Madam of His Making

I picked up the coffee I had made for Julian Chapman and threw it in his face. "Selling your wife to pay your debts is illegal! Are you trying to go to prison?"

Julian wiped the coffee from his face and stared at me in disbelief. He couldn't understand how the wife he'd spent years mistreating without consequence could suddenly turn on him.

For three years, I washed his clothes, stayed up late mending them, cooked his meals, and pinched every penny to help fund his studies.

I never said a word when his mistresses picked fights with me. In fact, I'd even given him money to support them and their children.

Even when he secretly took up gambling out of frustration after repeatedly failing his exams and blowing through most of my money, I still put up with it.

"You've lost your mind! I'm your husband! A wife is supposed to obey her husband! The authorities have no say in this. Besides, I'm doing this for your own good," he roared.

"Once you're at the brothel, you'll have nice clothes and jewelry. You won't have to worry about putting food on the table anymore. What's so bad about that? Just fight back if you don't want to serve them. No one will force you. Women only end up there because they let themselves be pushed around."

I was livid.

I'd spent three years thinking that if you treated someone well, they'd eventually return the favor. Surely, even the coldest heart would thaw after that much time.

Men who prided themselves on being educated were the best at putting on airs, the coldest regarding other people's feelings, and the quickest to forget who had stood by them.

I slapped him across the face several times.

Julian covered his bleeding mouth and stumbled backward. Fear flashed across his face. He immediately ducked behind the two debt collectors. "Quick! Get this crazy woman out of here!"

The debt collectors laughed. One of them kicked him aside.

"You're a piece of work. Get out of here. I can't stand men who try to pay their debts by selling their wives."

"Exactly. Men who call themselves educated are vile."

Julian scrambled to his feet. Instead of getting angry, he looked at me with righteous conviction.

"What do you guys know? This is what a wife is supposed to do! She pays her husband's debts, and he'll make sure her name is remembered after she's gone," he ranted. "Once I finally pass my exams, I'll make sure she gets a beautiful headstone."

I used to think that being a good wife was my responsibility. Well, not anymore. Now, I fully intended to set men like Julian straight.

I'd spent more than a decade learning from Avaline Murray, a brothel owner. All those years of experience weren't for nothing.

Before I could say a word, one of the debt collectors spat on the floor. "You're just a broke scholar who fails his exams year after year. What gives you the nerve to talk about making the list? Just pay back what you owe!"

Julian flushed and lifted his chin.

"I'm not a broke scholar! I'm just unlucky!"

He was right about one thing. He wasn't some broke scholar; he was a premium piece of eye candy worth a fortune.

The debt collector waved him off impatiently.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. Your wife only covers 120,000 dollars of what you owe. You still have another 100,000 dollars left to pay. Pay up!"

"I still have seven mistresses. Will that cover it?"

The mistresses overheard everything and rushed into the room. They beat Julian up until he was howling in pain.

"That's enough!"

Charlotte Sanders pouted. "You're not seriously going to let this trash off, are you? If it weren't for you, I would've left him years ago.