My Sales Champion Wife's Secrets - Chapter 7: Chapter 7
You are reading My Sales Champion Wife's Secrets, Chapter 7: Chapter 7. Read more chapters of My Sales Champion Wife's Secrets.
The video looked like it had been shot in some cheesy love hotel, bathed in the glow of flickering pink neon that left the footage grainy and distorted.
Since it was a covert recording, the clip was frustratingly short.
But the woman in the video—a total knockout—was the spitting image of Sophia.
I kept pausing, rewinding, until the frame finally froze on her toned legs.
And there it was. A delicate rose tattoo, barely visible on the milky skin of her inner thigh.
Was that really Sophia?
I recognized that tattoo. The last time she came over for hotpot and poker night, she'd been sitting across from me in those tiny shorts, flashing more than just her cards. The rose had been impossible to miss.
Could the top performer in that video actually be her?
My stomach twisted. The guy had mentioned Sophia had a friend who was open-minded with clients.
If this was Sophia, then that meant Lillian might be—
My thoughts spiraled. Hands shaking, I shot the guy a private message: "Hey, man—got any more of that video? I'd pay for footage of both women."
His response was instant. "What's your deal? You know them? I deleted everything. And do I look like I need cash?"
Shit. He was suspicious—and clearly loaded. Of course. Everyone in this group was here for kicks, not profit.
I backpedaled fast. "Nah, just wanted to appreciate the view."
"Watching's boring. Book them yourself."
Then—poof—he blocked me.
Frustration burned through me. Was that really Sophia?
Before I could dig deeper, the front door clicked open.
"Honey, I'm gross—gonna shower real quick!" Lillian called, breezing past me straight to the bathroom.
Something felt off. I rifled through her bag—nothing but an extra pair of yoga pants.
When she stepped out, I confronted her.
For a split second, she stiffened—then forced a smile. "Sophie dragged me to the gym after work, so I brought my stuff. Why? What's wrong?"
"Nothing."
I let it go, but that flicker of tension lodged in my brain like a splinter.
Had she really been at the gym when I called?
Later, in bed, I pulled her close. She was wearing that lacy lingerie I loved, and I was done playing nice.
"Not tonight, babe. I'm wiped—closed two deals, then Sophie's workout. Rain check?" She pushed me away.
Annoyed, I slid my hand under her panties—and froze.
Everything was bare.
"Since when do you get Brazilians?" I demanded.
Her cheeks flushed. "Tonight. Sophie said European women do it for hygiene. You… like it?"
"Love it."
And before she could protest, I pinned her down and took what was mine.
Since it was a covert recording, the clip was frustratingly short.
But the woman in the video—a total knockout—was the spitting image of Sophia.
I kept pausing, rewinding, until the frame finally froze on her toned legs.
And there it was. A delicate rose tattoo, barely visible on the milky skin of her inner thigh.
Was that really Sophia?
I recognized that tattoo. The last time she came over for hotpot and poker night, she'd been sitting across from me in those tiny shorts, flashing more than just her cards. The rose had been impossible to miss.
Could the top performer in that video actually be her?
My stomach twisted. The guy had mentioned Sophia had a friend who was open-minded with clients.
If this was Sophia, then that meant Lillian might be—
My thoughts spiraled. Hands shaking, I shot the guy a private message: "Hey, man—got any more of that video? I'd pay for footage of both women."
His response was instant. "What's your deal? You know them? I deleted everything. And do I look like I need cash?"
Shit. He was suspicious—and clearly loaded. Of course. Everyone in this group was here for kicks, not profit.
I backpedaled fast. "Nah, just wanted to appreciate the view."
"Watching's boring. Book them yourself."
Then—poof—he blocked me.
Frustration burned through me. Was that really Sophia?
Before I could dig deeper, the front door clicked open.
"Honey, I'm gross—gonna shower real quick!" Lillian called, breezing past me straight to the bathroom.
Something felt off. I rifled through her bag—nothing but an extra pair of yoga pants.
When she stepped out, I confronted her.
For a split second, she stiffened—then forced a smile. "Sophie dragged me to the gym after work, so I brought my stuff. Why? What's wrong?"
"Nothing."
I let it go, but that flicker of tension lodged in my brain like a splinter.
Had she really been at the gym when I called?
Later, in bed, I pulled her close. She was wearing that lacy lingerie I loved, and I was done playing nice.
"Not tonight, babe. I'm wiped—closed two deals, then Sophie's workout. Rain check?" She pushed me away.
Annoyed, I slid my hand under her panties—and froze.
Everything was bare.
"Since when do you get Brazilians?" I demanded.
Her cheeks flushed. "Tonight. Sophie said European women do it for hygiene. You… like it?"
"Love it."
And before she could protest, I pinned her down and took what was mine.
End of My Sales Champion Wife's Secrets Chapter 7. Continue reading Chapter 8 or return to My Sales Champion Wife's Secrets book page.