Addicted To My Ex-Husband's Enemy; His Curvy Obsession

~ CASSANDRA ~

"I want an open marriage."

My husband, Rhett, stands in the center of our bedroom, an envelope clutched in his hands.

My brows furrow as I stare at him, pretending to be shocked, even though I know exactly what he means. This is just his way of saying, I want to cheat openly.

A bitter scoff escapes my lips as I hold his gaze.

"Why?" I ask innocently, playing along with his game.

It's been less than twenty-four hours since I returned from my two-month business trip to finalize the deal with Transcorp, and this is what welcomes me home.

To make matters worse, instead of celebrating my return, he'd openly celebrated the successful deal with his lover, Kira.

And now he's standing here, asking for an open marriage.

"I don't need to explain myself to you, Cassandra," he says curtly, raking a hand through his hair as he walks over to the vanity, pretending to busy himself even though there's nothing there to do.

"So, I get to meet other people, right?" I ask calmly. "And you get to meet other people too?"

He scoffs.

His blue eyes rake over me with a mocking sneer, looking me up and down as though the idea of anyone wanting me is laughable.

"Whatever, Cassandra." He shrugs. "It only applies to me. We have a son. Would you really go around telling our son that you're a cheat?"

I'm taken aback by his statement.

I genuinely want to know how his mind works, how he reasons, how he justifies something so absurd. Somehow, in his twisted logic, his cheating is acceptable, but mine would make me the villain.

"Can you even hear yourself, Rhett?" I ask, shaking my head in disbelief. "It only makes sense when it applies to you and not to me?"

"You're making it sound like it's a big deal when it's not."

By the Goddess, this man makes me want to throw my hands in the air.

Instead, I reach for my bag and pull out a thick envelope. I remove the photographs and toss them onto the table in front of him.

"It's her, isn't it?"

I watch his face drain of color as he flips through the pictures.

Every single one captures him with his mistress. My private investigator took them while I was away, fighting to secure a business deal that would strengthen our pack. While I spent sleepless nights perfecting presentations and negotiating contracts...

...he had his bed warmed by that fucking bitch.

"You were spying on me?" he asks, glaring at me with nothing but disgust.

I rise to my feet, a bitter laugh escaping my lips.

"That's your excuse?" I ask incredulously. "Not that you cheated, and betrayed your wife. Your biggest concern is that I found out?"

"You wouldn't blame me for cheating if you took a good look at yourself." He lets out a harsh laugh. "You're not the Cassandra I married five years ago. You've got to cut a man some slack. I've got a functioning sex drive that needs attention."

He shrugs, completely unapologetic.

"I've tried getting closer to you. I've tried letting my guard down, but I can't. Hell, I can't even stand the thought of touching you."

His eyes sweep over me with undisguised contempt.

"You're fat. Disgusting. You snore. You smell, and—"

So you're saying... you cheated on me because I gained weight?"

"Fat is the right word."

I stare at him for a second, unable to believe what I've just heard.

"Fuck you, Rhett." I yell.

"My body went through hell bringing our child into this world, and all you can see is the weight I gained? That's your excuse? That's what makes cheating acceptable to you?"

I let out a bitter laugh.

"You don't think I should be the one grieving or the angry one? I was beautiful, Ethan. I was the captain of the fucking cheerleading team when you met me. I was the girl every guy on campus wanted. I had dreams. I had plans. I had a body I loved."

My throat burns. "And you think I don't miss her?"

"You think I don't stare at old pictures and wish I could have that girl back? You think I wanted this?"

Tears blur my vision, but I refuse to look away from him.

"Do you have any idea what it's like to watch your body stop feeling like your own? To be pumped full of medications? To have hormones turn against you? Do you know what it feels like to suffer from PCOS? To watch your dreams shrink a little more every single day while pretending you're okay?"

I press a trembling hand against my chest.

"I didn't ask for this, Rhett. I didn't ask for the weight. I didn't ask for the infertility scares. I didn't ask for the exhaustion, the pain, the endless battle with my own body."

My voice drops to a whisper. "But I stood through it anyway."

Then I look him dead in the eye. "And the saddest part? After everything I've survived, the thing that finally breaks me is realizing I gave my love to a man shallow enough to punish me for it."

He doesn't say anything at first. He just stares at me, jaw tight, like he's trying to decide whether to double down or backpedal.

Then he stretches his hands placing the envelope he had wirh him on the table.

"I already had these drawn up." His voice is devoid of any emotjons. "Sign them, or accept the open marriage. Those are your only two options, Cassandra."

I look down at the papers.

Divorce.

For a moment, the room falls deathly quiet. I can hear my own pulse pounding in my ears. I can hear Rhett's steady breathing as he waits, so certain he already knows what I'm going to do.

Without a word, I reach for the divorce papers and pick up the pen lying beside them.

Rhett's brows lift in surprise, as if he hadn't expected me to reach for it so quickly.

"Cassandra... you're really going to sign that?"

He frowns, the question sounding almost incredulous, as though he'd assumed I'd beg, cry, or refuse altogether.

I shrug.

"What does it look like?"

I flip through the pages, then, without a moment's hesitation, sign my name. I slide the papers back toward him and meet his eyes.

"You're going to regret this," he says coldly. "You'll come crawling back once you realize what you're giving up—the pack, the status... me."

I almost laugh.

"The only thing I'm giving up is you."

I close the folder and straighten, meeting his eyes without the slightest hint of fear.

"I built this pack's trade network with my own two hands while you were busy warming someone else's bed. I don't need your name to matter here, Rhett. I never did."

For five years, I stood beside this man.

I held his pack together during disputes he never had the patience to resolve. I smiled through galas and treaty negotiations while quietly bleeding on the inside, convincing myself that if I just gave enough, tried hard enough, was enough, he'd eventually look at me the way he used to.

I was wrong.

And I'm done being wrong about him.

"I'm taking our son," I say, leaving no room for negotiation. "And I'm leaving the pack."

"You can't just—"

"Watch me."