My husband is hopelessly in love—with his little girlfriend. Lately, she's been giving him the silent treatment, and he's been a nervous wreck, a fresh crop of stress sores blooming at the corner of his mouth. I cover my mouth to hide a smile. It's a good thing my own little boyfriend would never do that to me. Until Valentine's Day. The boy's handsome face is tight with tension. "I don't care. I'm tired of being your dirty little secret." "If you don't make it official, I'm going to volunteer for a relief mission in Africa. I'll let the sun ruin my face, so you'll never see this face you love so much again." I'm hopelessly in love, too. And I'm a sucker for a pretty face. Panicked, I march to my husband and lay my cards on the table. "We need to get a divorce, now. If we don't, the boy I'm keeping is going to get ugly." The man, who rarely shows any emotion, suddenly crushes the teacup in his hand, his voice raspy. "You swore you'd love me for a lifetime." "Jennifer," he chokes out, "how could you fall out of love so fast?" 1 On Valentine's afternoon, the streets are teeming with couples. I find Adrian on the city's luxury shopping avenue. He's leaning down, murmuring to a crying girl, his voice softer than I've heard it in years. "Don't cry, okay? It was my fault. I won't do it again." "Come on, sweetheart. You'll smudge your makeup." After a bit more coaxing, the pretty girl finally cracks a smile and says playfully, "If you make me mad again, I'm really going to ignore you. You can't keep treating me like this, Adrian." They hug, then start kissing, right there on the street. It's a passionate, lingering kiss. If you were close enough, you could probably hear the wet smacking sounds. A few passersby turn to stare. Even on Valentine's Day, a full-on public make-out session is a bit much. I cover my face and quietly back away. If only the man wasn't my husband of five years. I'd be munching on popcorn, watching to see how long they'd keep it up, how big of a crowd they'd attract. But the man is Adrian. My childhood friend, the man I dated for three years and have been married to for five. 2 I have the divorce papers in my purse. But they're so engrossed, I figure it's probably not a good time to interrupt. What if he gets mad and drags out the divorce? The man waiting for me at home wouldn't get his divorce certificate, and then he'd be crying and taking it out on me in bed all night. Just as I'm about to slip away, the girl, Skylar, spots me. She gives Adrian a little push. Her wide, watery eyes are full of challenge, her voice sickly sweet. "Ma'am, are you stalking me and my Adrian?" "You have no shame. Adrian loves me, but you're still clinging to your title as his wife and won't let go." I frown. Are all mistresses this self-righteous now? When Skylar first came into the picture, my marriage with Adrian wasn't completely broken. When I heard he was spoiling some new girl, I threw a fit. I screamed, I yelled, I smashed things in our house. Then, I collapsed and begged him to come home. I swallowed all my pride, promising to forgive him if he just broke it off with her and came back to me. Remembering her past provocations, my first instinct is to fire back a sarcastic comment. But then I think of the divorce papers in my bag, and the beautiful boy waiting for me at home. I force a pleasant smile. "Actually, I'm here to talk to Mr. Thorne about our divorce." I pull the papers from my purse and hand them to him. "Here. The assets will be divided according to our prenup. My lawyer will be in touch." "I've already signed. Just let me know when you're free, and we can go get the certificate." Skylar's face lights up with unconcealed joy. She tugs on his sleeve, her voice a purr. "Adrian..." But for some reason, Adrian's pleasant expression darkens. "A divorce? Is this some new trick to get me to come home?" "It's Valentine's Day. Skylar is young, I have to be with her. Jennifer, be a good girl. I'll come home and see you tomorrow." Skylar looks triumphant, leaning intimately against him and mouthing the words, "Old hag. I told you your husband loves me." How pathetic. I, the wife, am being treated like the secret mistress. "No, thank you," I say, my voice cold. "From now on, you don't have to come home at all." I toss the divorce papers at his face and walk away. 3 I drive back to the apartment I share with Philip. He's in the kitchen, cooking. The scent of my favorite braised pork belly fills the air. My gloomy mood vanishes instantly. I skip into the kitchen. "Philip, I talked to Adrian about the divorce today. Don't worry, we'll be divorced soon." Then I see him. And I have to swallow. Philip is a boxer, and he's in perfect shape. A chiseled eight-pack, sharp V-lines. He's ruggedly handsome, with a wild edge. And right now, he's shirtless, wearing the small pink apron I bought him, his abs flexing with each breath as he meticulously chops vegetables. He looks like a perfect, domesticated house-husband. My brain is screaming. Whose domestic god is this? I want to press my face against his chest, kiss him, bite him. "You're finally home, my lady?" His captivating eyes crinkle with a smile. He expertly flips a fish in the pan, then turns off the heat. "Dinner will be ready in a minute." Suddenly, I'm not that hungry anymore. I put on my most virtuous expression. "Let's not eat just yet." A playful glint appears in his eyes. His voice drops to a husky murmur. "Want to eat me first?" … It was Valentine's Day. But I spent the entire night in bed. It isn't until the