Chapter 2: Why Not Cheat?

Wilhemina-

My morning started like every other morning.

Alone.

I rolled onto my back and stared at the untouched side of the California king bed. And just like always...cold. Perfectly made. Empty. A fitting representation of my marriage.

I reached for my phone and glanced at the time.

9:17 a.m.

No missed calls. No good morning text. Nothing from Emilio. But what else was new?

Three years of marriage had taught me not to expect things from my husband. Expectations only created disappointment, and I’d already suffered enough of that to last a lifetime.

I tossed my phone onto the mattress and climbed out of bed. It buzzed immediately. For one stupid second, I glanced back thinking...nope.

Deena Cortez.

A smile instantly crossed my face. The only person in this entire godforsaken region I could completely be myself around.

Deena and I had been friends since grade school. Our mothers had been best friends, which meant we’d practically grown up together. She knew every version of me.

Wilhemina Rucci. Wilhemina Saldini. And most importantly...just Mina. She also hated my father. And she fucking despised my husband.

Which became abundantly clear approximately three hours later.

“That fucking prick!”

I nearly choked on my wine.

“What the fuck?” Deena continued, practically yelling while the poor woman doing her pedicure pretended she couldn’t hear her. “Does he plan on spending every damn day with that bitch?”

A laugh escaped my lips as I shrugged.

“I don’t know. Probably.”

We were spending the afternoon at one of Central-Bay’s most exclusive spas. Lunch, massages, facials, manicures and pedicures.

A much-needed girls’ day. Deena stared at me.

“Mina...I don’t get you.”

I sipped my wine.

“What’s not to get?”

“Aren’t you mad?”

“Sometimes.”

“Sometimes?” Her eyes widened. “Your husband spent last night with his mistress! Again!”

“Girlfriend.”

“What?”

I shrugged.

“Girlfriend sounds more accurate. Mistress implies I’m the primary relationship.”

Deena stared at me in complete disbelief. Then she turned toward the ceiling.

“Dear God, give me strength because your daughter is testing me.” 

I laughed. 

“I’m serious!” She looked back at me. “Doesn’t this piss you off? He’s your husband, for Christ’s sake!”

I set my glass down.

“He is, Dee. But only on paper.”

“That doesn’t make it better.”

“I know.”

“Then why are you acting like it doesn’t bother you?”

I sighed. Because once upon a time, it had. A lot. Now...I wasn’t sure what I felt.

“He’s not in love with me, Dee. Never has been.”

She scoffed.

“He didn’t even try! You’re a great fucking catch. The least that bastard could have done was give the marriage a chance.”

“He’s in love with someone else. Why would he try?”

Deena opened her mouth, then closed it.

“I don’t get it,” she muttered. “What does this bitch have? Three tits? Because unless she has three tits and pisses champagne, I’m confused.”

A loud laugh burst from me. Several women glanced in our direction. Deena didn’t care. That was my best friend. To her, I was apparently the greatest woman ever created. And on paper, perhaps I did look impressive.

I graduated high school early. Finished college early too. I spoke several languages, including sign language. I understood finance, international trade and business better than half the men sitting on my father’s boards.

I was poised. Well-mannered. Kind. Caring. Beautiful, according to virtually everyone except the man I had married. One might assume those qualities were enough to make any man fall head-over-heels.

But what did any of it matter when your husband’s heart belonged to someone else?

“No,” I said quietly. “She doesn’t have three tits.”

“Then explain it.”

I smiled sadly.

“She just has his heart.”

Deena’s expression changed. There it was. Pity. I hated pity. Suddenly, she sat upright.

“You know what you should do?”

“My father will never allow a divorce.”

“No, no.” She waved me off. “I already know that bastard wouldn’t. He’d sell his own daughter for power before caring whether she was happy.”

I nodded. Accurate.

“Then what?”

Her lips slowly curled into a smile.

“Cheat.”

I blinked.

“What?”

“Cheat.” She lifted her wineglass. “Why not cheat back?”

I stared at her. Then laughed.

“I’m serious!”

“Deena—”

“Why the hell not?”

“Because I’m married.”

“So is Emilio!”

“I know.”

“Apparently he doesn’t!”

I shook my head.

“I can’t.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m not that type of person.”

Deena groaned.

“Mina.”

“I’m serious. Whatever Emilio does is on him. I made vows.”

“To a man who left you on your wedding night!”

My smile disappeared. Three years later, those words could still transport me back there. Back to the beginning. Back to the night I learned exactly what being Emilio Saldini’s wife meant.

There had been no church. No flowers. No bridesmaids. No beautiful white dress. Our wedding consisted of four people inside an attorney’s private office. Me. Emilio. My father. His father.

Signatures were placed on documents. Hands were shaken. Champagne was poured. And just like that...I became Mrs. Emilio Saldini.

Hours later, I stood inside the bedroom of the mansion purchased for us, watching my new husband pack an overnight bag.

“Where are you going?”

“Out.”

“For the weekend?” He continued packing. “Emilio.”

He sighed.

“I need to see Yazmin.”

