Craving Three Daddies To Hurt My Ex

THE PLAN

ISABEL

Once inside the elevator, the shaking starts. By the time I got to the lobby, I could barely breathe. In my car, I grip the steering wheel so hard my knuckles turn white, mascara running down my face in black rivers.

Three years. Three f*****g years of my life wasted on a man who hurt me, cheated on me, and made me doubt my own sanity.

I gave up everything for him. My family fortune, my position, my self-respect, and for what? So he could f**k other women while I covered bruises and pretended to be happy?

The rage that sustained me upstairs is morphing into something else now. Grief, shame, and overwhelming loss. I sacrificed my entire future for a man who never loved me. Who probably never even liked me.

I don't know where I'm going, I just drive, tears blurring the city lights into watercolor streaks.

Twenty minutes later, I'm standing outside The Velvet Room, an exclusive lounge I've passed a thousand times but never entered. It's the kind of place Leo takes his "business associates." Too expensive, too sophisticated for boring wives who wait at home.

J

Fuck that. f**k him. f**k all of it.

I walk in with ruined makeup and a wrinkled designer dress, and the hostess takes one look at my face and waves me through without asking for a membership.

The bar is dark wood and soft lighting, exclusive and intimate. I slide onto a stool, and when the bartender approaches with sympathetic eyes, I don't hesitate.

"Whiskey. Top shelf. Keep them coming."

He pours a generous glass, and I down it in one burning swallow. The second follows quickly. By the third, the edges of my pain are starting to blur, the rage settling into something cold and determined.

Leo thinks I'm nothing without him? That I'll come crawling back because I have nowhere else to go?

He's about to learn exactly how wrong he is.

"You're going to feel that in the morning," a voice says beside me.

I look up, ready to tell whoever it is to f**k off, but the words die on my tongue when I noticed him. He's beautiful, dirty blonde hair that looks deliberately tousled, bright green eyes full of mischief and genuine concern, a smile that could sell sin to a saint. He's wearing an expensive suit with the tie loosened just enough to be devastating.

"Good," I say, my voice rough from the whiskey and suppressed screams. "I want to feel something other than stupid and broken."

His smile softens. "Rough night?"

The laugh that escapes me is sharp and jagged. "You could say that. It's my anniversary. Three years of marriage. I just caught my husband f*****g another woman in the hotel where he proposed to me. Oh, and he didn't stop when I walked in. He finished while looking at me."

I don't know why I'm telling a stranger this. Maybe because he's safe, and I'll never see him again, or maybe because the whiskey has dissolved my filter, or maybe because I'm just done pretending everything is fine when my whole life is burning down around me.

"Jesus Christ," he says, and he sounds genuinely appalled. "What an absolute f*****g monster."

Despite the pain and humiliation and three years of accumulated trauma, I laugh. It's real this time, not bitter.

"Yeah," I agree. "Yeah, he really is."

"I'm Ares." He extends his hand, and I notice his grip is firm but gentle when I shake it. Not aggressive, and not controlling. Just... present.

"Isabel." I drain my glass and signal for another. "And before you ask, yes, I'm sure he was cheating. Yes, I'm sure it wasn't a misunderstanding. No, I can't work it out, and no, I don't want to hear that maybe there's another side to the story."

"I wasn't going to say any of that," Ares says quietly. "I was going to ask if you wanted another drink and maybe some company that doesn't make you feel stupid or broken."

Something about the way he says it, not pitying, not predatory, just genuinely kind cracks something open in my chest.

"Yes," I whisper, and I'm horrified to feel tears threatening again. "Please."

He signals the bartender, then settles onto the stool beside me. As he does, I notice two other men across the lounge, clearly with him.

One is tall and brooding with thick brown hair and grey eyes that seem to assess everything. The other is even taller, dark-haired with a coldly beautiful face and blue-grey eyes that make me think of winter storms.

All three of them are stupidly attractive in completely different ways, and all three are watching me with varying degrees of interest.

