My Dad Bought His Mistress Mom's House, So We Destroyed Him Live

I was working as a real estate agent. Mom came to me in private, asking me to sell her condo. "Your dad’s business is hitting a rough patch. I want to give him some financial support." That condo was left to Mom by Grandma Rose, precisely so Mom would always have a little sanctuary of her own. Now, for Dad's sake, Mom was selling her only sanctuary for dirt cheap. A buyer reached out to me almost immediately. The woman said over the phone, "Hi, could you hold the condo for me? My man wants to buy it for me as a surprise on my birthday next week." I caught a glimpse of her phone screen. Her wallpaper was a couple's photo with her "man." I froze. It was my dad. I forced a smile and nodded at her. "Of course. I look forward to seeing your man next week." After that, I double-checked the buyer's paperwork with her just to be certain. "Could you leave your contact info and the buyer's details so I can officially reserve it for you?" When I saw the name and details she filled out, they matched my dad down to every single syllable. My heart sank into my stomach. It really was my father, Richard Miller. The woman handed the paperwork back with a beaming smile. "Young man, I hope you treat your future partner just as well. It’s not easy being a woman in this world." "Next week is my thirty-fifth birthday. He promised me that whatever I want, he’ll give it to me." "This condo might be a little dated, but it’s right downtown. A quick remodel, and it’ll be our perfect little love nest!" Her "sweet" words felt like poison needles jabbing right into my heart. The sanctuary Grandma Rose left Mom on her deathbed... Dad was turning it into a trophy for his mistress. I swallowed the bile rising in my throat and probed gently. "What if... what if your man can’t pull together that much cash?" "No offense, of course. Two million dollars isn't pocket change. If something falls through at closing, it’d be a mess..." The woman burst out laughing, like I’d just told the funniest joke on earth. "If he couldn’t cough up two million, why on earth would I be with him?" "Honey, between you and me, his company just closed several massive deals. He’s rolling in cash!" With that, she casually flicked her wrist, showing off her Van Cleef & Arpels bracelet. "See this?" she flaunted with a smug smirk. "He bought it for me last weekend just because." I stared at the bracelet, a wave of cold fury nearly swallowing me whole. "Your man sounds very romantic," I said, my voice tight. "For my mom's last birthday, my dad gave her a cheap thermos from a grocery store sale." She raised an eyebrow, dripping with condescension. "Well, a man knows who's worth spending money on." She stroked her new bracelet. "Last week, I offhandedly said I wanted omakase, and he immediately booked a two-thousand-dollar tasting menu. Has your mother ever seen a restaurant like that in her entire life?" My stomach churned violently. Last month on Mom’s birthday, Dad claimed he was buried in client meetings and told her to just boil some instant noodles. I took a deep breath, forcing down the urge to scream at her. "He sounds very attentive." I plastered on a professional salesman's smile. "I’ll have the contracts ready for next week, then." She flipped her hair proudly. Just then, her phone buzzed with an incoming text. She glanced down, her lips curling into a coquettish pout. "Ugh, he’s rushing me to test-drive cars." She deliberately angled the screen toward me. "He insists on getting me a new Porsche. Says my old ride doesn’t match my status anymore." On her screen, Dad’s contact name was saved as "Hubby ❤️." His last message was a pinned location at the Porsche dealership. My fingernails dug into my palms until they nearly drew blood. Yesterday, Mom had asked him to give her a ride to drop off her broken electric scooter. He snapped at her, saying he had an urgent client to meet. The woman strutted out, leaving a suffocating trail of expensive perfume in her wake. Before she left, I added her on Instagram under the pretense of "keeping in touch for the closing." That night, her Instagram updated. [Test drive surprise! Someone said white matches my new designer dress perfectly 🤍] The picture was Dad, smiling as he held the Porsche door open for her inside the dealership showroom. I scrolled down. Last Wednesday: [Late night gourmet delivery ❤️] Dad was wearing an apron, cooking a seafood feast in a luxury kitchen. When Mom’s arthritis flared up and she couldn't get out of bed to cook, he told her to just eat cup noodles and deal with it. Last Sunday: [Unboxing day!] Piles of luxury designer shopping bags covering a velvet couch. During that exact week, our home bank records showed he refused to chip in five hundred bucks to replace Mom’s dying refrigerator. In every photo, Dad looked so deeply in love and completely carefree. A