Model Wife's Secret Performances - Chapter 10: Chapter 10
You are reading Model Wife's Secret Performances, Chapter 10: Chapter 10. Read more chapters of Model Wife's Secret Performances.
The moment those photos and recordings hit me, my world shattered.
I nearly flung open the window and jumped—but no.
If I was going down, I'd drag her with me.
That vile woman. Not only had she been secretly working as a body art performer behind my back, but she'd made a fool of me—over and over. The rage burned through me like acid.
How dare she? After everything I'd given her.
I'd even watched her walk into Le Jardin Secret that day.
While she let strangers put their hands all over her, I stood outside like some pathetic, lovesick idiot.
The humiliation had nearly destroyed me.
But now? Staring at the evidence again, I felt nothing. Just cold, hollow detachment.
She'd killed every last drop of love I had left.
My mother's sharp voice snapped me back.
"Is this all you have? It's not enough. Not even close."
As one of the top lawyers in the industry—the so-called "Iron Lady"—she didn't deal in half-measures.
We needed irrefutable proof to bury Sophia Laurent and everyone backing her.
"Listen carefully," she said. "First, track down whoever sent those emails."
"I'll have my people dig into the sender. And as for Sophia—play dumb. Don't let her suspect a thing."
An hour later, I walked out, swallowed my disgust, and pulled Sophia into a hug, murmuring apologies.
I promised to let go of the past. To start fresh.
Then I turned my charm on Isabella Flores, showering her with gifts and sweet talk.
Her attitude flipped instantly.
"Vincent, I never wanted to come between you two," she gushed. "I just want Sophia to be happy!"
"Honestly, seeing you reconcile? It warms my heart!"
Days later, I used our anniversary as an excuse to meet Isabella alone—to plan a "surprise" for Sophia.
The second the door locked behind us, her smile faltered.
"Why the secrecy?" she asked, uneasy.
I smirked.
"Drop the act. Let's talk business. How much for a private show? Something… creative?"
"And if things get intense—what's your rate for aftercare?"
Her face went rigid.
"I have no idea what you're implying! You're Sophia's husband!"
"Do you have any shame? After everything she's done for you?"
"Open this door now, and maybe I won't tell her."
I clicked the remote.
The wall lit up with a slideshow—photos, videos, every filthy detail of Isabella's "performances," including clients who'd paid for extras.
She lunged at the screen, clawing at it like a wild animal.
"TURN IT OFF! PLEASE!"
Her voice cracked. "Name your price. Anything—just don't leak these!"
She started stripping.
"Anything?"
She bit her lip, nodding desperately. "Yes."
Isabella was stunning, no question.
But now? She made my skin crawl.
Disgusted, I waved for her to cover up, then leaned in and whispered my real demand.
Her face went ghost-white.
"You're insane! That would destroy me!"
I gripped her chin, my voice like ice.
"Say no, and I'll make sure you suffer far worse."
I nearly flung open the window and jumped—but no.
If I was going down, I'd drag her with me.
That vile woman. Not only had she been secretly working as a body art performer behind my back, but she'd made a fool of me—over and over. The rage burned through me like acid.
How dare she? After everything I'd given her.
I'd even watched her walk into Le Jardin Secret that day.
While she let strangers put their hands all over her, I stood outside like some pathetic, lovesick idiot.
The humiliation had nearly destroyed me.
But now? Staring at the evidence again, I felt nothing. Just cold, hollow detachment.
She'd killed every last drop of love I had left.
My mother's sharp voice snapped me back.
"Is this all you have? It's not enough. Not even close."
As one of the top lawyers in the industry—the so-called "Iron Lady"—she didn't deal in half-measures.
We needed irrefutable proof to bury Sophia Laurent and everyone backing her.
"Listen carefully," she said. "First, track down whoever sent those emails."
"I'll have my people dig into the sender. And as for Sophia—play dumb. Don't let her suspect a thing."
An hour later, I walked out, swallowed my disgust, and pulled Sophia into a hug, murmuring apologies.
I promised to let go of the past. To start fresh.
Then I turned my charm on Isabella Flores, showering her with gifts and sweet talk.
Her attitude flipped instantly.
"Vincent, I never wanted to come between you two," she gushed. "I just want Sophia to be happy!"
"Honestly, seeing you reconcile? It warms my heart!"
Days later, I used our anniversary as an excuse to meet Isabella alone—to plan a "surprise" for Sophia.
The second the door locked behind us, her smile faltered.
"Why the secrecy?" she asked, uneasy.
I smirked.
"Drop the act. Let's talk business. How much for a private show? Something… creative?"
"And if things get intense—what's your rate for aftercare?"
Her face went rigid.
"I have no idea what you're implying! You're Sophia's husband!"
"Do you have any shame? After everything she's done for you?"
"Open this door now, and maybe I won't tell her."
I clicked the remote.
The wall lit up with a slideshow—photos, videos, every filthy detail of Isabella's "performances," including clients who'd paid for extras.
She lunged at the screen, clawing at it like a wild animal.
"TURN IT OFF! PLEASE!"
Her voice cracked. "Name your price. Anything—just don't leak these!"
She started stripping.
"Anything?"
She bit her lip, nodding desperately. "Yes."
Isabella was stunning, no question.
But now? She made my skin crawl.
Disgusted, I waved for her to cover up, then leaned in and whispered my real demand.
Her face went ghost-white.
"You're insane! That would destroy me!"
I gripped her chin, my voice like ice.
"Say no, and I'll make sure you suffer far worse."
End of Model Wife's Secret Performances Chapter 10. Continue reading Chapter 11 or return to Model Wife's Secret Performances book page.