Chapter 1
Xavier Chandler and I had been the most envied couple in Bayview, growing up together from high school sweethearts to walking down the aisle.
But by the third year of our marriage, he started seeing other women on the side.
I cried, I fought, and even threatened suicide like some desperate housewife.
He, however, held his new fling close, using that voice I once adored to lecture me patiently.
He said, "Claire, men always crave something new. Who in our social circle doesn't have a side piece?
"It's just physical fun. My heart will always belong to you, Mrs. Chandler."
That was until the night he threw an extravagant birthday bash for his forty-second fling.
I showed up with my eighteen-year-old boyfriend.
The smile on Xavier's face froze instantly.
He shoved aside the flirtatious girl next to him and stormed over to me, his anger boiling over.
He snapped, "Claire, who is this guy? What's your relationship with him?"
Facing his wild gaze, I tightened my grip on the young man's arm and smiled brightly.
I scoffed, "Why get so upset, Mr. Chandler? He's just a young guy for company.
"Isn't that how everyone in our circle plays the game?"
*****
The birthday bash Xavier had thrown for his latest lover ended up a complete mess.
With everyone whispering, he grabbed my wrist and forcefully dragged me out of the party.
He drove like a maniac all the way back home.
He ripped off his tie, his chest heaving, his dark eyes burning into me.
"I'm still alive, and you're already moving on? Really?
"Claire, you were practically glued to that guy in front of everyone. Am I even on your mind? Do I mean anything to you at all?" he snapped.
I let out a cold, mocking laugh and calmly pulled a slim cigarette from my bag.
I lowered my head, flicked my lighter, and lit up with a sharp snap.
"So, Mr. Chandler, double standards, huh? You get to play around, but I can't even have a little fun?
"You've cycled through forty-two girls, and I'm just getting started. Why the panic?" I said.
I blew out a thin smoke ring, watching his face grow even darker through the haze.
This was the first time in four years Xavier actually snapped at me.
Usually, I was the one yelling, calling him out.
But every single time, he'd just shrug it off with that same dismissive line.
He'd say, "Claire, someone like me could have a hundred women and no one would bat an eye.
"But the only one who's got the real title is you. Isn't that enough for you?"
He got right up in my face, snatched the cigarette from my fingers, and slammed it into the ashtray.
"Why the hell would I not be pissed? You're my wife. Who the hell do you think is good enough to stand next to you except me?
"Since when do you smoke?" he snapped.
I stared at the cigarette he'd just crushed out, not answering right away.
I wondered when it began.
Maybe it was that night at three a.m., when he left my side because his latest fling got scared.
Or maybe it was when he threw a lavish birthday bash for his side piece and didn't even remember mine.
Or maybe it was when I was losing our baby alone on the operating table, while he was acting out fantasies with his mistress in bed.
There were just too many moments like that. At some point, I stopped caring when it all began.
By then, smoking was just second nature.
Whenever my emotions ran wild, the ashtray would be overflowing with cigarette butts.
But every time, he was busy with his latest fling.
Of course, he never noticed.
"Just picked it up," I said softly.
He frowned, his voice slipping into that commanding tone he always used.
"Stop smoking. I don't like it.
"Besides, you're Mrs. Chandler. You should carry yourself as Mrs. Chandler should," he ordered.
"So what's a Mrs. Chandler supposed to be?" I shot back, meeting his eyes with a cold, mocking smile.
"Poised and dignified? Or gentle and demure, just turning a blind eye to all the mistresses you parade through our home?" I added.
His gaze darkened.
"For starters, you shouldn't be smoking. And you sure as hell shouldn't be getting all cozy with another guy in front of everyone. You're making me look like a fool," he snapped.
I let out a cold, mocking laugh.
"Xavier, when you were parading your forty-two mistresses right in front of me, did you ever stop to think about what kind of dignity Mrs. Chandler is supposed to have?" I shot back.
Xavier stared at me, his gaze deep. "Feeling wronged?"
I didn't even know what that felt like anymore.
Then he let out a soft sigh, his hand gently cupping my cheek, his voice turning coaxing.
He said, "Those women? They're nothing. They're not even in the same league as you.
"Claire, I know you're angry, but they're just a distraction, just playthings.
"But you're my wife. The only woman I'll ever truly call my own." his voice dropped, steady and sure.
I'd heard those words so many times over the past three years.
If this had happened a year ago, or even six months ago, I would've lost it. I would've trashed the whole villa, smashed everything in sight.
At my worst, I was like a madwoman.
I'd grab a knife, not to hurt him, but I'd hold it to my own wrist, trying to force him to break things off with those women.
Even now, my wrists still bear countless scars.
But now, I just didn't care anymore.
The wildfire that once burned for him in my heart had long since died out, leaving nothing but cold, lifeless ashes.
I looked at him in silence, at the man I'd poured all my youth into loving.
Then, I took a step back, pulled out the divorce papers I'd already prepared, and handed them to him, my voice steady and calm.
"Xavier, let's get divorced.
"I'm just not cut out to be your wife, and I could never really play the part of Mrs. Chandler.
"I don't want your cars, your house, or your shares. But you owe me 30 million, so I can book eighteen male models every week, just to keep things interesting," I said.