Infatuated with my ex-husband's uncle

The studio meeting wrapped three hours early. I pushed open the heavy oak doors of our Monroe estate, dropping my dance bag onto the marble foyer.

A harsh, wet slapping sound echoed from the living room.

"Fuck, Gabby. Right there."

The voice belonged to my husband. Andrew Monroe, billionaire CEO, the man who swore to love me forever.

I froze in the hallway.

"God, Andrew, give it to me. Fuck me harder," a woman moaned. "Do I take your cock better than she does?"

"You're fucking perfect. She just lays there like a dead fish. You actually know how to ride it."

My stomach plummeted. I rounded the corner.

They were on the velvet sofa. Andrew had Gabby pinned over the armrest, driving into her from behind. His hands gripped her bare hips, fingers digging into her skin as he thrust deep inside her. Her breasts swung with every violent slam of his body against hers.

I knew that arched back. I knew that voice.

His high school sweetheart. His very first love.

Gabby Lawson.

Six months ago, she walked into my ballet company. Six months ago, she stole my spot as principal dancer. Now, she was taking my husband.

"Andrew," I whispered.

He didn't stop. He gave one final, brutal thrust, groaning her name. "Fuck, Gabby."

"Andrew!" I screamed.

He pulled out, his erection slick and gleaming in the afternoon light. He didn't even flinch. He just reached for his trousers draped over the coffee table.

Gabby sat up, pulling her dress over her bare chest. A smug smirk twisted her lips.

"What are you doing?" My voice shook, tears blurring my vision. "In our house? On our couch?"

Andrew zipped his pants. No shame. No panic.

"Don't be dramatic, Nina," he stated, entirely unfazed.

"Dramatic?" I grabbed the edge of the doorframe to keep from collapsing. "You're fucking my understudy!"

"She isn't your understudy anymore. She's the principal." He walked over to the bar cart and poured a glass of scotch. "And she's a hell of a lot more fun in bed."

My chest caved in. "We've been married for four years. I gave up overseas tours for you. I built this home with you."

"And I paid for your entire life," Andrew shot back. "Don't act like you suffered. You lived in luxury."

"You promised me forever!"

"Forever is a long time." He took a sip, ice clinking against the glass. "Nina, you're a good woman. But after so many years, I'm just bored. I'm tired of the routine. Gabby is better. She caters to my needs. She knows how to please a man. We're getting a divorce."

A sharp, empty laugh tore from my throat. It sounded like tearing paper. "Divorce? Over her?"

"You heard him," Gabby chimed in, crossing her legs. "It's over, Nina. Pack your bags."

"Shut up!" I lunged forward.

Andrew stepped between us.

"Don't touch her," he warned, his tone turning to ice. "I've already called security and the staff. They're boxing up your things now."

Right on cue, two burly men in Monroe estate uniforms marched down the stairs. They carried my suitcases and trash bags filled with my clothes.

"No!" I rushed the nearest guard, grabbing the strap of my duffel. "You can't do this! My name is on the deed!"

"My lawyers already drafted the papers," Andrew replied. "You'll get a settlement. Get her out of here."

The guards shoved past me, dumping my belongings onto the front porch. I scrambled after them, falling to my knees on the hard stone. They were tossing everything. My pointe shoes. My rehearsal gear. My winter coats.

Then, one of them brought out a small, worn cardboard box.

"Careful with that!" I shrieked, crawling toward it. "Those are my parents' things!"

Gabby strolled out onto the porch, leaning against one of the massive stone pillars. She waved a hand in front of her face, coughing theatrically.

"Ugh, Andrew," she whined. "The dust on your old things is choking me, making me cough."

"Throw it in the dumpster," Andrew ordered the guards.

"No!" I tackled the guard's legs.

The box tipped over, spilling its contents across the concrete. A silver locket clattered against the stone. A stack of faded photographs scattered in the wind.

And a small, brown stuffed bear rolled to a stop near Gabby's feet.

My father gave me that bear the day before he died. It was the only thing I had left of him. I reached for it, my fingers brushing the matted fur.

A sharp heel stomped on my hand.

I cried out, snatching my fingers back. Gabby stood over me, her lips curled into a vicious sneer. She reached down and snatched the bear by its ear.

"Give it back!" I sobbed, pushing myself up.

"This dirty thing?" Gabby dangled it over the edge of the porch steps. "Is this what you cuddle at night since your husband is in my bed?"

"My father gave me that! Please!"

"It belongs in the trash. Just like you."

She reared her arm back and hurled the bear toward the street.

"No!" I sprinted down the driveway, my bare feet slapping against the asphalt.

The bear landed right in the middle of the road.

I ran as fast as my legs could carry me. I was ten feet away. Five feet.

A massive delivery truck roared around the corner.

"Stop!" I screamed, waving my arms frantically.

The driver didn't look. The heavy tires rolled directly over the brown fur, flattening the small toy into the pavement with a sickening crunch. The truck sped off, leaving nothing but torn fabric and crushed stuffing in its wake.

My knees gave out. I collapsed into the street, my hands hovering over the ruined remains of my father's memory.

The world spun. Black spots danced at the edge of my vision. I couldn't breathe.

"Aw, what a tragedy," Gabby mocked from the top of the driveway.

I turned my head. She was wrapped in Andrew's arms, resting her chin on his chest. She shot me a victorious, triumphant glare.

A violent, burning rage ignited in my gut, obliterating the sorrow.

I scooped up the torn pieces of the bear, clutching them to my chest. I didn't cry anymore. I just stared at the woman who took my career, my husband, and now my last piece of family.

My phone buzzed in my back pocket, vibrating against my skin.

I pulled it out. An unknown number flashed on the screen.

"Hello?" I croaked.

"Nina," a deep, unfamiliar male voice stated. "I saw what just happened. If you want to destroy Andrew Monroe, get in the black car parked at the end of the street."