At the party, my husband’s childhood friend read aloud from a phone. "Seven-year itch—how do you make divorce look inevitable?" Corey Reese, to everyone who knew her—smiled, leaning conspiratorially against my husband. “Seb, you and Jules are almost exactly seven years in,” she purred. “Aren’t you bored yet?” My husband, Sebastian Holt, was absorbed in a document on his phone, barely bothering to lift his head. “We’re fine. It’s… convenient,” he muttered. I was deeply unsatisfied with his answer. Because I was the one who posted the thread. 1 Not getting the reaction she wanted, a flicker of disappointment and awkwardness crossed Corey’s face. She quickly covered it up. Just then, her phone rang, giving her a graceful exit. “Oh, I need to take this outside.” She stopped at the door, turning back. “Shoot, I forgot my coat in the car. Left it in the underground lot.” Sebastian finally looked up, his movements natural as he took off the expensive wool coat hanging on his chair. “Take mine. And hurry up.” Corey winked playfully. “Yes, sir.” The friends in the private room watched the familiar exchange, used to this rhythm. Only Preston Brooks’s new girlfriend frowned, tugging at my sleeve. I smiled at her and shook my head, signaling that I didn’t care. “Excuse me. I’m going to the restroom.” 2 By the time I walked back toward the room, Corey still hadn’t returned. I was about to push the door open when I heard Preston’s voice inside. “Seb, Corey’s been single for years. She has to be waiting for you, right?” A moment of silence, then another voice chimed in. “Totally. Back in college, Corey and Seb were the campus Golden Couple. Who knew he’d end up marrying…” “Seb, you’re not tempted at all?” I realized the music had stopped at some point. The low light of the room played across Sebastian’s face. He paused for a few seconds before answering. “I won’t destroy my life.” The room went silent after that, until the person who had asked coughed and awkwardly changed the subject. A bitter, mocking curve lifted my lips. Sebastian was a fundamental perfectionist. For years, he had played the role of the ideal, dutiful husband. But he didn’t love me. I was simply the woman designated by a decades-old family alliance, the perfect partner to merge with his life plan. We graduated, we married. Everything was a checklist item on his meticulously planned roadmap. Even after seven years, my lack of pregnancy was because he had decreed we wouldn’t have children until he turned thirty. He wasn’t stupid. He wouldn’t let a single stain jeopardize the perfect life he had built. But he never, ever, refused Corey’s easy intimacy. 3 Corey came back with red-rimmed eyes. She drank glass after glass, talking about how her family was pressuring her to settle down. When the party wrapped up, she was sobbing and draped over Sebastian, refusing to let go. The others filed out, one by one. Sebastian stood by the door, supporting a wobbly Corey. When the valet pulled his car around, he turned to me. “Call an Uber. I’m driving Corey home.” I was busy scrolling on my phone, disinterested. I just nodded. Sebastian’s brow furrowed. “Don’t throw a tantrum, Jules. The car has a dashcam. You can review the footage when I get back.” Was he blind? Who was throwing a tantrum? I rolled my eyes internally, then looked up, plastering on a fake, sugary smile. “It’s fine. I trust you. Go on.” Sebastian stared at me, his expression unreadable—a mix of confusion and scrutiny. He finally said nothing, turning to gently guide Corey into the car. 4 When I got home, I took a long, hot bath, sipped a glass of Pinot Noir, and was ready for bed. The front door opened quietly. Sebastian came upstairs, showered, and changed into his silk pajamas, all without making a sound. Just as I was drifting off, he slid into the bed and wrapped his arm around my waist from behind. The sudden contact startled me instantly awake. He pressed his mouth to my ear, his breath still faintly smelling of whiskey. “It’s our designated evening…” His hand began to drift lower, growing bolder. I quickly pressed down on his hand, sat up, and pulled the comforter around myself. “I’m not feeling well tonight.” Sebastian froze. He sat up slowly, adjusting his pajama collar. “Your cycle passed last week.” His lips tightened, his eyes dark, filled with a mixture of displeasure and suspicion. “You’re angry.” I scooted a few more inches away. “No, I’m just genuinely not in the mood.” Sebastian looked down, lost in thought. After a long silence, he spoke again. “I understand. Rest well.” He stood up, left the bed, and walked back to his own room. 5 We’d had separate bedrooms for all seven years of our marriage. He’d insisted that a couple needed their own private space. We slept in our own rooms most of the time, only sharing a bed—and intimacy—twice a month. Back then, I was too shy and too overjoyed to be married to him to question it. I found the arrangement confusing and a little sad, but I agreed. Now, I was profoundly grateful he wouldn’t be spending the night in my bed. … The next day was Sunday, which meant the mandatory visit to Sebastian’s parents, the Holts. Before I even opened the door, I heard loud, familiar laughter. Corey was there. It wasn't a surprise, but sometimes I had to admire her sheer, exhausting