A Deal with Betrayal

During my father's funeral, my husband pants heavily while pulling my cousin's legs around his waist in the morgue. She holds him saucily and asks, "How did it feel? I left my first time for you."

He pulls her close, looking sated. "It felt mindblowing."

She asks coquettishly, "When will you marry me, then?"

His expression turns serious. "I can give you as much money as you want, but your cousin is the only woman who can be my wife. The company we've established together is going public soon." I record all of this.

On the day the company becomes publicly listed, a video of their intimacy in the office is played on a humongous screen. Then, I sell my shares and travel around the world.

That's when my ex-husband weeps and begs me to return.

I walked out of the morgue, suddenly recalling that Aaron Tomlinson had not touched me intimately for three whole years.

The last time we did the deed, he'd just entered my body when he uttered beneath his breath, "So loose."

He had spoken softly, but I still heard him. And from that day onward, Aaron never laid a finger on me again.

I didn't ask him for it either.

Although I wanted nothing more than to ravage his extremely fit six-pack body and handsome face that rivalled any other celebrity, I still held myself back.

Once the company started turning a profit, I tried everything I could to make myself look as pretty as possible. However, that still didn't attract Aaron's attention because he still refused to touch me sexually.

As it turned out, he'd just been releasing his pent-up sexual frustration with someone else.

I probably wouldn't even have been this angry if he'd reconciled with his ex-girlfriend, but he actually slept with my younger cousin, Rachel Sanders, of all people.

He knew very well that Rachel had already stolen three of my ex-boyfriends away. He knew that Rachel and I could never get along.

After the funeral, Rachel kept bugging Aaron, asking him to send her back home. Aaron just patted her on the head fondly and said, "Alright, I'll send you home."

Then, he turned to me and said, "Katrina Sanders, take the car and attend the meeting at the office first. You've been on leave for days. Your department's basically collapsed."

After he was done speaking, he didn't even wait for my reply before he opened the door to the front passenger seat for Rachel.

I was very shocked. Since when had Aaron ever been so gentlemanly like this?

He had never, ever opened the car door for me, even after our marriage.

It wasn't until I walked out of the door that I realized it was pouring outside. When I saw the heavy rain, I was immediately reminded of the time I miscarried my first child because of such sheeting rain.

It happened because Aaron and I were hurrying to meet a potential client who was trying to sign with another company. I drove past the speed limit while six months pregnant.

We managed to secure the client, but because of how bumpy the entire ride had been, I'd accidentally caused the death of my unborn baby, and I was forced to undergo an induced miscarriage.

That was why Aaron complained about me being "loose" down there afterward.

From that day onward, I had always been fearful of such a heavy downpour. If the rain was as heavy as this, I wouldn't be able to focus while driving. I took out my phone and called Aaron.

The morgue was very far from the city, and the road was long and dark. It was also close to impossible to get a designated driver to drive my car back. My only hope was Aaron.

The phone rang for a long time before he finally picked up. I could hear the frustration in Aaron's voice when he spoke.

"What is it?"

I was just about to speak when I suddenly heard Rachel's moan on his side of the line.

"Ronnie, s-slow down… It hurts… Why must you do this a dozen times a day? Isn't she giving you any at home?"

Aaron probably threw his phone to the side without hanging up, thinking that he did. I then heard him say shamelessly, "She can put on the most expensive perfume she wants, but it still can't mask the smell of smoke or alcohol on her.

"The cigarette smoke must be from some random guy she's seeing. She smells nothing like you. You smell young and sweet."

At that moment, my tears suddenly gushed out of my eyes as if a dam had just broken.

Were they doing it in the car?

The car Aaron drove was an MPV, the first car we bought after making our first bucket of gold at the company. I had personally decorated the interior myself because I liked sleeping in it.

I bought the best and most expensive faux fur rug because I liked the convenience of having a comfortable place to rest if I had too many drinks when meeting with clients over dinner and wine.

I'd told Aaron that nobody else was to touch the backseat, but he clearly didn't care.

He also said that he hated how I often smelled like smoke and alcohol. But it wasn't as if I had really wanted that to happen.

Our company was still considered a start-up, and he handled the creative side of things because he wasn't cut out for discussing business with potential clients or investors. So, I was the one who did it instead.

Usually, these big clients and investors would only talk business with me over dinner and wine, with an extra smoke or two. I hated the stench of cigarette smoke, but I still forced myself to put up with it.

I just never thought that it would become one of the major points that turned Aaron off about me.