CHAPTER THREE
BARTHALOMEW
I'd convinced myself I deserved Jennifer.
That's the thing nobody tells you about affairs—how easy it is to justify them. How quickly you can rewrite your entire marriage in your head until you're the victim, the one who's been neglected and underappreciated, the one who deserves something better.
Karrie had stopped seeing me. That's what I told myself every time I texted Jennifer, every time I booked another hotel room, every time I fucked my assistant and told her she was better than my wife.
Karrie was always tired. Always focused on the kids. Always in those goddamn flannel pajamas by nine o'clock, falling asleep before I could even suggest sex. She'd stopped trying. Stopped making an effort. Stopped being the woman I'd married.
Jennifer, though? Jennifer made me feel alive.
She wore lingerie that made my brain short-circuit. She sent me texts that got me hard in the middle of meetings. She looked at me like I was the most important person in the world, like I was successful and powerful and worthy.
With Karrie, I was just the husband. The father. The guy who took out the trash and paid the bills with money that wasn't even really mine.
With Jennifer, I was a man.
So yeah, I'd rationalized it. Told myself that Karrie had checked out of our marriage first. That I was just finding happiness where I could. That what she didn't know wouldn't hurt her.
I'd been so fucking stupid.
The morning of the Janowis meeting, I woke up feeling invincible.
I'd spent the night before with Jennifer—our usual hotel, our usual routine. She'd done this thing with her tongue that made me see stars, and afterward, lying in the tangled sheets, I'd told her I loved her.
I wasn't sure if I meant it. But it felt good to say. Felt good to have someone who wanted to hear it.
"I'm going to leave her," I'd said, stroking Jennifer's hair. "After this meeting, after I land the Janowis account and get my promotion, I'm going to tell Karrie I want a divorce."
Jennifer had smiled and kissed me, and I'd felt like a hero. Like I was finally taking control of my life.
I didn't mean it, of course. I wasn't actually going to leave Karrie. How could I? She had all the money, the house, the connections. Her family's wealth had built the life I was living. Without her, I'd be back to my middle-class roots, struggling to afford the lifestyle I'd grown accustomed to.
But it felt good to pretend. Felt good to imagine a future where I could have Jennifer's enthusiasm and Karrie's money.
I thought I could have both.
I thought I was getting away with it.
The Janowis meeting started perfectly.
Summit Wilder himself was there, which meant this was my chance to shine. If I landed this account, I'd be looking at a serious promotion. Maybe even a VP position. More money, more prestige, more proof that I'd made something of myself despite coming from nothing.
Jennifer sat beside me, close enough that I could smell her perfume. She gave me an encouraging smile, and I felt a surge of confidence.
I was halfway through my presentation when the conference room door opened.
I didn't look up immediately—assumed it was someone joining late. But then I heard my own voice, strangled and horrified, saying: "Karrie? What are you doing here?"
My wife stood in the doorway.
And I knew, instantly and completely, that my life was over.
She was wearing white—a designer dress that probably cost more than my car—and she looked absolutely furious. Not crying, not hysterical, not the soft, accommodating woman I'd grown used to dismissing.
She looked like she was about to destroy me.
"I know exactly what you're in the middle of, Barthalomew," she said, her voice calm and deadly. "Or should I say, who you've been in the middle of?"
My stomach dropped through the floor.
No. No, this wasn't happening. She couldn't know. She couldn't have found out. I'd been so careful—
"Karrie, this isn't the time—" I started, my voice shaking.
"Oh, I think this is the perfect time." She pulled out her phone, and I felt the blood drain from my face.
"I thought your colleagues might be interested in knowing exactly what kind of man they're working with.
The kind who fucks his assistant in hotel rooms while his wife is home with their two babies. "
She started swiping through her phone, and I saw them—screenshots. Messages. Our messages.
Oh God.
Oh God, she had everything.
Every text I'd sent Jennifer. Every explicit photo. Every piece of evidence that proved I'd been cheating on her for months.
I lunged toward her without thinking. "Give me that—"
"Don't." Summit's voice cracked like a whip, and I froze mid-step. He was looking at me with absolute contempt. "Don't touch her."
I'd never heard that tone from him before. Cold. Disgusted. Final.
My hands fell to my sides. I looked at Karrie desperately, trying to find some trace of the woman who'd loved me, who'd married me, who'd built a life with me.
