rising in her chest. "If she says anything—"

"She won’t," Mike said calmly. "I’ll handle it."

But as he spoke, Beatrice’s paranoia only deepened.

Handle it? No. Mike couldn’t take care of Vanesa.

Not with her daughter.

Not with anything...or maybe...?

"Fine. Fix this!"

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