My Husband Called Her Late-night Flirty Pic A Mistake

"Let go!" Sama’s voice was a jagged shard of glass.

She froze as Jack pinned her to the mattress, the heat of his body a sickening contrast to the ice in her veins. Every time his lips brushed her skin, she saw that red slip in the villa. She saw the betrayal. She fought wildly, her heels drumming against the bed, her hands clawing at his shoulders.

"Sama, stop," Jack grunted, his grip tightening around her waist like a vice.

In the struggle, the towel she had wrapped around herself unraveled. She felt the cool air of the room hit her damp skin, leaving her completely exposed beneath him. Jack’s movements faltered. His eyes darkened, the rage in them momentarily eclipsed by a flash of raw, possessive lust.

"Jack, let me go!" she shrieked, twisting her torso.

He didn't listen. His hand crept underneath the loose folds of the towel, his fingers tracing the curve of her hip. Sama’s stomach turned. She felt a surge of adrenaline and leaned forward, sinking her teeth into his shoulder. She bit him hard, the copper taste of blood filling her mouth.

Jack hissed in pain but didn't pull away. "You need me too, Sama. Don't act like you don't."

"Jack, don't make me hate you," she whispered, her voice cracking.

She closed her eyes, her body going limp. It was a surrender of despair, not desire. The words hit Jack harder than her teeth had. He halted, his chest heaving against hers. He looked down at her—the way she looked like a porcelain doll about to shatter under his weight—and the voice of his own ego finally flickered. He knew that if he forced this now, there would be no coming back. Not even for a Monroe.

He stared at her for a long, tense moment before standing up abruptly. He didn't say a word as he adjusted his clothes and walked out, slamming the bedroom door with a force that rattled the frames on the wall.

Jack didn't come home for the next three days.

Sama spent the time in a fever dream of legal research and job applications. She called his office, his personal line, even his driver, but he ignored every attempt she made to discuss the divorce.

By Saturday afternoon, she was sitting in the living room, her laptop open as she scrolled through open positions for research chemists. The front door groaned open. Jack walked in, his face gaunt, his expensive suit looking lived-in and disheveled.

Sama closed her laptop and stood up slowly. "Now that you're home, we can finally talk about the divorce."

Jack scowled, tossing his keys onto the marble console. "I told you, I’m not divorcing you. I’m here because we have the family dinner tonight at the estate. Go get ready."

The Monroe-Thorne monthly dinners were a gauntlet Sama had run for years. The family had never been kind to her; they viewed her as a social climber who had snared their golden boy. She had endured their snide remarks and cold stares because she thought she had Jack in her corner.

"I'm not going," Sama said firmly. "Go yourself."

Jack’s patience snapped. "Sama, how long are you going to keep this up? I’ve given you space. I’ve let you cool down."

"I’m not 'cooling down,' Jack. I’m leaving."

"Divorce?" Jack laughed, a harsh, mocking sound. He stepped toward her, his shadow looming over the sofa. "Be an adult, Sama. You haven't had a paycheck since we got married. Who is going to hire a woman who’s been sitting at home for years? And what about your father’s medical bills? That private facility in Vermont costs more in a month than you’ve ever seen. Can you afford to keep him alive?"

Sama felt the color drain from her face. "You wouldn't."

"I’m the CEO of the Monroe Group," Jack continued, his voice dripping with a superior, cold air. "I am surrounded by temptation every day. Sometimes it's hard to resist. But those women... they aren't you. They aren't the mistress of this house. What more do you want from me?"

Sama looked at him and felt a profound sense of grief. She couldn't find a trace of the shy, blushing boy who had proposed to her on the beach. That boy was a ghost. This man was a narcissist who viewed her loyalty as a debt she owed him.

"If maturity means accepting your adultery as a side effect of your job, then I’ll stay a child," Sama said, reaching for the envelope on the coffee table. "Here are the papers. I’ve already signed. Sign them, and we can end this quietly."

Jack snatched the papers, his eyes skimming the text until they hit the section on asset division. He sneered. "Half? You have quite the appetite, Sama. You think you’re entitled to half of my empire?"

"I am. I earned it by putting up with you."

Jack laughed again. "Look at this house. Did you pay for the mortgage? I’ve been paying your father’s doctors for three years. If we actually tally the math, you owe me. Should I have my lawyers send you the bill for your own lifestyle?"

"Don't forget, Jack," Sama’s voice rose, vibrating with suppressed fury. "If I hadn't issued you the patent for the synthetic catalyst three years ago, the Monroe Group would have gone bankrupt. You were the one who told me to stay home. You told me my research belonged to the family. If I had stayed in the lab, I would be the one with the empire."

Jack didn't even flinch. "Who would believe you now? The patent is in the company name. You have no proof, no lab notes—nothing. You gave it to me, Sama. It’s mine."

"You’re horrible," she whispered.

"I’m practical," Jack countered. "I don't want to fight about money. If you drop this divorce nonsense, my money is yours to spend. Buy a new car. Go to Paris. Just stop this."

Sama turned to walk away, but Jack’s hand shot out, bruising her wrist as he yanked her back.

"Change your clothes," he commanded. "We are going to that dinner."

"I said no! Tell them I’m sick."

Jack pulled out his phone and hit a speed dial. "Secretary? Cancel the medical endowment for the Vermont facility for next month. Yes, effective immediately."

"Stop!" Sama lunged for the phone, her heart hammering against her ribs. She managed to grab it and end the call, her chest heaving. "You’re crossing a line, Jack. A dangerous one."

"Crossing a line?" Jack’s eyes were full of icy contempt as he leaned into her space. "Everything you have—the clothes on your back, the air your father breathes—is because I allow it. You owe me everything. Now, get changed and put on that necklace I bought you in Milan. Or I have a few other ways of making you do as you're told."

Sama looked at him, and for the first time, she wasn't just angry. She was cold. She realized that the man standing in front of her didn't love her; he owned her. And he would kill her spirit to keep his possession intact.

"Fine," she said, her voice dropping to a whisper. "I’ll go to the dinner."

Jack smirked, smoothing his tie. "I knew you’d see reason."

"But Jack," Sama added, her eyes narrowing with a hidden, lethal light. "Don't forget who else will be at that table. Your Uncle Lyon will be there. And I think he’d be very interested to know exactly how you’re treating the woman who holds the key to the Monroe Group’s patents."

Jack’s smirk faltered. The mention of Lyon Summer always acted like a bucket of ice water on his ego.

"Stay away from my uncle," Jack hissed. "He doesn't care about you."

"We’ll see," Sama said, turning toward the stairs.

She had twenty minutes to transform herself into the perfect Monroe wife. But as she walked up the steps, she wasn't thinking about the dinner. She was thinking about the red welts on her chest and the secret she now held over the most powerful man in the family.

If Jack wanted to use her father as a weapon, she would use the only thing Jack truly feared: the truth.