The 33rd betrayal of my husband
Chapter 1
Every time Blake Harrison didn’t come home,
every time he had breakfast with another
woman, my bank account got a cool ten
million richer.
He called it making sure I wasn’t
“uncomfortable.”
Now, that pile of cash was sitting pretty at
over a hundred million.
The thirty–first time I got a transfer
notification, his childhood sweetheart, Ashley
Carter, had the nerve to send me a picture of
her snuggled up in Blake’s arms. The caption?
“Blake says this should cover one night of
your design work, honey. Oh, and he wants
you to bring breakfast to my place
tomorrow.”
I calmly replied, “Got it.” I personally
<
packaged up the design files and that damn
breakfast and delivered it myself.
Blake, for once, actually praised me for being
so understanding. He even broke his own rule
and took me to some high–profile business
gala.
But then Ashley got cornered by some creepy
client at the party. She ran straight to Blake,
all damsel–in–distress.
Blake’s face tightened. Then, he looked right
at me. “Olivia, be a doll and smooth things
over with Mr. Thompson for Ashley, will you?
Just a few drinks.”
All eyes were on me, waiting for the “trophy
wife” to crack.
Instead, I silently mouthed, “Does this count
as ‘happily ever after‘?”
He nodded.
What he didn’t know? This was number
thirty–two.
く
After thirty–three, I was cashing out, burning
it all down, and leaving his ass in the dust. He
was gonna regret this.
“So, Ms. Bennett, I hear you’ve got some
talent. How about you come up to my room
later and give me a private showing of your
designs?” Mr. Thompson leered.
This sleazy, middle–aged creep was just
some low–level business partner of Blake’s.
And me? I was Blake Harrison’s actual wife.
Also, the “placeholder” he’d just pushed in
front of Ashley to take the heat.
No way this wasn’t Blake’s idea.
“Ooh, look, Harrison’s wife is getting
sacrificed again.”
“Tsk, tsk. What’s the point of a gold–digging
trophy wife if you don’t use her, right?”
Ignoring the whispers, I shoved my hand in my
pocket, clutching the doctor’s note about my
damn stomach ulcers, and gripped my wine
glass.
Stuck on my face? The picture–perfect smile.
Thompson’s hand landed on my shoulder, his
boozy breath hitting my face. “Come on, drink
- up. Then, we’ll find somewhere quiet to chat.”
I smoothly sidestepped him, downed the drink
in one go.
My stomach immediately started burning.
Across the room, Blake had his arm wrapped
around Ashley’s waist. They were laughing,
like they were the only two people in the
world.
He didn’t even glance my way.
“Another one, Ms. Bennett?” Thompson
shoved another glass of hard liquor at me.
“Sure, Mr. Thompson.” I barely managed to
take it. I was about to drink it when someone
slammed into me from the side.
“Oops!”
damn stomach ulcers, and gripped my wine glass.
Stuck on my face? The picture–perfect smile.
Thompson’s hand landed on my shoulder, his
boozy breath hitting my face. “Come on, drink
- up. Then, we’ll find somewhere quiet to chat.”
I smoothly sidestepped him, downed the drink
in one go.
My stomach immediately started burning.
Across the room, Blake had his arm wrapped
around Ashley’s waist. They were laughing,
like they were the only two people in the
world.
He didn’t even glance my way.
“Another one, Ms. Bennett?” Thompson
shoved another glass of hard liquor at me.
“Sure, Mr. Thompson.” I barely managed to
take it. I was about to drink it when someone
slammed into me from the side.
“Oops!”
Wine splashed all over Thompson.
Ashley covered her mouth, all innocent. “Oh,
I’m so sorry, Mr. Thompson! Olivia bumped
into me, and well…”
Thompson’s face went dark.
Blake strode over, his eyes cold. “Olivia
Bennett, apologize! Don’t embarrass me like
this!”
The snickers around us were deafening.
I gritted my teeth, pressed a hand to my
burning stomach, and bowed to Thompson.
“I’m so sorry. My fault.”
Blake wasn’t satisfied. “That’s it? Get on your
knees and beg forgiveness from Mr.
Thompson and Ashley. That’s how you show
you’re sorry.”
“Yeah, get on your knees!” The crowd was
loving it.
I didn’t argue.
I just mouthed, “Does this count as ‘happily
ever after‘?”
When he nodded, I dropped to my knees
without a second thought.
I wasn’t desperate. I was done. Thirty–three
times, and I was free. I wasn’t wasting
another second.
Thompson sneered. Blake was already leading
Ashley away.
In the car home, Blake tossed me a credit
card. “That’s for tonight. Consider it
compensation.”
I took the black card, said nothing.
Back at the house, I pulled out my journal. On the first page, in neat handwriting:
Blake Harrison proposed 11 times before I
said yes.
I promised him 33 “happily ever after” black
card moments, representing eternal love, in
return for marrying him.
Basically, 33 get–out–of–jail–free cards. 33.
chances for him to be a complete asshole,
and I’d forgive him.
On our seventh anniversary, I hadn’t used a
single one.
