He Lost Me After I Lied to His Mistress

My husband's mistress had laid down a ruthless monthly demand: twelve nights in her bed.

And my husband, Julian Voss, desperate to pacify his pretty little plaything, came to me hat in hand.

He'd slunk into our bedroom at two in the morning, the scent of her perfume clinging to his tailored suit-sweet, cloying jasmine, a stark contrast to the sandalwood I'd worn for him for a decade.

His jaw was tight, his brow furrowed, the way it always was when he had to ask for something he knew he didn't deserve.

"Seraphina," he'd said, his voice low, rough, like he'd been smoking too many cigars, "Lila's upset. She says the months I spend with you are making her feel insignificant."

I'd been sitting up in bed, a book in my lap, the pages unturned for hours.

I didn't look at him.

I didn't need to.

I could picture the exact set of his shoulders, the way his fingers twitched at his sides, the guilt that gnawed at him even as he chose to hurt me again.

"Insignificant," I repeated, the word flat on my tongue.

"Funny. I don't recall her feeling insignificant when she was wearing the diamond necklace you bought her- the one that cost more than my childhood home. Or when you took her to the French Riviera for a week, leaving me here to run your company while you sipped champagne on a yacht."

His hand closed around my wrist, his touch burning hot through the thin fabric of my nightgown.

Every time his fingers brushed my skin, a wave of agonizing suffocation would crash over me.

It was the touch of a stranger, a man who'd forgotten how to love the woman who'd loved him through the darkest days of his life.

"Just do this for me," he begged, his voice cracking.

"One more month. I'll fix it. I promise."

Promises.

Empty, worthless promises.

He'd made a hundred of them over the years.

I'll stop seeing her.

I'll come home to you.

I'll love you again.

None of them had ever meant a thing.

I pulled my wrist free from his grasp, my movements slow, deliberate.

I finally looked at him, my eyes cold, empty, the way his had been when he'd first told me about Lila.

"Twelve nights," I said.

"Take them. But when you walk out that door, don't bother coming back. Not for dinner. Not for sleep. Not for anything. This marriage is already dead, Julian. You just haven't had the courage to bury it yet."

His face paled, his mouth falling open like he'd been slapped.

For a moment, I thought he might argue, might beg, might do something to show he still cared.

But he didn't. He just nodded, his shoulders slumping, and turned to leave.

The door clicked shut behind him, and I let the tears fall.

Not for him.

Not for the marriage that had died a slow, painful death.

For the girl I'd been- the bright, hopeful twenty-year-old who'd thought love could conquer everything.

For the life I'd lost, the dreams I'd abandoned, the woman I'd become: a ghost in her own home, a stranger to the man she'd loved with every fiber of her being.

Lila was the boldest, the most willful of all his playthings-unafraid to push him, to test his limits, to make sure everyone knew he was hers.

No exaggeration: he spoiled her rotten and let her get away with just about anything.

He'd bought her a penthouse in the heart of the city, a closet full of designer clothes, a fleet of luxury cars.

He'd even put her on the board of Voss Enterprises, a position she'd done nothing to earn, just so she could be close to him.

She hated me.

With a passion that was almost tangible.

She hated that I was his wife, that I'd been with him before she'd even met him, that I knew the parts of him he'd hidden from the world- the broken, vulnerable parts, the parts he didn't want her to see.

She hated that I didn't fight for him, that I didn't beg, that I didn't act like the desperate, scorned wife she'd expected me to be.

So she lashed out.

In small, petty ways at first- leaving her lipstick on his collars, sending me passive-aggressive texts, showing up at our charity galas in dresses that were far too short, far too tight, far too revealing.

But as time went on, her attacks grew bolder, more cruel.

It was three days before our tenth wedding anniversary when she crossed the line.

I'd been at the office all day, buried in work, trying to keep my mind off the fact that Julian had forgotten the date entirely.

I'd come home to an empty house, a cold dinner on the table, and a text message on my phone- from her.

She sent me a taunting photo: her grinning face pressed to his chest, his arm slung lazily around her waist, rumpled bed sheets in the background.

The caption read: [Happy anniversary, Mrs. Voss. He's mine tonight. And every night after that.]

Something in me snapped.

Ten years of pain, ten years of heartbreak, ten years of swallowing my pride and smiling through the hurt- it all came crashing down in that moment.

