HIS STRIPPER, HIS WIFE novel Chapter 112

Chapter One hundred and twelve

Victoria

I poured myself a glass of wine, the bottle I only opened when I felt like celebrating something, and carried it over to the window.

I still couldn’t get that image out of my head, his face changing the second that girl walked into his office. The way his shoulders had dropped, like he had been waiting all day for exactly that interruption.

I had been married to that man for years before we went on our break and I couldn’t remember the last time he looked at me like that.

What I hadn’t stopped caring about was losing, losing was not something I did gracefully, and I certainly wasn’t going to lose to a girl who probably still counted coins before buying lunch.

Adrian belonged to me on paper, in every photograph the press ever printed of us, at every gala where people whispered about how lucky he was to have me.

I didn’t need his love. I needed his loyalty to stay visible, intact, mine to control and I intended to remind everyone, especially her, exactly whose name was still legally tied to his.

My phone buzzed on the side table. “The file is ready, should I send it over or bring it in person.”

“Bring it,” I typed back immediately, my thumb moving fast. I want to see everything myself.

He arrived within the hour,m in a grey jacket and didn’t waste my time with small talk, which I respected. He handed me the folder, confirmed the transfer had gone through, and left. I liked people who understood they

were beneath conversation with me.

I sat down at the table, refilled my glass before I had even opened the folder, and started going through it slowly, deliberately, the way I did everything that mattered.

The first section bored me, her full name, her mediocre little school, her mediocre little grades. I skimmed past the photographs of her as a child without much interest, some sad story in the notes about dead parents, a sister she apparently practically raised herself, I actually rolled my eyes at that part.

Everybody has a tragic backstory these days, as if grief was supposed to make people interesting, it didn’t move me. If anything it annoyed me, because I could already picture how Adrian would react if he ever read this file, all that misplaced sympathy, that hero complex of his that made him want to save wounded little strays.

That was exactly the kind of weakness she had probably learned to exploit, whether she admitted it to herself or not.

What actually caught my attention was how quickly she had climbed into the assistant position, with barely any real experience to justify it, suspicious. I made a mental note of it, filed it away as something I could twist into a narrative later if I needed one.

It wouldn’t be hard to make people believe she had slept her way into that office. Half of them would believe it without needing any proof at all.

Then I reached the last page, and I actually laughed out loud, alone in my apartment, the sound bouncing off the walls.

“Velvet Nights, confirmed employment.”

I sat back and let the smile spread slowly across my face, savoring it the way I savored my good wine. It didn’t matter that the report couldn’t confirm exactly what she did there, I didn’t care at all, the name alone was a weapon.

I could already picture the whispers spreading through every dinner party, every boardroom. Nobody would ask for evidence, they would hear Velvet Nights and they would decide for themselves exactly what kind of woman Bianca was, and I would simply stand back and let them.

I thought about calling Adrian that very night, about showing up at his penthouse with the folder tucked under my arm and watching his face crumble as he read it himself. The image was so satisfying I actually closed my eyes for a second to enjoy it properly, imagining his perfect little assistant reduced to nothing, imagining the humiliation on her face when the whole office found out or when his family found out.

But I wasn’t foolish enough to waste something this good on impatience. If I used it now, it would look exactly like what it was, a bitter wife trying to burn down whoever replaced her in her husband’s affections. Adrian would see through that in seconds, and worse, he might actually defend her, might dig his heels in out of spite, and that would ruin everything.

No, I needed to let this thing between them grow first. Let him get attached, let him start imagining a future with her, start softening in ways that would make the eventual collapse so much more devastating.

The deeper he fell, the harder the landing would be, and honestly, I wanted it to hurt him so I will be there to console him. I wanted her to understand exactly what it means to take something that belonged to someone like me.

I picked up my phone and called Tara, already grinning as I paced barefoot across my living room floor.

“I think I’m going to get my man back,” I said, and I heard myself laugh a little, giddy in a way I hadn’t felt in months.

“I say a lot of things when I’m angry,” I said, waving my free hand even though she couldn’t see me. “But I finally have something real about the girl.”

“Yes, her,” I said, dragging the word out with satisfaction. “She used to work at Velvet Nights for some months. You know exactly what people will think the second they hear that name.”

“Does it matter?” I said, and I meant it. “The name does all the work by itself. Nobody’s going to ask for details once they hear it. People love believing the worst about girls like her. They practically volunteer for it.”

VERIFYCAPTCHA_LABELVerify