He Took My Skin For His Mistress

Nine years with Holden, ten divorces.

The eleventh time, he was picking out a diamond ring with his little girlfriend.

"She's pregnant, so we're just going through the motions. I'll remarry you in eight months."

"Until then, you move out. I'll have your meals delivered."

"And get your postpartum doula certification. You're too fragile for real childcare."

I took the divorce papers and nodded like I always did.

On my way out, I caught his friend's laugh. "Holden's a master—he's got his wife trained like a dog."

Holden smirked. "Nothing to it. Nancy's cheap."

"Even if I don't take her back, she'll happily raise my kid and be my mistress."

I didn't react. I just quietly texted my man:

"Divorce papers are signed. When are we getting married?"

He replied instantly: "Tomorrow. Taking the first flight back."

Then, five million two hundred thousand dollars landed in my account.

Note: Bridal gift.

I smiled and slipped my phone away.

Holden noticed. He called me over, annoyed. "Nancy, what's so funny? Did your heartbreak finally make you snap?"

By all accounts, I should've been heartbroken. The first time he left me—for Susan, the new intern—I was a wreck. Cried for three days. Begged on my knees in front of everyone. Even hurt myself. Nothing changed him.

But this time, I just looked at him calmly. "Congratulations on the baby."

He nodded, cold and detached. "Don't worry. We'll remarry after the birth. Just behave—in public, this child will call you 'Mom.'"

I'd heard it all before. Nine years of this.

The first time, he fell for Susan. She refused to be his mistress, even with a fat check. So he divorced me. Then he sent me their bed photos. "Young girls are different," he bragged. "So pure."

After that, he was hooked.

A fling in a mountain cabin meant I had to trek through a blizzard for her morning-after pill. If Susan was in a bad mood, I had to get on my knees and bark like a dog. Deliveries too slow? Divorce. Barking not loud enough? Divorce. Anything to please her.

Then he'd quietly remarry me later—to keep the family alliance intact.

Nine years. I was numb.

I turned to leave.

Then I heard Susan's shrill voice: "I don't like any of these! I want the one Nancy's wearing!"

"Alright, sweetheart, don't be upset. I'll get it for you."

Holden dropped his cold act. He yanked the ring off my finger—a ten-carat yellow sapphire, my mother's heirloom—and handed it to her. The prongs dug into my skin. Blood smeared the stone.

Susan frowned and tossed it aside. "So unlucky."

He didn't even flinch. Just promised her the family ruby ring instead. That made her happy.

I held back tears and reached for my ring.

Holden stepped on my hand. "Nancy, this is your fault. If you don't make it up to her, you're never coming back."