stamina. The Holts and the Reeses were next-door neighbors, and my mother-in-law, Martha, had always adored Corey. She’d even tried to convince Seb’s grandfather to break off the engagement with me years ago. Now, my failure to produce a grandchild—despite Seb being the one who wanted to wait—made me even more of an unsatisfactory daughter-in-law in her eyes. “Jules, why don’t you go to the kitchen and make Corey a hangover remedy?” Martha didn’t wait for me to put my purse down before giving orders. She then turned to pat Corey affectionately. “You silly girl, you drank last night. You should be resting, but you always insist on coming to see me.” Corey hooked her arm through Martha’s. “You’re my godmother, Mom. A daughter seeing her mother—it’s only natural!” Sebastian, thinking I was heading to the kitchen, caught my hand. He looked at his mother. “Let the housekeeper do it, Mom. Jules isn’t feeling well.” Martha shot me a dismissive glance. “Didn’t you tell me Jules makes the best soup?” She turned back to Seb. “If she’s not well, she should stay home and rest. Who does she expect to wait on her here?” I retrieved my phone from the entryway table and, right in front of Sebastian, answered a reminder I’d set. “Hello? Oh, really? My second cousin’s wife’s sister-in-law is having the baby shower moved up? Right, I’m on my way.” I smoothly tucked the phone into my handbag. “So sorry, everyone. Something unavoidable has come up. I have to leave.” I ignored Martha’s wide-eyed, stunned face, turned on my heel, and slammed the door behind me. 6 I hadn't taken three steps before my arm was wrenched back. “Juliet! What is this nonsense?” Sebastian’s face was dark with fury, his voice sharp with accusation. “I told you not to make the soup. Mother’s old, she has her moods—can’t you just swallow your pride for one morning?” Then, his voice softened slightly. “Stop being dramatic about Corey. You’re my wife. You know you’re the one that matters.” “She’s just part of the furniture here. She grew up in this house.” “If you really can’t stand being around her, I’ll tell her to try to avoid Sundays.” “Now, be a good girl and come back inside. Apologize to Mom…” I yanked my arm away, completely fed up. “I don’t want to see anyone. That includes you and your mother.” I had actually come here today hoping to sit them down and discuss the divorce calmly. But they couldn’t help themselves—they jumped at the chance to irritate me. I used to be vibrant, spirited, even a little wild. But because I fell for Sebastian, I gradually toned down my personality. Sebastian was always the center of attention—good family, good reputation, and devastatingly handsome. And I was just a wealthy heiress who had only ever cared about fun. I thought a perfect man like Sebastian would, like in a novel, fall in love with me after the marriage, and we would build an ideal life. But I had spent seven years trying, and I hadn’t stirred an ounce of genuine emotion in him. In his eyes, his career was paramount, and his schedule was sacred. Marriage was just a task to be completed. He made me trade my extravagant designer dresses for tasteful, demure attire. He insisted I maintain proper decorum at all times, a suitable corporate wife accompanying him to galas. I was forbidden from dropping by his office unannounced. If I wanted to schedule a date, I had to clear it with his executive assistant a week in advance. Yet, he allowed Corey free access to his life, whenever and wherever. I fought and cried about it for the first few years… But he would always tell me that his dynamic with Corey had always been this way; it was his life, and he was accustomed to it. I was the newcomer, and I had to conform to his existing lifestyle. I stared blankly at the wedding band on my finger. Preston’s new girlfriend had quietly offered me advice yesterday. She told me a woman should know when she’s lucky. If she could marry into that kind of wealth, she wouldn’t care if her husband had one mistress or five. Money, status, and no demanding husband to tend to—what a good deal, she'd said. I understood her choice. But I thanked her for the kind guidance without agreeing. If I were penniless, having to rely on Sebastian would be one thing. But I was beautiful, rich, and in the prime of my life. Why should I waste it on a man like him? Besides, intimacy only twice a month… I was a woman with normal needs, not a nun. I thought of the texts my best friend occasionally sent me—photos of chiseled, tanned European guys… That girl lives well. 7 Sebastian didn't want a divorce. My lawyer said that without concrete evidence of fault from the husband, a contested divorce would be brutal. The Holt family's legal team was formidable. If I insisted on a court battle, I’d be drawn and quartered publicly. Frowning in frustration, I scrolled through my phone. I saw a new, trending post on a gossip forum (the kind dedicated to the city's elite). [Mr. H is my childhood sweetheart. He’s unhappy with his arranged wife and hasn’t been happy for years, but he’s always carried a torch for me. Should I fight to get him back?] Most of the comments were strongly against the poster, many calling her a homewrecker. The poster hit back at her critics: “His wife is the interloper! If it wasn't for her, we would