Husband Asked Me To Share Him With His Sisters-in-Law

On the day of the funeral, Marcus asked me to share him with his sisters-in-law.

The moment the news broke, Selena, the eldest brother's wife, hurled her wine glass to the floor.

Vivian, the second brother's wife, raised her voice and tore into Marcus for having no sense of decency.

But the Hartley family's men dropped to their knees, begging the two widows to become Marcus’s mistresses, to carry on the bloodline in honor of their fallen husbands.

I stood off to the side watching, and something in me snapped.

I shoved through the crowd, slammed my hands on the long table, and demanded to know exactly what Marcus thought I was to him.

I called him no better than a thug. Then I turned on the two sisters-in-law, called them frauds in widow's clothing, and by the end I'd said something unforgivable to just about everyone in that room.

After that, I couldn't let it go. I hired a lawyer and sued them for fraud, for a staged marriage. They turned it around on me and said I was plotting to swallow the entire Hartley estate and drive what was left of the family into the ground.

My father's business was sabotaged again and again. Three key shipping routes went dark. The dockyard was seized.

I was thrown out of the estate and died in a damp basement in Sicily, with no doctor and no family. The landlord found me when he came to collect rent.

I only learned the truth after I died. They'd been working together all along.

His public reveal of the mistress was merely meant to drive me to snap, giving him a valid excuse to end our marriage.

Then I opened my eyes. I was back in that living room, on that same day.

The portraits of the two brothers sat on the long table. Selena stood in a black dress, eyes rimmed red. "Marcus, your brother's body is barely cold, and you want us to be your mistresses?"

Vivian wore a pale blouse, her voice trembling. "I'd sooner die than betray your brother."

This time around, I was going to give them exactly what they asked for.

"Anna, how can you just sit there?"

Selena steadied herself against the table's edge and pushed to her feet. The wine glass had shattered on the marble floor, sending shards skidding in every direction. One had caught her hand, leaving a thin cut across the back, blood trailing down her pale wrist and dripping onto the agreement spread out below her.

Last time, I'd been shaking with rage. I'd slapped Selena across the face right there on the spot.

This time, I just set down my cup, pulled a napkin off the table, and held it out to her.

"Selena, you've hurt your hand. Let me have someone drive you to the hospital."

Selena went still. Her lips parted, but nothing came out. Across the room, Vivian froze where she stood, the agreement crumpling in her grip, her arms slowly dropping to her sides. They hadn't been waiting for me to agree. They'd been waiting for me to explode.

Last time I'd exploded, said every vicious thing I felt, and walked straight into the trap they'd dug for me. I wasn't going to be that stupid again.

"Anna." Selena's voice wavered. "You can't actually be okay with this. You're fine with us becoming your husband's mistresses?"

"Why wouldn't I be?" I tilted my head slightly. "And if you'd rather not, Selena, I'm perfectly happy to tell Marcus to drop the whole thing."

"Who said anything about dropping it?"

Marcus had always maintained a composed demeanor among the family, rarely losing his composure. Once that roar burst out of him, no one present dared to make a sound—no one dared even breathe.

He turned to me, exhaled slowly, and softened his voice. "What I mean is... the Hartley bloodline matters. It's not something we can just ignore."

"You're right," I said pleasantly. "As long as they're willing, I have absolutely no objection."

I stood, turned, and walked out of the room.

Behind me, I heard Selena's voice: "Marcus, she agreed again. Do we keep going with the plan?"

"Leave it to me."

The wind came in through the corridor, biting cold. The memories of my last life washed over me. I'd died in that basement, three days of fever, no doctor, no one. The landlord had found me. Even then, lying there, I'd told myself Marcus would come. He didn't. He was too busy dividing up my father's shipping lines with the sisters-in-law to give me a second thought.

My phone buzzed. It was Uncle Charlie, my father's old deputy, now running the legitimate London branch. His message read: Anna, the position in London is still open. You can start whenever you're ready.

I typed back one word: Okay.

I pressed my fingernail into my palm. The sting brought me back.

Ryan, my personal bodyguard, hurried after me, a rare look of unease etched across his face. He'd been with me long enough and never once had he seen me fall completely silent in a setting like that.

"Did you actually agree to all of that?"

"I agreed."

"But—"

"Pull up the agreement my father signed back then."

He started to say something, then closed his mouth and turned to go. I stood at the floor-to-ceiling window, watching the figures moving inside, some arguing, some crying, some already running numbers in their heads.

Last time, I'd fought to protect this marriage and my dignity with everything I had. What I got for it was a single sheet of divorce papers and a basement.

This time, they could have whatever they wanted. Whether they could hold onto it was another question entirely.