Page 3 of Billionaire Hunt

“There’s someone else?”

He shrugged. “There has been for a while.”

I felt my legs giving out from under me as I leaned back against the wall and then blindly reached for a chair. I sat down heavily and placed my face in my hands.

And then things went from bad to worse. “She’s pregnant with my child.”

I don’t remember standing up. I don’t remember reaching for the wine bottle. Nor do I remember tossing it against the wall so that shards of glass flew across the room and red wine began to spread across our pristine white carpet resembling a slow pool of blood. My blood, I thought to myself, since Wyatt had figuratively ripped my heart out.

Wyatt was now standing, his face showing surprise and fear. I had a temper, a really bad temper, but I kept it tightly controlled...most of the time.

“Get the fuck out of my house.”

He looked stunned and held his hands out as if to defend himself from me. “Misha, I know you’re angry. We should talk...” His words came out almost as a plea.

“There’s nothing to talk about, you cheating piece of shit.” My voice dripped with venom. I meant every word. Now when I looked at him I didn’t see the handsome, tall, brilliant man I married. I saw a cheater, a no good shadow of a man. He sickened me.

“You’re disgusting,” I said simply. I didn’t torture myself by asking how long his affair had been going on. I didn’t want to know. And I also didn’t care who he was having an affair with. All I knew is that he had been screwing around with someone else and now that someone else was pregnant.

“You made it clear that you never wanted kids---”

“How does that give you the right to go stick your dick in someone else?!” I screamed.

“Don’t be so vulgar---”

“Vulgar? You’re worried about me being vulgar? That’s your concern, Wyatt? You know what concerns me?” He opened his mouth and then seemed to think better of it. Apparently, having an affair hadn’t made him stupid. “My main concern is that you promised to share your life with me, but instead you cheated and started screwing around with someone else. So, I think I have a right to be vulgar. I have a right to be mad. So don’t give me a lecture on vulgarity, you repulsive, spineless, sorry excuse for a man.”

“It just happened...it wasn’t planned.”

“I don’t care if your dick didn’t have an itinerary. How does that make it any better? How is that an excuse to mess around on your wife? Your wife! I’m your wife, Wyatt! For eight years, I’ve been there for you. For eight years we’ve shared our lives! And now I find out that my husband, the person I thought I could trust with my life, has knocked up some other woman. How do you think that makes me feel, Wyatt? I’ll tell you. Like shit.”

I was done discussing anything with him as I abruptly walked away. I headed toward our bedroom and walked straight to the window, opening it wide.

“What are you doing?” he asked, following me.

“You’re just lucky I don’t own a gun,” I growled as I walked into his closet. I began ripping his clothes off the hangers and carried them in my arms and promptly threw them out of the window.

He reached out to stop me and I gave him a look that would stop death in its tracks. He promptly took a step back.

“Throwing out my belongings doesn’t help any.” He had the gall to sound offended.

“Being a cheating son a bitch doesn’t help any either,” I said, gathering up another pile of clothes and happily watching them all float to the ground.

Mrs. Friedan, our nosey neighbor, of course, chose that moment to come by with her dog and looked up at the clothing floating through the air as I threw more out.

I waved happily and shouted from my window, “Hi, Mrs. Friedan. Don’t mind the mess. My husband is sticking his penis in places that he shouldn’t so I’m helping him move out.”

“Misha!” Wyatt hissed, coming to stand next to me to look out of the window. Mrs. Friedan stared at us speechless while her dog did number two in our yard.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Friedan. It’s just a minor domestic dispute, nothing to worry about,” Wyatt assured her with a false smile. He shot me a glare, saying, “You’re making a scene.”

And I whispered threateningly to him, “Say one more word and you’ll learn exactly what it feels like to fall out of a second storey window. You might be a hotshot engineer, but I’m pretty sure you haven’t mastered the art of flight.”

Mrs. Friedan was dragging her now urinating dog down the street. “Let’s go, Twinkle. Come on, girl...let’s go.” She looked nervously up at us as if she were afraid to get sucked into our lunacy. And that’s exactly what this situation was...lunacy.

Wyatt glared at me and stomped away from the window. “Great, Misha. Now the neighbors will think we’re crazy.”

“The neighbors? You care about the neighbors’ opinion of you, but you’re perfectly okay with me knowing that you’re the lowest of the low? Check. Got it.”