For the first time in three years, maybe longer I feel something other than invisible or inadequate.

I feel seen.

"Want to tell me about it?" Ares asks gently. "Or we can talk about literally anything else. Your call, Isabel."

I look at this stranger who's shown me more consideration in five minutes than my husband has in months, and I make a decision.

"He's been hurting me," I hear myself say. "Not just tonight. For years, and I convinced myself it was my fault. That I was too sensitive, too dramatic, and too needy. That if I just tried harder, and was better at being a good wife, he'd stop."

Ares's expression darkens. "Isabel—"

"But tonight, watching him f**k her while looking at me like I was nothing? I realized I've been nothing to him all along. Everything I gave up, my family, my future, and my sense of self, I threw it all away for a man who never loved me. Who hurt me and made me think I deserved it."

My voice cracks on the last word, and suddenly Ares's hand is covering mine on the bar, warm, solid and safe.

"Listen to me," he says intensely. "None of that was your fault. Not the cheating, not the abuse, none of it. That's all him being a coward and a monster. You didn't deserve any of it."

I want to believe him. God, I want to believe him so badly, but I just couldn't.

"I don't even know who I am anymore," I admit. "I've spent three years making myself smaller, quieter, and more acceptable. Hiding bruises and pretending everything is fine. I don't know how to be the woman I was before him."

"Then don't be," Ares says simply. "Be someone new, someone stronger, and someone who doesn't take s**t from anyone ever again."

The words settle into my chest like a challenge, and like a promise.

"Want to meet my friends?" he asks. "I think you could use more than one person telling you you're not the problem here."

I glance at the two men still watching from across the lounge in intense, powerful and dangerous ways that should scare me but it doesn't.

The sensible thing would be to decline. To go to a hotel, call a lawyer, and start the painful process of rebuilding my life, but sensible Isabel is what got me into this mess, sensible Isabel gave up everything and got nothing but pain in return.

Maybe it's time to try something else.

"Okay," I say, and the word feels like jumping off a cliff.

Ares grins and waves them over. They approach like predators, graceful, powerful, and deliberate.

"Isabel, meet my best friends and business partners. Marco De Santos." He gestures to the brooding one. "And Harvey Smith." The cold, dark-haired one.

"Gentlemen, this is Isabel. She's having the worst anniversary in history."

"I'm very sorry to hear that," Marco says, his voice deep with a slight accent. His grey eyes are intense but kind while Harvey just studies me with those winter-storm eyes, saying nothing, but there's something underneath the ice that makes my skin prickle with awareness.

They arrange themselves around me, Ares to my right, Marco to my left, and Harvey across from me. Three devastatingly attractive men giving me their complete, undivided attention.

When was the last time Leo looked at me like I mattered? Like I was worth his time?

"So," Marco says carefully, "what happens now?"

"Now?" I laugh, bitter and sharp. "Now I figure out how to divorce a man who's convinced me I'm nothing without him, how to face a family who warned me about him, and how to admit I wasted three years of my life on someone who hurt me and made me believe I deserved it."

"That's a lot," Ares says. "But you don't have to figure it all out tonight."

"No," I agree. "Tonight I just want to stop feeling like a victim, like I'm broken beyond repair."

"You're not broken," Harvey says suddenly, his rough voice making me jump. "You survived. That takes strength most people don't have."

Our eyes lock, and I see something in his gaze, recognition, maybe understanding, like he knows what it's like to survive something that should have destroyed you.

"He said I was boring," I told them, the whiskey loosening my tongue. "That I'd become too domestic, not fun anymore, and then he suggested we open our marriage so he could keep f*****g around while I find someone to 'teach me new tricks.'"

All three men react, Ares with visible anger, Marco with a tightening jaw, and Harvey with something dark and dangerous flickering in his eyes.

"What did you say?" Ares asks.

"I told him I wanted a divorce, that I was done, but he just laughed." I finished my latest drink. "Said I'd come crawling back within a week because I have nowhere else to go."

