Theodore Morton suffered from severe insomnia. No matter where he went, his sleep therapist had to be by his side.
At a business dinner for a new project, Nanette Dickerson—the sleep therapist—covered her nose and smiled at me in front of every partner at the table.
"Just be a good little trophy wife. Why are you out here trying to act like a man? Nobody wants to listen to you talk with that breath."
I slapped her across the face on the spot. Her cheek flushed crimson in an instant.
The next moment, Theodore Morton pulled her into his arms, his voice thick with anger.
"Nanette was just trying to give you a friendly reminder. She didn't mean anything by it. Did you really have to hit her in front of all these people?"
I didn't say a word. My eyes were fixed on the red mark on his neck.
He'd been overseas on a business trip. He'd only gotten back this morning.
An entire week. They'd been together the entire week.
Nanette hid behind him, one hand pressed to her cheek, her voice tinged with hurt.
"I was only joking with Mrs. Morton to lighten the mood. She didn't have to treat me like that, did she?"
……
One of the partners cleared his throat. Around the table, faces settled into expressions of barely concealed amusement.
I didn't spare Nanette a single glance. My nails dug deep into my palms as I swallowed the bitterness rising in my throat and looked straight at Theodore.
"Theodore. What is this?"
He went still for a beat, as if he didn't understand what I was pointing at. A flicker of panic crossed his face.
He was about to speak when Nanette popped out from behind him, raising her hand with a playful grin.
"That was me!"
"He looked so gorgeous while he was sleeping, I just couldn't help myself."
The panic on Theodore's face dissolved almost entirely. He reached out and tapped Nanette's forehead with an easy, intimate gesture, a low laugh escaping his lips.
"I was wondering where that red spot came from. Turns out it was you, you little mosquito."
The private dining room went dead silent.
I stared at Theodore in disbelief. My heart clenched as if a fist had seized it, then slowly released, leaving nothing behind but cold.
In Harborton, everyone knew Theodore Morton loved his wife more than life itself.
For years, no woman had been allowed near him. No one had ever been permitted to say a single word against me.
The entire floor of his office building was staffed exclusively with men. There wasn't even a female janitor.
The only woman with unrestricted access was me.
A year ago, Theodore had developed a severe sleep disorder. Night after night of insomnia. He'd seen every specialist, domestic and abroad, and nothing had brought him any relief.
In desperation, I turned to Nanette Dickerson, a girl I'd been sponsoring for eight years. Her college major was related to sleep therapy. It seemed like a perfect fit.
That day, Nanette became the second woman to set foot on that floor.
She wore jeans faded from too many washes and a simple denim shirt, her head bowed, unable to meet either my eyes or Theodore's.
Theodore didn't give her so much as a glance. He ordered his bodyguards to throw her out, then dragged me into the lounge with a cold expression and kissed me like a storm breaking loose.
Afterward, he sank his teeth into my shoulder in punishment, his voice rough and low.
"I don't want any other woman near me. I only want you."
I turned to face him, met his reddened eyes, and my heart melted completely.
It took my repeated coaxing before Theodore finally agreed to let Nanette try.
That first attempt showed results.
So I became even more determined to keep her around.
I paid off her mother's staggering medical bills and promised that once Theodore recovered, I'd send her abroad to study.
During that time, Theodore complained to me constantly.
"Serena Ashworth, this Nanette keeps making me do the strangest things. I hate it."
I pulled him into my arms and soothed him in a soft, gentle voice.
