Bleeding On His Carpet Before Taking His Company

Thunder shook the porch of the villa. I jammed my key into the front door lock. The metal clicked.

"Julian?" I called out.

No answer.

I pushed the heavy oak door open. The storm howled behind me, blowing rain into the marble foyer.

"Julian, wait. Did you lock the door?" a woman asked.

"Who cares?" Julian replied. His voice drifted from the living room.

"Chloe might come home early," she said.

"Let her. I'm sick of pretending."

I froze. That was Mia. His assistant.

I dropped my wet purse. It hit the floor with a dull thud. I walked past the foyer, my wet shoes squeaking against the stone.

Julian, my husband of three years, pinned Mia to the expansive wool rug in the center of our living room. Her silk blouse sat in a crumpled pile by the sofa.

"Tell me you love this," Mia whispered.

"You know I do," Julian answered.

A harsh, broken laugh scraped up my throat. It was the wrong reaction. I should have screamed. I should have cried. Instead, I laughed.

Julian's head snapped toward the hallway. He didn't scramble to hide. He didn't pull a blanket over Mia. He just stared at me.

"Get out, Chloe," he ordered.

"Get out?" I asked. "This is my house."

Mia slid off him. She pulled her skirt down, smoothing the wrinkles. "Julian, make her leave. She's ruining the mood."

"I said, leave," Julian repeated.

He stood up. He didn't bother to button his shirt. His bare chest heaved slightly.

"You brought her here?" I asked. My voice shook. "Into our home? On our rug?"

"It stopped being your home a long time ago," he said.

"We took vows, Julian."

"Vows expire when the marriage goes dead," he shot back. "You've been acting like a ghost for months. Did you really think I'd just sit around and wait for you to come back to life?"

"I was grieving my father!" I yelled.

"And I was bored," he stated simply.

I took a step back. The cruelty in his eyes paralyzed me.

"I've given you everything," I said, my voice cracking. "I gave up my career for you."

"Nobody asked you to," Julian replied.

"You did! On our wedding day."

"People say a lot of things at weddings, Chloe. It's a performance."

"So the last three years were just a show?" I asked.

"Mostly," he admitted.

Mia laughed. "Don't act so surprised. Everyone in his office knew. You were just the trophy he kept on the shelf."

"Shut up, Mia," I snapped.

"Don't talk to her like that," Julian warned. He took a step toward me. His fists clenched.

"You're defending her?"

"She's going to be my wife," he said.

"Julian, please," I whispered.

"Don't beg. It's ugly," he snapped. "Pack your bags and get out. I'll have my lawyer contact yours in the morning."

"I'm not leaving," I said.

"You don't have a choice," Mia chimed in. She walked over to the coffee table and picked up