Ninety-Nine Times, Then No More
This was the ninety-ninth time I caught my husband, Chase Vargas, with another woman in our five-year marriage. I stood in the hotel doorway, numb, tired of the cheap perfume and his cold, familiar eyes.
But this time, his mistress, a blonde woman, hissed, "He told me all about you. The pathetic wife he's stuck with because of some business deal. He said he can't stand the sight of you."
Her words, meant to hurt, were things I already knew, things Chase had made sure I understood. Still, hearing them from a stranger felt like a new humiliation. She lunged, scratching my face, drawing blood. The sting was a surprising jolt in my numb world. I wrote her a check, a routine part of this pathetic scene.
Then my phone rang. It was Chase, calling from across the room. "What are you doing? Are you making a scene? Clean it up and get out. You're embarrassing." He thought I had orchestrated this, that I was the embarrassing one. The betrayal was casual, complete.
"I'm tired, Chase," I said, the words finally coming from a place I thought had died. "I want a divorce." He laughed, a cruel sound. "A divorce? Elena, don't be ridiculous. You love me too much to ever leave me." I hung up.
He then handed me a signed divorce agreement, telling me his true love, June, my adopted sister, was back. He wanted me to play the dutiful wife for her welcome-home concert. My heart, which I thought had turned to stone, felt a final, crushing blow. He wasn't divorcing me because I wanted it. He was divorcing me for her.
I signed the papers. The ninety-ninth time was the last time he would do this to me.
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Chapter 2
Chase watched me sign the papers, a flicker of surprise in his cold eyes. He probably expected me to cry, to beg. He always saw me as a pathetic creature who lived for his scraps of attention.
"So eager," he murmured, a smirk playing on his lips. "Playing hard to get now, Elena? You think this will make me want you?"
He was so arrogant, so certain of my devotion. He couldn't imagine a world where I wasn't hopelessly in love with him.
His lawyer, a man named Mr. Hanson, cleared his throat nervously. "Chase, Ms. Carrillo's flight from London just landed. The car is waiting to take her to the hotel."
I saw the name on his tongue before he said it. June.
"Shut up," Chase snapped at the lawyer, his good mood vanishing. He shot a glance at me, as if worried I had heard.
I had. It didn't matter anymore.
I turned and walked out of the hotel room without another word. I didn't look back.
Back at the villa, the house we had shared for five years, I started to pack. I moved through the silent, opulent rooms like a ghost. This place had never been a home. It was a beautiful cage. I took only my personal belongings, leaving behind the jewelry, the clothes, the life he had bought for me. Everything fit into a single suitcase. I was ready to leave this city, this life, and never look back.
I was zipping up the suitcase when the bedroom door burst open. Chase stood there, his face a mask of thunder.
"Where do you think you're going?" he demanded. He strode across the room, grabbed my arm, and hauled me to my feet. His grip was like steel.
"Let go of me, Chase," I said, my voice dangerously quiet.
"You're not going anywhere," he growled, pulling me towards the door. "You're coming with me."
"Why? So you can parade me around like a trophy wife one last time?" I asked, struggling against his hold. "To protect your precious June?"
His grip tightened, his knuckles white. "You did this. You leaked those photos of me and June to the press, didn't you? To ruin her homecoming."
I stared at him, bewildered. "What are you talking about?"
He dragged me into the living room and threw me onto the sofa. He turned on the massive television. A news channel was on, the screen filled with a chaotic scene at the airport. June, looking fragile and overwhelmed, was being swarmed by reporters.
"Ms. Carrillo! Is it true you and CEO Chase Vargas have been in a relationship for years?" a reporter shouted.
"Are you the reason for his impending divorce from his wife, Elena Carrillo?" another yelled.
Then, a reporter held up a photo. It was a picture of Chase and June, taken years ago. They looked happy, intimate. My heart gave a painful thud, a reflex I hated.
"You've always hated her," Chase snarled, his voice dripping with venom. "You were jealous of her, even as kids. You couldn't stand that she was the one I loved."
He was right about one thing. I did hate her. But not for the reasons he thought. I remembered our childhood all too clearly. June, the orphan my parents had adopted out of the goodness of their hearts. June, who could cry on command and make everyone believe she was the victim.
I remembered the time she "accidentally" broke our mother's favorite vase and then looked at me with wide, tear-filled eyes, telling our parents I had pushed her. They had believed her, of course. June was so charming, so fragile. I was just the quiet, serious daughter. They always took her side.
I had tried to love her. I really had. But it was impossible to love a snake you were forced to share a room with.
"I didn't do this, Chase," I said, my voice weary. I was done defending myself to him. He would never believe me.
He scoffed. "Your silence is an admission of guilt." He saw my packed suitcase by the stairs. "Running away after you've done the deed? How predictable."
He walked over to the closet and pulled out a dress-one he had bought me. It was elegant and demure. The perfect costume for the supportive, loving wife.
"Put this on," he ordered, throwing it at me. "We're going to the press conference for June's new album. You're going to stand by my side and smile. You're going to tell everyone how much you love your sister and how happy you are that she's back."
I looked at the dress, then at him. The humiliation was a bitter taste in my mouth. But I knew I had no choice. Not yet.
I stood up and took the dress. I walked past him, my shoulder brushing his. For a brief moment, I felt him stiffen.
In the car, I sat as far away from him as possible, staring out the window. He drove in a tense silence. When we arrived, he turned to me.
"Remember your role, Elena," he warned.
I didn't answer. I got out of the car. As he came around to my side, he took my hand. I flinched, but forced myself not to pull away. He threaded his fingers through mine.
"Now," he said, his voice softer, almost a performance. "Let's go show them what a happy couple looks like."
He led me into the throng of reporters. The camera flashes were blinding. I put a small, polite smile on my face and walked beside him. I felt like an actress in a terrible play.
I saw June on the stage, her eyes finding ours. She was flanked by her managers, looking every bit the wronged starlet. When she saw my hand in Chase's, her angelic smile faltered for just a second. A flash of pure, unadulterated jealousy crossed her face before she replaced it with a look of brave vulnerability.
And I knew, without a doubt, that this whole circus was her creation.