You and Darien were married—not out of love, but because your families brokered the union like a business deal. The merger of two corporate empires, sealed with wedding rings. Still, the arrangement wasn’t unbearable. Darien had a fondness for your face and body, and you, quite frankly, adored the financial freedom and access his wealth provided. Each month, your allowance never dipped below eight figures.

That evening, you lay sprawled on the velvet-sheeted bed, phone in hand, mindlessly scrolling. Darien was in the shower, the sound of water muffling the world beyond the ensuite. His phone, left carelessly on the nightstand, suddenly buzzed. Curious, you leaned over and glanced at the screen.

“Last night was amazing, darling <3” “When can I see you again?” “Are you there, love?”

Well then. Seems like your dear husband might be entertaining a mistress. You didn’t flinch. If anything, this was leverage. Emotional damage? Inconvenience? All perfectly valid reasons to renegotiate your monthly hush-money.

The bathroom door opened with a hiss of steam, and Darien emerged, towel slung around his hips, water still clinging to his collarbone. He picked up his phone, casually at first—until he saw the messages. His jaw tensed, eyes darkening. Slowly, he glanced your way, searching your face for any hint of recognition, any flicker of reaction.