They Called Me the Mistress. I Was His WifeChapter 2

When I got home, Julian was sitting on the living room couch.

A document lay on the coffee table. He pushed it toward me.

"I've had the agreement drawn up. I'll give you a bigger share of the house, the car, and the money in our accounts. Call it compensation."

I didn't move.

"Julian, do you really think that makes up for what you've done to me?"

He turned his head away, avoiding my eyes, and frowned.

"Annette doesn't know about us," he said. "If marrying you hadn't helped me stay close to her, I never would've done it."

"She's not the other woman. You're."

He told me he and Annette had dated in college. The year they graduated, she signed with a dance company in Europe, and he had to stay and take over the family business.

"Annette's been your friend for twenty years," he said. "Neither of us wants to hurt her, right?"

She would be hurt.

What about me?

My tears hit the floor.

Julian sighed and reached up to wipe them away.

"It wouldn't be fair to stay with you when I'm thinking about someone else."

"Nina, we were married for five years. I want you to have a good life, too."

I grabbed the porcelain vase from the entryway console and hurled it. Picture frames, vases, a lamp—one after another, they hit the floor.

Julian's face darkened. He caught my wrist.

"I'm not asking you to accept this right away. Take your time. I'll make sure you're taken care of."

He looked at me.

"But don't let Annette find out about any of this. Otherwise…"

He didn't finish.

He didn't have to.

I hit him, overcome with hysteria.

"Get out. I don't want to see you."

He flung my hand away, irritation flickering across his face, then grabbed his coat.

"Fine. Cool off."

The door shut.

I sank down at the edge of the rug. A shard sliced a long cut across my calf.

He was the one who'd pursued me.

We'd met through a commercial real estate project. Every day, he'd waited outside my office with a bouquet.

"This is a little embarrassing, Nina Lane. I didn't think a man my age could still fall in love at first sight."

A lie.

Every word of it.

He'd deceived me for five years, all for his first love.

I lay around the apartment for three days. Julian never came back.

On the third afternoon, Annette messaged me.

"Nina, I'm home! It's been five years. I've missed you so much."

"I have good news!"

Annette and I had been friends since we were six. We'd drifted a little after she moved to Europe.

But how was I supposed to tell her that her best friend had come between her and the man she loved?

The dull ache in my lower abdomen kept getting worse.

I picked up my phone and replied.

"Okay."