When My Husband Chose His Golden Boy, I Chose His Worst Enemy

“How dare you!”

The words ripped out of me before I even realized, my palm already cracking across Astrid’s painted cheek.

She shrieked instantly, stumbling back like I had broken her fragile bones, clutching her face, wailing like some porcelain doll that had been chipped. Her act was flawless, practiced, perfected.

Gasps filled the air. Whispers spread like fire.

“Did you see that?”

“Poor Astrid.”

“Savannah has gone mad.”

“Isn’t that Mr. Clinton’s wife? Why is she hurting Miss Astrid?”

I could feel all their eyes on me, cutting into my skin, but I didn’t care. Not anymore.

“You think I don’t see you?” I shouted at her, my voice hoarse, trembling with years of swallowed pain. “You slithered into my house, whispered poison into Clinton’s ears, made him turn his back on me. You ruined my family and now... You tried to kill my son!” My throat burned as the words poured out. “You think you can smile and hide behind your tears, but I know exactly what you are. A scheming, manipulative snake!”

Astrid sobbed harder, shaking her head like some wronged saint. Her tears made the crowd soften to her, but I knew better.

Then Clinton’s voice thundered behind me. “Savannah!”

I turned just in time to see his hand raise. The slap came fast, brutal, knocking me off my feet.

He loomed over me, “After poisoning my son, you dare lay your filthy hands on my first love? If it wasn’t for that cursed arranged marriage, Astrid would have been my wife!”

The crowd gasped louder. I heard them whisper again, their voices twisting the knife deeper.

“She really is unstable.”

“No wonder Mr. Clinton never loved her.”

“I heard their son isn’t even his. She cheated.”

Astrid’s soft sobbing made her look even more innocent, fragile, cherished. And I was the monster. Always the monster.

Tears blurred my vision but I forced my voice out. “Then divorce me! I’m done with this farce of a marriage. I don’t want to be your wife anymore!”

Clinton laughed coldly, “What a desperate psycho you are. First, you fake a kidnapping just to get my attention. And now you stage another pathetic scene? You should win an award for acting, Savannah.”

He reached into his jacket and pulled out papers, tossing them at me like trash. They scattered at my feet. “Here. Isn’t this what you want?”

I bent down, my hands trembling, when I reached for them. But before I could gather the papers, he bent down too, snatching them back with a cruel smirk.

“Did you really think I’d make it that easy?” His voice dripped with venom. “You’ll serve me for another week before I sign this. Until then, you’re mine.”

He waved the papers in the air, like a leash I couldn’t escape. Then he turned, wrapping an arm around Astrid’s shoulders, leading her away like she was the cherished wife and I was just dirt under his shoes.

The crowd’s stares stayed on me, disgusted, condemning. My hands shook as I forced myself to stand, my legs weak, my heart crushed under their judgment.

I turned and walked, dragging my body down the hall until I reached my son’s room. I closed the door behind me, pressing my forehead against the wood, shaking, crying so hard my chest hurt.

I whispered through the sobs, a promise that tasted like blood. “Well then, Clinton. By a week, I’m no longer tied to you.”

***

After three days in the hospital, I finally brought Clyde home. He was still pale, still weak, but at least he was alive. If it was up to me, I would never step foot in that house again. But I had no choice. I needed my mother’s heirloom, some of Clyde’s things, and a few of my own.

I pushed the door open, and my breath caught in my throat. Astrid. She was standing in the middle of the living room like a queen, her son Tyler sprawled on the couch, laughing like he owned the place.

Clyde’s small voice trembled beside me. “Mama… why is Tyler here?”

Before I could answer, Tyler looked up, smug smirk spreading across his face. “Because this is my house now. I’m the real son. You’re just a bastard.”

Clyde flinched, his hand tightening around mine. The heat rose in my chest, and I almost snapped right then, ready to rip that arrogance out of his mouth. But Astrid’s lips curled, her voice smooth as poison. “Tyler, go to your room.”

He grinned, satisfied, and strolled up the stairs like a little prince.

The maids passed by, their eyes flickering away from mine. I heard their whispers, sharp as knives. “Mr. Clinton ordered everything moved… Madam Savannah’s things are in the maid’s quarters now.”

I swallowed hard, forcing the tears back. Astrid pressed her hand to her chest, pretending to look embarrassed. “Oh, Savannah… Clinton said I should stay here with Tyler. He’s tired of hiding our relationship. I didn’t know they would move your things. Please don’t misunderstand me.”

Her voice was honey, but her eyes laughed at me.

I bit down on my rage for Clyde’s sake. I took his hand and walked to the maid’s quarters.

Inside the tiny room, Clyde finally broke, his tears soaking my sleeve.

“Mama, why is Papa treating us like strangers?”

I held him close, rocking him against my chest. “Don’t cry, baby. One day soon, we’ll leave this place. And you’ll never need to bow your head again.”

**

That night, the villa was lit up, music spilling from the dining hall. A dinner for Clinton’s business partners. I was forced to sit far down the table, like an uninvited guest in my own home.

Astrid sat at Clinton’s side, her hand brushing his arm like she was already his wife. She smiled so sweetly, so gently, and the men at the table admired her like she was some goddess.

One of them glanced at me. “And who is she?”