My Husband's Mistress Lives One Floor Below Me

Diana's POV

I have been married to Frank for seven years. Since my parents passed away, I’ve been too busy managing their estate to ever cook.

This Christmas Eve, I ordered from Frank’s absolute favorite high-end private kitchen.

The delivery driver stood at my door, looking entirely confused. "I just dropped off an order from the exact same restaurant down at 702. Did I make a mistake?"

I live in 802. I snatched the receipt attached to the heavy plastic bag.

My heart completely stopped.

“Strict mango allergy. Do not include mango in any dishes.”

Frank was the only person I knew with a severe mango allergy, a fatal dietary restriction only I knew about.

Why would the apartment directly below mine order the exact same meal with the exact same hyper-specific allergy warning?

I didn't think. I just moved.

I grabbed the heavy bags of food and marched straight downstairs to 702.

I pounded my fist violently against the door.

The door swung open. The blood instantly drained from my face.

Standing there was Frank.

My husband. The man who, just thirty minutes ago on the phone, swore to me he was out of town negotiating a major business project.

Yet here he was, wearing the custom wool sweater I had personally knitted for him.

His face went deathly pale.

"Diana?!" he choked out.

"A business trip?" My voice was a lethal whisper. "You're negotiating a project on the 7th floor?!"

Frank lunged forward to slam the door shut, but I aggressively wedged my foot into the gap.

"Get the hell out of here!" he hissed, his eyes darting frantically into the apartment. "Go back upstairs!"

"Who is it, Honey?" a sickeningly sweet voice cooed from inside.

A woman casually walked up behind him.

My eyes immediately dropped to her swollen, heavily pregnant belly.

"Honey?!" I screamed, the word ripping out of my throat. "You just called my husband Honey?!"

She didn't look scared. She rested one hand protectively over her pregnant stomach and casually draped her other arm over Frank’s shoulder.

"Frank, who is this psycho?" she sneered, looking me up and down with intense disgust. "Why is she ruining our Christmas?"

"I'm his wife!" I shrieked, shoving hard against the door. "We’ve been married for seven years!"

Before I could lunge at her throat, a small voice echoed from the living room.

"Mommy Yvette? Is the dinner here?"

My breath caught in my throat. My heart flatlined.

My six-year-old son, Evan, happily skipped into the hallway.

He looked right at Yvette, calling her "Mom".

Then, Evan turned and looked at me. His real mother.

His eyes were completely dead. Filled with absolute, freezing coldness.

"Evan?" I gasped, tears finally spilling over. "Baby, what are you doing?"

Evan rolled his eyes in annoyance and hid behind Yvette’s leg. "Tell that loud lady to go away, Mommy."

My sanity completely shattered.

"You sick bitch!" I roared.

I grabbed the heavy bags of scalding hot, expensive private-kitchen food and hurled them violently at Yvette’s face.

"Yvette, watch out!" Frank screamed in terror.

He threw his entire body in front of hers, taking the full, brutal impact of the boiling soup to protect her.

The plastic containers exploded like a bomb. Boiling broth splattered everywhere.

Frank gasped in absolute agony from the scalding heat, but he completely ignored his own severe burns.

He immediately spun around, frantically checking Yvette from head to toe.

"Are you hurt, baby?! Did she burn you?!" Frank panicked, holding her.

"She’s trying to kill our baby!" Yvette wailed, pointing at me. "This is a private residence! You’re trespassing! I'm calling the cops!"

"I'll kill you!" I lunged forward, raising my hand to slap Yvette's smug, crying face.

Before my hand could connect, Frank’s fingers clamped around my wrist like a steel vice.

"Don't you dare touch her!" Frank roared, his face twisted in vicious hatred.

He violently shoved me backward with all his strength.

I lost my footing. I flew backward out of the doorway.

My spine slammed brutally into the hard metal doorframe.

The massive commotion echoed loudly through the hallway.

Doors began to click open all around us. The screaming and crashing had drawn out all the neighbors.

People poked their heads out, whispering, pointing, and glaring at me.

I sat collapsed on the freezing floor, shivering in physical agony, stared down by my cheating husband and my brainwashed son.

The humiliation was absolutely suffocating.

"What is going on out here?!" an elderly woman demanded, stepping out of apartment 703.

The hallway was suddenly flooded with light as doors clicked open all around us. Neighbors poked their heads out, their eyes wide, whispering and pointing at me. I sat collapsed on the freezing floor, shivering in physical agony.

Seeing the audience, Yvette's demeanor flipped in a split second.

The smug, sneering mistress vanished. She immediately switched to a weak, fragile victim.

She clutched her pregnant belly and collapsed into Frank's arms, weeping uncontrollably.

"Please, someone help us!" Yvette cried, her voice trembling. "This crazy woman won't leave my husband alone!".

"What?" I gasped, struggling to my feet. "I'm his wife!".