I froze.

“Excuse me?”

“She isn’t doing well.”

My stomach twisted.

“You’re going to see your mistress?!”

His jaw tightened.

“Don’t call her that.”

I laughed bitterly.

“What would you prefer? Girlfriend? Lover?”

“Wilhemina.”

“It's our wedding night!”

“And?”

I stared at him.

“And?”

He zipped his bag.

“This marriage has been difficult for her.”

“For her?”

“She’s depressed.”

My disbelief transformed into anger.

“So let me understand this. We got married today, and you’re leaving me to spend the weekend consoling another woman because our marriage upset her?”

“Stop being childish.”

“Childish?”

His eyes hardened.

“Yes. You knew what this was. Our fathers wanted this union. It strengthens both families. You get the Saldini name and everything that comes with it.”

“I already had a name!”

“Then enjoy having two!”

He walked past me. I turned.

“Emilio!”

He stopped at the door. For one moment, I hoped he might apologize.

Instead...

“Don’t embarrass me, Wilhemina.”

Then he left. I stood there for several minutes. Then I drove straight to my father.

“I can’t do this.”

Alfredo’s expression hardened.

“What did you say?”

“I can’t stay married to him.”

His palm struck my face so hard my head snapped sideways causing me to stumbled.

“Have you lost your fucking mind?”

My cheek burned.

“Father—”

“Do you have any idea what this union has already accomplished?”

“He left me for another woman!”

“And?”

There was that word again. And...

“You think powerful men don't have women?”

“I’m your daughter!”

“And that is exactly why you should understand your responsibility!”

Tears filled my eyes.

“I want out.”

“No.”

“I’ll annul it.”

His expression became terrifyingly calm.

“No, you won’t.”

“I will.”

He stared at me for several seconds. Then...

“If you walk away from this marriage, I stop paying for your mother’s care.”

Everything inside me stopped.

“What?”

My mother had been in a coma for more than two years after the accident. Specialists. Private nurses. Experimental treatments. My father paid for everything.

“You heard me.”

“You wouldn’t.”

His silence answered me. My breath trembled.

“That’s Mom. That's your wife!”

“And you are my daughter. Which means I expect you to remember where your loyalties belong.”

“You’re threatening her to control me.”

“I’m reminding you that actions have consequences.”

I hated him then. Truly hated him. He approached me and gently touched the cheek he had just struck. His voice softened.

“Sometimes women have to endure when they marry powerful men, Wilhemina.”

I stared at him through my tears.

“You have a beautiful home. Money. Protection. Status. Emilio will provide for you. Stop focusing on what he does elsewhere.”

His thumb brushed my cheek.

“And if you ever try leaving him again...”

A pause.

“I will make good on my word.”

“Mina?”

I blinked. The spa returned. Soft music. Wine. Deena.

I swallowed.

“There’s no way.”

Her brows furrowed.

“I’m not risking it. If something came out...if I embarrassed Emilio or damaged the image my father has worked so hard to create—”

“He’d threaten your mother.”

I nodded, my eyes stinging slightly.

“He controls me through her, Dee.” My gaze dropped toward my hands.

“And Emilio gets to do whatever the hell he wants because that's just how our world works. The men get power, freedom and mistresses.”

I laughed bitterly. “And my mother and I get to be prisoners.”

Deena didn’t respond. For once, she had absolutely nothing to say. I leaned back.

“So no. I’m not cheating. I’ll attend their charity galas, kiss Emilio’s cheek for cameras and pretend I don’t know where he spends his nights.”

Deena remained quiet. Then slowly...her lips curled into a smile. I narrowed my eyes.

“What?”

“Well...” She picked up her wineglass. “Just don’t get caught.”

My brows furrowed.

“What?”

She sipped.

“Don’t get caught.”

“How is that...what are you talking about?”

Deena glanced around before leaning toward me. Something about her expression made my stomach flutter.

“I'm talking about a place.”

“What place?”

“A club.”

I stared at her.

“What kind of club?”

Her smile widened. Not playful. Not joking but secretive and dangerous. The kind of smile that told me my best friend knew something she absolutely shouldn’t.

She leaned closer.

Her voice dropped barely above a whisper.

“I’m talking about a club called The Angel’s Den.”

“The Angel’s Den?”

Deena nodded.

“Yup…it’s a club. But not like other clubs…this one is…a little different.”

My brows furrowed.

“Different how?”

Her grin grew.

“You’ll have to see for yourself.”

“I…I don’t think so.”

“Why not! Come on Mina! You’re anniversary is tomorrow…you already know that bastard won’t be there to celebrate…why not treat yourself!”

I laughed, but inwardly…a sting of hurt pinched my chest. Deena was right. The chances of Emilio celebrating our anniversary…zero to none.

That next night, buzzing dragged me from a deep sleep.

I jerked upright. My room was dark. For a second, I didn't know where I was. Then my phone buzzed again and again. And then several more times before I grabbed it.

Unknown Number.

Several messages. Photos. Videos. My brows furrowed.

“What the hell?”