CH 1. MY LOVE FOR MY HUSBAND MADE ME CHEAT ON HIM.
CH 1. MY LOVE FOR MY HUSBAND MADE ME CHEAT ON HIM... AND I ENJOYED IT 😩 PART 1
She walked through the alley, her pulse pounding, her mind trapped under a heavy haze as she looked at the address written on her phone's notepad. She looked up at the signboard in front of her, then stopped for a moment to stare at it. Her heart was beating so fast, her nerves all over the place.
*Oh God,* she thought to herself, grinding her teeth together.
She looked down at the parcel in her hand and bit down hard on her bottom lip. *Why the hell did he have to send me?* she thought.
Blinking rapidly, she ground her teeth again and looked around. Everyone was going about their normal schedules, entirely unaware that her world was about to step into a darkness she had once sworn she would never enter. She closed her eyes for a moment, then looked back at the bar's signboard before biting her bottom lip again. This was the one place she had vowed she would never go.
*Shit. I hate this.*
Just as she was about to step inside, her phone rang. She looked at the screen and saw Fred’s name. Exhaling, she took a deep breath and answered the call.
"Hello, baby," he said. "Are you there yet?"
She closed her eyes and ground her teeth. "Yes, I am."
Annoyance laced her voice, and Fred caught it immediately.
"Look, I know you're pissed at me, okay? I know you're extremely angry, but I wish you could just understand. I really can't go there myself. I haven't gotten the complete payment yet. If I go, he's going to harm me. He'll do a lot of things to me, and he probably won't let me go. You know how dangerous it would be," he said.
"So it's safe for me to go?" she asked.
He exhaled on the other end of the line. "No, you're my wife, okay? He can't harm you; he can't do anything to you. He's probably just going to give you a warning to pass along to me, and that will be the end of it. Trust me, you're completely safe. It's better that it's you than me. It would be dangerous for me, and I've owed him for a very long time. I'm going to need a lot more time to come up with the rest, so you have to be patient with me."
She stayed quiet for a moment, staring at a dumpster in the far corner of an alley directly beside the bar. She watched a rat scurry across the filthy ground. Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath.
"You know how much I told myself I never wanted to come to a place like this. Why do you have to keep making things so hard for me?" she asked.
There was no reply, only the sound of him shifting on the other end. "I'm sorry, Sarah. I'm really, really sorry," he said.
She ground her teeth. The warmth in his voice touched somewhere deep inside her. Closing her eyes, she shook her head. "You're a real piece of work, you know that?" she said half-jokingly.
He chuckled softly. "I know. That's why you're the one for me. You're the only one who can put up with my trouble—the only one who can bear this disaster of a man."
She chuckled and rolled her eyes. "There you go again with your sweet words," she said.
"Please, just this once, okay?" he urged. "After this, we're done. Next time, I'll meet him with the full payment myself. By then, I'll know for sure that nothing is going to happen to me. I'll hand it over personally."
She remained silent for a beat before nodding to herself. "Okay. Fine. Just this once," she said.
"Thank you so much, baby. I love you so much. Don't waste time, okay? Just walk in, ask for him, hand it over, and get out."
"All right," she said.
The call ended. She stared at her phone screen for a moment before slipping it back into the pocket of her denim jeans. Taking a deep breath, the mist of the cold night air escaped her lips as she tightened her grip on the parcel.
*Just tonight, Sarah. Just tonight,* she told herself.
She slowly made her way to the entrance, where a huge bodyguard stood guard. He sized her up with a deep frown.
"Um, excuse me. I'm here to see the boss, Marcel. My husband... um, he owes him money, and I'm just here to drop off a payment."
The bodyguard frowned down at her. "Your husband's name?"
"Fred."
The bodyguard paused, scrutinizing her before pulling out his phone and typing rapidly. She waited anxiously, squeezing the parcel tight, her toes curling inside her shoes.
After a moment, he looked up. "Come in. I'll take you to him."
