My Fish-Hating Husband Fell for a Fishmonger Girl

"Three years of marriage. Three years of eating fish alone on the back porch because my husband swore the smell made him sick.

Then, on my thirtieth birthday, I caught him at the fish market — kneeling in guts, feeding sashimi to a pretty little mistress.

He begged me to pretend I didn't know him. So I did. I pretended for good.

I signed the papers. Boarded a plane. Built an empire overseas.

A year later, I came home as the youngest CEO at a Fortune 500 — on the arm of the man who'd quietly loved me since college.

Hunter came crawling back. Too late. Way too late."