After 99 Cheats, I Forced Divorce

There’s an unwritten rule in Harbor City: if you catch Andy Ferrell cheating, you report it to Mrs. Ferrell first thing. I never lose my temper over it. In fact, I even pay them a massive amount of hush money for bringing me the news. That all changed when photos of his latest affair almost leaked to the public. Andy stormed through our front door, his face carved from ice. "We had a deal! You were supposed to block all this gossip before it gets out. Did I marry you just to have a useless ornament sitting around? "I'm up for election to be the President of the City Chamber of Commerce any day now! If the paparazzi get these shots, my whole shot at the position goes up in smoke!" Years ago, we struck a deal. I'd cover up 99 of his affairs. In exchange, he'd give me back all 99 of my private photos he'd been holding hostage. This was his 100th time. I'd finally had more than enough. My face stayed completely blank as I packaged every last one of his cheating videos into a single file. Then I let my finger hover, dead still, over the upload button. "Either I hit upload, or you agree to our divorce." Andy's breath caught in his throat. His eyes darted to the lacy garter he'd brought home yesterday, and a knowing smirk tugged at his lips. "See? That's why you're suddenly breaking our deal. You're just angry. Go on, how many more of your photos do you want from me to get things back to normal?" 'Normal' to him meant me quietly sweeping whatever mess he made under the rug. I'd dispose of the steamy paparazzi photos without a word. Heck, even when his mistresses showed up at my door with pregnancy test results, I'd just hand them a check and send them on their way. My voice didn't shake when I answered, "I'm not joking. I'm tired. I want a divorce." The smile slid right off his face, freezing solid. His dark brows drew together in a sharp line. "After that whole private photo business, I actually thought you'd finally learned your place. You've really let me down." My thoughts drifted back, blurring into the past. Three years ago, Harbor City's biggest scandal was me bursting into a hotel room with a camera in hand to catch my husband cheating. I'd completely lost it, didn't care about saving any face, least of all my own. The woman he was with couldn't handle the humiliation. She jumped right out the window naked, and she's still lying in a hospital bed to this day. Andy just calmly put his clothes back on that night. The next day, he showed up holding all 99 of my compromising photos. "If you really can't learn how to behave as my wife, then I guess I'll have to teach you myself." Every shot of him and I tangled together in bed was like a sharp knife twisting in my chest. I opened my mouth, but no words came out. And for the first time, the man standing right in front of me felt like a complete stranger. For my family's honor, and for my mother, who was on her deathbed, I accepted his twisted deal. Every time I covered up one affair, he'd give me back one photo. But every single day since then, it has felt like death by a thousand cuts. When I just stood there frozen in place, Andy acted like he was doing me some big favor and ordered the maids to carry dozens of boxes of this season's newest designer pieces. "Stacey, you're not just my Mrs. Ferrell. You're going to be the future president's wife. You ought to be more gracious than this." A cloying, cheap jasmine perfume hit my nose the second the boxes were set down. This was exactly the cheap scent that clung to Alexa Walker, the broke, needy intern Andy had personally taken under his wing. She's been the leading lady in every single one of his cheating videos for the past few months. I snatched up the teapot and poured its contents over every single box, one by one. The maids standing around all sucked in a sharp gasp. Andy's face dropped to subzero in the blink of an eye. He wrenched the teapot right out of my hand, and a burst of boiling hot tea splattered across my skin. "Stacey Ferrell! First you threatened me with divorce, and now you throw this crazy tantrum? What the hell do you want from me?" I spat out the same one word, unwavering, "Divorce." That was the last straw. Andy snapped, hurling the teapot straight at the floor. "Go ahead and post the videos if you want! I don't believe you'd actually throw away the title of future President's wife. Don't think I don't know you. You're more vain than anyone else I've ever met!" No sooner had the words left his mouth than his phone rang. He swallowed his rage, turned on his heel, and headed for the door. "Wait for me, I'll be right there." I recognized that voice immediately. It was Alexa, calling him away. I stood frozen to the spot, every inch of my skin throbbed bright, angry red. As the searing pain grew sharper by the second, I knew for certain I didn't want it anymore. Neither the title of Mrs. Ferrell, nor that of future President of the City Chamber of Commerce's wife. I was done with both. I stared at the folder packed full of videos on my computer, then called my regular go-to reporter. "Three days from now, deliver this little present to the future President of the Business Association."