Back at Husband's Promotion Banquet, I Jailed His Framing Coworker

The day my husband went to his promotion celebration dinner, I was home making chicken soup, having just found out I was pregnant.

When I went to pick him up, the private room was trashed. My husband reeked of liquor, stripped bare, slumped on the couch with his eyes bloodshot.

The promotion fell through. That female coworker at his same level turned around and blasted photos into the company group chat, spreading rumors everywhere.

Mortimer James couldn't defend himself against any of it. He had no choice but to resign in disgrace, and he spent night after night out on the balcony, smoking.

Three months later, that woman showed up at our door with a fake belly, making a scene. Mortimer couldn't stand the neighbors pointing and whispering. He jumped from the twenty-sixth floor.

His parents rushed in overnight from their hometown and died in a car crash on the way.

The baby in my belly didn't make it either, and from my hospital bed I listened to relatives jab their fingers at me and call me a jinx.

Then I opened my eyes, and I was back on the day of the celebration dinner.

Mortimer was standing at the entryway changing his shoes. He turned back, smiling, and touched my face.

Trace, I'll just go show my face for a bit. I'll come home early to be with you, I promise.

I lunged forward, threw the deadbolt on the security door, and yanked the key out of the lock.

No. You're not going anywhere tonight!

......

The smile on Mortimer's face slowly froze.

Trace, what's wrong?

This is the department's celebration dinner. Manager Whitney asked for me by name.

It's tied to next month's supervisor promotion.

He came toward me and reached out to feel my forehead.

I flinched away like I'd been shocked, gripping that key so hard my nails dug into my palm.

I said you're not going, so you're not going.

You set one foot out that door, and we're getting a divorce.

Mortimer was completely thrown, a trace of helplessness in his voice.

Trace, stop this.

Everyone's already there. They're just waiting on me.

Effie Pruitt just texted to hurry me up. She said Manager Whitney's getting a little annoyed.

The second I heard Effie's name, my stomach turned over.

The woman who drove Mortimer to his death.

I clenched my teeth, and the tears spilled over before I could stop them.

Morti, my stomach hurts.

It hurts so much.

I let myself sink down to the floor, both hands pressed over my belly.

Mortimer's face changed in an instant. He scooped me up.

What is it? Where does it hurt?

Did you eat something bad?

I leaned into him and gripped his shirt for dear life.

I'm pregnant. I just found out today.

But it hurts so much right now. Don't go. I'm scared.

Mortimer looked at me, and his eyes went red all at once.

Pregnant? Really?

He touched my face, not knowing what to do with his hands, his voice shaking.

I won't go. I'm not going anywhere.

I'm taking you to the hospital!

I held him back.

I'm just too worked up. Lie down with me for a while and I'll be fine.

Mortimer nodded and nodded, carrying me toward the bedroom, rubbing the top of my head with his chin as he said quietly,

Trace, that fierceness back there scared me. But I trust you. I trust that you wouldn't go crazy over nothing.

He tucked the blanket around me, careful and gentle.

Right then, the phone I'd left in the living room rang.

Mortimer moved to answer it. I grabbed his hand.

Don't. It's definitely Effie.

Mortimer paused, but he still went over and picked it up.

Sure enough, Effie's name was flashing on the screen. He hit answer.

Effie's syrupy voice came through the speaker.

Morti, how are you still not here?

Manager Whitney's asked about you a bunch of times.

Everyone's waiting to toast you. How can the soon-to-be supervisor show up late?

Mortimer glanced at me lying on the bed.

Effie, I'm not coming.

My wife isn't feeling well. I have to stay home and take care of her.

The line went quiet for two seconds, then came a soft laugh.

Oh, Morti, your wife is such a delicate thing.

Not sick before, not sick after, but somehow sick at exactly this moment.

This is your promotion dinner.

If you don't come, where does that leave Manager Whitney?

Mortimer frowned.

Apologize to Manager Whitney for me.

The promotion can wait. My wife comes first.

With that, he hung up.

I watched him set the phone to silent, and the weight in my chest finally settled.

I closed my eyes. The wreck of my in-laws' crash from my last life still hung in front of me.

This time, I wasn't only going to protect Mortimer.

I was going to tear out Effie and whoever stood behind her, root and all.

The only sound left in the bedroom was the faint hum of the air conditioner.