complete stranger compared to the haggard, stressed-out man who came home groaning that "business was failing and money was tight." I screenshotted every single post and saved them to a cloud folder. Suddenly, my phone vibrated. Dad was calling. "Chase, any news on the condo?" His voice sounded weary and exhausted. "Your mom has been nagging me nonstop. Talk to her. Tell her to be patient." I stared at the photo of him wrapping his arm around his mistress by the sports car. "Dad," I asked quietly, "what time are you coming home tonight? Mom made your favorite pot roast." He paused for a beat. "I can’t. Entertaining a big client tonight." He sighed heavily. "You know how brutal the market is right now." He hung up. I opened Mom's latest Instagram post. It was a picture of her standing in front of our battered, buzzing fridge. Her caption read: [The fridge finally died. The meat is starting to spoil... Does anyone know a trick to save it?] The top comment was from Dad: [Don't be wasteful. Just boil it twice and it's fine to eat.] I saved the screenshots and locked my phone. Next week, at the contract signing, I was going to hand him a "birthday gift" of his own. One with enough weight to crush him completely.When I pushed the front door open, Mom was kneeling on the kitchen floor, scrubbing the tiles. The murky water in her bucket was cold and sudsy, and her fingers were raw and swollen red. Her sleeves still smelled of the herbal balm she applied for her arthritis this morning. "Mom," I said, my voice hoarse. "Stop scrubbing. Did Dad call someone to fix the fridge?" She looked up, forcing a weak smile. "Your dad said we need to hold on a little longer. He'll buy a new one once business picks up." I stared at her cracked nails, my chest tightening painfully. Last year, when Dad's joint pain acted up, she peeled pounds of raw walnuts with her bare hands to make his remedies, ripping half of her thumbnail off in the process. Dad had merely sneered, "Women are always so dramatic." And Mom had actually blamed herself, wondering if she was being too fragile. "How did the condo viewing go?" Mom pressed a hand against her aching lower back and stood up. "Your dad was coughing half the night. I need to get that cash together as soon as possible..." I cut her off, holding out my phone. "Look at this first." She took it with a puzzled frown, her thumb sliding across the screen. Vanessa’s Instagram posts unrolled before her eyes, one after another: Dad grinning by the Porsche in [Test drive surprise]; Dad wearing an apron cooking lobster in [Late night gourmet]; And the most stinging one, posted just an hour ago: [Someone said the bracelet was too simple for my new dress, so he got me the matching necklace 💎] The photo showed a Van Cleef & Arpels display counter, with an associate boxing up a diamond necklace. "I looked up the price," I said, my voice dead cold. "The cheapest one in that collection runs for over eleven thousand dollars." "What... what is this?" Mom's hands began to tremble violently. "That's the client who wants to buy your condo today. And guess who’s footing the bill? Dad." I watched her face crumble as the words sank in. "Dad cries poverty to us every single day, while he showers another woman with luxury." "He told you he was meeting clients yesterday? He was actually buying her diamond jewelry!" She stumbled backward, clinging to the counter to keep from collapsing onto the floor. "No... that’s impossible..." Her lips quivered. "Your dad said cash flow was frozen..." I pulled up the bank transfer records I'd tracked down through his business account access. "Frozen?" I pointed to the transfers to Vanessa Vance. "Over one hundred and twenty thousand dollars transferred to her in the last three months alone. Labeled under 'wellness investments'!" She suddenly bolted into the bedroom and came back clutching an old tin lockbox. Inside were stacks of faded, yellowing receipts: Dad’s physical therapy bills, premium vitamin orders, wellness retreats. On every single receipt, Mom had written in her neat handwriting: *Richard’s health is our top priority.* Looking at them now, every word felt like a slap in the face. At the very bottom lay a copy of Grandma Rose's will: *This property is bequeathed to Eleanor, to serve as her lifelong sanctuary.