sky begins to lighten the next day that I finally get to eat my braised pork belly, my back aching. Something glitters around my neck. I look down. It's the new serpent necklace from Bulgari. A piece that costs a fortune. Philip doesn't come from money. When I first met him, he was fighting in illegal underground matches. I don't know how long he had to save up to buy me a multi-million dollar necklace. He sees me looking at him, and his ears turn red. He keeps feeding me spoonfuls of fish soup, his actions steady despite his blush. His warm breath tickles my ear as he says, his voice full of sincerity, "I know it's not much. It's not good enough for you." "Jennifer, I'll work harder. I'll buy you a better Valentine's gift next year." I hadn't received a Valentine's gift since my falling out with Adrian. A warmth spreads through my chest. I throw my arms around him. "I believe in you." 4 The divorce proceedings are officially underway. But every time I send the papers, his secretary sends them back. He doesn't believe I'm serious. And why would he? I used to be crazy about him. We were childhood sweethearts. My parents were always busy, so they'd leave me at his house for him to look after. When kids bullied me, he was the one who stood up for me. When I was so sick I was about to pass out, he was the one who climbed over my fence in the middle of the night to take me to the hospital. When I got my first period and was crying in the bathroom, not knowing what to do, he was the one who, red-faced, went to buy me pads and taught me how to use them. I fell for him, hard. At our high school graduation party, I got drunk and confessed my feelings. He gently stroked my head. "That's my line," he'd said. "Jennifer, I've liked you for a long time, too." After three years of dating, we got married. I thought we'd be happy forever. Then I found out he was seeing other women. I saw him with a new intern from his company, kissing her in a private room at a club. I was standing right outside the door. I heard him, drunk, complaining to his friends: "You guys have no idea. Jennifer and I have known each other for over twenty years. Sex with her is like my left hand touching my right. I have to take a pill just to get it up for her." "I never should have rushed into marrying her. The thought of going home to her makes me want to puke from boredom." Adrian had many lovers. Skylar was just the one who stuck around the longest. Everyone said he was serious about her. He showered her with gifts, took her to exclusive parties, and introduced her to his friends as his "girl." When she came to our house to taunt me, he immediately defended her and blamed me. I was a mess, crying my eyes out. The man who used to comfort me at the slightest frown now just sat there, smoking, watching me have a complete breakdown and destroy our home. When I was finally exhausted, he took a drag from his cigarette and said with a smirk, "Quite the crier, aren't you?" "Jennifer, I'm just tired of our relationship. But I still see you as a sister. If you need a man, I don't mind if you find someone on the side. Just don't you dare touch Skylar. If you do, I'll really be done with you." I sat on the floor, surrounded by the wreckage, and realized I didn't recognize the man in front of me. But even then, I didn't agree to a divorce. Everyone in our social circle said I was pathetic, so in love with him I'd tolerate anything. Now, I truly regret not taking him up on his offer. 5 The divorce papers are returned again. I have no choice but to go to his office and confront him. But I'm stopped at the entrance by Skylar and her entourage. She's holding a sign that reads: NO DOGS OR JENNIFER THORNE ALLOWED. The people around her start to snicker. "So that's Adrian's wife? She's not all that. Not nearly as sweet as Skylar." "If it wasn't for her being his childhood friend, Skylar would be the one with the ring..." Skylar, basking in the attention, holds her head high. "Old hag, aren't you going to leave? You're not welcome here." I look at them like they're a bunch of idiots. If they know I'm his childhood friend, they should also know that my family is just as powerful as his. I've never bothered with Skylar before because I felt the problem in my marriage was with Adrian. But my restraint has clearly made her bold. I raise my hand to slap her, but Adrian appears out of nowhere and catches my wrist. "Jennifer, she's young and doesn't know any better. Let it go." He looks at me with disapproval. "Are you really going to hit her? When did you become so vicious?" If I back down now, the story of how Jennifer Thorne was barred from her husband's company by his mistress will be all over the elite circles. I'll be a laughingstock. He's so concerned with protecting Skylar, he hasn't given a single thought to my own predicament. A dull ache starts in my chest. I clench my fists, my nails digging into my palms. "I'm here to talk about the divorce..." "I'm not signing," he cuts me off. "Jennifer, stop this, okay? Skylar is no threat to you. I'm just… keeping her around." 