She nodded. He signaled to two other bodyguards nearby. "Take my post. I'll be back in a few minutes."
"Yes, Boss," they replied instantly.
He stepped into the bar, and Sarah followed closely behind. The moment she crossed the threshold, the suffocating stench of smoke, alcohol, and stale sweat hit her. Her breath hitched, but she managed to compose herself, covering her nose with her hand as she looked around in horror.
Now she understood why this club was nicknamed "The Den of Sin." Immorality and impurity were everywhere. Groans and muffled gasps echoed from dark, hidden corners, and she caught glimpses of half-naked couples lost in their own world of pleasure, skin slapping against skin, shivers, groans, moans. Her cheeks burned hot at the sight, and a strange prickle hit the low pit of her stomach.
*What the fuck,* she thought. No restraint, no shame.
Blinking rapidly, she tore her gaze away from the scene and fixed her eyes on the back of the bodyguard leading her. He brought her through another partitioned hall, down a long corridor, and up to a hidden door.
Her heart was racing so wildly it felt as if it might burst from her chest. She stood nervously as the bodyguard knocked.
"Who's there?" a deep, gravelly voice called out from inside.
The bodyguard hesitated slightly. "It's me, Boss. Someone important needs to see you."
A brief silence followed. "All right. Come in."
The bodyguard turned to her, twisted the doorknob, and held the door open. Sarah hesitated, looking at him uncertainly before he gestured for her to enter. Exhaling, she slowly stepped inside. The door shut firmly behind her.
The man seated behind the desk was calm, quiet, and massive—broad and well-built in every sense. He wore a dark, fitted suit that accented his bulging muscles. He was entirely focused on a document in front of him. The office was somewhat cramped—not overly luxurious, but refined enough to clearly belong to someone of immense, hidden wealth.
She glanced around briefly before bringing her eyes back to him. *So this is Marcel,* she thought.
He didn't look up immediately. His hand scribbled rapidly across the paper, a deep furrow on his brow as if he were quickly losing his patience. She stood frozen, wondering if she should interrupt.
She couldn't help but notice the rugged edge to his features: the sharp, perfectly carved jawline, the dark stubble of a fresh shave, and those intense, dark eyes scanning the paper as though reading a death sentence. His thick hand gripped the pen tightly, veins bulging along his forearm. He looked like the kind of man who could kill someone without thinking twice.
Her eyelids fluttered when he finally, slowly lifted his head, his brow furrowing as his eyes met hers.
"Who are you, and what do you want?" he asked, his gaze raking down her entire body before settling back on her eyes.
She swallowed hard, heat prickling across her skin. "Um... my name is Sarah."
"I didn't ask for your name," he snapped.
She blinked rapidly, nodding. "Oh. Right. Sorry. Um... I'm Fred's wife."
The moment the name left her lips, his pen stopped. He looked up at her, his expression darkening. "Fred's wife, you said?"
"Yeah," she whispered, nodding.
He scrutinized her closely, as if searching for a trick. "Fred's wife," he repeated smoothly. "What are you doing here?"
She offered a nervous, strained smile. "My husband was able to gather a partial payment for what he owes. He asked me to drop it off. He promised that before the end of the week, he'll bring the rest and settle the debt completely."
The words rushed out of her in an uncontrolled flurry. She held her breath, her pulse hammering in her ears.
Marcel remained silent for a long moment, observing her through narrowed eyes. His gaze trailed downward—from her face to her neck, over her chest, and down to her waist—before his lips set into a thin, hard line. He shifted his eyes back to her face, then chuckled, shaking his head as he leaned back in his chair.
"Your husband really has some nerve, doesn't he?" he said. "The last time I saw him, I told him personally that if he was going to pay anything, it had to be in full. He knew he was defaulting. He knew what would happen to him, yet he sent you instead. Isn't that just him trying to be a sly fox? Is he playing games with me?"
She shook her head hastily. "No! No, absolutely not. It's not like that, trust me. He really wants to pay, but things are difficult right now—"
"And what makes you think I care?" he interrupted sharply.
