Sexy Gym Owner Lady - Chapter 5: Chapter 5
You are reading Sexy Gym Owner Lady, Chapter 5: Chapter 5. Read more chapters of Sexy Gym Owner Lady.
For a moment, my world shattered. The room spun, sounds faded into white noise, and even the man in front of me blurred like a bad dream.
"He wants me to sleep with you, gather evidence, and then accuse you of cheating."
I stood frozen, my mind struggling to process the sheer absurdity of it.
Gripping the shelf for balance, I steadied myself and fired off questions: "Did he hire you? Why you? Do you even know my husband? What's your connection to Bianca?"
The man shrugged. "Barely know her. Just happened to catch your husband cheating, so he—"
Then I saw it—the mirror angled toward the door, reflecting the hallway outside.
A man and a woman flashed across the glass.
My body moved before my brain caught up.
I didn't let him finish. Didn't even grab my bag. I just bolted for the door.
The elevator doors slid shut a second too soon. I didn't even get the chance to scream a name.
Fury burned through me as I patted my pockets—damn it, my phone was still in my bag.
"Your bag."
I whirled around. Troy stood there, holding it out like some twisted good Samaritan.
I snatched it and snapped, "Give me your number. I'll wire the money later—no time now."
As he typed it in, he smirked. "Need backup catching them in the act?"
I glared. "What, here for the front-row seat?"
He leaned in, voice low. "Got fresh photos if you want 'em."
My grip tightened on my phone as the elevator hit the ground floor. "Obviously."
I searched for the disposable cup Bianca had handed me earlier—only to find it rinsed and tossed in the trash.
Hah. Thorough, aren't we?
On the way home, three photos lit up my screen—Vincent and her, Bianca, tangled in a heated kiss in his office.
I transferred an extra $30K to Troy. $50K total.
Then I called my husband. Seven, eight times—"Get home. Now."
Clueless his lies were exposed, Vincent rushed back, bewildered.
On the couch, I poured myself a generous glass of expensive wine—liquid courage for what came next.
I was East Coast elite, born into privilege, spoiled rotten since childhood.
I had a younger brother. And like most old-money families obsessed with sons, mine tilted the scales for him.
But I still got whatever I wanted. Money was never an issue.
Love, though? That wasn't mine to choose. In our world, marriage was transactional. My family—wealthy but not old money—weighed every decision with cold precision. Love never factored in.
Then I met Vincent Evans.
And I fell—hard. A primal, obsessive kind of love. Like fate itself had ordained it.
I fought my family tooth and nail.
In the end, my brother helped me. Guilt-ridden over years of my sacrifices, he convinced our parents to let me have this one freedom.
Click. The front door unlocked.
Vincent stepped inside, kicking off his shoes. "What's the emergency? Burst pipes?"
I drained my glass. "No pipes. Just a fire."
He moved to hug me. "What's wrong? You look terrible."
I shoved him away—then hurled the freshly printed photos in his face.
"He wants me to sleep with you, gather evidence, and then accuse you of cheating."
I stood frozen, my mind struggling to process the sheer absurdity of it.
Gripping the shelf for balance, I steadied myself and fired off questions: "Did he hire you? Why you? Do you even know my husband? What's your connection to Bianca?"
The man shrugged. "Barely know her. Just happened to catch your husband cheating, so he—"
Then I saw it—the mirror angled toward the door, reflecting the hallway outside.
A man and a woman flashed across the glass.
My body moved before my brain caught up.
I didn't let him finish. Didn't even grab my bag. I just bolted for the door.
The elevator doors slid shut a second too soon. I didn't even get the chance to scream a name.
Fury burned through me as I patted my pockets—damn it, my phone was still in my bag.
"Your bag."
I whirled around. Troy stood there, holding it out like some twisted good Samaritan.
I snatched it and snapped, "Give me your number. I'll wire the money later—no time now."
As he typed it in, he smirked. "Need backup catching them in the act?"
I glared. "What, here for the front-row seat?"
He leaned in, voice low. "Got fresh photos if you want 'em."
My grip tightened on my phone as the elevator hit the ground floor. "Obviously."
I searched for the disposable cup Bianca had handed me earlier—only to find it rinsed and tossed in the trash.
Hah. Thorough, aren't we?
On the way home, three photos lit up my screen—Vincent and her, Bianca, tangled in a heated kiss in his office.
I transferred an extra $30K to Troy. $50K total.
Then I called my husband. Seven, eight times—"Get home. Now."
Clueless his lies were exposed, Vincent rushed back, bewildered.
On the couch, I poured myself a generous glass of expensive wine—liquid courage for what came next.
I was East Coast elite, born into privilege, spoiled rotten since childhood.
I had a younger brother. And like most old-money families obsessed with sons, mine tilted the scales for him.
But I still got whatever I wanted. Money was never an issue.
Love, though? That wasn't mine to choose. In our world, marriage was transactional. My family—wealthy but not old money—weighed every decision with cold precision. Love never factored in.
Then I met Vincent Evans.
And I fell—hard. A primal, obsessive kind of love. Like fate itself had ordained it.
I fought my family tooth and nail.
In the end, my brother helped me. Guilt-ridden over years of my sacrifices, he convinced our parents to let me have this one freedom.
Click. The front door unlocked.
Vincent stepped inside, kicking off his shoes. "What's the emergency? Burst pipes?"
I drained my glass. "No pipes. Just a fire."
He moved to hug me. "What's wrong? You look terrible."
I shoved him away—then hurled the freshly printed photos in his face.
End of Sexy Gym Owner Lady Chapter 5. Continue reading Chapter 6 or return to Sexy Gym Owner Lady book page.