[I'm buying it today—even if I have to live on instant noodles for a week.]
Of course, there were skeptics:
[Doesn't the writing style feel familiar? Kind of like her Confessions of Love—but rated R?]
[She'd never write something like this. She loves her husband too much to pen anything this scandalous.]
[She refused to sell out for another bestseller before. Why would she start now?]
But those doubts were quickly drowned out by eager admirers. I closed my phone, shaking my head. In this world, impossible doesn't exist.
***
Three days before my departure, I booked my flight. As I finalized the payment, I felt the warmth of Alexa's arms encircle me from behind. Her lips brushed softly against the nape of my neck, sending an involuntary shiver down my spine.
"Darling," she murmured, "what are you looking at?"
I quickly locked the screen, sliding the phone into my pocket. "Nothing important," I said casually. "Just deciding where to book dinner for my birthday."
Her smile widened, radiant as ever. "Oh, sweetheart, whatever you pick will be perfect. I'm taking the whole day off to spoil you. You deserve the best birthday ever."
I forced a nod, my expression unreadable. She had no idea about the encounter I'd had the day before.
Nathan had shown up at home, a copy of A Thousand and One Confessions in hand. His grin smug and his posture lazy.
"Mr. Colby," he said, "do you know who wrote this book?"
I said nothing, watching him with a cold, steady gaze.
"It's your wife, Alexa," he continued, holding the book up like a trophy. "She acts so in love with you in public, but it's all a sham. You're just part of her image—her brand."
He leaned closer, his grin widening. "She told me she's tired of you. Thinks you're old and boring. You know what she really loves?" He paused, his voice dropping to a whisper. "My young, strong body. If you don't believe it, let's see who she chooses tomorrow, you or me."
The morning of my birthday started with Alexa, with her usual charm, orchestrating a day of indulgence. She insisted on driving me around the city, taking me into boutique stores and piling up bags filled with neatly wrapped purchases. Her demeanor flawless, as though nothing could mar the surface of her perfect devotion.
But by mid-afternoon, hunger gnawed at me. "I think it's time for lunch," I said, glancing at her.