I rubbed my legs as wood crackled and the flame finally grew. My chin rested on my knee, and I wrapped my arms around my legs as I pined over the good old days. Just a few months ago, I would’ve struggled to believe that I would ever be here by myself.
Brad and I went everywhere together. Twenty-three—that’s the number of days we spent apart during the nine months we were together. The first time was his business trip to Chicago, lasting two weeks. It felt like two years for me. I wanted to go with him, but Dad got sick, and I had to be by his side. I miss Daddy so much.
The second time we were apart was for my best friend’s wedding in Australia. I went for a week, and he stayed to oversee the merger of his company with a former competitor. The absolute worst timing.
And the third time, we were apart for only two days. Brad’s grandpa got sick, so Brad flew out immediately while I was at work. I called him to fly out that night, but he didn’t answer his phone while he was at his grandpa’s deathbed.
Being apart from Brad felt like needles pricking my chest and long nails pinching my heart. The only thing worse than that feeling was knowing that Brad heavily influenced my happiness. Mom taught me to be independent in every way; she had to be after divorcing Dad.
I thought that I had conditioned myself well enough not to be swayed by feelings for any man, but Brad was different. His smile tore down the wall that guarded my heart. His kindness lowered my drawbridge, inviting him into my kingdom. He was everything I wanted in a man—tall, athletic, funny and not to mention a great conversationalist.
I could listen to him talk for hours. He always fed me gems that made me yearn to hear more. Brad was the epitome of knowing the exact right thing to say in any situation. It’s like he could read my mind.
His fingers pressing into the back of my neck and shoulders ruffled the tension in my head and stimulated the rest of my body. Only he knew the right place to touch me and the degree of pressure to exert. It was truly mindblowing.
Don’t get me started on sex with him. The best way I can describe it is an avalanche of orgasms sliding from my mind and compounding as it makes its way down my body, intensifying with each thrust and until it eventually culminates to a boiling point, and I spurt liquid from my pussy. He’s taken me on that ride several times.
If those benefits weren’t enough to nominate him for the best lover award, his wealth would bump him right up to the podium. He wasn’t rich; Brad was fantastically wealthy. When not preoccupied with running several businesses to increase his net worth daily, Brad flew me around the world in his private jet.
We vacationed in the most exotic locations and made love on the edge of a cliff next to a waterfall. It was remarkable. His stellar performance made me feel that I had gushed out more fluid out of my pussy than the volume of water that had fallen over the edge.
A trip that stuck out in my mind was Milan. After strolling through Galleria Vittorio Emanuele II, we went to a Dolce & Gabbana boutique. Brad spoilt me with the latest collection of the brand’s dresses, shoes, bags and coats. I didn’t see the bill, but I believe it was more than a hundred thousand dollars—pocket change for my man.
To keep him satisfied, I allowed him to penetrate me anally. I granted him the privilege of entering that hole because of all the benefits I enjoyed by being with him. If it were any other man, he’d be lucky to get a kiss by the tenth date.
But anal wasn’t enough for him. He liked golden showers—giving, not receiving. I squeezed my eyes shut as he towered over me as I lay on the floor, and he peed on me. That was disgusting, but I felt compelled to keep him satisfied so that he would continue to fund my lavish lifestyle.
I also had to lick his toes and ass. Oh, God. I almost threw up a few times, but I suppressed the regurgitation so that he would think that I enjoyed it. Cumming and spitting in my mouth were standard practise with him. He also stuck his dick into my mouth after anal sex. Yuck. I tolerated it all for him.
I adored the courtship phase, and I learnt that permitting affection too early spoilt the main course. Any man needed to wine and dine me for months before I allowed him the pleasure of kissing me. Of course, I made an exception with Brad. He banged me on the second date. How could I not let him enter me? He flew me to Cape Town for the weekend, and we boarded a yacht. I had to show my appreciation and secure my place as his first choice.
The competition to bag him was fierce. One of the bitches that was after Brad told him that I caught an STD after being gang banged by a bunch of thugs. I went to her house and almost gouged her eyes out during our tussle. I managed to pull a chunk of her hair out, leaving her with a bald spot and fingernail marks on her face.
Another cow offered Brad a threesome with her best friend. I have to admit that both of them were gorgeous, but I was quick to step in and break off that menage a trois. Most women are shameless when trying to snatch the 1% guy from his love interest. They go to extremes to get his attention and do unspeakable things to lure him into their web. So disgusting. How could they stoop so low?
