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Every time my billionaire husband brings his latest mistress home, he graciously leaves a gorgeous college boy in my bed as a consolation prize. "I need a little excitement, you need company. Fair trade. No hard feelings." That's what Asher always says, like he's negotiating a merger instead of cheating on his wife. This time, though, he really screwed up. He drags another boy toy into our living room, then pulls me aside with that smooth, coaxing voice of his. "Chloe got pregnant. We tried everything, but she wants to keep it, and she won't unless I make her my wife." He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear like he's doing me a favor. "So we're getting a quick divorce. Temporary. Just until the baby's born." "And before we remarry, you can have your fun with him. I won't say a word." Behind us, his entourage of leeches is already pouring whiskey. Later, when I'm out of earshot, one of them whispers, "Damn, Asher. You crawled a hundred miles on your knees for that woman. You're really just gonna hand her over?" "Yeah, man. You didn't even tell the kid to keep his hands off her?" Asher takes a long, lazy drag of his cigarette. "I'm not into cuckold porn, gentlemen." "Scarlett's a prude. A trophy wife with a stick up her ass. She won't touch him." "Genius, Ash. Pure genius. You bring the boy home, she sends him away, and somehow you end up the good guy. Hat's off." They're already laughing, already counting their winnings, because every single time before, I played my part. Cold face. Fat check. "Get out of my house." I'm sitting on the velvet armchair across the room, scrolling my phone, pretending I can't hear them. Then I look up and smile. "Sure. Whatever you want." Asher's cigarette freezes halfway to his lips. The room goes dead silent. Lena recovers first. "Scarlett, sweetie— what did you just say?" I set my phone down on the coffee table. My eyes drift past Asher and land on the boy still standing awkwardly by the staircase. "I said yes." I let my gaze sweep him from head to toe, slow and appraising. "He's not bad looking, I'll give you that." Someone actually gasps. "She agreed?!" "No way. She's not kicking him out this time?" "Asher, did you hear that?" Asher's expression doesn't shift. That lazy half-smirk is still glued to his mouth. But Chloe, the pregnant princess, suddenly clings tighter to his arm. "Ash, baby, sis finally came around. You should be happy." He doesn't answer her. He grinds his cigarette into the crystal ashtray, walks over to the boy, and claps him on the shoulder. "Take good care of her tonight." Then he loops an arm around Chloe's waist and walks her up the stairs. I turn to the boy. He's still standing there, ears glowing red. "You commute, or are you staying?" His Adam's apple bobs. "Whatever— whatever you want." "Then stay." I walk down the hallway, and the whispers start up behind me like static. "Wait, is she serious?" "Last time she pulled this, half of us caught a beating from Asher!" "Relax. She's bluffing. She always bluffs. Like touching one of those boys would melt her precious skin off." "Remember the football player? She literally had security drag him out by his collar." "Nah, this time she's just rattled. The pregnancy spooked her. She'll fold by morning." I keep walking. Their words pelt my back like little needles. Not deep. Just everywhere. And the worst part? They're right. For three years, I've been exactly that woman. Too proud. Too icy. Too convinced that the words "I'm a prude" were some kind of holy shield. Every time Asher paraded a new boy in front of me, I'd hand over a check and toss him out like trash. I told myself that was winning. That at least I was the clean one in this filthy marriage. And now? Chloe's belly is showing. My "purity" didn't save a damn thing. Just bought me a divorce decree, a cold side of the bed, and a living room full of vultures laughing behind my back. Sign on the Dotted Line

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