Model Wife's Secret Performances - Chapter 11: Chapter 11
You are reading Model Wife's Secret Performances, Chapter 11: Chapter 11. Read more chapters of Model Wife's Secret Performances.
A few nights later, Sophia Laurent surprised me by slipping into her uniform, batting those big doe eyes at me with an exaggerated pout.
"It's been forever since we've been together..."
I forced a smile, swallowing back the bile rising in my throat. "Maybe tomorrow. Work's been killing me with overtime."
She sulked but didn't push—thank God.
The next day, she asked to go shopping with Isabella Flores. I barely let her finish before waving her off. The second the door clicked shut, I grabbed my phone.
"Mom. Initiate the plan."
By that afternoon, police were swarming a suburban villa, busting open one of the city's largest underground rings—prostitution, illegal loans, the works. Over a thousand people were tangled up in it.
And Sophia? They found her on stage, mid-"performance." Some clients had gotten "creative" with body paint, and let's just say her body had... reacted. She was about to get her so-called "aftercare" when the cops stormed in.
In detention, she begged to see me—apologies, tears, the whole act. But I never showed. What was the point? A shattered marriage doesn't glue itself back together.
Mom handled the divorce, making sure Sophia walked away with nothing. Not that I cared anymore.
The scandal exploded, but Mom's groundwork kept me clean. Still, I decided to leave—burn every bridge to the past and start fresh.
Before I left, Mom cornered me.
"You ever figure out who sent those emails?"
I shrugged. "Does it matter now?"
She scoffed. "With how naive you are? You'd get scammed and thank the con artist. Honestly..."
I glared. "What, was it someone I know? Don't tell me you set this up."
She rolled her eyes. "It was Isabella."
My spine snapped straight. "Isabella? No way. Why would she—?"
Mom cut me off. "Correction: It was Isabella and Sophia. They were desperate—wanted out of that hellhole for good. Yeah, they'll do time, but at least now they'll live free."
The puzzle pieces clicked.
Sophia's marriage to me? A setup from day one. They'd been trapped, threatened—until I stumbled into their escape plan. Isabella and Sophia wanted me furious, wanted Mom to tear the whole operation down.
I had to hand it to them—their timing was perfect. Any sooner, I wouldn't have fallen so hard. Any later, my heart would've been too cold to retaliate.
They clawed their way out with bloodied hands.
And me? Just a pathetically useful idiot.
Mom squeezed my shoulder. "Grow up after this, yeah?"
Then, almost as an afterthought: "Oh, and Sophia said to tell you... she really did love you."
I barked a laugh.
Pretty women lie prettiest.
And that? That was the prettiest lie of all.
"It's been forever since we've been together..."
I forced a smile, swallowing back the bile rising in my throat. "Maybe tomorrow. Work's been killing me with overtime."
She sulked but didn't push—thank God.
The next day, she asked to go shopping with Isabella Flores. I barely let her finish before waving her off. The second the door clicked shut, I grabbed my phone.
"Mom. Initiate the plan."
By that afternoon, police were swarming a suburban villa, busting open one of the city's largest underground rings—prostitution, illegal loans, the works. Over a thousand people were tangled up in it.
And Sophia? They found her on stage, mid-"performance." Some clients had gotten "creative" with body paint, and let's just say her body had... reacted. She was about to get her so-called "aftercare" when the cops stormed in.
In detention, she begged to see me—apologies, tears, the whole act. But I never showed. What was the point? A shattered marriage doesn't glue itself back together.
Mom handled the divorce, making sure Sophia walked away with nothing. Not that I cared anymore.
The scandal exploded, but Mom's groundwork kept me clean. Still, I decided to leave—burn every bridge to the past and start fresh.
Before I left, Mom cornered me.
"You ever figure out who sent those emails?"
I shrugged. "Does it matter now?"
She scoffed. "With how naive you are? You'd get scammed and thank the con artist. Honestly..."
I glared. "What, was it someone I know? Don't tell me you set this up."
She rolled her eyes. "It was Isabella."
My spine snapped straight. "Isabella? No way. Why would she—?"
Mom cut me off. "Correction: It was Isabella and Sophia. They were desperate—wanted out of that hellhole for good. Yeah, they'll do time, but at least now they'll live free."
The puzzle pieces clicked.
Sophia's marriage to me? A setup from day one. They'd been trapped, threatened—until I stumbled into their escape plan. Isabella and Sophia wanted me furious, wanted Mom to tear the whole operation down.
I had to hand it to them—their timing was perfect. Any sooner, I wouldn't have fallen so hard. Any later, my heart would've been too cold to retaliate.
They clawed their way out with bloodied hands.
And me? Just a pathetically useful idiot.
Mom squeezed my shoulder. "Grow up after this, yeah?"
Then, almost as an afterthought: "Oh, and Sophia said to tell you... she really did love you."
I barked a laugh.
Pretty women lie prettiest.
And that? That was the prettiest lie of all.
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