But I must admit that a part of me understood their actions. A guy like Brad doesn’t come by every day. He’s one in a million. My claws would also come out if I tried to vie for his attention. Luckily for me, he approached me at a mall and asked me to join him for lunch.
Although he made the first move, I had to fend off the competition. They struck from every angle, especially from the back. But I outsmarted them every step of the way and showed him that I was the alpha woman. And by being with me, Brad and I would be an unstoppable power couple.
I thought that I would be his right-hand woman, contributing to his businesses so that they reach new heights of success. At the awards dinner, Brad would thank me for my outstanding achievements and praise me in front of our employees. I would finally prove to men that I added more value to the marketplace than they did.
If only things had worked out like that. Pity that Brad was married.
I distinctly remember the day that he confessed to me about his family. My photographic memory stored an image of the clothes he wore, his facial expressions, and the exact words he said. I’ll never forget that day. My whole life turned upside down, and I felt completely betrayed.
I was supposed to have the perfect life, the perfect man, the perfect everything. But one sentence changed everything.
Brad said that he married his wife because she got pregnant and that the flame in their marriage had waned throughout the years.
I begged him to marry me, and I forgave him for not being upfront about his family. I vowed to give birth to as many children as he wanted. Whatever arrangement he preferred, I would have accepted.
The man of my dreams turned his back on our future. He chose his children over us, claiming that he would stay with his wife for their sake. Those spoilt brats would still have their father in their lives if Brad and I got married. It’s not like I would keep him away from them. Nobody really loses under those circumstances.
Brad’s explanation for choosing his children showed me the extent of his love for them. I admired him for it, but it made me hate his children. If they weren’t in the picture, I would have the perfect life. Those little shits. They ruined everything for me.
I was prepared to stay with Brad, even if he remained married. As long as he attended to my needs, I didn’t mind sharing him with a woman he was slowly falling out of love with. He said it wasn’t fair to his children to spend time with me when he could be with them.
My eyes closed as I blew out a long breath. I rubbed my temples, trying to alleviate the tension in my head. But how could I feel better when I lost the perfect man? How will I ever get over this? It’s going to be almost impossible to replace Brad. He’s flawless. How many flawless men are out there? Probably one, max two. And I wouldn’t be surprised if both of them are married or gay.
I slumped onto the couch, and my puffy cheeks deflated as steam blew out of my mouth. The high wave that I ridden for several months crashed on top of me. Considering my luck with men, I should’ve known that the gravy train would eventually come to a screeching halt.
Everything seemed perfect when I was with Brad. I was set for life. I didn’t have a single expense. He took care of everything. I loved being with him. Now that I’m single again, I have to pay for everything I want. Yuck. How am I supposed to afford flights on private jets and luxury dresses?
That lifestyle isn’t within my budget, but it certainly is within my desires. I had that life. I would still be living it if it weren’t for those whiny brats. Ugh! How I would love to give them a hiding. I guess it’s not their fault. I can’t blame those innocent souls.
The real culprit is Brad’s wife. She has him on a short leash. I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s average-looking. He had no choice but to marry her when she became pregnant. I’m certain that was her strategy to trap him. Why would he be with me if she were the woman of his dreams? She isn’t. I am. And I should be with him. I deserve Brad, and he and I will be together.
I have to confront her and tell her that Brad wants to be with me and that she’s standing in the way of our happiness. There’s no way that I can accept defeat. We were meant to be together, and we will be if it’s the last thing I do.
My plan was to follow Brad’s wife and confront her when she’s alone. I don’t need distractions, and I can’t give her an inch of room to escape. She will hear what I have to say, and I will not let her leave until she agrees to divorce Brad.
Monitoring Brad’s house, I slouched in the seat in case the security guard patrolled in front of the yard to see if any lunatics were lurking by.
The best scenario was for her to step out alone for dinner so I could follow her. I couldn’t be on the lookout the entire night because I had work in the morning. Work—oh my God. That was supposed to be a thing of the past. I was supposed to be bossing people around in Brad’s company. Instead, I have to report to a boss.
At around eleven, I noticed the lights go out in the master bedroom. I figured that Brad and his wife had gone to bed, and it was best for me to stalk her the following day.
