My Husband Hired My Temptation Next Door - Chapter 8: Chapter 8
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For some women, marriage is the ultimate horror story—especially for successful, self-made career women who don't need a man to pay their bills.
Take Rachel Winston, a sales director at some fancy ad agency pulling in over a million a year. Maybe she thinks divorce will spice up her life.
Playing along, I shot a message into the group chat: "Congrats on your freedom, Rachel! The world's your oyster now."
To my surprise, my throwaway comment hit a nerve. She instantly tagged me: "Thanks, girl! You're coming tomorrow night—no excuses."
I sent back some vague pleasantries. Whether I'd actually show up was another story.
After texting, I headed to the kitchen to start dinner. Chase was still barricaded in his room like a moody teenager. To make sure he got the hint, I swapped my shorts for sweatpants—not exactly seductive.
Living together meant more awkward encounters were inevitable. But with the relocation payout coming soon, I'd be selling this place and finally getting the hell out. Once the money hit, I was gone—back to my hometown. Vanessa and Chase could figure out their own lives.
But trouble came knocking before the check did.
As I walked past Chase's room in my apron, I caught fragments of a hushed conversation:
"Terrible timing. I almost had her, but then the HOA showed up."
"You really think drugs are the move? Do those even work?"
"Whatever. I'll try when I get a chance."
My blood ran cold. Was Chase seriously planning to drug me?
Footsteps. I bolted to the kitchen, pretending I hadn't heard a thing.
"Sis." Chase leaned against the doorway, flashing that same charming grin like nothing was wrong. The act was flawless—polite, respectful, the perfect little brother.
"What's up?" I kept my eyes on the vegetables, only glancing at him for a second.
"Vanessa told me about the relocation money. We should celebrate tonight—how about drinks?"
Drinks? Every alarm in my head went off. I'd been sober for a year while trying to get pregnant. Did he not know? Or was this his shot to slip something into my glass?
Not sure what game he was playing, I forced a nod. "Yeah, sure. Let's celebrate."
He lit up, grabbing two beers from the fridge. His movements were smooth—glasses rinsed, drinks poured—but he made a point of turning his back while filling them.
What was he hiding? My gut twisted.
"Cheers, sis." He handed me a glass, all innocent smiles.
I froze, clutching the drink like it was a live grenade.
Then Vanessa burst in, sweaty and panting. Without a word, she snatched the beer from Chase and chugged half of it in one go.
"Stupid elevator's broken again," she groaned, fanning herself. "Eight flights—I'm dying. Nothing hits like a cold beer. So, what's the plan for tonight?"
I just shrugged, biting back my words. Didn't matter now—Vanessa had taken the drink. Based on Chase's call, it was probably just some sketchy aphrodisiac.
Whatever. They were a couple. Let them deal with the consequences.
Take Rachel Winston, a sales director at some fancy ad agency pulling in over a million a year. Maybe she thinks divorce will spice up her life.
Playing along, I shot a message into the group chat: "Congrats on your freedom, Rachel! The world's your oyster now."
To my surprise, my throwaway comment hit a nerve. She instantly tagged me: "Thanks, girl! You're coming tomorrow night—no excuses."
I sent back some vague pleasantries. Whether I'd actually show up was another story.
After texting, I headed to the kitchen to start dinner. Chase was still barricaded in his room like a moody teenager. To make sure he got the hint, I swapped my shorts for sweatpants—not exactly seductive.
Living together meant more awkward encounters were inevitable. But with the relocation payout coming soon, I'd be selling this place and finally getting the hell out. Once the money hit, I was gone—back to my hometown. Vanessa and Chase could figure out their own lives.
But trouble came knocking before the check did.
As I walked past Chase's room in my apron, I caught fragments of a hushed conversation:
"Terrible timing. I almost had her, but then the HOA showed up."
"You really think drugs are the move? Do those even work?"
"Whatever. I'll try when I get a chance."
My blood ran cold. Was Chase seriously planning to drug me?
Footsteps. I bolted to the kitchen, pretending I hadn't heard a thing.
"Sis." Chase leaned against the doorway, flashing that same charming grin like nothing was wrong. The act was flawless—polite, respectful, the perfect little brother.
"What's up?" I kept my eyes on the vegetables, only glancing at him for a second.
"Vanessa told me about the relocation money. We should celebrate tonight—how about drinks?"
Drinks? Every alarm in my head went off. I'd been sober for a year while trying to get pregnant. Did he not know? Or was this his shot to slip something into my glass?
Not sure what game he was playing, I forced a nod. "Yeah, sure. Let's celebrate."
He lit up, grabbing two beers from the fridge. His movements were smooth—glasses rinsed, drinks poured—but he made a point of turning his back while filling them.
What was he hiding? My gut twisted.
"Cheers, sis." He handed me a glass, all innocent smiles.
I froze, clutching the drink like it was a live grenade.
Then Vanessa burst in, sweaty and panting. Without a word, she snatched the beer from Chase and chugged half of it in one go.
"Stupid elevator's broken again," she groaned, fanning herself. "Eight flights—I'm dying. Nothing hits like a cold beer. So, what's the plan for tonight?"
I just shrugged, biting back my words. Didn't matter now—Vanessa had taken the drink. Based on Chase's call, it was probably just some sketchy aphrodisiac.
Whatever. They were a couple. Let them deal with the consequences.
End of My Husband Hired My Temptation Next Door Chapter 8. Continue reading Chapter 9 or return to My Husband Hired My Temptation Next Door book page.