My Husband Stepped Out of a Luxury Car With His “Pregnant” Mistress—So I Threw Sewer Water on Them Before 300 Guests, Canceled His $85 Million Deal...

The bucket hit Grant Holloway before his mistress had both feet out of the Bentley.

Gray, foul-smelling water exploded across his $6,000 tuxedo, splashed over Lauren Price’s silver evening gown, and ran in dirty streams down the polished black door of the luxury car.

Lauren screamed.

Grant froze.

And beneath the blazing entrance lights of the Crescent Grand Hotel in downtown Dallas, nearly three hundred executives, investors, reporters, and members of Grant’s own family turned toward the woman holding the empty metal bucket.

Natalie Holloway.

His wife.

She stood at the top of the red-carpet steps in a fitted black dress, her blond hair pinned neatly behind her shoulders, her face almost frighteningly calm.

Grant wiped muddy water from his eyes.

“What the hell is wrong with you?”

Natalie glanced at the bucket.

“Nothing.”

Lauren stared at the brown streaks across her gown.

“You ruined my dress!”

Natalie looked her up and down.

“It’s fabric, Lauren. It can be cleaned.”

Then she looked at Grant.

“Some stains are harder.”

Someone near the hotel doors coughed to hide a laugh.

Grant’s mother, Evelyn Holloway, pushed through the crowd.

“Natalie!”

Natalie’s eyes shifted toward her mother-in-law.

Evelyn looked horrified—not by the fact that her married son had arrived at the biggest business celebration of his career with another woman wrapped around his arm, but by the possibility that important people had witnessed the consequences.

“Have you completely lost your mind?” Evelyn hissed.

Natalie smiled.

“I lost it about five years ago.”

Grant stepped toward her.

“Enough.”

Natalie didn’t move.

He lowered his voice.

“I am your husband.”

“Exactly.”

Her answer landed harder than the bucket had.

“And somehow you thought that made this acceptable.”

Lauren clutched Grant’s arm.

“I’m not his mistress.”

Natalie’s gaze dropped to Lauren’s left hand.

A diamond ring glittered beneath the hotel lights.

Natalie recognized it instantly.

She had seen the receipt three days earlier.

Eighteen thousand seven hundred dollars.

Grant had purchased it from a private jeweler in Highland Park and charged it to a corporate account Natalie’s family had guaranteed.

Natalie tilted her head.

“Then perhaps you can explain why you’re wearing the ring my husband bought on Tuesday.”

Lauren’s hand disappeared behind her back.

The crowd went silent.

Grant’s jaw tightened.

“We are not doing this here.”

Natalie glanced around at the cameras.

“You brought her here.”

“This is a business gala.”

“I know.”

“The most important night of my career.”

“I know that too.”

Grant leaned closer.

“Then stop acting like a jealous, unstable wife and go home.”

There it was.

Unstable.

The word Evelyn had used.

The word Lauren had used.

The word Grant had begun quietly feeding to business partners for months whenever Natalie questioned unexplained trips, missing funds, or late-night phone calls.

Natalie stared at him for several seconds.

Then she laughed softly.

“You still think I came here because of her.”

Grant frowned.

“What are you talking about?”

Natalie reached into her purse and removed her phone.

“I didn’t come to destroy your evening.”

“Good.”

“I came to cancel it.”

Grant’s expression changed.

Natalie tapped her screen.

The general manager of the Crescent Grand hurried through the revolving doors.

“Ms. Whitmore?”

Grant looked sharply at him.

The manager stopped.

Realization crossed his face.

But it was too late.

Grant turned slowly toward Natalie.

“What did he call you?”

Natalie said nothing.

The manager swallowed.

“Everything has been prepared according to your instructions.”

Evelyn stared at Natalie.

“Whitmore?”

Lauren suddenly released Grant’s arm.

Grant looked from the hotel manager to his wife.

Natalie Holloway had used her married name for five years.

Almost no one in Grant’s social circle knew that before she became Mrs. Holloway, she had been Natalie Whitmore.

And Grant had worked very hard to make sure nobody asked why that name mattered.

The hotel doors opened again.

Daniel Reed, a corporate attorney with silver at his temples, walked outside carrying a black leather portfolio.

Behind him came Grant’s chief financial officer.

The CFO looked sick.

“Grant,” he said.

Grant turned.

“What?”

“We have a problem with the financing.”

Grant stared at him.

“What problem?”

“The Whitmore facility has been withdrawn.”

Grant’s face tightened.

“That’s impossible.”

Daniel stopped beside Natalie.

“The board also voted thirty minutes ago to suspend tonight’s acquisition.”

Grant laughed once.

It sounded nervous.

“My board?”

“Not exactly.”

“What does that mean?”

Daniel opened his portfolio.

“It means the controlling shareholder exercised its rights.”

Grant looked at Natalie.

“No.”

Natalie held his stare.

Lauren whispered, “Grant?”

He ignored her.

“Who authorized this?”

Daniel answered.

“Whitmore Capital.”

Evelyn covered her mouth.

Grant’s face drained of color.

The name Whitmore was not printed across Natalie’s dresses.

It was printed across towers, private-equity funds, distribution companies, commercial real estate projects, and investments worth billions across Texas and the Southwest.

Grant looked at his wife as though the woman standing in front of him had replaced the one he knew.

Natalie stepped closer.

“You spent five years calling me lucky to have you.”

“Natalie—”

“You told your mother I had no ambition.”

His eyes darted toward Evelyn.

“You told Lauren I would leave this marriage with nothing.”

Lauren looked at him.

Grant said nothing.

Natalie’s voice became softer.

“And three days ago, you told your lawyer that Holloway Development belonged entirely to you.”

Grant’s breathing changed.