My Husbands Business Partner Showed Up at Our Door and Mistook Me for the Cleaning Lady, I Decided to Play Along

The scent of lemon cleaner lingered in the air as I wiped down the kitchen counters, the dishwasher humming in the background. Cleaning wasn’t exactly how I wanted to spend my morning, but it helped keep my thoughts in order. I had just tossed the sponge into the sink when the doorbell rang. I opened the door to find a well-dressed man with a polished smile, a sleek phone in one hand, and a leather briefcase in the other. He looked like he stepped out of a glossy magazine. “Hello!” he said brightly. “I’m looking for Mr. Lambert. You must be the cleaning lady—Liliya, right? I’m his business partner, David. Nice to meet you.” Before I could say anything, he continued, “I’ve heard all about you from Mrs. Lambert. She showed me your picture.”

“Mrs. Lambert?” I repeated, trying to keep my voice calm.

“Yes, Greg and his wife—such a great team,” he chuckled.

That moment hit me like ice water. I was supposed to be the cleaning lady? And Greg had a wife who wasn’t me? I glanced at him, wondering who exactly he thought I was. But instead of correcting him, I smiled politely and said, “Please, come in, sir.” If he thought I was the cleaning lady, I’d play along. Maybe I’d finally get some answers.

He made himself comfortable on the couch like he belonged there. “They always look so happy together,” he said, pulling out his phone. “Let me show you a picture of them.” He handed it to me, and my stomach turned. There she was—my sister Allison—smiling beside my husband, Greg. My fingers tightened around the glass I was holding as David continued, completely unaware of the storm building inside me. “Funny story. Greg never mentioned a wife until I ran into them one day. Introduced her right there on the street.”

I forced a smile and handed the phone back. “You must have a lot of photos of them.”

“Oh, tons,” he said. “She even showed me a picture of you once. I asked who you were and she laughed—said you were their cleaning lady.”

I turned and walked into the kitchen to compose myself. My heart pounded, but my face stayed calm. When I returned, I offered him coffee. He accepted with a smile, still completely unaware. I sat down across from him and said, “David, we need to talk.”

His smile faltered. “Sure… about what?”

“Look at the photo on the mantel,” I said.

He stood, walked over, and picked it up. His expression changed slowly, confusion washing over him. “This is you,” he murmured.

“Yes,” I said firmly. “And the man standing next to me? That’s my husband. Greg Lambert.”

He went pale and returned the frame as though it had burned him. “Wait. You’re Mrs. Lambert? I… I thought…”

“You thought Allison was Mrs. Lambert,” I finished for him. “Greg introduced her as his wife. She played the role, and you believed it.”

David’s face was a mask of disbelief. “She told me. Greg told me. I had no idea they were lying.”

“And why are you here?” I asked.

He hesitated, then admitted, “I came to convince Greg to sell his share of the business. But it’s… complicated.”

“How so?” I asked.

He looked at me, regret in his eyes. “The share isn’t technically in Greg’s name. It’s under Mrs. Lambert’s name. Your name.”

“So when Allison blocked the sale, she forged my signature?” I asked, voice sharp.

David nodded slowly. “I didn’t realize it was forged. I just thought it was your decision.”

I leaned back and let out a bitter laugh. “Well, now you know. And since you’re here, let’s cut to the point. What’s your offer for Greg’s share?”

He blinked, startled. Then he named a figure that nearly made me fall over. I kept my expression composed and said, “That’s acceptable. I’ll handle the paperwork. Have your legal team send the documents tomorrow.”

The next evening, Greg stormed into the house, red-faced and furious. “What the hell did you do?!” he shouted, slamming the door.

I looked up from my book, calm as ever. “Hello, Greg. Long day?”

“You sold my share of the business!” he bellowed. “That was mine! You had no right!”

I stood and faced him. “Wrong. It was in my name. And after finding out you and my sister faked documents, lied to everyone, and tried to steal from me—I took control.”

His eyes widened. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about Allison,” I said coldly. “Your fake wife. Your little affair. Your scheme to make money off my name.”

“I can explain—”

“No. I’m done listening. The deal is done. The funds will be in my account by the end of the week. And yes, I’ve already filed for divorce.”

“You’re ruining me,” he whispered, falling into a chair.

“No, Greg. You did that to yourself,” I replied.

Two weeks later, I walked out of my lawyer’s office with a divorce agreement and a settlement that more than covered the damage. I got my share of the business and compensation for the fraud. My lawyer made sure the matter never went to court, but the legal threat shattered the illusion Greg and Allison had created. Their relationship didn’t survive the fallout.

I cut ties with both of them and started fresh. The photo of Greg that once sat on the mantel was gone, replaced by a vase of fresh flowers. As I stood in the living room, sunlight streaming through the windows, I knew one thing for sure.

This was my new beginning. And this time, I was writing every chapter myself.