whiskey inside. It was my third anniversary. Three years of being Alex Miller, husba

his own blood to protect it. He saw something in me, an orphan from a foster home with a head for numbers and a loyalty he cou

ied to. I poured everything I had into being the husband she nev

f the bargain by making

. She dropped her designer bag on the marble floor, the so

," she said. It w

anniversar

humor in it. "Right. The anniversary of m

arge, leather-bound scrapbook from a shopping bag I hadn't noticed and tossed

said, her voice dripping with s

mbled slightly

d in the arms of a handsome, dark-haired man on a yacht. The captio

ed the

in a hotel suite, Chloe in a silk robe, a

A scrapbook of her infidelity. A meticulously curated catalog of my humiliati

curious to see how far she had gone. My eyes scanned names

I sto

ighty-

on. My best friend. My brother. The guy I grew up with in the foster home, the

sloshed, but I didn't feel it. All I could

he leaned in, her breath smelling of champagne. "I was so bored of the usua

icture. "He was number eighty-seven. But don' t

, meeting her cold, blue eyes in

voice was a

. To see if you even care. Do you, Alex? Do you really love me? Or do you j

rapbook and shoved i

favorites in. You could manage it for me. My own personal harem keeper. There' s just one rule,"

buried every piece of my own dignity to uphold a promise to a dead man. I

y in my wife' s eyes, a crack appeared in the foundation of my life

a nec