I Was Never Your Real Wife
Language: en
On our eighth anniversary, I didn't prepare a single thing. Instead, I sat at the kitchen table and drafted a divorce agreement with my own hands. When I walked into the house, Elliott had his little mistress pinned against our headboard, taking her with a desperate, frantic hunger on our wedding bed. The girl turned her face toward the door, her lips curving into a smug little smile when she saw me. "Hazel... you're home?" she gasped, her voice dripping with mock innocence. "Should I... should I get up?" Elliott didn't even pause. He patted her hip, his tone warm and teasing, the way…