My Husband Cheats with My Best Friend (She Gets Revenge #13)

Prologue

The garage door grinds open downstairs and my heart slams once—hard—and then goes still.

He’s home. My husband. The man who’s been ignoring me for a long time, while I hoped he’d look at me the way he used to.

He’s downstairs right now dropping his keys on the counter, and he has no idea that I know about the house on Creekside Lane.

The mortgage with her name next to his. The sixty-two thousand dollars he stole from our savings to put a down payment on a life with a woman who held my hand across a restaurant table last week and told me I deserve someone who shows up.

Sloane said that to my face. You deserve someone who shows up.

She squeezed my fingers and gave me the soft eyes and the warm voice and she meant none of it—not one syllable—because she is the reason he doesn’t show up.

She told me about her new boyfriend, who was the best thing that’s ever happened to her. She wouldn’t tell me his name, though.

Now I know why.

It’s because she’s the phone call behind the closed door. She’s the Saturday emergency. She gets a laugh I haven’t earned in months, in a house my money paid for while I sat on kitchen floors and cried into his shirts while I missed my husband.

It would be devastating enough if it was just my husband having an affair.

Some woman I’ve never met, some stranger—that would gut me, but I could make it clean.

Finding out he’s been fucking my best friend?

The woman I’ve trusted for fifteen years?

The woman who sat on my couch and drank my wine and listened to me cry about my marriage?

That broke something in me that’s never coming back. And tonight I’m going to take my revenge.

I check my teeth in the mirror. Smooth my dress.

My hands are steady and I want to remember that—want to hold it up against every night I spent shaking since I discovered they were having an affair and wondering what I did wrong that both of the most important people in my life decided to betray me so deeply.

The woman who shook is gone. What’s standing here is a woman my husband wouldn’t recognize.

Thirty-two people are already seated at Carmine’s.

His mother. His sister. His business partner.

Sloane’s mother. Sloane’s sister. Every person who matters to both of them, gathered in a private dining room thinking they’re here for a private dinner with me.

Neither of them know why they’re really here.

The projector is loaded. The folders are printed.

The divorce papers are signed and waiting.

Sloane thinks I’m falling apart. I texted her an hour ago—emergency girls’ night, I need you—and she’s driving ninety minutes to comfort me at a table where everyone will see what a conniving bitch she is.

Caleb’s footsteps are coming up the stairs. I’m going to smile at him. I’m going to straighten his collar and tell him I planned something special—just us, a nice dinner, no phones. And he’s going to say yes because saying no would mean admitting something he’s spent fourteen months hiding.

I’m going to bury him and Sloane.