My Husband was the Best Villain in our MarriageChapter 1
My name is Mandy Eisenman—the cold, untouchable top actress everyone envies on screen.
I was also the woman loved and protected for five years by Erving Pollock, the heir who owned half the resources of New York’s entertainment industry.
To win my heart, he once stood in the pouring rain for hours, nearly losing his life shielding me from an obsessed fan’s attack.
When I won Best Actress, he was in the audience with reddened eyes, clapping the hardest, looking even more emotional than I was.
I thought that kind of love would last forever. But then Anya Heffernan came into the picture.
She was a painter who got hit by a car saving Erving. And just like that, she became the third party in our relationship.
He started skipping the candlelit dinners I planned just so he could accompany her to the movies.
He gave her the scarf I had stayed up all night knitting, just because she said she was cold.
Even when she spilled coffee on my haute couture dress, he rushed to comfort her, leaving me behind.
Whenever I felt wronged and complained, he would always bring up that car accident, making me feel like I was overreacting.
One day, headlines blew up the entire internet.
[Painter Anya Heffernan’s latest piece, inspired by a mysterious nude actress, stuns the auction world!]
Only then did the fragile calm I had been clinging to completely shatter.
…
The woman in the painting was half-lying on the bed, her skin fair as snow, completely exposed. Her hair hid her face, but the familiar curves of her body—and the mole on her shoulder and neck that only I have—all silently declared to the world that the figure in the painting was me.
The only person who could have gotten hold of my nude photos and let Anya use my body for attention was Erving.
My phone shook uncontrollably in my hand. In just one hour, the hashtag [#MandyNudePortraitModel] had skyrocketed to the top of the trending list. The comments poured in like a tidal wave, full of crude, vulgar speculation.
Those same people who once praised my elegance were now digging through my private life with filthy words.
My face went pale. Pain twisted my chest until it felt impossible to breathe. I stumbled out of the house and drove straight to Erving’s company.
When I pushed open the office door, Anya was sitting on the couch, pouting proudly.