have been together years ago.” The replies below were immediate and scathing: “So you and Mr. H never actually dated…” “If you were childhood sweethearts, why weren’t you together before the wife arrived? Sounds like you’re delusional.” “Teens today are precocious. If he liked you, he would have asked you out in high school or college. You’re talking about ‘fighting to get him back’... that’s called breaking up a marriage.” I raised an eyebrow at the poster’s ID: ItsAlwaysCoreyT. Oh, good heavens. She’s not even trying to hide it. A grin spread across my face. I opened the keyboard and typed quickly. “True love is never wrong! Go for it, Poster!” “Just sleep with him, force his hand, get pregnant! He won’t have a choice but to divorce after that.” The post was instantly liked by the original poster. The next comment below mine was furious: “I hope your husband gets forced into marriage by a desperate homewrecker too.” I let out a soft laugh at that. I typed back: “I wish you good fortune on your suggestion.” Before closing the page, I swiftly deleted all my comments. No trace left behind. 8 I ignored Sebastian for a week, and he didn’t seem to have any noticeable reaction. He went to work on time and came home on time. As long as I stayed in my bedroom, I didn’t have to see him. This morning, however, he was home, waiting for me to come down for breakfast. “It’s the seven-year anniversary of our college graduation this weekend. Preston is organizing a reunion.” “Corey… they want to use our Lakefront Estate. He said we could set off fireworks there.” I sat across from him, slowly eating my eggs. “Fine by me. It’s your house. Do what you like.” Sebastian frowned. “It’s our house, Jules.” I waved a hand dismissively. “Whatever.” “I won’t be attending, though. It sounds loud.” Sebastian, unusually, didn’t insist I accompany him. He paused for a moment, then nodded. “Alright. Then rest up.” I watched him leave, his face unperturbed. I laughed coldly to myself. The seven-year anniversary of his college graduation… He didn’t remember it was also the seven-year anniversary of our wedding. Last year, I gave him the silent treatment for a month because he forgot the date. He never even realized I was upset. Or maybe he did, and he just didn’t care. … By Sunday, Corey was the most excited person. She posted ten updates on social media. A crowd was outside the estate, grilling and playing games. Her dress caught my eye—it looked strangely familiar. I sent a photo to my best friend, who responded with a long voice message chain. “That’s the dress Seb had custom-made for you last year, remember?” “He said it was to make up for forgetting your six-year anniversary. You sent me photos of the fitting!” “That bastard. Did he give her your dress?” “Or does he just not remember giving you anything at all?” “Wait, isn’t today your wedding anniversary? I remember that. Did he forget again?!” “Jesus Christ…” I quickly reassured her. “It’s fine, it’s a non-issue.” “I was hoping he’d forget.” Corey’s blatant provocation meant she was confident. She felt she had him. I just had to wait for her good news. 9 I waited until 1:00 AM. The house was quiet in the middle of the night. I walked to Sebastian’s room and knocked. No answer. Not coming home tonight. I dressed quickly and drove out. It took only twenty minutes to reach the Lakefront Estate. I opened the door. The air inside reeked of stale liquor. A few bodies were sprawled awkwardly on the couches. I slapped the switch for the largest chandelier. The room instantly flooded with harsh light. Preston rubbed his eyes, groaning. “Who the hell turned on the lights…” When he saw me, he froze. “Jules? Wife? It’s the middle of the night—what are you doing here?” I didn’t answer, slowly walking into the room, kicking lightly at the sleeping bodies as I went. “Are you looking for Seb?” I glanced sidelong at him. “Who else would I be looking for? You?” He shut up instantly. Preston got up and shuffled over to me, forcing a strained smile. “Seb had too much to drink today. He’s sleeping upstairs.” “It’s late, Jules. Maybe you should head back and get some sleep.” I ignored him. Once all the stragglers in the living room were awake, I started toward the stairs. Before leaving, I had checked my phone. Corey had posted a new reply to her forum thread: “He’s in my bed right now. I’m about to get him back.” What they didn’t know was that I had installed a comprehensive, discreet camera system in this house when it was first renovated. I had watched Corey slip something into Sebastian’s drink, then, while everyone was distracted, guide his limp body upstairs. I saw everything on the remote feed. I stopped outside the master bedroom. The crowd downstairs, sensing the change in atmosphere, crept up behind me. Preston tried to lighten the mood as he walked next to me. “Jules, you’re acting like this is a sting operation, haha…” “You know how good Seb’s character is. And we’re all here. Stop being suspicious—it’s bad for a marriage, you know…” He didn’t finish the sentence. I pulled out my key card and opened the door. The sight inside made him instantly forget what he was saying.
? Continue the story here ?? ? Download the "MotoNovel" app ? search for "390427", and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel