CHAPTER 3 — PAPER WIFE

Sable

Three years.

That was the first thing I thought when I woke up.

Not the date. Not the memory. Not even Steve.

Just the number.

The number sits heavy in my chest, like something I swallowed that never went down right. Three years since Luke Jones signed his name beside mine in a courthouse that smelled like disinfectant and old paper.

Three years since I learned what it meant to be married without ever being wanted. Three years since Luke Jones decided my body was part of a debt ledger. Three years since my last name stopped being mine and started being leverage.

Anniversaries weren’t something I looked forward to. They were something I endured.

Because even though our marriage was nothing but ink and obligation, Luke always remembered the date. Not because it meant anything to him—but because it reminded him I was still his.

Some days within the year he ignored me completely. Other days, he didn’t.

Those were the worse ones.

I moved through the house quietly that evening, tension coiled tight in my chest. Cassandra and Jack were out—Luke had made a point of mentioning it at breakfast, his tone casual in the way that never actually was.

You’ll have the house to yourself tonight. Don’t make it weird.

As if that was ever my choice.

By the time I reached the bedroom, the lights were already on.

Luke was there.

Not waiting for me—occupying the space. Jacket tossed over a chair. Phone on the nightstand. The air thick with something sharp and uncomfortable.

I stopped just inside the doorway.

“Are you serious?” I asked before I could stop myself.

His eyes flicked up lazily. Not startled. Not embarrassed. Just one hand wrapped tight around his cock like he’s angry at it.

“What?” he said.

I nodded toward the phone. Toward the image he hadn’t even bothered to hide.

Cassandra. Reclined on a lounge chair, wrapped in something sheer and deliberate. Legs spread, baring everything. Mouth parted. Looking straight into the camera like she knows exactly who’s watching.

Again.

Luke exhaled, irritated. “Don’t start.”

“It’s our anniversary,” I said flatly. “I thought maybe—”

He crossed the room in three long strides and caught my face in his hand—not squeezing, not gentle. Just firm enough to remind me who decided when conversations ended.

“You don’t get to comment on how I prepare,” he said quietly, his thumb pressing just under my jaw. “What matters is that you benefit from it.”

My stomach turned.

“I hardly call this a benefit,” I said.

His grip tightened—not enough to bruise, enough to correct.

“Be smart,” he warned. “Tonight doesn’t have to go badly.”

That was as close as he ever came to a threat.

“On your knees.” He ordered.

I knew what he wanted. I always did. It was never about intimacy—never about me. It was about routine. Control. The idea that access alone should be enough.

I complied because resisting only made things worse.

He stepped up closer to me bringing his dick right up to my mouth. “Now open up.”

Again I complied so that I don’t get a bruised cheek for refusing. But as soon as he slid his cock into my mouth I could feel it going soft.

The tension broke in a way it always did—with frustration snapping sharp and ugly. Luke swore under his breath, stepping back like I had failed him.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered. “I don’t know why this is always such a problem with you.”

With me.

As if his body’s refusal was somehow my fault. As if my existence was the malfunction.

He shoved past me, grabbing his jacket. “You kill the mood just standing there.”

The door slammed behind him.

I stayed where I was, shaking slightly—not from fear, not exactly. From the familiar cocktail of humiliation and relief.

Relief, because this time, he’d walked away.

Sometimes he didn’t.

I got to my feet and sat on the edge of the bed and stared at my hands. Once—years ago—I’d wanted him to touch me. I’d tried to convince myself that if I were quieter, prettier, more accommodating, he might actually want me.

That’s basically insane given I was forced to marry him. But I’m human and desire and even crave intimacy just the same as any other.

But after enough nights like this—after enough blame, enough coldness, enough pain—I stopped wanting anything from him at all.

The truth settled heavy in my chest.

This marriage wasn’t just loveless.

It was dangerous.

Three years of pretending. Of waiting. Of hoping. For what? He’s never wanted me.

But the truth is clear now. He’s always wanted her.

And now that Steve is gone? It’s only a matter of time before he’s fucking her in his bed—the bed that he tried to fuck me in for the past three years but could never get it up. And then beat me like it was my fault.

I would rather be alone for the rest of my life than spend one more day shackled to a man who could touch himself to get hard using a picture of someone else but go limp when it came to his own wife. A man who won’t even look me in the eye unless it’s to scold me for existing. No more.

And tonight—of all nights—made things clearer than ever.

I wasn’t a wife.

I was a placeholder. A release valve. A reminder that he owned something that didn’t fight back.

No more.

I stood, steady now.

I needed a plan.

And Luke would never agree to let me go—not willingly, not cleanly. His marriage to me keeps my parents under his thumb.

So I wouldn’t ask.

My phone was already in my hand as I scrolled to the name I hadn’t needed in years.

Rebecca Alvarez. I met her right after we got married. I’m pretty sure she knew the marriage had nothing to do with love. I wasn’t very good at masking yet.

She’d told me once, If you ever feel trapped, call me first. We’ll make a door.

I pressed dial.

This time, I didn’t hesitate.