She replayed the confrontation in her head. When Olivia had first appeared in the doorway, looking absolutely shattered, a dark, vicious part of Amanda had expected to feel satisfaction. She had imagined this moment for months, even if she rarely admitted it out loud. She had wanted the sweet, naive, flour-dusted wife to finally realize that James had been choosing Amanda every single day. She had wanted the definitive victory.
But the actual reality of the moment had not tasted like victory at all.
Olivia had not looked pathetic. She had looked destroyed, yes, but her grief had quickly sharpened into something lethal and clear. And James? James had not looked like a man who was finally free to claim the woman he actually wanted. He had looked terrified. He had looked like a coward.
When James had desperately pleaded with Olivia, Amanda had felt the ground drop out from under her. He was not trying to protect Amanda from Olivia's wrath. He was trying to protect himself. He was willing to sacrifice Amanda in a heartbeat if it meant saving his own skin.
She gritted her teeth, thinking bitterly that she should have expected it. What else should she expect from a man who had been lying to the woman he lived with for nearly a year?
But expecting betrayal in theory was vastly different from standing half-naked in a bedroom and watching it happen to you. Amanda loved him. In her own twisted, ambitious way, she truly loved him. She had believed his promises. She had believed she was different.
This had not been a one-time mistake. It had not been a drunken lapse in judgment or a few stolen kisses after a corporate event. The affair had been going on for almost a year. James had carved out room for her in almost every hidden corner of his life. They had fucked in five-star hotels across the country, bent over the desk in his corner office, and pressed against the vibrating door of a first-class airplane bathroom. He had taken her on out-of-town trips he disguised as client meetings. He had looked her in the eyes, buried deep inside her, and told her he loved her more times than she could count.
He had brought her into this house over and over again.
A specific, brutal memory flashed through Amanda’s mind. A few months ago, James had led her downstairs into the kitchen. He had handed her one of Olivia’s canvas bakery aprons and told her to put it on with absolutely nothing underneath. He had made her lean over the cold granite island, pretending to mix something in a bowl, while he hiked the apron up and fucked her hard from behind. Amanda had moaned loudly the entire time, throwing her head back as he grunted her name. She had loved the cruelty of it. It made her feel powerful, as if she had not just stolen James’s body, but had actively defiled the sacred, domestic symbols of Olivia’s pathetic little marriage. After he poured himself inside her with a loud grunt, he told her that he loved her, and she kissed him, whispering her love for him right back.
Now, watching James blindly button his shirt in a cold sweat over Olivia leaving, the memory twisted into somethingsickening. It no longer felt like proof that James belonged to Amanda. It felt like proof that James had turned both women into nothing more than convenient props for his own towering ego.
"Stop moving," Amanda hissed, stepping forward.
James barely registered her voice. He was spiraling, talking frantically to himself as he hopped on one foot to pull his shoe on.
"I have to go after her. I have to fix this," James muttered, his eyes wide and unseeing. "We can go to couples therapy. We can go to couples therapy. If she tells people what she saw, if she connects the accounts, if she goes to a lawyer, I'm ruined. The board will eat me alive. I have to turn this around. I have to win my wife back, or I am completely screwed."
The phrasewin my wife backhit Amanda like an open-handed strike.
He was not saying he needed to calm Olivia down. He was not saying he needed to make sure she was safe driving home. He was saying he needed to win her back because losing her meant losing his control, his reputation, his money, and the flawless executive image he demanded the world believe in.
But it still burned like acid in Amanda's chest, because he was talking about Olivia as the ultimate prize he needed to keep, while Amanda was standing right in front of him.
"James, look at me," Amanda demanded.
He ignored her, cursing under his breath as he realized he had buttoned his shirt unevenly. He ripped the fabric apart to start over, checking his phone screen, calculating exactly what Olivia might do next.
Amanda snapped.
She closed the distance between them, drew her hand back, and slapped him across the face.
The sharp crack echoed loudly against the bedroom walls.
James’s head jerked to the side. He froze, his eyes widening in shock before narrowing into furious indignation. He touched his jaw, staring at her as if she had lost her mind. "What the hell is wrong with you? Why did you do that?"
"Because you are having a hysterical crisis," Amanda spat, her voice dripping with venom. She was not crying. She was not pleading. She was furious, humiliated, and completely done watching him act like she was disposable. "And you need to listen to me."
"I don't have time for this, Amanda!" James yelled, reaching for his keys on the dresser.
"You are not going after her," Amanda commanded.
"You do not get to tell me what to do!"
"Someone has to," Amanda fired back, stepping into his path, "because you are about to make everything worse! You're acting like a cornered rat."
"Olivia needs to hear me out. I can explain—"
Amanda let out a harsh, bitter laugh. "Explain what, exactly, James? The year-long affair? The stolen marital funds? Or maybe you want to explain what it looked like when I was taking your cock deep in her bed while she stood in the doorway?"
That stopped him. His jaw snapped shut, the reality of the disaster finally penetrating his panic.