She flinched at the harshness of his voice. He studied her intently, licking his lips before dragging a hand over his stubbled jaw.
"Your husband thinks he's smart," Marcel said, turning his focus back to her. "But if he thinks for one second that sending you escapes the punishment I have planned for him, then he's a complete fool."
She stared at him, blinking in confusion, her heart hammering against her ribs.
He chuckled low in his throat and leaned forward against the desk. "Come closer. Let me see the parcel."
She hesitated under his gaze, then took a slow, tentative step forward. She extended the package toward him. He took it from her grip, his fingers deliberately brushing against hers in the process.
Sarah flinched, her gaze locking onto his. He was staring deep into her eyes, a faint smirk playing on his lips as if enjoying her reaction, openly teasing her. Frowning, she quickly pulled her hand back.
He chuckled again, leaning back into his chair with the parcel in hand. His eyes slowly traveled down her body once more, landing squarely on her chest.
*Oh God,* she thought, her skin flushing hot.
This had always been her greatest insecurity around men. She was heavily endowed, her full breasts bulging against whatever clothing she wore, constantly drawing unwanted stares. And now, standing before a notorious crime lord, he was shamelessly staring at her chest as if he owned the sight.
Scoffing under her breath, she folded her arms tightly over her chest to cover herself. He noticed the gesture, a slow smile spreading across his face as he shifted his attention back to the parcel.
Unwrapping it, he pulled out the stack of cash, scoffed, and tossed it casually onto the desk.
"Even if I were willing to accept a partial payment, this isn't nearly enough," he said, looking back up at her. "Where's the rest?"
She swallowed the lump in her throat. "That was all he could gather right now. He promised to pay the rest before the end of the week. It's a promise."
He raised an eyebrow, eyeing her silently before letting out a soft laugh. He looked away, tracing his thumb along the stubble of his jaw, before turning his gaze back to her.
"You might not understand how this works, and you might think this is simple, but I know your husband," he said. "I know the type of man he is. What he's doing right now is trying to play smart with me. I can't just let that slide. So forgive me, but I hope you understand if I use you as a scapegoat to remind him that I don't play games."
She blinked, stunned. "What?"
He chuckled, rising slowly from his chair. He walked around the edge of the desk, his presence towering over the room. Sarah's eyes widened, and she involuntarily took a step back.
He closed the distance between them until he was standing directly in front of her.
*God, he was tall. So fucking tall.*
His broad chest sat directly at her eye level. If she looked straight ahead, all she saw was the dark fabric stretching across his heavy torso. She had to tilt her head all the way back just to look him in the eye.
He smirked down at her, lifted a hand, and pressed his thumb against her cheek.
She instantly slapped his hand away. "Don't touch me! I'm his wife!"
He chuckled softly. "I'm well aware of that, pretty girl."
She scoffed, rolling her eyes. "No, I don't think you are. If you were, you'd know you have no right to come near me, let alone touch me."
His smile widened. "You certainly have a sharp mouth for someone with such a timid husband."
She flinched, her lashes fluttering. He took another step forward. She retreated until her back pressed flat against a heavy wooden bookshelf. He immediately slammed his hand onto the shelf beside her head, trapping her against the wood.
"I'm sorry, sweetheart," he murmured, his voice dropping low. "But at this point, you're going to have to pay the price for your husband's little tricks."
She glared up at him, her voice trembling despite her effort to stay composed. "What is that supposed to mean?"
He chuckled. "It means we're going to conduct a little experiment."
Her brow furrowed. "What experiment?"
"The kind that teaches your husband why he shouldn't play games with me," he said softly, his smirk deepening. "And to make sure he gets the message, there's only one thing left for you to do."
She blinked rapidly, her breath catching in her throat. "What?" she asked slowly, already dreading his answer.
His smirk turned predatory as his eyes dipped down to her chest, making her face burn with heat.
"First of all," he drawled, "I'm going to need you to take off that shirt."
