A Rich Neighbor Hired My Husband for Repairs, Then Tried to Seduce Him — So I Dealt with Her in a Way She Never Expected

When wealthy, elegant Evelyn hires Marielle's husband for repairs, it feels like a blessing, until Marielle learns the truth. Evelyn wants more than just his work. Betrayed but not broken, Marielle makes her move, stepping into Evelyn's world in a way she never expected.

I stood at the checkout counter, gripping my son's hand as the cashier punched in the final item. My stomach clenched.

$86.74.

Wade tensed beside me, already thumbing through his wallet, one that I knew held more receipts than cash.

"I'm sorry, ma'am, sir," the cashier said, her voice detached, like she'd done this a hundred times today. "But you're short by fourteen dollars and sixty cents."

Damn it.

I swallowed my pride, reaching for the gallon of milk to set it aside, the kids needed food more than they needed milk. But before I could remove the gallon, a smooth, confident voice spoke from behind me.

"I'll cover it. Don't worry."

I turned, startled.

Who on earth would be so generous?

A woman stood there. She was blonde, elegant, and effortlessly wealthy in a way that made you feel small and insignificant. She smiled, already swiping her card.

"No, really, you don't have to, ma'am," I started.

"Please," she interrupted gently. "It's nothing."

She handed me the bags, her manicured fingers brushing against mine.

"And don't you know who I am? I'm Evelyn, your neighbor. I live in the house with the big black gate. I've seen your kids play outside."

I stammered my thanks, my cheeks burning. Wade nodded stiffly beside me, clearly uncomfortable.

Pride was a tricky thing, even if you were drowning. And we were. We hadn't always been beneath the water, but recently, things had taken a turn for the worse.

Somehow, I found myself continuing to talk to Evelyn.

"It's been tough lately," I said. "Wade's been out of work since his last job wrapped up. That's just how it is in construction, I guess."

Evelyn's eyes sparkled.

"Actually, I have a guesthouse that needs some work. If you're interested, Wade, I'd love to hire you."

It felt like a miracle. Finally, a break.

"Sure, ma'am," he said. "Just let me know what you need. I'll come and check out the space, and you can tell me what you need."

For the first time in months, the weight on my chest eased.

Weeks passed.

My husband worked long hours at Evelyn's house, but he always came home with money, and I felt that I could breathe again.

I could buy milk for the kids. But also cheese and yogurt. Even ice cream. They would enjoy being kids again.

Then one evening, our son, Tommy, ran into the kitchen. I was making dinner, grilled chicken and veggies as per Tommy's request. I was in my happy place. I loved being in a kitchen.

It was where I felt calm and safe. Where I could be creative and have fun in my own way.

"Mom!" he said. "Guess what?"

"Oh, honey," I replied. "You know how I feel about guessing games."

"I saw Dad with Mrs. Evelyn."

"What?" I asked, turning from the sink, my heart beating a mile a second.

Tommy hesitated, his eyebrows twisting.

"Mrs. Evelyn sent her gardener to tell me to take Dad's wrench over. So, I went to her house to give it to Dad. The door was open, so I peeked inside," my son swallowed.

"She was hugging him, Mom. And Dad... he didn't move away. He just stood there."

My fingers dug into the dish towel.

The room tilted.

The kindness. The job. The perfect timing.

It had never been generosity. It had been a game.

That evening, when Wade got home, I was torn between wanting to ask him about it or just waiting for him to bring it up.

We sat down to dinner, and Wade dug in with a hunger that made me wonder what exactly he had been doing the entire day.

It's construction, Marielle, I told myself. It's hard work. Of course, the man is starving.

But still, something felt off. My husband barely met my eyes. When I made ice cream cones for the kids, he refused to participate, claiming he was tired. Usually, he would be all over the kids, adding shaved chocolate and sprinkles.

"I don't have the energy for anything else, Marielle," he said. "Evelyn has a very strict eye. She knows what she wants, and I don't have a choice but to do it."

Didn't have a choice?

Coming from the man who had gotten suspended for a week because his team had refused to do something his way?

No. There was something else going on. There was more to this.

When we went to bed, Wade got in and turned to face the wall. Usually, we slept facing each other. This was different.

I couldn't hold it back anymore, so I just told him what Tommy had said.

"Tommy must have seen wrong, Mari," he said. "You know that kid, always an overactive imagination. I'm sure he saw her bumping into me while reaching for something. Evelyn is clumsy."

Liar.

But there he was, lying in bed and chuckling to himself.

My son saw some kind of silent hug. And Wade hadn't pulled away.

Was Evelyn really just keeping us afloat while wanting Wade all to herself? I wouldn't have been surprised. I'd seen enough TV shows where the rich, older woman finds some poor, younger man to make him her pet project.

Was Wade her project?

Were we her pet project? Was she trying to justify her wealth and actions by making sure that we had food on the table and money to pay our bills?

What the heck?

But that's when I knew. I would make sure that Evelyn never looked at my husband again.

The next morning, I went to her house. Not to see Evelyn, but to see her husband, Hugo.

Hugo answered the door, his brow lifting in mild surprise. He was an older man, his salt-and-pepper hair neatly combed back. It was a sharp contrast to Wade's untidy hair, calloused hands, and sun-worn face.

"My husband, Wade, is working on your guesthouse, sir," I said smoothly. "Evelyn hired him. Sir, we are desperately in need of money. We have two young children. So I thought... I could work for you too. As a housemaid? I'll clean, cook, and do whatever else you need me to do."

His gaze flickered down to the basket of still-warm homemade bread in my hands, then back to my face.

There was a pause, and I swore that you could have heard my heart pounding in the silence.

