The Housewife’s Counterstrike Chapter 01
My husband, Herman, was the captain of an ocean freighter. Ten months out of every year, he was somewhere adrift on the sea.
I had always trusted him completely—except for one small, private habit no one ever noticed.
Every time his ship docked for resupply, I’d invite Alice, the first mate’s wife, out for a couple of drinks.
She wasn’t the kind of woman who could keep things to herself. A few glasses in, and the secrets came pouring out.
Alice leaned close to me, her breath warm and wine-tinged, a smile playing on her lips.
“Your husband is a hopeless romantic. Last month, when the ship put in at Marseille, he tracked down a jeweler and had a whole set commissioned—diamond ocean waves. Necklace, bracelet, earrings, the works. Even paid extra to have it shipped back on the supply vessel. I swear, I’m jealous.”
“Really?” I said quietly. “I haven’t received anything.”
Alice gasped.
“Herman said he was bringing them home for his wife. How could you not have gotten them?”
That night, when I got home, I hired a private investigator. What I got back was a photograph of a mafia gathering—and Herman was in it.
On his hand was a ring. The kind of ring only a Don wears.
Then I opened the voyage ledger in my drawer. Beside the jewelry entry on the manifest, the delivery address wasn’t our home.
The sea has its storms, and its calms, and no end. It was time for me to go ashore.
As long as there were no more lies, it didn’t matter where I docked.
…
Delivery address: Downton Manor, Unit 1203.
Note: To be signed for by Clara in person only. Family members strictly forbidden to receive on her behalf.
I stared at those words for a long time.
Herman and I had been married six years. Every time before he shipped out, he’d tuck the keys into the second drawer of the entryway console, kiss my forehead, and say, “Selena, I’m leaving our home in your hands.”
I nursed his frail mother. I managed all the aboveboard bills and paperwork he left behind. And I used the salary I earned from my hard-won design work to help the anxious families of crewmen whose loved ones were still out at sea.
And all this time, Herman was a Godfather. A man who sat above kings.
The wealth that slipped through his fingers was more than I could earn in several lifetimes.
I had always thought I was his family. His harbor.
But according to his manifest, the “family” he referred to was a woman who wasn’t even worthy of touching the jewelry he sent.
My fingers curled up, aching.
My phone vibrated violently on the desk.
I opened it. A message from Herman.
*Just cleared the Suez. Signal’s spotty.*
I tapped out a single word in reply.
*Okay.*
He must have been used to my more attentive concern. A full two minutes passed before another message came through.
*You didn’t ask what I had for lunch today?*
I closed the ledger slowly. My eyes were cold.
*What did you have?*
His reply came instantly.
*Just the usual crew meal. Missing your thick soup, baby.*
I looked at the screen. A cold smile touched the corner of my mouth.
Signal’s spotty. And yet the lies came so smoothly.
…
The next morning, I drove to Downton Manor.
It was the most heavily secured seaview estate in the city, only ten minutes from the docks the mafia controlled.
A guard in dark sunglasses stopped me at the gate.
I handed him the photo of the manifest on my phone.
“Downton Manor 1203. Verifying items brought by the captain in his personal cargo.”
The guard’s pupils contracted slightly when he saw the list. His whole demeanor shifted, instantly deferential. “One moment, please. Ms. Clara is home.”
*Clara.* I made a quiet note of the name.
The elevator rose. My phone buzzed with a video call request from Herman. I hung up.
He called three more times. On the fourth, it became a text.
*Where are you?*
*Grocery shopping,* I wrote back.
He fired back a warning: *Don’t wander off. I’m not home. There are things out there you can’t handle.*
The elevator doors chimed open.
The door to 1203 opened too.
A young woman in a silk robe stood in the entryway. Around her neck was that necklace—the diamond ocean wave, catching the light.
She saw me, and her fingers went instinctively to the stones at her throat.
“May I help you?”
“Selena,” I answered.
Her smile froze.
But almost at once, an arrogance—the kind only worn by someone certain she is loved best—returned to her face.
“So you’re Mrs. Vance.”
The way the name came out of her mouth was grating.
Clara stepped aside and let me in.
The living room was extravagant, a spiral staircase climbing all the way to the ceiling.
Luxury boxes were stacked on the coffee table. Beside an empty jewelry case sat the matching diamond bracelet and earrings from around Clara’s throat. And a card.
The card bore the Vance family crest.
I had always assumed Herman shared the Vance surname by pure coincidence.
Never had it occurred to me that he’d hidden his identity from his own wife, only to reveal it to his mistress.
Beneath the crest, in Herman’s handwriting:
*Waves belong to those who understand the sea.*
The year Herman and I first married, he gave me a crude antique nautical watch.
The leather strap was stiff and thick, chafing my wrist raw.
Back then, he’d tipped my chin up, his voice tender but brooking no argument. “A captain’s woman should carry a little of the weathered sea about her.”
I’d worn that watch for six years, honestly believing that was his way of saying he loved me.
Only today did I finally understand—he’d given me the roughness and the storm, and reserved the exquisite, dazzling ocean of diamonds for someone else.
Clara poured me a glass of water. “Are you here to pick something up, Mrs. Vance?”
I didn’t even glance at the glass.
“Herman bought something for me. It was sent here.”
She gave a small laugh, her thumb sliding along the rim of her wineglass.
“Mrs. Vance, you’ll have to ask Herman about that.”
“The name on the delivery address seems clear enough about who it’s for, doesn’t it?”
“Is that so.” I took out my phone and photographed the card and the jewelry on the coffee table.
Clara’s hand shot out to block me.
“Mrs. Vance, this is beneath you.”
I lifted my eyes and let them travel over her face.
“And accepting jewelry from a married man is dignified?”
Her smile vanished entirely.
“He never told you, did he? I’ve known him far longer than you have.”
“You don’t even know his real identity.”
“If I hadn’t stepped aside, you’d never have gotten the position of Mrs. Vance in the first place.”
I said mildly, “Six years of queuing, and you’re still the mistress. That must be exhausting.”