During my lunch break, I drove to Brad’s house and parked about fifty metres away from his gate. I figured that his wife would be bored during the day and would use the time to occupy herself with frivolous tasks until her husband came home.
Ten minutes passed since I arrived, and I noticed the gate opening. My head perked up, and I saw a grey SUV pulling out. I slid into the seat, my eyes barely poking above the dashboard. As the SUV passed me, I dipped my head lower.
The driver dashed past me, but I was certain that it was a woman. The only way to find out was by following her.
After fifteen minutes, the SUV pulled into an underground parking at a fashion mall. I was fortunate to find a bay close to it. A woman stepped out. Bingo. That must be that ratchet witch.
I got out of the car and followed her, keeping a distance of about ten metres. That was far enough for me to remain inconspicuous, but close enough not to lose her.
She went inside a boutique and tried on a few dresses. I rolled my eyes and shook my head, waiting for her to step out. Confronting her in the boutique would be tacky. I was angry with her, but not stupid enough to make a fool out of myself and possibly get escorted out of the mall by security.
About half an hour later, she finally walked out of the boutique, carrying a bag. I could only imagine how much the dress cost. That should’ve been mine. If Brad were with me, that money would’ve been used to purchase my happiness. Instead, that blonde bimbo spent it on herself.
I followed her as she walked past several shoe shops. She glanced inside but kept walking. Thank God. I didn’t think I had the patience to wait for her again.
She stepped out of the mall and headed towards the waterfront. Perfect.
I walked hastily behind her to catch up. I glanced around to see if any witnesses were nearby.
She stopped as I gripped her shoulder. I felt her shoulders tense up, and she slowly turned her head towards me, her eyes wide. She was more beautiful than I imagined her to be. A lot more beautiful. Okay, fine. She was absolutely stunning. My heart stung as I thought about how beautiful she was.
“Are you Brad Withers’ wife?” I asked.
“Yes. How did you know that?”
“I know Brad very well. He told me about you.”
“I’m sorry, but who are you?”
“Ellen Shenkowitz.”
“Okay. What can I do for you, Ms Shenkowitz?”
Huh. The nerve of her to assume that I’m a miss and not a Mrs.
Stupid skank.
“I need to give you a piece of my mind.” She frowned. I raised my eyebrows and perked my head up. “Oh, yeah. It’s high time. I’ll tell you that much.”
“That dress you bought. That was supposed to be mine. Everything you have was supposed to be mine. But no. You had to be a selfish bitch and just think about yourself. Who cares about Ellen, right? I mean, it’s not like she deserves to be happy. Why would she be? It’s all about you, you, you.”
Her lips parted. I realised that I didn’t know her name, and it didn’t matter. All I cared about was telling her where to get off.
She peered at me, genuinely seemed baffled and shocked.
“I understand Brad wanting to make sacrifices for his children, but I’ll never understand why—.”
“Sorry? Children?”
“Yes. You and Brad have children.”
“No, we don’t. Are you sure you’re talking to the right person?”
“Your husband is Brad Withers, CEO of Ayax Technologies?”
“Yes.”
“Then, you are the right person.”
“Okay, but we don’t have children.”
“You don’t?”
“No.”
I looked into the distance over her shoulder, pondering the reason that Brad spoke about his children. Was it possible that he had children with another woman?
“Is your marriage on the rocks?” I asked.
She snorted a laugh and shook her head. “Not that it’s any of your business, Ms Shenkowitz, but my husband and I are extremely happy. We’re renewing our vows in Paris next month.”
“You are?”
She smiled. “Yes.”
“I see.”
“Anything else you’d like to know about my personal affairs?” she asked, sarcastically.
The nerve of her to speak to me like that.
I thought about questioning her further to make sense of the situation. But it wasn’t necessary. It was clear to me that Brad lied about his children to leave me. But why? I thought we had something special. Apparently not. He wouldn’t renew his vows with his wife if he fell out of love with her.
Brad used me to fulfil his sexual kinks, probably because his wife wouldn’t entertain them. So I was used and abused. Just great, Ellen. You let a slimeball like Brad Withers do despicable things to you sexually, and then you got the boot when he had his fun.
Yeah, I don’t think that this is where our journey ends, Mr Withers. You messed with the wrong bitch. I know where your plane is parked. And I know where you park your Aston Martin at your offices. You can expect me at both locations with a bat and bottled rage.