I didn't think.

I just acted.

I grabbed my keys, got in my car, and drove to her penthouse, my hands shaking with rage.

The doorman tried to stop me, but I pushed past him, my voice sharp, cold.

"Tell Lila Carter that Seraphina Voss is here to see her. And if she doesn't come down right now, I'll break down her door myself."

He'd scurried off, and a minute later, Lila appeared at the top of the stairs, her hair messy, her makeup smudged, wearing one of Julian's dress shirts.

She smirked when she saw me, her eyes glinting with malice.

"Mrs. Voss," she purred, sauntering down the stairs like she owned the place.

"To what do I owe the pleasure? I thought you'd be at home, waiting for your husband to come crawling back."

I didn't say a word.

I just walked up to her, and I struck her hard across the cheek.

The sharp crack echoed through the silent foyer.

Her smirk vanished, replaced by shock, then rage.

"How dare you?" she shrieked, clutching her cheek, her eyes watering.

"I'll have you arrested for this! I'll tell Julian-"

"Tell him what?"

I cut her off, my voice ice cold.

"Tell him you sent me a photo of you and him in bed on our wedding anniversary? Tell him you've been parading around town like you're his wife, while I'm stuck at home, running his company, picking up the pieces of his broken life? Tell him the truth- that he doesn't love you. He never has. He's just using you to fill the void he created when he lost the ability to love anyone but himself."

Her face turned red with fury, and she lunged at me, her nails out, ready to scratch.

But I grabbed her wrists, my grip tight, and pushed her back against the wall.

She struggled, but I was stronger than she looked.

"Let me go!" she screamed, thrashing in my grasp.

"Julian will kill you for this! He'll divorce you, he'll take everything from you-"

"Divorce me?"

I laughed, a cold, bitter sound.

"He already has. In every way that matters. And as for taking everything from me? He can try. But he'll find out quickly that I'm not the weak, helpless wife he thinks I am. I've been playing nice for ten years, Lila. But that's over now."

I let go of her wrists, and she stumbled back, tripping over her own feet.

I turned to leave, but before I could reach the door, the elevator dinged.

And Julian stepped out.

His eyes landed on Lila, on her red cheek, on her tear-streaked face, and then on me.

His face turned to stone, his eyes blazing with unbridled fury.

"What did you do?" he growled, his voice low, dangerous.

He walked past me, straight to Lila, and pulled her into his arms, his hand cupping her cheek, his touch gentle, loving- a touch he hadn't given me in years.

"She hit me!"

Lila wailed, burying her face in his chest.

"She broke into my penthouse and hit me! I thought I was going to die!"

I rolled my eyes.

The dramatics were almost comical.

"I didn't break in. The doorman let me in. And she deserved it. She sent me a photo of the two of you in bed on our wedding anniversary. A little slap is the least of what she deserves."

Julian's head snapped up, his eyes locking with mine.

"You think that gives you the right to put your hands on her?" he snarled.

"You think you can just waltz in here and attack her, with no consequences?"

"I think I can do a lot worse," I said, my voice steady.

"If you want to protect your little plaything, Julian, you'd better keep her on a shorter leash. Because the next time she crosses me, I won't just slap her. I'll destroy her."

His jaw clenched, and he set Lila down gently, his hand resting on her shoulder, a silent promise that he'd protect her.

He took a step toward me, his eyes dark, menacing.

"You're going to apologize to her," he said, his voice a command.

"Right now."

I laughed.

"I'm not apologizing to anyone. Least of all her."

His hand closed around my arm, his grip bruising, and he dragged me toward the door.

"We're leaving," he said, his voice cold.

"And when we get home, you're going to regret this. I promise you that."

He pushed me into the elevator, and as the doors closed, I saw Lila standing in the foyer, a triumphant smile on her face.

Julian didn't look at me for the entire ride down to the parking garage.

He didn't say a word.

He just stood there, his back to me, his shoulders tight with anger.

When we got to the car, he opened the passenger door and shoved me inside.

He got in the driver's seat, slammed the door, and peeled out of the parking garage, the tires screeching on the pavement.

The ride home was silent.

Tense.

Suffocating.

I stared out the window, watching the city lights blur past, my mind racing.

I knew what was coming.

I knew he was going to punish me.

