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.

Chapter 1

This was the ninety-ninth time.

The ninety-ninth time in our five-year marriage that I had caught my husband, Chase Vargas, with another woman. I stood in the doorway of the hotel room, my hand still on the knob. The air was thick with the smell of cheap perfume and expensive champagne.

A woman with blonde hair scrambled to cover herself with a sheet. Chase didn't bother. He sat on the edge of the bed, perfectly calm, and looked at me with those cold, familiar eyes. There was no apology, no guilt. Just annoyance.

I was just tired. A deep, bone-weary exhaustion that had replaced all the other feelings long ago. The pain, the hope, the love-it had all been ground down to this. Numbness.

"Get out," the blonde woman hissed, pulling the sheet tighter around her chest.

I looked at her, then back at Chase. He didn't say a word. He just watched, as if this were a show put on for his entertainment.

"He's my husband," I said. My voice was flat.

The woman laughed, a sharp, ugly sound. "Husband? Don't make me laugh. He told me all about you. The pathetic wife he's stuck with because of some business deal. He said he can't