My Husband's Deadly Double Life

ary. But one morning, my husband, Augustus, and his intern mistress,

ce, only to be called back to prep

from years ago: Baylee' s panicked voice confessing to a hit

rippled wasn't an accident at all. My husband, the man

to their lies, I knew my old life was over. I

g with rage. "I'm ready to sue.

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the network, my forecasts rarely missing their mark. But this morning, live on air, my reputation wasn' t just shattered; it was vaporized. The market,

to calm, trembled slightly as I gestured to the plummeting figures. It wasn' t just a bad day; it was an impossible one. It felt like the very laws of economics had been rewritten

loe O'Connor, off by a mile." "She used to be so sharp. What happened?" "Augustus Clark's wife, right? Maybe she's losing her touch, living the high life." The u

ate," it read. Recuperate from what? From the expertly orchestrated sabotage of my career? I knew who was behind it. I always knew. Augustus. He enjoyed

displaying cryptic market data. He didn't look up from his screen as I ente

said, my voice flat

? Your little on-air hiccup? Don't worry, darling, I'll smooth things over. A new car? A trip to

fied, each word a stone dr

, a short, sharp bark that held no humor. "A divorce? Don't be ridiculous. You'r

"No. Not this time. I'm done,

fy, filling the silence. The usually bustling household outside the office door went ee

way?" he asked, his voice low, dangerous. "After everything? After I salvaged your reputation when your mother' s accident almost destroyed you

My mother, vibrant and full of life, reduced to a fragile shadow. The injustice of it, the unanswered questions, the way my world had crumbled. Augustus had been there, yes. He'd been the strong, steady hand, t

llege, eager. I' d seen the way he looked at her, the thinly veiled admiration. It stung, even then. He began showering Baylee with opportunities, pushing her into the spotlight, often at my expense. One particular incident still burned. I was supposed to

throbbing hand and a searing headache, the guilt of my uncontrolled anger a heavy weight. Later that day, my mother, trying to comfort me over the public humiliation, tripped down the stairs of our old family home, breaking her hip and exacerbating an

e opulent office, as if it were a gilded cage he'd personally built for me. "You want to throw it all away for some bruised ego? For a few bad stock calls?" He reached for his desk, picked up

he box from his hand, the velvet warm against my palm. Then, with a sudden, violent twist of my wrist, I hurled it across

lunged forward, closing the distance between us in two furious strides. His hand shot out, grabbing my jaw, his fingers digging in painfully. "You ungrateful, spoiled CUNT! Do you kno

ark. And if you leave me, you'll be nothing. Less than nothing. I will make sure of it." He released me

sion. He cleared his throat, ran a hand through his perfectly coiffed hair. "Baylee?" he murmured into the phone, his voice suddenly smooth, charming. A complete transformation. "Yes, darling. Just wrappin

eak me. He thought he could control me. But he had just given me my freedom. My fingers fumbled for my own phone. My thumb hovered over a co

er, my voice raw, broken, but firm.