6 I look at Skylar. Spoiled by Adrian, her eyes immediately fill with tears. She reaches for his hand. "Honey..." He shakes her off. For all his philandering, he knows Skylar is not wife material. And he knows his family adores me. He reaches out to stroke my hair. "Look, I know you're doing all this to get me to come home. I'll come home tonight. Just be good and stop making a scene." I step back, avoiding his touch. The last bit of pain in my heart dissipates. He clearly hasn't been back to our marital home in the last six months, or he would have noticed that all my things are gone. Moved to my apartment with Philip. I take a deep breath. Just as he thinks I'm about to back down, I slap him, hard, across the face. The sound is crisp and loud. A red handprint blooms on his handsome face. Skylar, her eyes wide with horror, screams at me, "You old bitch! How dare you hit my husband? You're just jealous that he loves me! A venomous shrew like you doesn't deserve to be loved!" I slap her too, my face impassive. In the stunned silence, I pull the divorce papers from my bag again. "How many more of these do I have to send before you'll sign?" "And don't act so high and mighty, you impotent old man. You think I still love you? That's hilarious. You're old, and you've got a thick skin." Adrian is two years older than me. If Skylar thinks I'm an old hag, what does that make him? A fossil? Adrian's face is a thundercloud. But when he sees the clear disgust in my eyes, he starts to tremble. The color drains from his face. "You really want a divorce? This isn't just a tactic to get me home?" "What else would it be?" Before I leave, I say, my voice low and dangerous, "You know my family is not to be trifled with. If you don't sign, bed photos of you and every single one of your little girlfriends will be trending online by tomorrow." 7 Back at our apartment, Philip is at his desk, typing away. But the moment I walk in, he senses my mood. He drops what he's doing and pulls me into his arms. "What's wrong, my lady? Who upset you? I'll go beat them up tomorrow." Philip is usually a man of few words. Even in bed, I'm the one doing most of the talking. But now, seeing my pout, he's in a fluster, trying to think of jokes to cheer me up. When that doesn't work, he lifts me, red-faced, and sets me on his lap. "Look, baby, a bouncy castle," he says, flexing his abs. I actually laugh. Seeing that it's working, he gently lays me on the sofa, takes off his shirt, and ties a black silk scarf around his eyes. The afternoon sun streams in, glinting off his bronze skin. He looks like a Greek god. He makes his pecs dance. "Look, baby. They can dance for you." "..." I have to admit, the view has significantly improved my mood. Without hesitation, I tug at the waistband of his gray sweatpants. He gets the message and eagerly gets to work. As I'm reaching my peak, I hear him panting in my ear, whispering that he loves me, his voice a low, sexy growl, full of adoration. 8 Young men have stamina. I got home at two, and by the time we were done, it was dark outside. Philip cleaned me up, tucked me into bed, and even adjusted the air conditioning to the perfect temperature before he left the room. But I can't sleep. Skylar's words echo in my mind. A venomous shrew like you doesn't deserve to be loved. Before, I would have brushed it off. But I've just been through a failed marriage. My husband of five years, my childhood sweetheart, cheated on me and complained to his friends that I was boring and frigid. I get out of bed and walk to the living room. Philip is in the kitchen again, chopping vegetables. Ever since we got together, he's been determined to fatten me up. Adrian used to pinch the soft flesh on my stomach, his eyes full of disgust. "Jennifer, you haven't even had kids, and your stomach is already flabby. Your waist is so thick. Looking at you just kills my libido." His words had humiliated me. I wasn't fat. I'm 5'5" and weigh 118 pounds. But after his comments, I started dieting, starving myself until I was anemic and weak, until I ended up in the hospital with low blood sugar. It was only later that I found out he was seeing a model at the time. She had a tiny waist, so he found fault with mine. Philip has never been like that. When I told him I was worried about gaining weight, he cupped my face in his hands, his eyes serious. "Why would you need to lose weight? You're not fat at all. You're so thin, you need to eat more to be healthy." "Adrian said I was fat..." I'd mumbled. "Then why didn't you tell him he was small?" he'd muttered under his breath. "He's probably insecure, so he has to insult you. What a pathetic asshole." As I enter the kitchen, Philip's sharp eyes spot me. He frowns. "Baby, why aren't you wearing slippers? You'll catch a cold." He quickly washes his hands and lifts me into his arms. But I have something to ask him. "Philip," I begin hesitantly. "Do you think… I'm a bad person? That I don't deserve to be loved?" In the quiet kitchen, I can hear my own anxious heartbeat. He looks at me, stunned. "How could you not deserve to be loved?" he blurts out. "You're amazing." The cooking fumes must be getting to me, because my eyes start to water. Philip is still talking, his voice a soothing murmur in my ear. "Don't listen to those people. You deserve to be loved more than anyone. Adrian cheated because he's blind and a piece of trash. He doesn't know how to appreciate what he has." A weight lifts from my chest. He's right. Why am I letting two awful people make me doubt myself? I signal for him to put me down, then grab his apron and pull him down for a kiss. "Baby, again? Aren't you hungry? Maybe we should eat first." Little Philip is already at attention, but he's trying to hold back, his eyes red with effort. I stroke his face. "I'm not hungry. I'd rather eat you." Neither of us notices the phone in the living room, ringing off the hook. All the calls are from Adrian.
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