My Unfaithful Billionaire Husband

If this will stop me from going to heaven, then save a spot for me in hell”, the green-eyed man with curly hair said as he pushed my head further down, causing me to gag and I immediately stood up and spat on the floor next to me. “I'm not a f*****g ostrich, you cunt”, I said, stretching my hand as he slowly placed a few dollar bills in my palm which I shoved into my bra before spinning around on one heel and exiting the cramped toilet. As I walked down the sidewalk, on my way to the apartment I shared with my best friend Melissa, I thought about what led to this: “Your mother has a lung infection and it has been in her body for a long time. We'll need a lot of money to treat her”, The doctor was saying to me. “Like how much will be needed to treat her?” I c****d my head to one side. “Well… she'll be admitted into the hospital and she'll be needing oxygen therapy, physical therapy, some antibiotics and antivirals and series of tests”, he looked down at a piece of paper in his hand. “Approximately three thousand dollars a week, ma'am”, he said softly, he was being compassionate and I hated being pitied. Where was I going to see that kind of money? I wasn't even the sick one, it was my irresponsible mother. I angrily left the hospital, not waiting to hear the other things the doctor had to say. “Three thousand dollars a week?” Melissa exclaimed when I told her about what happened at the hospital. “I don't know where that stupid b***h expects me to start looking for money to treat the disease she brought upon herself. I should leave her to die”, I said angrily. “Calm down, Isabel. You shouldn't say stuff like that. I know your mom hasn't been the best mom and she's done…she's made really bad decisions that have affected your life and one of them even caused the death of your sister but two wrongs don't make a right. You'll have to raise money for the treatment, afterall, she'll always be your mother”. I rolled my eyes, this was the sermon Mel always gave me anytime I made such a statement about my mother. “I'd literally have to sell my own lungs to raise that kind of money”, I said and Melissa burst into laughter at this. “Well… you can use what you have to get what you want”, Melissa eyed me from up to down, a sly smile playing on her lips. “What do you mean?” “You know what I mean, my dear”. “Are you saying I should…?” “f**k men for money, yes, yes”. “That's ridiculous”. “But it's the only solution, darling. I'll link you up with one or two men who are willing to pay you handsomely for a night”, She winked at me. I could not believe my ears. Mel was really asking me to sell my body to raise money for the treatment of someone who destroyed her lungs by herself. “Or do you think the chicken feed you earn from working as a receptionist at Sinclair Hotel will be enough to do anything?” She pressed. “I- I can't”. “Think about it, my love. You just have to meet up with wealthy horny men who'd pay anything just to have a taste of you. You'd earn more than three grand in a week, extra money for you”. It was six weeks later and Melissa's idea was working really well. I just had to meet up with men who came to the hotel I worked in. The way these men looked at me, their jaws dropping; they were ready to empty their accounts just to have me in their beds again. Now, as I sat on the couch, eating leftover Macaroni and cheese while I watched television, Melissa walked in with lots of shopping bags. We lived in a two bedroom apartment that was comfortable enough for us. “Hmm, someone cashed out big today”, I remarked. “Yasss. So…”, She lowered the bags to the floor. “I met this guy who says he's from Dubai and after we had fun together, he decided that I needed to be spoiled and aside all this…” She reached into her bag and showed me four bundles of money. My eyes widened, my mouth falling open in amazement. “That's a lot of money”. “Yup”, She said as she started to unpack the things in the bags. Melissa worked two jobs as a waitress in a café and a restaurant. “So how did your meeting with the John go?” She asked. ‘John’ was another name they called their clients. “The fucker thought I was an ostrich or something, he wanted to choke me with that tiny d**k of his”. Melissa burst into laughter. “You don't say”, I was about to respond when the announcer on the TV said: “Breaking News”. We both turned our heads to look at the screen. “Owner of the Sinclair group passes away after a long-term battle with Leukemia which is cancer of the blood. Reports say that the Augusta Blackwood Sinclair will be laid to rest this weekend. He is survived by wife, Aurora Sapphire Sinclair and his charming young son, Ebastian Ryder Sinclair who is rumored to be the one to take over the string of companies that belong to the Sinclair Group”. A picture of the director of the hotel where I worked, his wife and his son was displayed on the screen. “I want him”, I gasped immediately as I looked at the picture of Ebastian, he was really good-looking. “You wish”, Mel snapped at me but I was already long gone, thinking about the things I wanted him to do to me as I played with my lower lip, a big smile on my face. “Snap out of it, darling. It's never going to happen. He's going to be your new boss”. “Whatever, I have a John to meet tonight”, I said as I jumped off the chair. I was wearing a black dress as I sat at a table in a restaurant, waiting for my client to show up. He was running late so I slowly sipped on champagne. My phone beeped and I saw that I got a message from my boyfriend, Gabriel who had no clue the kind of side job I was doing. My eyes blurred with tears as I read the text on my screen: “I don't think I can do this anymore, Iz. I need a break”. “What the f**k, Gabe”. I muttered to myself as I dialed his number but it went to voice-mail. I tried calling two more times before I set my phone down on the table as I rubbed my temples to suppress the headache that suddenly set in. “This is ridiculous”, I said, bursting into laughter as tears dropped down my eyes. My boyfriend of four years just decided to break up with me over text, just like that. “Can't afford to ruin my makeup”, I dabbed at my eyes. “Bloody coward”. I kept saying to myself. “Who's a bloody coward?”, the voice was accompanied by a strong nice masculine smell. I looked up and saw a tall handsome man dressed in tuxedos. He also had a British accent, this made wetness pool in between my legs. I watched, mouth open as this man gave me a slight grin while he pushed back the chair opposite me and sat down. “Nice to meet you, too. So now tell me, who's a bloody coward?” I just sat there, staring at him as my mouth remained hung open. “Fine you won't tell me”, he straightened in his chair. “You must be Isabel”. He extended his right hand towards me. “I am Ebastian Ryder Sinclair”.