Semua Bab I AGREED TO MY HUSBAND'S OPEN MARRIAGE RULES: Bab 11 - Bab 20

The silence in the house after Jake left was a living thing. It was heavy and thick, full of the things that hadn’t happened and the terror of what still might. I spent the day cleaning spots that were already clean, my skin still crawling with the ghost of rough hands and the cold disgust of my own fear. The blue nightgown was a crumpled pile at the bottom of the hamper, a shameful secret hidden under other clothes.When Matt’s key turned in the lock that night, my whole body went rigid. I was at the kitchen sink, my hands deep in soapy water, pretending to be normal. Pretending the world hadn’t tilted off its axis.His footsteps were heavy, deliberate. He came up behind me, his presence smothering the room. I couldn’t turn around. I just stared at the bubbles popping in the sink.“Look at me,” he commanded, his voice low and flat.I turned slowly, wiping my hands on a towel. His eyes were dark, his jaw set. He’d been drinking. I could smell the sharp, clean scent of expensive wh

The morning light felt like an accusation. It spilled across the expensive sheets, highlighting the faint purple mark on my arm where Matt's fingers had dug in last night. Every part of me ached, a deep, hollow pain that had nothing to do with physical bruises and everything to do with the emptiness inside.I moved through the house like a ghost, doing my duties. The coffee machine hissed. The bacon sizzled. Each sound was too loud, a jarring contrast to the silence in my head. I set the table for one. Matt had left early for the office, no note, no goodbye. Just the lingering chill of his disapproval.The front door chimed. It wasn't his key. My heart jumped into my throat, a foolish, hopeful little jump. Maybe he'd forgotten something. Maybe...Aunt Lydia and Diana swept into the foyer, their perfumes—one floral, one sharp and musky—clashing in the air. They didn't call. They never called. They just arrived, a tribunal of two."Stacy, darling, we were in the neighborhood," Aunt L

The silence in the foyer was thick and suffocating. I could hear the low murmur of Matt's voice, a sharp contrast to the calm, measured tones of Michael Sotheby. I stayed frozen against the refrigerator, my torn blouse a flag of surrender. I clutched the fabric together, my heart beating frantically against my ribs.The front door clicked shut.Matt's footsteps returned, slower this time. More deliberate. The storm of his rage had passed, but the cold front moving in behind it was somehow worse. He stopped in the kitchen doorway, leaning against the frame. He'd completely fixed himself up, his tie straight, his hair perfect. Only his eyes gave him away—they were flat, calculating."That was timely," he said, his voice a silken threat. "Almost as if he knew.""I didn't—" I started, but he held up a hand, silencing me."I don't want to hear it." He pushed off the doorframe and walked toward the wine fridge, pulling out an expensive bottle of red. He uncorked it with a practiced twis

The elevator ride to the top floor felt like an ascent into another world. The polished brass doors slid open to reveal a reception area of quiet luxury, all dark wood and soft, intimate lighting. A woman with a severe bun and a crisp headset gestured me toward a set of double doors. "Mr. Sotheby is expecting you, Mrs. Harrington."Mrs. Harrington. The name felt like a lie, a cheap costume. I smoothed my hands over the sleek pencil skirt Matt had chosen for me—black, fitted, professional. He'd insisted on it. "You need to look the part, but not like you're trying too hard. Let him imagine what's underneath."I pushed the door open.Michael Sotheby's office was a glass-walled kingdom overlooking the city. The skyline stretched out behind a massive desk of dark, polished wood, and he stood before it, a silhouette against the bright sky. He turned as I entered, and the full force of his attention hit me. It was nothing like Matt's possessive glare. This was... focused. Intense. He absorb

The nervous flutter in my stomach had become a familiar part of my morning routine, a constant companion on the walk from the elevator to my office. But today, it was different. It wasn't just nerves. It was a low, humming anticipation. Three weeks at Sotheby International had changed something fundamental in me. The air didn't just feel cleaner; it felt charged with possibility.My thoughts were a jumble from last night's strategy session. Michael had presented a complex acquisition problem, a puzzle that had stumped his entire senior team for weeks. The room had been heavy with frustrated silence."They're using a shell corporation to hide the debt," I'd said, the words leaving my mouth before I could second-guess them. All eyes had turned to me. "The financials are a mirror image, just inverted. Look at the subsidiary listed in the Caymans. It's not a subsidiary; it's the parent."Michael had stared at the projection, then at me, a slow, dawning respect in his blue eyes. "My God