There was nothing. Just ice-cold fury and absolute certainty.
"Sir, I can explain—" I turned to Summit, my voice breaking.
"I doubt that very much." Summit's gaze shifted to Jennifer, who looked like she wanted to disappear. "Ms. Drewble. You're dismissed. Clean out your desk. Security will escort you from the building."
Jennifer fled, and I was alone. Alone with my wife, my boss, and the wreckage of everything I'd built.
Karrie stepped closer, and I could see the rage burning behind her perfect composure.
"Karrie, please. Can we talk about this privately?" I was begging now, desperate.
"Why? You didn't fuck her privately. You did it in hotels, in your car, probably in this very building." She took another step closer, and I could smell her perfume—the expensive one I'd bought her for our anniversary. "Did you really think I wouldn't find out? Did you think I was that stupid?"
"I never thought you were stupid—"
"No, you just thought I was convenient. The rich wife who paid for your lifestyle while you screwed your way through the office." Her smile was vicious. "Tell me, Bart. When you were inside her, did you think about me at home with our children? Or were you too busy enjoying how 'tight' she is?"
My face burned with shame. She'd read everything. Every filthy thing I'd said about her, every comparison I'd made, every moment I'd chosen Jennifer over her.
"You read my messages," I said stupidly.
"Every single one. My favorite was when you told her she was better than me. More eager. More appreciative." She held up her phone again. "I wonder what your mother will think when she reads them. Or my father. Or your precious colleagues."
"You wouldn't—"
"I already have." Her voice was triumphant. "Forwarded to my lawyer. My father. Your mother. And I'm seriously considering posting them online, just so everyone knows exactly what kind of man Barthalomew Hillson really is."
My world tilted sideways. My mother. She'd sent them to my mother.
"Mrs. Hillson." Summit's voice cut through my panic. "Gentlemen, clear the room. Now."
The other executives scrambled to leave, and I saw it—someone's phone camera pointed through the glass wall. Lyndsey Kimmble, recording everything.
This was being filmed. This humiliation, this destruction, was being recorded.
Summit walked toward us, and I felt myself shrinking. He'd always intimidated me—the self-made billionaire who'd built his empire from nothing. Everything I'd wanted to be but never could.
He stopped beside Karrie, close enough that I could see the way he looked at her. Not with pity. With interest.
"You're fired," Summit said simply.
The words hit me like a physical blow. "Sir, please—"
"You violated company policy. You created a hostile work environment. You demonstrated catastrophically poor judgment." His voice was clinical. "You're also clearly a liability. Security will escort you out. You have one hour to remove your personal belongings."
"Summit, I've worked here for six years—"
"And you've just destroyed your career in six minutes.
" He turned to Karrie, and his expression softened.
"Mrs. Hillson, I apologize that you had to witness your husband's infidelity in such a public manner.
If there's anything I can do to assist you during this difficult time, please don't hesitate to contact me directly. "
He handed her a business card, and I watched his fingers brush hers deliberately.
He was hitting on my wife. Right in front of me. While firing me.
"Are you fucking serious right now?" I choked out. "You're hitting on my wife while you're firing me?"
Summit's smile was razor-sharp. "I'm offering assistance to a woman who's been wronged.
If you're interpreting that as something else, perhaps it's because you recognize that any man with eyes would be interested in someone like her.
Unlike you, however, I have standards. I don't pursue married women. "
He looked at her like she wasn’t going to be married soon. I had to make her see this was all a mistake. She couldn’t leave me.
"Karrie, please." I was crying now, actually crying. "Don't do this. Think about the kids. Think about our family."
"I am thinking about them. That's one reason I'm leaving you.
" She stepped closer, and I could see the absolute certainty in her eyes.
"You're going to sign whatever divorce papers my lawyer puts in front of you.
You're going to agree to my custody terms. And you're going to walk away with whatever scraps the prenup allows you—which, by the way, is almost nothing. "
The prenup.
Oh God, the prenup.
I'd signed it six years ago without reading it carefully, too dazzled by the Parsters family wealth to care about the details. Her father had insisted on it, and I'd thought it was just a formality.
"The prenup—" My voice cracked. "No. No, that's not—"
"Infidelity clause. Very clearly stated. You cheat, you lose everything." She tilted her head. "Did you really not read it? Or did you just assume I'd never find out?"