* Mom looked from the receipts to the will, tears spilling down her cheeks in torrents. "How... how could he do this to me?" "He took my youth, my money, my entire life... and now he wants to strip away the last shred of dignity my mother left me?!" "Your grandma made me promise before she passed..." She choked back a sob, stroking the paper. "She said this condo was my roots..." I picked up a recent receipt. Just last week, Dad took out eight hundred dollars under the excuse of "buying supplements." That exact same day, Vanessa posted a brand-new Louis Vuitton handbag. "Mom, open your eyes." I held the phone right next to the receipt. "His 'supplements' are hanging on another woman’s shoulder!" She snatched the phone, frantically scrolling through the feed. Every single boastful photo struck her like a whip. Dad cooking gourmet dinners in an apron, Dad picking out diamond rings, Dad wrapping his arms around her by sports cars... "When I had surgery last year..." She stared at Dad’s doting smile on screen. "He said the hospital had terrible reception and he had to work... He was playing personal chef for a home-wrecker!" Her tears splashed onto the screen, and then, shockingly, she let out a bitter laugh. "No wonder he complained the remedies I brewed were bitter..." She hurled the stack of receipts against the wall, scattering paper everywhere. "He took the blood money I earned with my bare hands to spoil a bimbo!" Amid the falling paper, her slumped shoulders slowly straightened. "Chase." She wiped away her tears, her voice hardening like steel. "Next week at the contract signing... I’m going with you."The next day, I used the excuse of dropping off corporate documents to visit Dad’s office, hoping to gather more evidence. I was stopped right at the front desk. The new receptionist didn’t even look up. "Do you have an appointment?" "I’m looking for Richard Miller." I held up a lunchbox. "Dropping off his lunch." She snorted, glancing at me with pure disdain. "Mr. Miller’s wife already brought him lunch. She’s in his office keeping him company right now." "Who are you anyway? Trying to hustle your way up? Our Mr. Miller doesn’t swing that way." I froze. Mr. Miller’s *wife*? My mom was at home! Before I could say a word, the elevator chimed open. Vanessa strolled out holding an Hermès Birkin, flanked by several sycophantic employees cooing, "Have a wonderful afternoon, Mrs. Miller!" When she spotted me, her heels clicked to a halt. "What are you doing here?" She looked down at my simple broker badge and clothes. "I told you we’re buying the condo! Stalking me at my husband’s company won't speed up the process!" The receptionist rushed forward to kiss her feet. "Mrs. Miller, he claimed he was here to bring Mr. Miller lunch!" Vanessa paused, then seemed to realize something and laughed mockingly. She fingered her diamond necklace, looking overwhelmingly smug. "Sweetheart, my husband worships the ground I walk on. What I say goes. You don't need to suck up to him." She leaned in, her perfume choking me. "In fact, if you cause a scene in front of him... you might just lose your little real estate license." Snickers broke out around the lobby. I gripped the lunchbox handle tight. "You’ve got the wrong idea. I’m—" "You’re what?" she sneered, cutting me off. "Jealous that he’s buying me a penthouse? What, you thinking about homewrecking? Next time you get that idea, check your gender first!" An employee chimed in obsequiously, "Mr. Miller spoiling his wife is famous around here! He rented out an entire rooftop restaurant just for her birthday last week!" I locked my eyes on the diamond-encrusted watch on Vanessa’s wrist. It was identical to the knockoff Dad bought Mom for twenty bucks last Christmas. "Hear that?" She flicked my badge with a manicured nail. "A broke broker? You could sell houses for ten lifetimes and still not afford a single diamond on my bezel." Before I could pull away, Vanessa snatched the phone straight out of my hand. "Let me see..." She swiped open my camera roll. "How many creeping photos of my husband did you take?" I yanked it back forcefully. "Give that back!" She stumbled backward with exaggerated theatricality. "Security! This psycho is getting violent!" A burly security guard slammed a heavy hand down on my shoulder. Vanessa twirled her car keys, the silver Porsche logo catching the light. "Poor people are so pathetic," she sighed dramatically. "All you can do is fantasize about having a life like mine." Through the glass doors, Dad’s executive assistant hurried past carrying files, bowing respectfully to Vanessa: "Mrs. Miller, Mr. Miller wants you to pick out the interior color for your new ride." I was shoved out through the revolving doors into the scorching sun. Outside, I unlocked my phone. Vanessa had just updated her Instagram: [Just got harassed by a lowlife broker. Hubby said he’s upgrading me to a Rolls-Royce tomorrow to cheer me up 💖] She attached a screenshot of Dad’s text: *"Don't let trash ruin your day, baby. We’re test-driving a Ghost tomorrow."* Meanwhile, in our family group chat, Mom had texted an hour ago: *[Richard, the fridge is completely dead. Can you send five hundred dollars so I can get a replacement?]