No More Forgiveness

At an industry party, my award-winning actress wife lost a game. Instead of taking the drinking penalty, she chose to French kiss her childhood sweetheart for three minutes.

By the end of it, both of them were flushed, and Mira Lane's blouse had been stripped down to nothing but a camisole.

If there had not been other people in the room, I believe they would have taken that kiss even further.

Julian Reed sent me the livestream himself.

The next day, Mira came to my office to collect her monthly allowance.

Instead, she found my office full of young, beautiful women, with one long-legged beauty sitting directly on my lap.

She stomped her foot in anger. "Get these sluts out of here!"

I sneered and showed her the livestream I had saved. "I don't think they're any cheaper than you."

Her face flushed as she tried to explain. "That was just part of the game. When I'm acting, I kiss other men too, and you never say anything. Why is he different?"

I reached out and pinched the thigh of the woman sitting on my lap.

"I'll give you one choice. Cut Julian off right now, or I'll take all these lovely girls home and show them a good time."

"Think carefully before you choose."

For a moment, Mira looked genuinely stunned.

In six years of marriage, I had never spoken to her like that.

Our marriage had started because of an old promise between our families, not some grand romance. Even so, I had always believed that once a woman became my wife, she became my responsibility.

So I never raised my voice at her.

When she threw a tantrum, I was always the one who lowered my head first. When our daughter was born and Mira showed no interest in taking care of her, I raised Lily myself and never complained.

But this time, I shattered every version of me she thought she knew.

"Grant Whitmore, Julian and I have known each other for more than twenty years. I am not cutting him off," she snapped. "And if you keep making me angry, I'll divorce you."

I gave a cold laugh and raised three fingers.

"In business, no one threatens me. I'll count to three."

"One."

"Grant, I'll tell your grandfather you cheated on me. I'll ask him to make this right."

"Do you have proof?" I asked evenly. "Because I do. A three-minute makeout session should count, don't you think? Two."

"You!" Her face flushed with anger. "I'll give you one chance to take that back. Otherwise, I'll let my tens of millions of followers destroy you online."

I raised the third finger.

"Do not forget who funded your career. Without me, where would those followers have come from? Three."

The next second, she snatched up her phone and called Julian in front of me.

"We're done. Don't contact me again."

She ended the call, her eyes red as she glared at me.

"Happy now? Does it