No More Forgiveness Tokens

Every time my husband, Dave Tarrett, spent the night at his ex Maggie Gorringe's place, he bought me another building.

Two years into our marriage, I owned 285 commercial properties across the country.

Which also meant Dave had screwed me over 285 times.

After the deed to property number 286 landed in my hands, Maggie sent me another smug little video.

"So what if Dave throws money at you? I'm the one who gets his body and his heart. You might be some international supermodel, but you still can't get your own husband into bed."

I didn't bother arguing.

Instead, I mailed her the newest Victoria's Secret set from my latest runway show.

When Dave found out how "generous" I'd been, he rewarded me by taking me to some elite social event.

During a party game, Maggie lost three rounds straight and got dared to lick whipped cream off some playboy's thigh.

She grabbed a wine bottle, smashed it, and shoved the jagged edge against her neck.

"Dave, I'm not letting anyone humiliate me like this!"

Dave—usually cold as ice—instantly panicked. Then he turned to me. Of course he did.

"It's just whipped cream," he said softly. "Do this for her. I swear I'll go home with you after."

Everyone waited for me to lose it.

But I stayed calm and agreed without a word.

He didn't know this was the 287th time he'd hurt me.

And I was done being his pet.

Once I paid back the debt I owed him for saving my life, we'd be done for good.

"Oh? The international supermodel actually agreed to do it? Damn, Dave really knows how to keep women in line."

"If she refuses, then what? You think Maggie's gonna do it herself? Please. Maggie's the love of his life."

The laughter around me wouldn't stop.

Standing there in the middle of it all, I felt humiliated.

And while everyone kept throwing out disgusting comments that made my skin crawl—

Dave was crouched in front of Maggie, carefully bandaging her neck like she was something fragile. Then he looked up at me, ice-cold.

"Bianca, don't pull anything. Maggie's waiting to keep playing after you're done."

Maggie. Maggie. Always Maggie.

He never once asked if I was okay with this.

Somewhere along the way, he'd completely forgotten I was his wife.

Forgotten that a few days ago, I'd lost our baby because of her. I was barely managing to stay on my feet tonight.

When I didn't move, someone suddenly shoved me.

"What are you waiting for? Hurry up and do it. Don't tell me you're chickening out now?"

I stumbled, barely catching myself before I hit the floor.

When I looked at Dave again, his attention was already back on Maggie.

"287 times. This is the 287th time."

I repeated it over and over as I forced myself toward the man stretched out with whipped cream smeared across his leg.

Jared Decker.

The elite circle's favorite rich disaster.

But the second