"He's wrong," Marco says firmly. "You have yourself. Your intelligence, your strength, and your worth. Those don't disappear just because one asshole couldn't see them."

"He's right," Ares adds. "And honestly? The best revenge is showing him exactly what he lost. Living well, being happy, and proving every single thing he said about you was a lie."

That word “revenge” sparks something in my chest.

"Revenge," I repeat slowly, and suddenly I'm thinking about Leo's smug face, his absolute certainty that I'll come back, that I need him.

The three men exchange a loaded glance.

"Revenge is complicated," Harvey says carefully. "Usually backfires."

"Not if it's done right," I counter, my mind racing. "Not if he never sees it coming."

"What are you thinking?" Ares asks, and there's something sharp in his eyes now, something intrigued.

I think about Leo's suggestion to open our marriage, about him finishing inside another woman while looking at me, and about three years of making me feel worthless. Then an idea forms, a reckless, insane, and perfect one which makes me smile.

"He wanted an open marriage," I say slowly. "Said I should f**k other people, and stop being so boring."

Understanding dawns on three faces.

"So give him what he wants," Harvey says, heat underneath the cold delivery. "Show him you're anything but boring."

Our eyes lock, and electricity crackles between us.

"He'll be home in about an hour," I hear myself say. "At our penthouse where he thinks I'm waiting like a good little wife who'll forgive him."

"You want him to catch you," Marco says carefully. "Like you caught him."

"An eye for an eye," I confirm, my heart pounding. "He humiliated me, hurt me, and made me feel worthless for three years. I want to return the favor."

"That's..." Ares trails off.

"Insane?" I supply. "Reckless? Completely unlike me?" I laugh, and this time it's fierce. "Good. I'm done being the woman everyone expects, the one who takes abuse and stays quiet. The one who covers bruises and pretends everything is fine."

"Are you sure?" Marco asks, his grey eyes searching mine. "You've been through trauma tonight. Maybe this isn't the best time for big decisions."

He's right. I know he's right. This is the whiskey and pain and three years of rage talking, but I'm so f*****g tired of being careful. Where did careful get me? A broken heart and bruises I hide with makeup.

"I've never been more sure," I say, meeting each of their eyes in turn. "I want to feel powerful instead of pathetic. I want him to know what it's like, and I want..." I swallow hard. "I want to feel desired again like I matter even if it's just for one night."

"It wouldn't be pretend," Ares says softly. "You're stunning, Isabel. Anyone with eyes can see that."

"He's right," Marco adds. "Your husband is a blind fool."

Harvey says nothing, but the heat in his gaze speaks volumes.

"So?" I ask, my voice steady despite my racing heart. "Will you help me get revenge on the man who spent three years breaking me?"

They look at each other, some wordless communication passing between them.

Finally, Ares grins, wicked and promising and dangerous. "Give us your address."

This is crazy. I'm about to bring three strangers home to f**k me in my marriage bed so my chcheating and abusive husband walks in on us.

The old Isabel, the one who gave up everything to please a man who hurt her would never, but that Isabel is dead. She died tonight in that hotel suite, watching her husband choose cruelty over love for the final time. This Isabel? She's done being a victim.

I pull out my phone with steady hands and text them the address.

"One hour," I say, standing on heels that suddenly feel like weapons. "Don't be late."

"Wouldn't dream of it," Ares promises, and the heat in his eyes makes something clench low in my belly.

I walk out of The Velvet Room, and I don't look back.

In my car, my phone buzzes. Leo's location shows he's leaving the hotel, heading home. Right on schedule. Probably expecting me to be there, ready to apologize for "overreacting."

Perfect.

Let him come home to his boring, broken wife.

Let him see exactly what he created when he spent three years teaching me I was worthless.

Let him finally understand that the woman he destroyed is done playing dead. I start the engine and drive toward whatever comes next, destruction or rebirth, I don't care anymore.

Either way, Leo Hunters is about to learn that boring wives make the most dangerous enemies, and I'm going to enjoy every second of his education.