Obsessed with Punishment

[Why haven’t you divorced that loser yet?]

Caroline Whitley, a business manager, received the message just as she was wrapping up a VIP-only private event at a luxury hotel. Dressed in a beige suit, she stood at the conference hall entrance, seeing off the guests.

The attendees were all heavyweights from high society—there was no room for error.

Again, her phone buzzed in her pocket. She stole a glance at the screen.

[Is he any good?]

[Did he satisfy you in bed?]

It was from an unknown number, but the words oozed a familiarity that twisted her gut.

She froze for a moment but soon snapped back, continuing to farewell the guest with a smile.

Their praises rang in her ears, but wild, hot scenes clawed their way out from the cracks of her mind.

It was overwhelming, but she managed to wave off the last client with practiced grace.

Then she slipped around a corner, craving a moment to breathe. But fate had other plans. She collided with a wall of muscle.

A tall, striking man emerged from the shadows like a ghost she couldn't outrun. His face was one that she'd loved like crazy in her youth.

His deep eyes pinned her, sharp as a sniper's scope. "Not replying to my texts?"

"Mr. Holt, good to see you," she gulped.

The world was too small. A year apart, Laurent Holt crashed back into her life.

It was unexpected but not surprising. Only events like this would draw him out.

She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, pretending he was just another guest.

She turned to leave, but he grabbed her arm with that infuriating mix of arrogance and need. "When is that husband of yours going to drop dead?"

Only James Holt would say something so vile and make it sound like a casual Tuesday.

Her pulse raced, a traitor to her calm facade. Even now, his presence was a live wire, sparking memories she'd buried deep.

She yanked her arm free, her voice icy. "Are you out of your mind?"

"So what?" He stood his ground, unbothered as people passed by, greeting him.

He didn't care who saw them arguing.

Given his status, he should have left this behind. Yet he was relentless, stirring up the past and leaving her restless.

"What, you just met me today?" he sneered.

Her chest tightened, old feelings threatening to drown her, but she steeled herself, turning her face away and replying to his earlier question, "Don't bother. My husband is doing just fine."

"Is that so?" His smirk deepened, his gaze raking over her suit. "What's with the cheap clothes? This is how you're living after ditching me? Pathetic."

Just now, he had ordered a custom outfit for her, like it was charity.

She cut him off. "Being with you was indeed pathetic."

His jaw tightened, and a flicker of pain crossed his chiseled face.

Locking eyes with him, she continued, "I was with you since high school. You got bored and tossed me aside. It's been a year. Why the hell are you here? Run out of naive girls to screw over?"

His throat bobbed, and his brows furrowed. He stared at her face, recalling her ecstasy when they were in bed.

"I had my assistant get you some clothes," he muttered, trying to ease the tension.

"No need. Too pricey for my blood." She waved him off, cold as ice. "I've got clients to chase. Catch you later, Mr. Holt."

He grabbed her fingers, his grip desperate but controlled. She pried them off, one by one, her expression unyielding.

He scowled, his voice low and rough. "At least unblock me on WhatsApp."

She didn't respond. She freed her hand and walked away.

His growl chased her. "You've got my initial tattooed on you. Doesn't he mind?"