When I found out Jackson was cheating, we were both surprisingly calm about it. He stood there, shielding the girl behind him like some kind of hero. His voice was flat. "Don't blame her. This was all me. I lost control. She's innocent." I just nodded. I got it. Later that night, Jackson came home and slid a folder across the kitchen island. Divorce papers. "I've been more than generous with the financials," he said. "Take a look. If it's all good, just sign." I picked up the agreement, glanced at it, and then dropped it neatly into the trash can under the sink. I gave him my most understanding smile. "Don't worry, honey. I'm not going to blow up our lives over something so trivial." I mean, it’s just an affair. In the age of swipe-right and situationships, who hasn't been tempted? God knows I haven't always been a saint, so who was I to judge Jackson? 1 Jackson had a cigarette halfway to his lips. He froze, then slowly lowered it, looking at me like he’d never seen me before. I knew what he was thinking. This wasn't the old me. Back in the day, I was the jealous type, the kind who’d check his phone. Jackson always had a magnetic pull on women, and even when we were crazy in love, he had to fend them off. It didn’t matter how hard he tried to be good for me; some girls just don't care about a wedding ring. We used to fight about it constantly. But that was then. Maybe it was the years we’d spent together, the passion fizzling out into a comfortable, boring routine. Or maybe I just got older and too tired to fight. Our marriage had become like a placid lake on a windless day—not a single ripple. And when life gets too quiet, you start craving a little noise. "Jackson," I said, leaning against the counter. "We've known each other for twenty years, been married for almost ten. The company is thriving. Our parents are practically best friends." I let the words hang in the air. "Do you have any idea what a divorce would actually mean for us?" It would mean splitting assets, a move that would send our company's stock into a nosedive. It would mean detonating a bomb in the middle of our two families. Our parents aren't young anymore; they all have their health issues. A shock like that could be catastrophic. He was silent for a long time. Finally, he mumbled, "I was just trying to respect you." "Your 'respect' involves getting a twenty-something pregnant and making me a cliché?" I shot back, my voice still even. He frowned, getting defensive. "She's not just some 'twenty-something'! And I told you, it was me. She knew I was married and tried to end it." "I get it, you don't have to explain," I cut him off, deciding to just lay it all out. "You're worried I'll go after her, right? That I'll use my position as your wife to make her life hell. Don't be. If I have one virtue, Jackson, it's that I can be incredibly generous." He watched me, his eyes narrowed. "You're really okay with this?" "I wouldn't say I'm 'okay' with it," I sighed dramatically. "But you two have found true love. That's so rare these days. Who am I to stand in the way? Consider me a supporter." 2 My little speech didn't exactly win him over, but he knew I was speaking facts. He agreed to "reconsider" the divorce. For the next few days, he came home right after work. When his phone would buzz, he’d glance at me and silence the call. I made a point of being magnanimous. "Is that her? You should take it. Don't let her feel ignored. If you can't give her the title she wants, the least you can do is not make her feel like a secret." He clenched his jaw, got up, and shut himself in the study. The closed door was a perfect metaphor for his heart. It hadn't been open to me in a long, long time. Honestly, I understood. People are incredibly tolerant of those they truly love, and equally tolerant of those they feel nothing for. It's the people they used to love that they become viciously cruel to. He must hate me right now. Hating me so much that sharing the same air in our living room was probably suffocating. And yet, here he was, playing the part of a husband every night, all because he was afraid of what I might do to his precious new love. Poor guy. What a trooper. That night, like every other night, I slept alone. I couldn't remember the last time we’d slept together. In the beginning, I tried. I’d wear something sexy, make the first move. He'd always plead exhaustion. But please. Men can be eighty and still get a woman pregnant. They can be paralyzed from the neck down and still try to cop a feel off a nurse. I knew it wasn't about being tired. He was getting his needs met elsewhere. But a woman in her thirties has needs. I was in my prime. So, I’d found a clean, discreet solution of my own. Just before bed, I got a text. "When are you going to divorce him?" "I told you, I don't do this. I'm not the other woman. If you're not leaving him, we're done. Don't contact me again." I thought about his eight-pack and the things he could do with that body, and I licked my lips with a twinge of regret. A divorce was out of the question, but he sounded serious. I wasn't going to beg. So, I just tapped his name and hit "delete contact." Oh well. There are plenty of other fish in the sea. Bye-bye. The next one will be even better. 3 Monday morning. Quarterly shareholders' meeting. I hadn't been to the office regularly since my miscarriage a couple of years ago. After that, I stayed home to "recover," happy to just collect my dividends. But I never missed a shareholders' meeting. There were a few new faces since my last visit, but my eyes landed on one immediately. A young woman in the corner, tasked with taking the meeting minutes. She saw me, and her eyes darted around the room in a panic before she shrank in her chair and stared at her notepad. I didn't feel any animosity toward her. Mostly just a little… pity. She was the first one Jackson had ever brought into my world, right under my nose. But she definitely wasn't the first one he’d slept with during our marriage. Jackson was usually so good at keeping his work and private life separate. The others were never allowed anywhere near the company. The way he defended her, the way he brought her into this sacred space… I had to admit, this time it really might be love. At ten a.m. sharp, Jackson walked in. But he didn't start the meeting. A moment later, there was a low murmur outside, and the conference room door swung open. A man in a sharp charcoal suit strolled in. "Sorry I'm late," he said, though his tone held zero apology. He walked right past everyone and took the empty seat next to Jackson. He must have felt my gaze because his cool, indifferent eyes met mine for a fraction of a second before flicking away. I smirked to myself. That was Caleb for you. A complete poker face. Especially in bed. The more intense things got, the colder his expression became. I think I might have a thing for that, though. The colder he was, the more turned on I got. "Chloe, who's that?" the shareholder next to me whispered. "Caleb. He was our angel investor," I explained quietly. "We wouldn't have gotten the company off the ground without him." "I've never seen him at one of these before." "He owns a lot of things. We send him an invite every quarter, but he always declines." "So why is he here now?" I smiled and shook my head. "No idea. Maybe he was bored?" 