For hitting Lila.

For standing up for myself.

For not being the obedient, docile wife he wanted me to be.

When we pulled into the driveway of our mansion, he turned to me, his eyes cold, empty.

"Go to your room," he said.

"And don't come out until I tell you to. And Seraphina?"

I looked at him.

"Make sure she takes her medicine. All of it."

I counted the days, the hours, the minutes-desperate for the day I could leave.

For the day I could escape his gilded prison, the day I could breathe again, the day I could finally be free.

I'd planned it all months in advance.

I'd saved every penny I could, hidden it in offshore accounts he didn't know about.

I'd updated my passport, my visa, all my important documents.

I'd even found a place to live- a small cottage on a tropical island, far from the city, far from him, far from all the pain and heartbreak.

I was on my way to the embassy to collect my visa-my bags packed, my escape route mapped out, every detail of my future carefully planned.

I'd left a note on the kitchen counter, short and sweet: [I'm gone. Don't bother looking for me. Seraphina.]I'd thought it would be easy.

I'd thought I'd walk out the door and never look back.

But I was wrong.

He found me before I could even reach my car.

His black SUV pulled up in front of the mansion, blocking my path, and he stepped out, his bodyguards flanking him, his face cold, hard, unforgiving.

"Where do you think you're going?" he asked, his voice low, dangerous.

He took a step toward me, and I stepped back, my heart racing, my hands shaking.

"None of your business," I said, my voice steady, even though I was terrified.

"I'm leaving. I told you I would."

"Leaving?" he repeated, a bitter laugh escaping his lips.

"You don't get to leave. Not after what you did to Lila. Not after you embarrassed me in front of the entire city. You're mine, Seraphina. Body and soul. And you're not going anywhere."

His bodyguards moved forward, and before I could react, they grabbed me, their hands like iron around my arms.

I struggled, I screamed, I fought with everything I had, but it was no use.

They were too strong, too many.

They dragged me back into the mansion, up the stairs, into the master bedroom, and locked the door behind them.

Julian stood in front of me, his eyes blazing with fury.

"You think you can just walk out on me?" he snarled.

"You think you can leave me for some pathetic little life on a tropical island? You're wrong. So very wrong."

He walked toward me, and I backed away until my back hit the wall.

He cupped my chin in his hand, his touch rough, and forced me to look at him.

"You're going to stay here," he said, his voice a command.

"You're going to apologize to Lila. You're going to make this right. And if you even so much as think about leaving again, I'll make sure you regret it for the rest of your life."

He let go of my chin, and turned to leave.

"The doctors will be here in an hour," he said, his voice cold.

"They'll make sure you're 'stable.' Make sure you don't try anything stupid again."

Doctors.

I knew what that meant.

Sedatives.

Pills.

A straitjacket, if I was lucky.

He was going to lock me up, drug me, make me into the obedient little wife he'd always wanted.

He was going to take away my freedom, my sanity, my will to live.

An hour later, the door opened.

Five female physicians loomed over me, their faces cold and impassive, medical bags in their hands.

Julian stood in the doorway, watching, his arms crossed over his chest, a satisfied smile on his face.

"Make her comfortable," he said.

"And make sure she takes her medicine. All of it."

The physicians moved forward, and I fought them with everything I had.

I scratched, I bit, I kicked, I screamed for help, but no one came.

The mansion was too big, too isolated.

No one could hear me.

No one cared.

They pinned me to the bed, their hands pressing down on my arms, my legs, my chest.

One of them pulled a syringe out of her medical bag, the needle glinting in the light, and I knew it was over.

I knew I was never going to escape.

I knew I was going to die in this gilded prison, a prisoner to the man I'd once loved.

As the needle pierced my skin, I looked at Julian, my eyes filled with hatred, with anger, with sorrow.

"I hope you're happy," I whispered, my voice weak.

"I hope Lila makes you happy. Because you've destroyed everything good in your life. Everything good in mine."

His face flickered with something- guilt?

Regret?

Sorrow?- but it was gone in an instant, replaced by cold, hard indifference.

"It'll only be for a little while, darling. It won't hurt. Just relax-and do as I say, please."

The sedative hit me fast, my vision blurring, my body going limp.

The last thing I heard before the dark closed in was Lila's cold, triumphant cackle through the speaker of his phone.