Chapter 1

My husband sells my private photos for ninety-nine dollars a set.

I'm standing outside his hotel room when one of his friends asks whether that price includes me.

I pull out my phone and start recording.

The men inside burst out laughing.

"Seriously, Blake. Some guy in the comments wants to know what she charges for a night."

"Tell him to get in line," another man says. "You've got requests."

Then my husband laughs.

"Lauren doesn't know."

"And when she finds out?"

"She'll cry. She'll ask what she did wrong. Then she'll beg me not to leave."

This morning, an email from an address I don't recognize arrived in my work inbox.

No message.

Just a link.

The page had my face on it.

My body.

Our bedroom.

Pictures taken when I thought I was alone. Pictures taken when I thought I was safe.

Underneath them was a price.

$99.

For the past two weeks, men I've never met have been sending me messages. A client canceled a meeting without explanation.

Yesterday, one of my employees closed his laptop so quickly when I walked past that I thought he was looking for another job.

Now I know what I've been walking into every morning.

Blake told me he was playing poker here. I came to ask him who else had access to our bedroom.

And the man who put me there is laughing on the other side of this door.

"So when are you getting rid of her?" someone asks.

"Once Vanessa and I figure things out."

"Your wife owns a company. Don't walk away empty-handed."

"I'm not stupid. I'm her husband. I'll get my share."

His share.

Three years ago, Blake lost his job.

I told him we would be fine.

I picked up extra clients. Worked weekends. Paid the rent, his car insurance, his credit cards.

I built my design studio into a company with eleven employees.

He stayed home.

When I came back after midnight, he asked what we were having for dinner.

Two weeks ago, Vanessa Cole returned from London.

His college girlfriend.

The woman whose old photographs he never deleted.

Suddenly, Blake started getting up before noon. Buying clothes. Going to the gym. He even offered to come by my office and help.

I thought he was trying.

He was.

Just not for me.

"How'd you get the pictures?" another man asks. "She actually let you take those?"

"Cameras."

"What, in the bedroom?"

"And the bathroom."

A low whistle.

"She didn't notice?"

"She barely notices when I get a haircut. She comes home, showers, passes out."

They laugh again.

I look down at the wedding ring on my hand.

I bought both of ours.

"Vanessa's got you working," someone says.

Blake's voice softens.

"She understands me. She said she hated seeing me waste my life with someone who treats me like a dependent."

My phone shakes in my hand.

I steady it against the wall.

"Then why marry Lauren in the first place?"

"Bad timing. I needed help. She wanted a husband."

"That simple?"

"She kept telling me we were a team. I let her."

Someone knocks on the table.

"Your bet."

I hear chips slide forward.

Then another voice.

"What about tonight? Vanessa still bringing those guys?"

"Yeah."

"Your wife going to show?"

"I'll get her there."

"She knows it's a party?"

"She thinks I'm helping her find clients."

For a moment, I can't feel my fingers.

Blake mentioned a dinner yesterday. A networking opportunity. He said he was proud of me and wanted to help my company grow.

I kissed him.

I thanked him.

"Vanessa's handling the drinks," he continues. "Once Lauren loosens up, we'll get some better footage."

"What if she refuses?"

"She won't be in a position to argue."

One of the men laughs so hard he coughs.

"Man, I'd pay to see that. Your wife always looks like she's about to fire somebody."

"Wait until she's on her knees," Blake says.

I save the recording and walk toward the elevator.

Outside, I find a number I haven't called in far too long.

He answers before the second ring.

"Lauren?"

I press my hand over my mouth.

"Honey?"

"Dad."

His voice changes.

"What happened?"

I look back at the hotel.

"I want to come home."