Chapter 1: Phone Sex

“Ian, I’m home!” Emily called as she entered, dropping her keys on the kitchen counter.

Not that she expected a response. The five-million-dollar condo swallowed her voice before it could reach the living room. Los Angeles, heart of the city, close to the best clubs and nightlife—everything Ian wanted.

If it were up to her, they’d live in a small apartment in the Valley. Something quiet. Something theirs.

But nothing had been up to her since she was arranged to Ian Hunter three years ago. In all that time, he’d never once touched her. Not the way a man should touch his wife.

Tonight was their third wedding anniversary.

Tonight, she was going to change that.

She’d made reservations at Havana Homes—the most exclusive resort in California. Ian loved their lobster. And if he wasn’t in the mood to go out, she had a backup plan hidden beneath her coat.

Her heart leapt with anticipation, a nervous flutter in her chest as she moved down the hallway toward his office. “Ian? Are you home?”

That’s when she heard it.

“She’s not here right now.” His voice drifted through the crack in his office door—low, rough, dripping with lust. “You’re one freaky girl, aren’t you?”

Emily froze mid-step, her breath stuck in her throat. Shock gripped her legs, but curiosity—or maybe denial—moved her forward until she could peer through the opening.

Ian sat in his leather chair, head tilted back, eyes closed. His hand moved in a slow, deliberate rhythm. He was touching himself to whoever was on the other end of that call.

“Fuck yeah, that’s it,” Ian groaned. “Louder. Say my name.” His voice turned thick, sensual.

“I want to taste every inch of you before I make you mine.” Ian murmured, his voice thick with passion Emily had spent three years trying to earn.

The words hit her like a slap. She should leave, but the weight of her shock kept her rooted to the spot.

This was their anniversary.

She was standing in the hallway, lingerie underneath her coat, clutching a reservation confirmation for a resort that cost more than her monthly profit, listening to her husband pleasure himself to someone else’s voice.

“Oh… yes, baby. Oh… Jane, Damn—”

Jane. His secretary.

Her chest tightened. Emily’s hand shot out to the wall. The hallway tilted beneath her feet.

She staggered to the kitchen, tears blurring her vision. She didn’t know how long she stood there before the shower turned on down the hall.

He was washing away the evidence.

“You’re home early.”

Ian appeared in the doorway, snapping her out of her thoughts.

A towel was wrapped around his waist and water dripping from his hair, he grabbed juice from the fridge and drank like he’d just finished a workout.

Emily’s stomach churned at the sight of him. “Yes,” she forced a smile, her cheeks hurt from the effort. “It’s our anniversary!” She moved toward him with open arms. “Congratulations to us!”

“Yeah, whatever…” he said, barely glancing at her as he redirected her arms away from him and walked past her.

Emily’s hand fell heavily to the side. Her throat tightened. She folded her arms in shame. Then she gathered herself, swallowing the humiliation, determined to get his attention. She followed him.

She talked as he walked, headed towards the bedroom they shared like roommates not lovers.

“I made reservations for us at Havana Homes.” Her voice came out smaller than she intended. “They have—”

“You can go on without me, I have plans.” He cut her off.

“But it’s our—”

“Aren’t you tired of trying?” He still didn’t look at her. “How many times do I need to tell you your place?”

Those words pierced through her chest like a knife.

He grabbed clothes from the wardrobe. She knew where he was going. To finish what they’d started on the phone.

Panic clawed at her ribs.

No, she couldn’t let that happen, tonight had to work.

In one desperate attempt, her hands shaking, she let her coat drop, revealing transparent red lingerie that left little to the imagination.

She closed the distance between them, took his hand, and placed it between her thighs, making him feel how ready she was.

“I’m your wife, Ian. Please.” Her voice shook despite trying to sound sensual, cracking at the last word.

For a second, something flickered in his eyes.

Then it died.

“You’re disgusting.” He jerked away. “Let go before I throw you across the room.”

Her breath hitched. She stepped back, trembling.

As he dressed, desperation made her reckless.

“I’ll tell Grandma Hilda you spent our anniversary with your secretary.”

He turned fast, fear flashing across his face before turning into fury. His jaw clenched. He grabbed her arm and yanked her close. His fingers dug into her skin hard enough to leave a print.

“You won’t fucking dare. Remember—if I didn’t marry you, your father would be rotting in jail. I saved your whole family.”

Then he scanned her from head to toe, his lip curling in disgust, making her feel small and suddenly insecure in not just her outfit but her own skin.

“I will never touch you. You’re pathetic. Know your place.”

He released her and walked out.

Emily’s knees buckled. She crumbled onto the bed, memories washing over her.

Her father was the best friend of the late Hector Hunter and head manager at Hunter Autos until his gambling addiction made him mismanage funds.

Ian had proposed the arranged marriage as payment for her father’s debts. She’d believed he was their savior.

Later, she learned he’d only done it to prove himself the perfect heir to Hunter Auto’s inheritance.

Still she tried to make it work.

A year ago, he’d asked her to fund his auto showroom expansion, promising to pay her back.

Without hesitating she gave him all her profit turnover. His business exploded while hers collapsed. She lost 80% of her clients with just two left—Hunter Autos and Everdale Pottery.

She was 6 months behind on her rent and if Papa Chen, the building’s caretaker didn’t “see her as a daughter” she would have lost that too.

As if on cue with her thoughts, Her phone rang. Papa Chen.

“Hi Papa, I promise tomorrow—”

“You gotta move your things or we’ll both be in trouble.” His voice was tight.

“The building’s got a new owner. He said anyone late on rent has to go. I’m sorry, Em.”

The line went dead.

She sat in stunned silence.

“This day literally couldn’t get worse.”

The bedroom door opened.

Ian walked in. Behind him, in a tight black dress and heavy makeup, was Jane.

Emily’s heart dropped to her stomach. “What is she doing here?”

“Grandma Hilda is dead.” Ian’s tone was flat. “She’s here to keep me company while I grieve.”

Jane didn’t hide her satisfaction. Her eyes raked over Emily’s tear-stained face and the red lingerie, and she laughed—soft, mocking, deliberate.

Emily’s face burned with shame as she grabbed her coat, covering herself. She’d never felt this humiliated in her own home.

“Ian, baby,” Jane cooed, wrapping her arms around his waist. “I’ll be in your office.”

Ian barely glanced at Emily. “Yeah. I’ll be right there.”

Emily’s nails bit into her palms.