Something Stolen, Something Cruel, Something Walked Away

I went to my best friend's place for her birthday, and out of nowhere, she started complaining.

"I'm so jealous of you," she said. "Your boyfriend has basically no sex drive."

"Mine's the complete opposite. He wanted it seven times last night. I was crying so hard I lost my voice, and he still wouldn't stop."

I gave her a sympathetic smile. "That just means he's crazy about you. Unlike mine—he's practically celibate. Like a monk."

She raised an eyebrow, casually stroking the two-million-dollar ruby bangle on her wrist. "He's not bad," she said, a hint of smugness in her voice. "He was with his ex for five years, but he still chose to marry me behind her back. He was so afraid she'd push for marriage that he faked going bankrupt and told her he had ALS.

"The girl wouldn't let go, though. She sold her blood, her kidney—whatever it took—to scrape together money for his treatment.

"She was working the graveyard shift at a factory, while he and I were fooling around in a twenty-million-dollar villa."

I froze.

To help my boyfriend Nathan Whitley pay for his ALS treatment, I had done all of those things.

Before I could even process it, the door opened, and a tall, sharply dressed man walked in.

"Babe," he said, "I got that strawberry flavor you like. How about wearing that silk nightie tonight?"

Our eyes met.

I stood there, frozen in shock, a chill running down my spine.

It was Nathan Whitley—the man who was supposed to be broke, bedridden, and dying of ALS.

My best friend beamed, wrapping herself around Nathan Whitley's arm.

"Nathan," she cooed, "my friend here was just saying her boyfriend has no sex drive. I was teaching her how to turn a guy on.

"You know what… maybe we should show her one of our private videos?"

My breath caught. My heart felt like it was being crushed in a fist.

I couldn't believe it. It was really Nathan.

Just last night, he'd been sick in bed, stuck in a run-down studio apartment, eating leftover bread.

But now, the floor beneath his feet was worth more than a million dollars.

He glanced at me coldly, then kissed my best friend on the forehead, his gaze low and husky.

"You think she'd even get it?" he murmured. "The way you moan… the way your body just melts… the way you squeeze around me—"

"Babe… Evelyn's right here."

Chloe Bartlet giggled, playfully hitting his chest before heading into the kitchen to cut fruit.

My eyes burned. My voice shook as I asked, "How long have you been married?"

Nathan traced his fingers along my cheek, wiping away a tear. His face was calm and unbothered.

"Three months.

"I faked going broke and getting sick because I wanted you to leave. But you wouldn't. You sold your blood and your kidney. You worked every night and day just to pay for a disease I never had. I didn't have the heart to tell you.

"So, you want out or not?"

My throat closed up. Every ounce of strength drained from my body.

"We were together for five years… why?"

I remembered everything. How he worked himself sick buying us an engagement ring. How he held me tight when we crashed the car—glass stabbing into his chest while I walked away with a bruised knee.

Nathan looked at me, standing there wrecked, and something flickered in his eyes.

"Five years," he said. "Aren't you bored?

"Chloe gives me something you never could. Excitement. A chase. You've been the same in bed since day one.

"She wanted to be my mistress. Said she didn't care what people thought. But I couldn't stand her getting judged. So I married her. And honestly? Sex is better when it's legal."

My eyes went dry.

He kept going, his voice dropping lower.

"You really should learn from her. She's gorgeous. Seductive. At your dad's funeral, she was crying so prettily I got hard just watching. I couldn't help myself.

"That night you thought there was a mouse in the house? That was me and her.

"She was so scared you'd hear her moan that her whole face turned red. You should've seen her. God."

The way he talked about Chloe—his eyes burning with want.

This was not a man with a low sex drive.

This was not my Nathan.

Five years ago, when I said yes to his proposal, he spun me around laughing.

"Evelyn, you really said yes. This feels like a dream."

Now, he looked at me like I was nothing.

And suddenly, I laughed. Shaking. Broken.

I ripped the ring off my finger and threw it at his face. It sliced his cheek, drawing blood.

"Nathan," I said. "We're done."

He touched his face, looked at the ring on the floor, then back at me. His brow furrowed—like he was surprised I'd actually thrown it.

He bent down and picked it up. "You're mad?" he said coolly. "A man can't be with one woman forever. You'll get used to it.

"See, that's where Chloe's better than you. She knows when to push and when to pull back. Even when she's moaning like crazy underneath me, she still finds the breath to ask if my girlfriend would be jealous."

That broke me. Tears poured down my face. My chest felt like it had been carved open.

"Evelyn, what's wrong? Are you okay?"

Chloe came running back, panicked, dabbing at my tears with a napkin, her face full of concern.

But the fresh red marks all over her neck told a different story.

She'd bragged about having sex seven times last night. She'd made fun of Nathan's girlfriend for taking home leftovers from restaurants.

And I'd never once suspected her.

I laughed bitterly.

"You took my first boyfriend in high school," I said. "And now you've taken my fiancé. Feels pretty good being the other woman, doesn't it?"

Chloe froze. Her face went white.

"You… you know everything?"