* Dad hadn't even bothered to reply. A second later, a DM pinged on my phone from Vanessa. [Contract signing location changed! We’re doing it on stage at the Miller Enterprises Mid-Year Gala! I'm surprising him!] [Bet you’re seething, aren’t you, little broker? Stay mad.] [The whole city will watch him hand me the world, while you can only watch from the cheap seats like a dog~] Reading her texts, I didn’t feel angry. A cold, dark thrill rushed through my veins instead. A massive stage? A room full of high-profile guests? Perfect. The bigger the audience, the better. Because the "gift" I had prepared was going to blow the roof off the place.The night of the Miller Enterprises Mid-Year Gala, the grand ballroom was packed with city elites and prominent investors. Local business reporters and camera crews were stationed everywhere, live-streaming the gala across multiple platforms. My father, Richard Miller, stood behind the podium, radiating the aura of a self-made titan. Vanessa clung to his side in a daring red gown, her smile brighter than the crystal chandeliers overhead. For all these years, Dad had always used the excuse of "keeping work stress away from the family" to bar Mom and me from ever attending his corporate events. Back then, Mom had actually praised him for being a saint. *"Your father protects us from his business burdens! I’m the luckiest woman in the world to have married him."* Remembering that now was sickening. The evening ceremony officially began, and Dad walked up onto the main stage under the blinding spotlight. "Tonight, on this special occasion, I want to take a moment to honor someone extraordinary." Dad’s resonant voice echoed through the speakers, filling every corner of the ballroom. The spotlight swiveled, illuminating Vanessa. She put on a practiced look of bashful humility, yet tightened her grip on Dad’s arm like a conqueror marking her territory. "During my darkest, most grueling days, she was the one who stood by me, giving me warmth, strength, and unwavering support." With every lie that fell from his lips, the hatred inside me burned hotter. The seed money for his very first startup was earned by my mother, scrubbing greasy dishes in restaurant kitchens eighteen hours a day until her hands developed chronic, crippling arthritis. When his first business went under and debt collectors banged on our door, Mom went from house to house on her knees, begging for extensions so he wouldn't face bankruptcy or prison. During our poorest days, Mom even sold her own plasma at local clinics to put food on our table. Time and time again, Mom was the shield that took every bullet for him. Even days ago, Mom was ready to sacrifice the only inheritance Grandma Rose left her just to cover his imaginary losses. And now, he was handing all that devotion to Vanessa on a silver platter. Dad continued his monologue, locking eyes with Vanessa with overflowing tenderness. Polite applause and cheers rippled through the audience. Basking in the glory of the spotlight, Vanessa gently tugged Dad’s sleeve, whispering into his ear with an expectant, flirtatious gaze. Dad chuckled knowingly, patted her hand, and turned back to the audience, his voice booming through the microphone. "So tonight, on this momentous occasion, I want to present her with a birthday gift worthy of her dedication!" He paused, letting the suspense build. Vanessa held her breath, her eyes glittering with unmasked greed. "I have secured a luxury downtown condo as her new home!" Dad made a sweeping, generous gesture. "The deed transfer agreement is already drawn up! Whichever unit she desires, it is unconditionally hers!" "I only hope this gift can begin to repay the love and devotion she has given me over the years!" "Whoa!!" The crowd erupted into gasps and thunderous applause. Vanessa covered her mouth in dramatic shock, throwing her arms around Dad's neck, her voice choked with theatrical tears. "Richard! Oh, Richard, I love you so much!" Dad hugged her proudly, soaking in the envy and adulation of the room. "And one more thing," Seizing the momentum, he reached into his tuxedo breast pocket, pulled out a velvet box, and dropped onto one knee before her. "Vanessa Vance... will you marry me?" The velvet box popped open, revealing a massive diamond ring that sparkled brilliantly under the stage lights. "Say yes! Say yes!" The crowd chanted wildly, the atmosphere reaching a fever pitch. Vanessa extended her trembling left hand, practically squealing: "Yes! A thousand times yes, Richard!" Just as Dad was about to slide the ring onto her finger— "Richard Miller." A calm, steady woman’s voice cut through the noise from the back of the hall. Instinctively, the spotlight operator swung the beam toward the entrance. The heavy double doors of the ballroom had been pushed wide open. Mom and I stood there side by side. Mom stood with her back perfectly straight, her gaze like ice, cutting straight through the frozen couple on stage. "That gift bought with every dime my mother left me..." Mom spoke slowly, every word landing like a sledgehammer in the stunned silence. "Do you really think she has the right to wear it?"