My Husband Hired My Temptation Next Door - Chapter 9: Chapter 9
You are reading My Husband Hired My Temptation Next Door, Chapter 9: Chapter 9. Read more chapters of My Husband Hired My Temptation Next Door.
I waved it off casually. "Made your favorite beef stir-fry, Ness."
"No way! You're the absolute best!" Vanessa practically tackled me in a bear hug before smacking an exaggerated kiss on my cheek.
Classic Vanessa—forever stuck in permanent little-sister mode.
After wrestling with it all afternoon, I'd decided against mentioning Chase's little... incident. The last thing I needed was her going nuclear and turning dinner into World War III.
She finally released me, grabbed her bag, and bounced toward her room. As I turned back to the stove, I caught the briefest flash of disappointment on Chase's face—there and gone in a heartbeat.
By dinner time, Vanessa had showered but looked worse than before. Her cheeks burned scarlet, and she kept fanning herself.
"Ugh... Why do I feel even hotter now? And why can't I stop thinking about..." She trailed off with a suggestive wiggle.
Bingo.
That confirmed it—Chase had definitely slipped something into her drink earlier.
"Hubbyyyy," she purred, dragging Chase toward their bedroom with a come-hither look that could melt steel.
I picked at my food as muffled moans soon seeped through the walls—louder, more frantic than usual. The symphony of headboard banging and breathless cries lasted well past midnight. Neither emerged to eat.
Alone in bed, I twisted my sheets into knots as the sounds next door played on loop behind my eyelids. Dawn's first light finally granted me a few hours of fractured sleep.
I nearly slept through my alarm—again. Having Chase in the house set my nerves on edge, like sharing my home with a wolf wearing sheepskin loafers. What if he tried something when Vanessa wasn't around? I couldn't—wouldn't—betray Michael.
Decision made: I'd tell Vanessa. Just... not today.
Fate, of course, had other plans.
Rachel's call came as I clocked out. "Girl! Grand Hyatt tonight—we're burning my marriage certificate in effigy!"
"Congratulations!" I chuckled at her gleeful tone. My supportive group chat message had apparently upgraded me from acquaintance to ride-or-die in her eyes. Pre-divorce Rachel wouldn't have remembered my name.
The private room glittered with tacky banners: "HERE'S TO SINGLE LIFE!" and "DEATH TO CHEATING SCUM!"
I blinked. Since when was Rachel the vengeful type? And why the "cheater" label if she'd filed?
Pulling her aside, I whispered, "Wait—did he actually cheat?"
To my shock, bulldozer Rachel's eyes welled up. "No." She ground her teeth. "That was me."
My wine nearly went down the wrong pipe. If she'd stepped out, why paint him as the villain? And why the waterworks if she had no regrets?
Rachel suddenly wailed like a siren, mascara streaking down her face. "Waaah—Viv, the prenup made me pay him three million!"
She clutched my shoulders, hiccuping. "I'm not crying over that bastard—I'm mourning my goddamn Birkin money!"
"No way! You're the absolute best!" Vanessa practically tackled me in a bear hug before smacking an exaggerated kiss on my cheek.
Classic Vanessa—forever stuck in permanent little-sister mode.
After wrestling with it all afternoon, I'd decided against mentioning Chase's little... incident. The last thing I needed was her going nuclear and turning dinner into World War III.
She finally released me, grabbed her bag, and bounced toward her room. As I turned back to the stove, I caught the briefest flash of disappointment on Chase's face—there and gone in a heartbeat.
By dinner time, Vanessa had showered but looked worse than before. Her cheeks burned scarlet, and she kept fanning herself.
"Ugh... Why do I feel even hotter now? And why can't I stop thinking about..." She trailed off with a suggestive wiggle.
Bingo.
That confirmed it—Chase had definitely slipped something into her drink earlier.
"Hubbyyyy," she purred, dragging Chase toward their bedroom with a come-hither look that could melt steel.
I picked at my food as muffled moans soon seeped through the walls—louder, more frantic than usual. The symphony of headboard banging and breathless cries lasted well past midnight. Neither emerged to eat.
Alone in bed, I twisted my sheets into knots as the sounds next door played on loop behind my eyelids. Dawn's first light finally granted me a few hours of fractured sleep.
I nearly slept through my alarm—again. Having Chase in the house set my nerves on edge, like sharing my home with a wolf wearing sheepskin loafers. What if he tried something when Vanessa wasn't around? I couldn't—wouldn't—betray Michael.
Decision made: I'd tell Vanessa. Just... not today.
Fate, of course, had other plans.
Rachel's call came as I clocked out. "Girl! Grand Hyatt tonight—we're burning my marriage certificate in effigy!"
"Congratulations!" I chuckled at her gleeful tone. My supportive group chat message had apparently upgraded me from acquaintance to ride-or-die in her eyes. Pre-divorce Rachel wouldn't have remembered my name.
The private room glittered with tacky banners: "HERE'S TO SINGLE LIFE!" and "DEATH TO CHEATING SCUM!"
I blinked. Since when was Rachel the vengeful type? And why the "cheater" label if she'd filed?
Pulling her aside, I whispered, "Wait—did he actually cheat?"
To my shock, bulldozer Rachel's eyes welled up. "No." She ground her teeth. "That was me."
My wine nearly went down the wrong pipe. If she'd stepped out, why paint him as the villain? And why the waterworks if she had no regrets?
Rachel suddenly wailed like a siren, mascara streaking down her face. "Waaah—Viv, the prenup made me pay him three million!"
She clutched my shoulders, hiccuping. "I'm not crying over that bastard—I'm mourning my goddamn Birkin money!"
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