Then, a slow, considering smile found itself on Hugo's face.

"That bread smells delicious," he said. "And look, your husband has done some good work. If you're as hardworking as him, I don't see why not."

And just like that, I was inside Evelyn's house. I was inside her marriage.

I scrubbed, dusted, and folded clothes in a closet bigger than my entire living room.

It was humiliating at first, crawling through the house of the woman who had played me for a fool. But as time passed, a new feeling replaced the shame.

Control.

Evelyn barely looked at me, too busy with her parties and yoga classes.

But her husband?

Hugo noticed me.

"Coffee, Marielle?" he'd offer in the mornings.

Casual. Friendly. A gesture that made Evelyn's fingers tighten around her cup.

"Oh, I don't think Marielle drinks coffee," Evelyn said one day, her voice tight.

Hugo just smiled.

"She does now," he replied.

It was subtle, but it was enough.

Then, one day, everything changed.

I was in Hugo's bedroom, rearranging his wardrobe, joking with him about his ridiculous tie collection, when the door swung open.

Evelyn froze.

Her face twisted into something sharp, her expensive heels clicking against the floor as she stepped inside.

"Well, isn't this just a lovely surprise," she drawled, arms crossed. "You really have no shame, do you?"

Before I could open my mouth, her husband cut in.

"I hired her, Evelyn," Hugo said.

His voice was calm but firm. It was easy to see that he was a man of stature and wealth. His voice and his presence commanded it.

"Marielle is here to clean. That's all. Unlike some people, she actually works."

From the mirror in Hugo's closet, I could see Evelyn's body go rigid.

I didn't have to look at her closely to know that the blood had drained from her face.

She scoffed, spun on her heel, and stormed off, her heels clicking like gunshots against the floor.

After that?

Evelyn avoided me. She avoided Wade, too. And she barely even looked at her husband.

Checkmate.

Weeks passed. I kept working at the mansion. Wade finished the guesthouse repairs.

One evening, as I packed up for the day, my phone buzzed.

Just got home. Taking the kids to pick up pizza for dinner. Got my last paycheck today. Love you.

I smiled.

Love you, too. Almost done here. Just making dinner for Hugo.

I glanced around Evelyn's kitchen, gleaming and perfect. She hadn't been home in days. I moved around the kitchen quickly, cooking for Hugo. The moment I was done, I was ready to head home to my family.

By the time I got home, the house was quiet except for the low hum of the TV. Wade sat at the kitchen table, absentmindedly rolling a beer bottle between his palms. The sight of him there, waiting for me, sent a wave of exhaustion through my bones.

I shut the door behind me, dropping my bag onto the counter. He glanced up and smiled, his eyes tired but searching.

"The kids have eaten," he said. "They couldn't wait to dig into the pizza. I saved you some."

I nodded and sat down at the kitchen table.

"Marielle, I need to tell you something..."

I didn't move.

"Then tell me."

"She tried," he finally said, his voice low. "Evelyn. Tommy was right about what he saw. But she wanted me. And I knew it. And I let it go too far."

The words hit me like a dull punch to my gut, expected but still painful.

"Define 'too far.'"

Wade's jaw tightened.

"Nothing physical, Mari," he said. "No cheating. But I still didn't push her away like I should've. She liked to flirt, and I... let her. I knew she wasn't just being friendly. I wasn't stupid. I played along here and there because..."

His voice trailed off, and he sighed.

"Because we needed the money."

The room felt too still, too full of things unsaid.

"I didn't think of it like that at the time. I told myself I was keeping it professional, that I was doing what I had to do for us. But the truth? I liked the attention."

"At least you're honest," I said.

Wade shook his head, frustration flickering in his eyes.

"It wasn't worth it. It was never worth it. And then, when Tommy saw... I knew I'd messed up. I should've shut it down long before then. I should've told you."

Silence stretched between us.

"Why didn't you?" I asked, my voice softer than I expected.

His hands clenched on the table.

"Because I was ashamed. Because I didn't want you to see me as weak. We were drowning, Marielle. The bills, the food, the kids' school stuff. I was failing as a husband, and some rich woman tossing me easy work made it feel like I was fixing things."

For the first time, Wade looked small. Not in size, not in strength, but in the way that men look when they've disappointed themselves.

I let the words sink in. I let myself feel them. The hurt. The anger. The relief that he was telling me now.

Then I reached across the table, covering his hand with mine.

"Wade, I was drowning too," I said.

"I was the one standing at that checkout, wondering which food I'd have to put back. I was the one lying awake at night, staring at the ceiling, trying to figure out how we'd get through another month. You weren't failing me, Wade. We were failing together."

My husband smiled and gripped my hand.

"There's something else," he said. "I got a call from an old friend. He's got a construction project lined up. It's steady work. Not just one job, but months of it. It's good money."

And just like that, hope bloomed in my chest.

The next morning, when I arrived at work, Hugo was alone at the breakfast table.

"Evelyn won’t be needing a housemaid anymore," he said, sipping his coffee. His tone was calm, but the meaning was clear.

My work here was done.

I nodded, grabbed my things, and walked out the door, knowing she would never pull this stunt again.

Evelyn once stood behind me, watching me struggle to pay for my groceries. She had handed me a bag of food like a queen tossing scraps to the poor.

Now? She wouldn’t even look at me.

Because I had done what she never expected. I didn’t cry. I didn’t beg. I stepped into her world and made her irrelevant.

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This work is inspired by real events and people, but it has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

The author and publisher make no claims to the accuracy of events or the portrayal of characters and are not liable for any misinterpretation. This story is provided "as is," and any opinions expressed are those of the characters and do not reflect the views of the author or publisher.