My husband kept a beautiful, brilliant woman as a director at his side. From the company's first breath to the ringing of the opening bell at the New York Stock Exchange, she was there for every one of his triumphs. Not like me. I was at home, raising our daughter, wrestling with homework, scrubbing pots and pans. I learned of my husband's crowning achievements the same way the rest of the world did: on TV. My best friend, Chloe, couldn't stand it. Her frustration boiled over during our weekly wine night. "I don't know how you stomach it, Audrey," she said, her voice laced with the fury I couldn't seem to muster. "That woman practically introduced herself as Mrs. Crawford to the press." She swirled the cabernet in her glass. "It's been ten years. Ten years is long enough for even the most lovesick fool to wake up." Hearing her words, I just traced the rim of my own glass, a calm settling over me. Ten years. It really had been that long. But the outcome was perfect. That bastard and his bitch finally took my company public. And with the upcoming shareholders' meeting, it was time to fire my husband from his position as CEO. And her, from the Executive VP role she was about to step into. 1 Ethan finally came home the night before the shareholders' meeting. The moment the front door clicked open, our daughter, Sophie, shot off the couch like a little rabbit, her pigtails flying. She wrapped her arms around Ethan's leg, a chorus of "Daddy, Daddy, Daddy!" erupting from her. He scooped her up, planting a loud, whiskery kiss on her cheek. "I missed you so much, my little bug." He nuzzled his stubble into her neck, coaxing squeals of laughter from her before setting her back down. Only then did he turn to me, his smile softening into something gentler, more practiced. "You're a saint, Audrey. Holding down the fort." He always spoke to me like that at home—polite, warm, the very picture of a devoted family man. It would have been convincing, too, if I didn't know how he'd spent the month since the NYSE ceremony. The celebratory trip to Vegas that ended in a million-dollar loss. The five-million-dollar penthouse he'd bought for his director in the heart of Tribeca. The luxury cars and suburban McMansion he'd gifted her parents and brother. If he hadn't been so reckless with my money, I might have let him keep his job. He and his director, Ava, were a ruthlessly effective pair, after all. Driven, hungry, with a work ethic that bordered on pathological. They were everything I wasn't. I was born soft, allergic to hardship. The greatest struggle I'd ever endured was the pain of Ethan's affair, which laid me out for exactly three days. On the fourth day, I woke up and started seeing him for what he was: my prized workhorse. After all, I secretly owned 48% of the company through an anonymous holding firm, on top of the 3% he'd signed over to me as a wedding gift. It was a staggering amount of money. The love was gone, but the assets remained. I supposed it could have been worse. A flicker of irritation in Ethan's eyes pulled me from my thoughts. He was watching me, his brow furrowed. "Are you still stewing about Ava? Audrey, you can't have everything. I've given you a life of luxury, of ease. You can't also expect my absolute fidelity." He had always been this brazenly honest. It was the same five years ago, when I'd found them. I'd brought him homemade mooncakes for the Mid-Autumn Festival, a nod to our shared time in Shanghai. I'd walked into his office to the sight of him pressing Ava against his desk, their mouths locked together. He'd calmly dismissed her, then poured me a cup of tea as if nothing had happened. "Audrey, we were college sweethearts," he'd begun, his voice maddeningly reasonable. "Four years of dating, five years of marriage. I truly loved you. A part of me still does." He took a sip of his own tea. "But you have to understand, I'm a man. I have needs. I'm on the road six months out of the year. You can't expect me to live like a monk." He leaned forward, his tone shifting to that of a patient professor. "I have money, and I have urges. Ava is brilliant, she's attracted to me, and she's right there. I'm utilizing her talent, so why not her body? It's efficient. You're just too greedy, Audrey. You want the lifestyle I provide, but you also want my body to be exclusively yours. You even want me to love you with that same desperate, youthful passion we used to have. We're adults now. It's time to let go of perfection." That was the first time I'd heard him dissect human nature—a man's nature—with such cold precision. The shock was so profound that I fainted shortly after getting home. At the hospital, I found out I was pregnant. This baby, our Sophie, was a miracle I'd fought for through three grueling years of IVF. Abortion was unthinkable. But over the next ten months, as Ethan played the part of the perfect, doting husband at home while flying Ava to the Maldives and Hong Kong for lavish