4 The meeting wrapped up around noon. I decided to stay and have lunch with Jackson. I was washing my hands in the executive restroom when his little girlfriend walked in. She saw me and her first instinct was to bolt. But she stopped herself, shuffled over, and stood with her head bowed. "Mrs. Davis," she mumbled, her voice barely a whisper. I took my time, slowly drying my hands, enjoying the hum of the air dryer. The silence stretched, and she started to tear up, her shoulders shaking. Pathetic. "Mrs. Davis, I swear, I never meant to hurt you. I… I didn't know he was married when we first met…" she sobbed. "I tried to leave him, I really did, but… but…" "But you're just so in love with him," I finished for her, pulling a silk handkerchief from my purse. I gently tilted her chin up and dabbed her tears with a patronizing sort of pity. "The thought of leaving Jackson felt like a knife in your heart, a fate worse than death." I continued, my voice soft and sweet. "So you had to stay. And then he brought you into the company, so you could finally be with him every single day. Am I getting it right?" I'd stolen all her lines. She just stared at me, too stunned to even cry. "Was there something you wanted to say to me?" I asked her. The office building was huge. If she'd really wanted to avoid me, it would have been easy. The girl's motives were so transparent it was almost cute. "Mrs. Davis… you're so smart, and beautiful, and you have everything… so… so could you please… just divorce him?" She knew how pathetic she sounded, because the tears started flowing again. "I have to ask. I… I'm pregnant." "Does Jackson know?" I asked, my voice perfectly level. She nodded. "But he said you won't agree to a divorce. Mrs. Davis, the baby is innocent… I grew up in a broken home. I just… I really want to give my child a complete family!" Her voice rose with rehearsed desperation. "Call me shameless, call me a homewrecker, I don't care! I will do anything for my baby!" I offered a small, serene smile. "I see. You should stop crying. It's not good for the baby." "Thank you! Thank you for understanding!" she gushed, and actually started to bend her knees as if to kneel. But when she realized I wasn't moving to stop her, she froze in an awkward, mid-curtsy squat. I glanced at my watch. It was past lunchtime. No wonder I was starving. "Jackson and I will discuss the divorce," I said, patting her shoulder as I breezed past her. Jackson's office was spacious. When I pushed the door open, he was in the middle of a conversation with Caleb. He smiled when he saw me. "Hey, perfect timing. Caleb, it's been a while since you and Chloe have seen each other, right? Let's all grab lunch." It hadn't been that long, actually. We’d just slept together last week. Caleb’s eyes flicked over to me. "It has been a minute," he said, his voice smooth as silk. "I was actually going to text you both about lunch today, but it seems Chloe deleted my number?" "No way," Jackson said, immediately grabbing my phone off the desk and scrolling through it. His face fell. "Huh. You're not there." "She must have deleted it by accident," Jackson said, rushing to my defense. "Chloe never deletes anyone." "It's fine. We can fix that now," Caleb said, holding out his own phone with his contact QR code already displayed. He watched, stone-faced, as Jackson used my phone to scan it and send a new contact request. I subtly rolled my eyes. And who was it, exactly, who swore last night we should never speak again? 5 Just as we were about to leave, there was a timid knock on the door. It was the little girlfriend, clutching her stomach and looking pale. She needed to leave for the day. Technically, she should have gone to her direct supervisor. But when you’re the boss’s darling, rules don't apply. So, naturally, Jackson had to take care of her. Which meant Caleb and I were left to go to lunch alone. As I left, Jackson gave me a pointed look. "Be nice to Caleb," he mouthed, "Apologize for deleting him." They used to be best friends, I’ll give them that. Caleb’s seed money was what started everything. But we’re not college kids anymore. We’re in a different league now, and things get complicated. To show just how sorry I was, the moment we were inside Caleb's black sedan, I offered my wrists to him. He wordlessly took off his silk tie and bound them. His expression was ice. "So ruthless," he murmured, his voice a low growl. "Just delete me like that." He leaned in closer, his breath hot against my ear. "You think you can just come and go as you please? Walk in and out of my life whenever you feel like it? What do you take me for, Chloe? Your dog?" The car's windows were tinted, but we were still in the company's parking garage. The familiar setting, the risk, sent a jolt of electricity through me. "You love him that much?" he sneered, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper. "You know he's been screwing her for months, and you still won't let him go?" He pulled me onto his lap so my back was against his chest, then grabbed my chin, forcing me to look out the front windshield. Just then, the elevator doors slid open. Jackson emerged, his arm wrapped protectively around his little lover, his face a mask of tender concern. He was obviously taking her to the hospital. Caleb's grip tightened on my jaw. "Tell me," he whispered, his lips brushing against my temple. "What do you think he'd do if I rolled down the window and said hello right now?"
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