The Billionaire Heiress Who Bankrupted Her Cheating Husband Chapter 2

I spent those next few months in a constant state of self-doubt.

I thought that by dedicating all my free time to my partner, he would be happy and appreciate it. I loved him, and I wanted him by my side every second. Didn’t he feel the same?

I reached out to every relationship guru and therapist online. Do couples need boundaries?

The universal answer: Yes.

I started taking online emotional intelligence courses, studying the science of marriage, and how to manage a modern relationship. Dean said I wasn’t accommodating him, so I reined in my temper and focused on being his supportive partner. I’d gently ask if he was stressed at work or facing any challenges. I hoped he’d open up. I was ready to be his confidante.

But every time, he’d respond with, “It’s work stuff. You wouldn’t understand.”

He grew increasingly impatient, while my temperament grew steadily calmer.

I even learned to cook. Following the advice of the gurus, I worked on the principle that the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. To save our relationship, I immediately quit my high-powered, demanding job, determined to be his perfect homemaker and supportive wife.

For a while, Dean seemed to warm up again. Our relationship appeared to shift back to how it used to be. I was convinced my choices were correct.

Until I found a small emerald earring tucked into the lining of his overnight bag.

It sparked the most explosive fight we’d ever had.

I screamed, demanding to know why there was a woman’s earring in his luggage.

“You want a divorce because you’re cheating on me, don’t you?” I was hysterical.

Dean’s voice was louder than mine, full of a raging defensiveness that made him look like the victim. “I work myself to the bone to provide for this family! And you’re accusing me of cheating because of an earring?! That’s disgusting, Avery!”

His righteous fury was so overwhelming that the red-hot anger draining out of me was replaced by a cold dread.

Right in front of me, he called his subordinate. “Savannah!! Why was an earring in my suitcase! You need to explain this to my wife right now!!”

Savannah was Dean’s assistant. She’d been at the company for two years. Everyone knew Savannah had a handsome fiancé, Wyatt, and that they were getting married soon. Wyatt was a partner at one of Dean’s major client firms. Because of that existing relationship, Dean often took Savannah on business trips.

No one, including me, had ever suspected a thing. It was perfectly normal for Dean to look out for his assistant, especially since she was part of the client network.

Savannah and Wyatt came over that evening.

“Oh my God, I am so, so sorry, Avery,” Savannah gushed, a picture of distress. “It’s my earring. I must have dropped it when I was helping Dean pack for his last trip. I am truly mortified that I caused this misunderstanding!”

Wyatt quickly backed her up. “My fiancée was just complaining about losing the earring this afternoon. I immediately ordered her a replacement. Mrs. Harrison, I can show you the order confirmation right here.” The date on the order was indeed before Dean and I had our fight.

I was mortified, completely at a loss for words. I glanced at Dean.

Dean flipped the coffee table over. “This is ridiculous! You need to take a long, hard look at yourself, Avery!” He stormed out of the apartment.

Wyatt rushed after him. “Dean, man, slow down! Don’t take this out on Avery. It was Savannah’s mistake. Let me buy you a drink. I apologize for her.”

I didn’t see the flicker of smug satisfaction in Savannah’s eyes then. I only felt like a foolish puppet she’d manipulated.

“I am so embarrassed,” I mumbled, apologizing to her. “I’m so sensitive.”

I barely registered the faint note of mockery in her voice. “That’s what happens to wives, Avery. You focus all your energy on your husband, and you start overthinking everything.”

“It’s normal to worry, though,” she added with a saccharine smile. “Dean is so exceptional.”

Maybe I did hear the taunt. But feeling guilty, I just offered a sheepish smile.

After that, the evidence kept piling up. Lipstick on Dean’s shirts, long strands of hair on his jacket, a lip balm, a bracelet, or a necklace left in his car. But I never screamed again. I was terrified of being wrong, of causing another ‘misunderstanding.’

Each time, Dean’s expression would be mild, almost bored. “A client got drunk, Avery. She hugged me and insisted I was her long-lost brother. That’s how the lipstick got on my collar.”

“The car is always full of coworkers and clients. Someone must have accidentally left it. I’ll check at the office tomorrow.”

I believed him every time.

But I would spend the nights spinning, the quiet hours filled with suspicion and dread. I started having intense insomnia and slipped into a deep depression. I went to a psychiatrist and began taking medication.

Until, finally, under the mattress of our bed, I found a black lace thong.