A Fragile Wife

By: Cynthia Dane

Chapter 1

“I’ve Been Waiting For You, Husband.”

Lana Andrews, real estate queen and all-around rich, domineering bitch, was once again on the floor of her office with a bottle of whisky threatening to spill beside her.

It was a good thing she had a mural on her ceiling. Nothing fancy. Some flowers with intricate vines weaving in and out, creating a cacophony of demurred colors that caught her eye whenever she lie on this floor, half-drunk and on the verge of making the same grievous mistake she always almost made.

I’m going to divorce that asshole.

She thought it once a week at this point. Sometimes multiple times a week. Lana took a swig of her drink and tried not to breathe into the carpet. Difficult to do when her body kept trying to roll against it.

“Chloe!” she called, drawing her foot out of its stiletto heel and letting her toes curl against the warm carpet. “Chlooeee!’

The maid, a young woman with big eyes and thin hair, appeared in the office doorway with shock on her face. “Yes, ma’am?” she asked tentatively. Chloe approached Lana’s supine body and looked down into a pair of groggy eyes. “Are you all right, ma’am?”

“I need… I need my phone. It’s on my desk.”

Chloe looked between her mistress and the desk a few feet away. “One second, ma’am.”

The maid stepped around Lana’s body and gingerly picked up the large smart phone glowing on the desk. Blue lights flashed, signaling that many messages waited. One of them was doubtlessly from Ken Andrews, Lana’s husband of nearly ten years. He was at their downtown office that day. Lana was supposedly working at home. If being half drunk on the office floor counted as work. In some countries, it does.

Her phone dropped into her hand. Chloe stood above Lana, clasping her hands and looking as if she were about to roll her eyes at this weekly spectacle. “Anything else, ma’am?”

“No. Leave me.” Before Chloe could disappear out the door, Lana flung a hand into the air and said, “Wait. If my bastard of a husband comes home, tell him I’m having a conference call and can’t be bothered.”

Chloe said nothing. Soon enough she was gone, the office door closing behind her. She’ll tell him. She would if she valued her job. And she should. The Andrews paid a good salary with hefty benefits and bonuses.

It meant dealing with her, of course, but there was a snag to every job.

Just like hiring a younger, pretty girl like Chloe probably meant Lana’s husband was sleeping with her.

“Lana,” said a terse voice on the phone. She had slammed one of the first numbers in her contact list. “What can I do for you this week?”

“Get me a divorce, Horace,” she told her lawyer.

“What is it this time? I told you, he only violates that iron-clad prenup if he cheats on you. And given your two’s proclivities… that would be very hard to determine.”

“Shut up, Horace.”

“So I take it you don’t have any evidence of him cheating?”

Am I sure he’s cheating? Either way, Horace was right. The only way Ken could violate the prenup they signed ten years ago was if he fucked some little nugget behind his wife’s back. But Horace was also right in saying that their kinky love life made cheating hard to prove. For years, Lana and Ken had been swinging, group sexing, everything between here and there. They were regulars at the local BDSM club with first-name knowledge of half the people there. Carnal knowledge, too. While they didn’t have an open marriage in that they could have casual sex or long term relationships with other people, there were those who came into their bedroom and left very… happy. No judge would believe that Lana didn’t know about Ken’s dalliances. All he had to do was tell said judge that she gave him permission. So many people at the club would probably back him up.

Lana groaned into her phone. “I don’t know if he’s cheating. He’d be a stupid son of a bitch to try it.” Especially with her pussy still readily available whenever he wanted it. Since when do men think with their main brains, though? “There’s gotta be something we can do. I’m gonna murder the man at this point.”

“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that. And at any rate, I’m still not sure why you call me every week asking me to get you a divorce. Stop drinking and get your shit together, Lana.”

Boy, he was lucky that he was her cousin! And good at his job. If anyone else talked to Lana like that, she would be hacking off their balls and hanging up their entrails from the flagpole in the front yard. “You’re a dick, Horace. See you at Easter.”