Mortimer sat on the edge of the bed, holding my hand.

"Does it still hurt?"

The worry in his eyes wasn't faked. I shook my head.

"Much better now."

"I'm sorry. I made you miss your celebration dinner."

Mortimer smiled and bent to kiss the back of my hand.

"Silly. What dinner could ever matter more than you and the baby?"

"As long as the two of you are safe, I don't care whether I make department head or not."

The gentler he was, the deeper the hatred sank in me.

A man this good, and in my last life they'd driven him to stand on that balcony the whole night through.

In the end he'd hit the concrete like a fallen leaf.

I drew a slow breath and forced myself calm.

By the timeline of my last life.

Right about now, Effie should have everything set up in the private room.

The drink drugged, the camera in place.

But Mortimer hadn't gone this time. So what would Effie do?

Sure enough, the work tablet on the nightstand suddenly lit up.

It was the tablet Mortimer used for company email.

A message alert popped up on the screen, from their department group chat.

Mortimer didn't pay it any mind, still rubbing my stomach. I reached over and picked up the tablet.

"Let me see who's looking for you."

Mortimer didn't stop me.

"Probably a coworker asking why I didn't show."

I tapped the screen open. It was a message from an anonymous account.

"Disgusting. Acts so upright all the time, and turns out he's an animal in private."

Right after it came a blurry photo.

In the photo, a man in a white shirt just like Mortimer's had a woman pinned down on a couch.

Half the woman's face was blurred out. The group chat exploded.

"Holy crap, who is that?"

"Look at the shirt... isn't that Mortimer?"

"Is that Effie? God, they went at it right in the private room?"

"That's insane. Didn't he just get married not long ago?"

I watched the messages scroll past and let out a cold laugh.

Effie really was cornered and lashing out.

Mortimer hadn't gone, so she'd found a stand-in with a similar build and staged the shot.

Mortimer noticed something off about me and leaned in to look.

One look, and the color drained from his face.

"This... what is this?"

He snatched the tablet away and stared hard at the photo.

"This isn't me! I never even went!"

He was shaking all over, fingers typing furiously on the screen.

He wanted to explain to the group. I clamped my hand down over his.

"Don't reply."

Mortimer lifted his head, eyes red as he looked at me.

"Trace, you have to believe me."

"That photo is fake. Someone's setting me up!"

I looked at how frantic he was, and it broke my heart.

Last life he'd been exactly like this, every single person pointing at him and cursing him out.

Manager Whitney had forced him to resign to take the blame, and he'd knelt on the floor begging me to forgive him.

I'd been so shaken by that photo that I lost all reason and didn't give him a single chance to explain.

This time, I wouldn't make the same mistake.

"I know it isn't you."

Mortimer froze, staring at me blankly, as if struggling to take in what I'd said.

"Then you... just now, you..."

"I was faking."

I didn't hide it.

"If I hadn't faked the stomach pain, would you have stayed?"

Mortimer was completely stunned. He looked at the photo on the tablet, then back at me.

"Why? You already knew they were out to hurt me?"

I pointed at the messages still jumping across the screen.

"If you explain now, who's going to believe you?"

"This photo is just the beginning."

"Next, Effie will step in herself, crying that you abused your position to prey on her."

"Manager Whitney will step up to 'set things right' and pressure you into signing a resignation agreement."

"And your promotion will fall right into Effie's lap, nice and clean."

With every sentence I spoke, the color drained a little further from Mortimer's face.

On the tablet, Effie's main account finally appeared.

She'd posted a long voice message, her voice choked with tears.

"I'm so sorry, everyone. I never thought Mortimer would do something like this... I can't show my face anymore."

The group erupted all over again.

Mortimer sank down on the edge of the bed, defeated.

"Why? I always treated her well. Why would she try to destroy me like this?"

I stared coldly at the screen.

"Because you're in her way."

I wrapped my arms around Mortimer's trembling shoulders.

"Don't be afraid. I won't let them get what they want."

Night deepened, and inside the company the gossip boiled over.

Mortimer's phone wouldn't stop ringing.

Some were coworkers he got along with, fishing for the real story. Others just wanted a front-row seat to the mess.

And then there were Henry's back-to-back calls, one after another.

I switched off his phone and dropped it into a drawer.

"Get some sleep."

