For every wedding anniversary, Caleb brought a woman home. His excuse? For me to “train” her. At our tenth anniversary dinner, he brought home a cocktail waitress from some downtown club, still squeezed into a tacky bunny costume. “She doesn’t have a gown. Give her your wedding dress,” he commanded, his voice casual, as if discussing the weather. “And that jewelry set I gave you last month. As for shoes… I think the ones you’re wearing will do just fine.” He leaned in, his breath hot and laced with expensive scotch. “And listen, she’s young, doesn’t know much. You’ll have to put in the effort to teach her. Especially… the things in bed.” The entire room held its breath, waiting for the inevitable drama, waiting to laugh at my expense. And, as always, I didn't disappoint. I announced I was divorcing him. Caleb burst out laughing, a sound dripping with contempt. “Pamela, you say that every year. I’m so tired of hearing it. More tired of it than the noises you make in bed.” He smirked, raising his voice for the crowd. “If you actually have the guts to divorce me, I’ll give you a hundred million dollars.” The room erupted in another wave of laughter. The whispers were loud enough for me to hear—I was just playing hard to get, a pathetic woman who didn’t know her place. But they didn’t know. This was the hundredth time I’d said it, and it was the one and only time I meant it. Every eye in the room was on me. Even the little nightclub bunny was giggling behind her hand. “Alright, place your bets! I bet she won’t even make it to the door before she comes crawling back.” “A million says she stays!” “I’ll put thirty grand on that!” This little betting game was an anniversary tradition, as stale and rotten as our marriage. The ones who lost money on me hated me. The ones who won didn't respect me either. I shook my head, a bitter smile on my lips, cursing myself for being so weak. It had taken me ten years to finally find the courage to leave. “I’ll bet she leaves.” A deep, unfamiliar voice cut through the noise. The crowd murmured, telling him not to throw his money away. I tried to find the source of the voice, but the figure was lost in the shadows. “Caleb,” I said, my voice steady, “I’ll have the divorce papers sent to your office. Make sure you sign them.” I had threatened divorce hundreds of times, but this was the first time I had ever mentioned the papers. Caleb straightened up, the ash from his cigarette falling onto the polished floor. I pretended not to see. I knelt, unfastened the straps of my heels, and placed them neatly at the young woman’s feet. Her name was Lexi. She was barely twenty, and painfully beautiful. “These will pinch a bit at first,” I said softly. “You’ll get used to them.” “The dress and jewelry Caleb mentioned… I’ll have Martha bring them to you.” “Before you, there were nine others. If there’s anything you don’t understand, you can ask them. They all live on the third floor. Your room is the last one on the right.” Ten years of marriage. Caleb had brought home enough women to start his own harem. Tall, short, curvy, thin, innocent, glamorous, cold, bubbly—he had collected them all. The rumor was he fancied himself a modern-day sultan, assembling his collection of concubines. Well, I was done being part of the collection. I brushed a speck of invisible dust from the shoe and stood. Barefoot, I turned and walked towards the grand entrance. I had almost reached it when a powerful hand grabbed my arm and yanked me back. “Pamela, if you’re leaving, you leave with nothing. Is there a single thing on your body that wasn’t bought with my money?” My bare feet felt like they were standing on shards of ice. My breath hitched. “You want me to strip?” Caleb raised an eyebrow, his gaze sweeping over me, cold and clinical. “When your family went bankrupt, didn’t your mother strip you bare and shove you into my bed? How you came is how you’ll leave.” His voice dropped, laced with a cruel taunt. “Unless… you’ve changed your mind? Fine. Get on your knees and put her shoes on for her, and I’ll forgive you.” The crowd behind him howled with laughter. It was true. Shortly after Caleb and I had started dating, my family’s company had collapsed. My father, unable to face the ruin, jumped from his office window and was left in a persistent vegetative state. My mother, terrified the Vances would abandon us, drugged both me and Caleb, orchestrated a scandal, and forced his family to take responsibility. That night was the beginning of my humiliation. It was the end of the sweet, young love Caleb and I once shared. Forced to marry me, he brought another woman home on our wedding night to degrade me. He performed every imaginable act in front of me, even making me tear open the foil packet for him. I was the one who cleaned up the mess afterwards, on my hands and knees. I had lived a life of groveling servitude for ten years. I couldn’t do it anymore. “Fine. I’ll take it off.” Before anyone could react, I had unfastened my shawl. It was the dead of winter, but the hall was warm. The doorway, however, was a gateway to the biting wind. It whipped around my legs, raising goosebumps on my bare arms and shoulders. I reached behind my back and undid the clasp of my gown. The delicate fabric slithered down, exposing the curve of my shoulder and the swell of my breast. “Oh my God!” someone gasped. A few of the more timid women covered their eyes. The men, however, watched with rapt attention. Only Caleb’s eyes darkened to an inky black, his lips pressed into a thin, hard line. The only sign of his agitation was the slight tremor in the hand that held his cigarette. The dress pooled at my feet, leaving me nearly naked before them all. The cigarette in Caleb’s hand burned down to his fingertips. He dropped it, shucked off his suit jacket in one fluid motion, and threw it over me. “Pamela, you’ve got a death wish!” he snarled. He spun on the crowd. “All of you, close your eyes! If I hear one word about what you saw here tonight, you won’t live to see tomorrow’s sunrise! Now get out! All of you, GET OUT!” Caleb rarely lost his temper like this, especially not in public. The guests, all longtime acquaintances, knew better than to linger. They scurried out, and even the nine "concubines" quietly retreated upstairs. Only Lexi remained, frozen in place. “Are you satisfied now, Caleb?” I asked, tilting my head back to look at him, my gaze defiant. Tears burned behind my eyes, but I refused to let them fall. I had cried too many tears for him. I wouldn't shed another. “Can I go now?” “Don’t you dare pull these pathetic little tricks on me, Pamela,” he hissed, his disbelief still palpable. “It’s disgusting. Don’t you dare bring shame upon the Vance name.” I took a deep breath. “Caleb. This time, I really mean it. I want a divorce.” He looked at me as if I’d just told the world’s most hilarious joke. He grabbed the back of my neck, forcing my head down. “You dare divorce me? Can you afford your father’s hospital bills? Can you pay for your mother’s daily shopping sprees?” His voice was venomous. “Pamela, the first person to get on her knees and beg me not to divorce you will be your own mother.” His hatred for me and my mother was a raw, open wound. He hated her for the drugs, and he hated me for my inaction. “Even if your mother hadn't drugged us, I would have married you! I would have helped you! But you had to use the one method I despise most!” he spat. “You, Pamela! You’re the one who destroyed what we had!” I had explained it a thousand times, but he would never believe me. Seeing my silence, his frown deepened. He dragged me over to Lexi, forced me to my knees, and pushed my head down. “Put her shoes on. You’ve been doing this for ten years. You should be an expert by now.” For a decade, I had not only cared for Caleb but also waited on his nine mistresses. I had done things—forced and voluntary—that made me despise myself. But now, all I wanted was for it to end. So, once again, I obeyed. I put the shoes on the girl’s feet. Perhaps my compliance bored him. With a grunt of frustration, he hauled me to his bedroom and, in front of me, began to undress Lexi. I had seen this scene countless times. Sometimes, he even made me participate, to "instruct" them. Just as I had done so many times before, I tore open a condom wrapper and held it out. This time, he shoved my hand away. “Not needed tonight.”
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