The Year I Stopped Training His Women

Every wedding anniversary, Silas would bring some woman home under the guise of letting me "train" her.

On our tenth anniversary, he showed up with a karaoke bar girl dressed in a Playboy bunny outfit.

"She doesn't have a dress, so give her your wedding gown and the jewelry I bought you last time. And those shoes you're wearing? Perfect for her."

"Oh, and since she's young and inexperienced, you'll have to teach her everything—especially in bed."

The room was waiting for me to humiliate myself. And like always, I didn't disappoint—I told Silas I wanted a divorce.

He smirked, his eyes dripping with disdain.

"Juliette Spencer, you've threatened divorce every single year. I'm more tired of hearing it than I am of your pathetic moans in bed!"

"But fine. If you're serious this time, I'll give you a hundred million."

The room burst into laughter again, their jeers making it clear they thought I was just playing games—that I didn't have the guts to leave.

What they didn't know? This was the hundredth time I'd said "divorce," but the first time I actually meant it.

All eyes locked onto me. Even the karaoke girl covered her mouth, giggling.

"Place your bets! I say she chickens out before she reaches the door!"

"A million says she stays!"

"I'll throw in thirty!"

Betting on whether I'd leave had become an anniversary tradition.

People hated me when they lost. When they won? They still didn't like me.

I laughed softly, shaking my head at my own weakness. Ten years of saying I'd leave. Ten years of staying.

"I'm betting on divorce."

A quiet voice cut through the crowd. People scoffed, telling him not to waste his money. I glanced over but couldn't make out his face.

"Silas, I'll send the divorce papers to your office. Don't forget to sign them."

I'd said "divorce" a hundred times—but this was the first time I'd mentioned actual paperwork.

Silas stiffened, his cigarette slipping from his fingers.

I pretended not to notice. Kneeling, I slipped off my heels and placed them at the girl's feet.

Her name was Sue Larson. Early twenties. Stunning.

"These might pinch at first, but you'll get used to them."

"As for the dress and jewelry Silas mentioned, Aunt May will bring them to you."

"Before you, there were nine others. If you're confused about anything, ask them. They live on the third floor—your room's the last one on the right."

In ten years of marriage, Silas had collected enough women to start his own harem.

Tall, short, curvy, slim, innocent, seductive, cold, bubbly—he had them all.

Rumor was he wanted to be some modern-day king, gathering his "twelve beauties" under one roof.