Guilty Hearts The Scumbags Original SinChapter 1
Ninety-nine.
That was how many mistresses had shown up at my door, screaming provocations, demanding I step down to make room for them.
And Jackson Sharp? Not a single word of explanation. Not one.
Instead, he praised me. Voice smooth. Detached. "Well done. You're finally acting like a proper Mrs. Sharp."
My gaze dropped to the pregnancy test report crumpled in my fist—evidence the woman had shoved at me moments ago. A bitter laugh clawed up my throat.
"You said you'd never let any of your women get pregnant."
Jackson smiled. That same charming, practiced curve of his lips. The one he wore like armor. "People change, Maya. Worst case? If she births it, I'll take the brat and give it to you to raise."
He reached out.
Patted my head.
Like I was a dog.
"Be good. Stop making a fuss." His fingers lingered, condescending. "Isn't this all because you can't have children of your own?"
The words died in my throat.
I had nothing left to say to this man.
The three-year agreement had expired.
It was time to return to my real life.
——
Over the past three years, the women surrounding Jackson Sharp numbered in the hundreds.
Maybe thousands.
Without exception, none lasted. They were flavors of the week—discarded as easily as used tissues.
Just like me.
His lawful wife.
In the beginning, I fought back. I screamed. I made scenes. Once, I even slammed divorce papers on the table hard enough to crack the wood.
Back then, Jackson would do anything to keep me. He'd drop to his knees on the cold marble floor, slap his own face until his cheeks bloomed red, and wield every weapon in his arsenal—soft pleas, hard threats—until I crumbled.
I was naive. I kept thinking, *Maybe next time. Maybe he'll change. Maybe he'll go back to the man he used to be.*
After all, he had loved me so deeply once.
But this time—combined with the ninety-eight betrayals before it—severed the last thread.
*I can't have children?*
On the surface, yes. That was the narrative.
But was that an excuse for infidelity? He could have divorced me. Instead, he kept me bound as a figurehead while he bedded half the city. He even forced me to clean up his messes, making me personally dismiss every discarded mistress like I was running a revolving door of heartbreak.
He didn't know the truth.
My "infertility" wasn't a defect.