Witch of Stolen Fortune

I came from a family of witches. When we came of age, every woman in our line awakened a gift.

I could siphon my husband's luck through marriage. The rule was simple. After we married, each time he betrayed me, the universe paid compensation. A portion of his fortune slipped away from him and into my hands.

Outside the window, bright fireworks filled the sky. They burst and stitched themselves into a name.

Kimberly Swan was his mistress.

When I did not explode the way people expected, Jasper Prescott grew even more entitled.

"Handle those trashy news articles," he said. "Kimmy's young. She can't read that kind of nasty stuff."

The way he said her name, Kimmy, was so soft and affectionate.

She had been at his side for three years. It was long enough for me to know what she liked.

I met his eyes. There was no guilt there.

I lowered my gaze and answered the way a "good wife" was supposed to. "Okay."

It took nearly everything I had to bury the scandal before midnight. By the time the clock struck twelve, the trending topics had been scrubbed clean and replaced with glossy congratulatory press, blessings, and applause.

[A century proposal, so romantic it hurts.]

My own social accounts, though, were a sewer.

[What is this? A wife who swallows this kind of humiliation?]

[For a little rich-family money, she has no dignity at all.]

I scrolled through the comments.

I felt nothing.

They were not wrong about one thing. I stayed because of money. More precisely, I stayed because my gift had limits. My fortune-siphoning gift only worked on my husband.

Across from me, Jasper carefully peeled shrimp and brought it to Kimberly's lips.

Kimberly tilted her head with a coy smile. "I want you to feed me with your mouth, mmm?"

Jasper froze for half a beat. Then his gaze darkened, heat sharpening the edges of his expression.

"What? Didn't I fill you up this morning?" he said quietly.

The housekeeper approached with another dish.

Before she could step any closer, I lifted a hand. "Do not interrupt Mr. Prescott and Miss Swan."

The housekeeper stared at me, thrown off.

I gave her a small smile.

At the beginning, I had not been like this.

The first time I had seen lipstick smeared on his collar, I had fallen apart, screaming until my throat burned. I had cried until my eyes swelled. I had hurled the jewelry he had bought me across the room and watched it scatter.

Jasper had stood in the middle of it, surrounded by the mess he had made, and looked at me with plain disgust.

"Look at you," he had said. "You're like a lunatic."

That was the moment I understood. Tears had no value in front of a man whose heart had already left. Love could not be begged back.

If he could not give me the love I wanted, then he could give something else: his fortune.

"Ah…"

A breathy little cry cut through my memory.

I blinked back to the present.

Jasper's breathing had grown rough. He scooped Kimberly into his arms and cradled her against his chest.

She tucked her face against him and acted tipsy and helpless.

He turned his head slightly toward me, though he did not quite face me.

"Kimmy's not used to staying up here," he said. "I'll take her back."

Then, he added, "Don't worry. When I'm done, I'll come back."

I did not answer. I watched their backs as they left.

My gift had already taken hold. Whether he came back or not, no longer mattered.