Make My Husband Grovel

Chapter 1

The Wife Behind His Perfect Life

Linda Sullivan smiled for the cameras.

She had become very good at it.

Chin slightly raised. Shoulders relaxed. One hand resting lightly against Larry Summers's arm. Never too close. Never too distant.

The photographers loved them that way.

They called them the perfect couple.

Powerful husband. Elegant wife. Billion-dollar empire. Five-star galas. Private jets. Charity foundations. Magazine covers.

Linda had learned the correct angle for every photograph.

She had also learned how to hide the truth.

"Mrs. Summers, over here!"

Linda turned toward the voice and gave another smile.

A flash exploded in her face.

"Larry, one more!"

Larry leaned closer.

His hand settled at the small of her back.

To anyone watching, the gesture looked intimate.

To Linda, it felt like part of the evening's choreography.

She kept smiling.

Larry looked magnificent in a black tuxedo. His dark hair was perfectly styled, his cuff links caught the light, and his expression carried the effortless confidence of a man who had never been forced to wonder whether he belonged in a room.

He belonged everywhere.

That was Larry's gift.

He could walk into a room full of strangers and leave with everyone believing they had known him for years.

Linda had once loved that about him.

Tonight, she wasn't sure what she felt.

"Beautiful as always," Larry murmured without moving his smile.

"Thank you."

His eyes stayed on the cameras.

"You're quiet."

"I'm tired."

"We'll leave soon."

Linda looked at him.

They both knew that was a lie.

Larry never left early.

There would be investors to greet, politicians to charm, executives to reassure, and people important enough to deserve ten minutes of his attention.

Linda had spent years watching the clock while pretending she didn't care.

"Of course," she said.

The ballroom glittered around them.

Crystal chandeliers hung above hundreds of guests. Waiters moved between tables carrying champagne and small plates. Conversations rose and fell beneath the music.

This was the Summers Foundation's annual winter gala, an event that raised millions for children's education programs.

Linda had helped build the foundation's public image from the beginning.

She had selected charities.

Reviewed speeches.

Approved photographs.

Sat through meetings when Larry was too busy to attend.

She knew the names of donors he forgot.

She remembered the children behind the statistics.

And when the press praised Larry's generosity, she smiled beside him.

She never corrected anyone.

That was how their marriage worked.

Larry made the money.

Linda made the life around it look human.

A server approached with two glasses.

Larry took one and handed the other to her.

"Drink something."

Linda accepted it.

She took a small sip.

Across the room, a familiar voice called her name.

"Linda!"

She turned.

Delia was walking toward her.

Linda's smile became genuine for the first time that evening.

Delia hugged her.

"You look exhausted."

Linda laughed softly. "That obvious?"

"Only to someone who knows you."

Delia glanced toward Larry.

He was already speaking with a group of investors.

"He hasn't noticed, has he?"

Linda looked at her husband.

"No."

Delia's expression changed.

"Linda."

"I'm fine."

"You always say that."

"And usually I am."

Delia studied her for another moment.

"You don't have to protect him with me."

Linda looked down at her glass.

There were certain sentences that could open doors.

That was one of them.

She didn't answer.

Delia squeezed her hand.

"I'll be around."

Then she disappeared into the crowd.

Linda watched her go.

For a moment, she allowed herself to imagine telling the truth.

She could tell Delia that she and Larry barely spoke anymore.

That some nights he came home after midnight and went straight to his office.

That they had perfected the appearance of intimacy while losing the substance of it.

That she could sit across from her husband at dinner and feel lonelier than she had when she was single.

But Linda said nothing.

She had become an expert at saying nothing.

An hour later, Larry finally returned.

"Ready?"

Linda almost laughed.

"You said we'd leave soon."

"I know."

"You've said that twice."

His eyes narrowed slightly.

"Are you angry?"

"No."

"Then don't start tonight."

Linda stared at him.

There it was.

The familiar shift.

The moment when Larry decided her feelings were becoming inconvenient.

"I'm not starting anything."

"Good."

He placed his hand on her back again.

"Come on."

They walked toward the exit.

Linda kept smiling until they reached the elevator.

The doors closed.

Her smile disappeared.

Larry loosened his tie.

"Long night."

Linda leaned against the mirrored wall.

"Did you enjoy yourself?"

"You know I did."

"Did you notice I left the main table for almost an hour?"

Larry looked at her phone.

"No."

"I figured."

He sighed.

"Linda, please."

She looked at him.

"Please what?"

"Not tonight."

The elevator continued downward.

"That's always the answer."

"What is?"

"Not tonight."

Larry's jaw tightened.

"We've had this conversation."

"No. We haven't."

He looked at her.

"We have."

"You've had the conversation. You decided it was over."

The elevator doors opened.

Their driver was waiting.

Larry said nothing.

Neither did Linda.

They rode home in silence.

Their mansion was quiet when they arrived.

Linda walked through the enormous foyer, removed her heels, and carried them upstairs.

Larry followed.

"You're going straight to bed?"

"I think so."

"I have some work."

"Of course you do."

He stopped.

"What is that supposed to mean?"

Linda turned around.

"Nothing."

"Linda."

She looked at him.

"I'm tired."

For several seconds, neither spoke.

Then Larry nodded.

"Good night."

He walked toward his office.

Linda watched him disappear behind the door.

She stood alone in the hallway.

The house was silent.

Not peaceful.

Silent.

There was a difference.

She went into their bedroom and changed.