Mortimer looked at me, his eyes rimmed red.

"Trace, I can't sleep."

"Tomorrow morning I have to go in. How am I supposed to face them?"

His voice was thick with panic.

An honest, straight-living man, suddenly saddled with something this filthy.

Anyone would break under it. I touched his cheek.

"When you go in tomorrow, don't say a word."

"Just stand there and let them put on their show."

Mortimer didn't understand.

"But"

"No buts."

I cut him off.

"Speak up now and you only tip them off."

"We want her to play this all the way to the climax."

"Then we pull it out by the roots."

Once I'd settled him, I watched him close his eyes, worn out.

I slipped quietly into the living room and opened the laptop.

Looking at the growing stack of cards in that folder, a cold smile tugged at the corner of my mouth.

Early the next morning, Mortimer came out of the bedroom with two dark circles under his eyes.

He looked at me, started to speak, stopped. I handed him the sandwich I'd made.

"Eat, then head to work."

"Remember what I told you. No matter what they say, don't argue back."

Mortimer drew a deep breath and nodded.

"Okay. I'll do it your way."

After he left, I changed into a sharp black trench coat and rested a hand on my belly, still flat, nothing showing yet.

Baby, in my last life your mama couldn't protect you.

This time, I'm going to make every single person who hurt us pay dearly for it.

I pushed the door open and strode out.

The air in the conference room at Mortimer's company was so heavy it was hard to breathe.

I stood outside the door, watching through the gaps in the blinds.

Mortimer stood alone at the far end of the conference table, and Effie sat beside Manager Whitney.

Her eyes were red and swollen, a tissue clutched in her hand, a small sob breaking loose every so often.

"Mortimer, what do you have to say for yourself?"

Manager Whitney slammed a stack of printed photos down on the table.

"The pictures are all right here."

"And Effie has identified you."

"Do you have any idea how much damage your behavior has done to this company's reputation?"

Mortimer's fists were clenched so tight the knuckles had gone white.

He kept his jaw locked and said nothing, which to everyone else looked like a guilty man's silent admission.

"Morti"

Effie lifted her head and looked at him, her whole face wounded.

"I know you've always had feelings for me."

"But you're already married."

"Last night, in that private room you'd had too much to drink, and you kept grabbing at me"

She covered her face and wept like a rain-soaked flower.

"If I hadn't fought you off and run out of there."

"My whole life would have been ruined!"

The executives around the table shook their heads and sighed, and every look they turned on Mortimer was full of contempt.

"He always seemed like such an honest guy. How could he do something like this."

"You never really know what's inside a person."

"He has to be fired. You can't keep a bad apple like that around."

Manager Whitney rapped the table, wearing an expression of deep, wounded regret.

"Mortimer, out of respect for all the years you've given this company."

"I won't call the police and have you arrested."

"You're going to sign this voluntary resignation agreement right now."

"Effie will take over the supervisor position."

"On top of that, you'll pay Effie compensation for emotional damages."

Mortimer stared at the agreement, the whites of his eyes shot through with red.

He was almost at his breaking point, and that was when Effie dropped another bomb.

She pulled a hospital lab report out of her bag and set it on the table.

"Manager Whitney, everyone."

"The truth is this isn't the first time he's harassed me."

"Last month, at a work dinner, he he forced himself on me."

"I was so scared, I didn't dare say anything."

"But yesterday I went to the hospital for tests, and I I'm pregnant."

The whole room erupted, everyone sucking in a sharp breath.

Even Manager Whitney looked stunned.

"What? You're pregnant?"

Effie sobbed as though her heart were being torn out.

"I can't go on living like this."

"I want him to walk away with nothing and pay for everything he's cost me!"

Outside the door, hearing that line, I nearly laughed from the sheer anger of it.

In my past life she hadn't played this card until three months later.

I never imagined that this time, because Mortimer never went to that private room, she'd been so eager to pin the crime on him that she played it early.

I looked at Mortimer's swaying body, on the verge of going down.

I raised my foot, and the door crashed with a thunderous sound.

I kicked the conference room door wide open.

The huge noise sent a jolt through everyone.

Their heads all snapped around toward me.

I walked into the conference room step by step, the thick file envelope in my hand.

My gaze swept across the room and finally settled on Effie's face.

"So I hear you're carrying my husband's baby?"