Cheating on My Cheating Husband with My Billionaire Ex

“I want him erased.”

William Harrow blinked, caught between a breath and a protest.

Eva Mercer didn’t blink back. She sat still, hands folded neatly on the cold surface of his desk, the envelope in front of her like a loaded gun.

“Eva,” he began, voice gentle. “Divorce isn’t something you just—”

“I was in a car crash last month, did you know that?” she said, flat. “Callen didn’t answer my calls. I could have died on the side of that road, and he was in Italy with my sister.”

William sat back, the words landing heavy.

“I found out through a tagged photo,” Eva continued. Her voice didn’t waver. She opened her bag and slid the folded printout across the desk. A luxury yacht, sparkling ocean, Callen in sunglasses, Lena draped across his lap. His hand on her thigh.

William’s mouth opened slightly, but no words came.

“I stayed four years,” Eva said. “That’s enough.”

He looked at the papers in the envelope. Clean, clinical, final.

“Are you sure you want this filed?”

“I’m sure,” Eva said.

He nodded slowly. “Then I’ll file them by Friday.”

Eva stood, buttoned her coat. The weight in her chest didn’t lift, but it settled, cold and solid.

As she reached the door, William said quietly, “You don’t look like someone running away, Eva. You look like someone who’s already gone.”

She paused at that. Didn’t turn back. Just left.

—

The flashback was sharp in her mind, the crash lived behind her eyes like a ghost.

Dark highway. Rain lashing the windshield. A deer darting across with eyes wide, the flash of headlights.

She’d swerved too hard. The car spun once, twice, skidding sideways off the road. The impact cracked through her body. Glass burst. The airbag hit her face like a fist. Then darkness.

When she came to her senses, the car was tilted against a tree. Smoke curling from the hood. Blood dripped onto her blouse. The phone was on the passenger seat, ringing Callen. She answered with a shaking hand.

No. Wait. It wasn’t Callen calling. It was her calling him. Over and over.

Straight to voicemail.

Her voice was hoarse, desperate, begging.

“Callen, please. Please pick up. I’m hurt.”

It was hours before a stranger found her. The paramedics said she was lucky. That if she’d bled any longer, she might have been gone.

Callen never called back.

She learned where he was later, through a tagged photo. His hand on Lena’s thigh. Her older sister, Lena, came back from the dead. His smile was wide and careless. Hers curling like a woman who knew she’d won.

Then came a scene on repeat at Callen’s office. The week after the hospital, she’d gone to his office.

She had the envelope in her hands, resignation letter, divorce papers, all of it neatly prepared. She waited until the end of the day, when the building was quiet, and stepped inside.

Callen sat at his desk, his tie loosened, his eyes on the glowing screen of his laptop.

“Can you sign these?” she asked, voice neutral. Like she was just another assistant bringing contracts for review.

He barely glanced at her. “Leave them.”

Her fingers tightened around the envelope. “They’re important.”

Still, he didn’t look up. Just scribbled his signature across the flagged lines.

She stood there, watching him. Waiting. Hoping.

The sound of heels clicking on marble broke the moment. Lena.

Her voice, soft and sweet as she knocks. “Cal, are you ready?”

Eva froze. Lena must’ve not known that she was in his office.

Callen glanced up, just briefly. “Give me a minute.”

Callen’s pen scratched the final line. He set the papers aside without reading.

“Done,” he said.

Eva’s pulse rang in her ears. She looked at the door, probably behind where Lena is, then at him, then back at the papers on the desk, her marriage reduced to a few strokes of ink.

She saw how Callen left the room without even looking at her, fast and excited. Eva shattered.

—

Now, sitting in her car, the sky was turning to dusk by the time she reached the house. Their house.

It looked exactly the same. The perfect white facade, the sleek black door, the polished cars in the driveway.

Everything is exactly the same, except for her.

Four years. Four years of being the woman in the shadows. The wife no one knew about. The assistant everyone saw but never really saw.

Four years of waiting for him to see her. To choose her.

She exhaled slowly, long and steady, and her grip loosened.

Her fingers hovered over her phone, her heart pulsing dully beneath her ribs.

Then, like muscle memory, she scrolled down. Past the texts, the work calls, the unread messages.

To the name she hadn’t touched in years.

Jack Wilder.

Her thumb hovered, hesitating just for a moment.

And then she pressed Call.

It rang once. Twice.

She almost hung up.

But then—

“Eva?” His voice came through, low and rough, like whiskey and regret. The sound of it hit her in the chest like a fist.

Her breath hitched. The years fell away, fast and sharp.

“Jack.”

That was all she could say.

But it was enough.

Then, his voice, quiet but certain.

“Where are you?”

Her tears came hot and sudden, slipping down her cheeks.

“I should’ve never left you,” she whispered, the words falling out before she could stop them.

“I’ll come get you,” he said. No hesitation. No questions.