A few minutes later, she heard the office door close downstairs.

Linda sat on the edge of the bed.

Her wedding ring caught the light.

She touched it.

Eleven years.

Eleven years of believing that whatever happened, Larry would tell her the truth.

That belief had survived arguments, business crises, long separations, family pressure, and the strange loneliness that sometimes accompanied wealth.

She still believed it.

Until 11:47 p.m.

Her phone buzzed.

Linda looked at the screen.

A message from Larry's executive assistant.

She frowned.

The message was short.

"Mrs. Summers, I'm sorry to bother you this late. I think you should know that Mr. Summers left his other phone in the office."

Linda stared at the words.

Other phone?

She read them again.

Another message arrived.

"I wasn't sure whether he was supposed to take it with him."

Linda's heartbeat changed.

She stood.

For a few seconds, she simply stared at the screen.

Then she walked downstairs.

Larry's office door was closed.

She knocked.

No answer.

She opened it.

The room was empty.

His desk was covered with documents.

His laptop was open.

And beside it sat a black phone Linda had never seen before.

She stopped in the doorway.

There was something about it that made her hesitate.

Maybe it was instinct.

Maybe it was fear.

Maybe some part of her had already understood what her mind refused to accept.

She walked toward the desk.

The phone lit up.

A notification appeared.

Linda froze.

The name on the screen was Delia.

Her stomach tightened.

She picked up the phone.

There were dozens of messages.

She opened the newest one.

"She still believes you?"

Linda stopped breathing.

Another message followed.

"I told you this was getting dangerous."

Then another.

"You promised me she would never find out."

Linda's fingers went cold.

She scrolled.

She didn't want to.

She couldn't stop.

There were messages from weeks earlier.

Months earlier.

Some were ordinary.

Others weren't.

Private meetings.

Late nights.

Hotel reservations.

Payments.

Promises.

Lies.

Then she saw a photograph.

Her hands began to shake.

Larry stood in the picture beside Delia.

They were outside a restaurant Linda knew.

A restaurant Larry had told her he had never visited.

Delia's hand rested against his chest.

Larry was smiling.

Not his public smile.

Not the polished expression he gave cameras.

This smile was different.

Relaxed.

Private.

Familiar.

Linda stared at the photograph until her eyes burned.

She scrolled farther.

A message from Delia appeared.

"You need to tell her."

Larry's reply was dated three weeks earlier.

"I will."

Delia had answered:

"You said that last time."

Linda's heart slammed against her ribs.

Another message appeared.

"I can't lose everything."

She read it twice.

Then a final message loaded beneath it.

"You won't. She loves you too much."

Linda lowered the phone.

The room seemed suddenly unfamiliar.

The desk.

The photographs.

The expensive furniture.

The framed awards.

Everything she had helped build around Larry's life looked different.

She walked toward the wall where their wedding photograph hung.

In it, she was twenty-eight.

Young.

Happy.

Certain.

Larry was looking at her as though she were the only woman in the world.

Linda stared at the photograph now.

Had he been lying even then?

A floorboard creaked behind her.

She turned.

Larry stood in the doorway.

His face changed when he saw the phone in her hand.

For the first time that night, Linda saw fear in his eyes.

Not irritation.

Not annoyance.

Fear.

"What are you doing?"

Linda looked at him.

Her voice came out almost too quietly to hear.

"Who is Delia?"

Larry didn't answer.

That was the answer.

Linda's eyes filled with tears, but she refused to let them fall.

"How long?"

"Linda..."

"How long, Larry?"

He stepped into the room.

"Let me explain."

She gave a small, broken laugh.

"That's what you say when the truth is worse than the lie."

"It's not what you think."

Linda held up the phone.

"Then tell me what I'm supposed to think."

Larry looked at the screen.

His face hardened.

"Give me the phone."

"No."

"Linda."

"No."

It was the first time she had ever refused him with that much certainty.

He stopped.

She looked at the man she had defended for eleven years.

The man she had trusted with her heart.

The man whose reputation she had protected even when he didn't bother protecting her feelings.

"Was our marriage ever real?"

Larry's expression cracked.

"Of course it was."

"Then why did you need another phone?"

Silence.

"Why did you lie about where you were?"

Nothing.

"Why did she say I still believe you?"

Larry closed his eyes briefly.

Linda watched him.

Something inside her was breaking, but beneath the pain was something else.

Clarity.

For years, she had wondered why she felt lonely in a marriage that appeared perfect.

Now she knew.

She had been living beside a man who had built an entire second world without her.

And the worst part wasn't the messages.

It wasn't the photograph.

It wasn't even Delia's name.

It was the realization that Larry had been given countless opportunities to tell her the truth.

He chose not to.

Linda placed the phone on the desk.

"You should have told me."

"I was going to."

"When?"

He had no answer.

Linda nodded slowly.

She wiped the first tear from her cheek.

"That's what I thought."

She walked past him.

Larry reached for her arm.

Linda stepped away.

"Don't."

He froze.

She looked back at him.

The woman in the wedding photograph had believed that love meant staying.

The woman standing in the doorway understood something different.

Sometimes love could survive a mistake.

But trust could not survive a pattern.

Linda walked upstairs without another word.

Behind her, Larry remained in the office.

For the first time in eleven years, he had no idea how to stop his wife from leaving.

And for the first time, Linda wasn't wondering how to save their marriage.

She was wondering whether it deserved to be saved at all.