vacations, my perspective crystallized. If everything was a transaction, then I would maximize my return on Ethan Crawford. I pushed down the familiar, phantom ache in my chest and smiled sweetly. I stepped toward him and began to loosen his tie. "Don't be silly. She's your right hand. Why would I be jealous of Ms. Vance?" I said, my voice smooth as silk. "She's a powerhouse—a Wharton MBA who can close a deal and run an empire. Honestly, I'm grateful she takes such good care of you." A relieved, almost tender smile spread across Ethan's face. He reached out and gently squeezed my earlobe, a gesture that had once been our intimate little signal. But I'd seen him do the exact same thing to Ava in a candid photo from a business gala. Now, his touch made my skin crawl. Perhaps even Ethan himself had forgotten that I hadn't let him touch me—not really—in five years. Not since the day I found them. I didn't let him start now. I took a half-step back, a blush rising on my cheeks for effect. "Stop it, the baby's right here," I murmured. "Go on, get in the shower." I turned to our daughter. "Sophie, honey, Daddy's being lazy. He doesn't want to take a bath. Can you go push him into the bathroom for Mommy?" Instantly, Sophie latched back onto his leg, a tiny, giggling barnacle. As Ethan disappeared into the master bath, I walked straight to the kitchen, a wave of revulsion washing over me. I scrubbed my hands, my face, and especially my earlobe, which I washed three separate times. Then, I pulled out my phone and dialed his secretary. "Something's come up," I said, my voice low and sharp. "I need you to create a crisis. I want Ethan Crawford out of my house. Now." 2 The call came less than a minute later. I watched as Ethan's face, still damp from the shower, darkened with every word from his secretary. He ended the call and turned to me, his towel knotted precariously at his waist. "Audrey, find me a suit. I have to go back to the office." I went to the closet and pulled out a classic navy suit. He glanced at it and scowled. "What is this, a relic from 2015? My God, your taste is atrocious. Am I going back to the office to work or to be publicly humiliated?" This was his way. When things went wrong, his words became weapons, and I was always the nearest target. I knew his moods, so I didn't fight back. My only goal was to get him out. "I'm… I'm sorry," I stammered, letting my voice tremble. "I'll get another one." But my compliance did nothing to soothe him. He shoved past me with a grunt of disgust, snatching his phone and hitting the speed dial for '1'. A moment later, Ava's smooth, professional voice was on the line. "Ethan? What's wrong?" He shot a venomous look in my direction before speaking into the phone. "The Aethel project is blowing up. Bring a suit to my place. Now." He hung up without waiting for a reply and rounded on me, his voice dripping with condescension. "Could you please try to keep up with the modern world? What do you even do all day? I'm not asking you to build an empire, but could you at least learn something from Ava? Develop an ounce of taste?" Without another glance, he cinched his towel and stalked into his study to wait. I stood there, my fingers twisting the fabric of the suit. Of course it was an old style. It was the last one he'd left here, five years ago. For half a decade, every single item of his—from his tailored suits and Swiss watches down to his socks and underwear—had been curated and managed by her. I had nothing to do with it. On the rare occasion I tried to play the part, buying him a gift for our anniversary, it would remain unopened, gathering dust in his study drawer with all the others. Which was, perhaps, for the best. My anniversary and birthday gifts for him over the past five years had been… unconventional. A miniature anatomical model of a man, neatly gelded. A framed, calligraphed curse for impotence. A small effigy of him, riddled with pins. And my personal favorite, a prayer card wishing him and his lover a lifetime of debilitating, untreatable STDs. Every year, I waited for the explosion, the moment he'd finally discover my little gallery of hate. But, to my disappointment, he never had. A sudden, angry little voice from the hallway snapped me back to the present. "Who are you? You can't just walk in here! You didn't even ring the doorbell!" 3 My jaw tightened. I dropped the suit and walked out of the bedroom. There she was. Ava Vance, crouched down to Sophie's level, a sickeningly sweet smile on her face. "Well hello, Sophie," she was saying. "Guess what? I have a secret. You're going to be a big sister." My blood ran cold. "How did you get in here?" Ava looked up, her expression shifting from feigned warmth to cool indifference. "Oh, hello, Audrey. Sorry to intrude so late. Ethan gave me the code."
? Continue the story here ?? ? Download the "MotoNovel" app ? search for "384539", and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel