I Sold My Cheating Husband to a Man

When my husband asked for a divorce, his mistress was already showing.
That night, working late and alone, I couldn't stop myself from wailing like a banshee for my dead marriage.
Unexpectedly, my caterwauling caught the attention of the CEO.
He appeared, impeccably dressed in a tailored suit, carrying a container of still-warm shrimp dumplings. His eyes were surprisingly gentle.
It was the dead of night. A man and a woman, all alone.
In a moment of self-destructive abandon, I thought, Well, winter is coming. Time to give my husband a taste of his own medicine.
But then the CEO handed me a tissue and, after a bit of awkward preamble, I finally understood.
He wasn't interested in me.
He was interested in my scumbag husband.
My sobs died in my throat. My mind started racing.
My husband with another woman? I lose my appetite.
My husband with another man? Hell, Id even pop some popcorn and watch them cook.

1
The only sound in the empty office was me, howling and sniffling.
Every time I thought about the divorce papers, a bitter knot tightened in my chest. They say theres a seven-year itch. Mine got restless in five. He had a case of the wanderlust so bad even a prescription-strength cream couldnt cure it.
Yes, my husband, Mark, had found a mistress.
Her name was Lily, and with a bun in the oven, she was planning on leveraging that pregnancy for all it was worth. And Mark, my dear husband, was dead set on divorcing me to marry her. All in the name of "following his heart and giving his child a proper family."
What a load of crap.
Wasnt it "true love" when he married me, too?
Sure, our passion had thinned to the consistency of tissue paper over the years, but we were a financial unit. I figured we could coast for a few more years.
Unfortunately, that paper had finally torn. And my grand life plan of coasting on my husband's salary had crashed and burned right along with it. Life had been sweet with access to two paychecks. Now, with our assets split, how long could a "lazy freeloader" like me last? My fine-tuned skills of leisure would turn a mountain of gold into a molehill in no time.
At that thought, a fresh wave of sobs escaped me.
Between wails, I mentally cursed my heartless boss. My own career was already on life support. Just last week, hed ripped my latest project proposal to shreds, metaphorically dumping a bucket of pigs blood on my head. It was like he'd sprinkled industrial-grade chili powder on my already wounded soul.
"What's with all the crying? It's the middle of the night."
A deep, slightly impatient male voice sounded from above me.
I jolted, looking up with a start. Through my tear-blurred vision, I saw him: my boss, standing right beside my desk. In his hand was a takeout container with the logo of "Silver Palace"my favorite place for dumplings.
He placed the container on my desk. "Eat something. Stop crying."
I choked back a sob and opened the box. A cloud of steam and the savory scent of shrimp dumplings rose to meet me, which only made the tears flow faster.
As I nibbled on a dumpling, I snuck glances at him.
Uriah Thorne was the company's founder. Young, brilliant, and utterly ruthless. In our industry, he was known as the Devil Incarnate. He was usually stricter with us than a wicked stepfather.
What was happening tonight? Not only was he not scolding me for disrupting the office's pristine silence, but he'd brought me food?
Could it be he saw that my marriage was failing, that I was vulnerable and he wanted to take advantage? A quid pro quo situation?
The thought was so shocking it startled me. But then again was it really so bad? Mark had already cheated on me. Why shouldn't I return the favor?
Just as my internal drama reached the climax where Uriah and I teamed up to crush Mark, forcing him and his mistress to their knees to beg for mercy, my boss's cold voice cut through my fantasy.
"That woman, Lily. She's the one who wrecked your marriage?"
I choked on my dumpling and nodded miserably.
"I hear she's basically taking a dump on your head?"
It was crude, but coming from him, it sounded like a strange, cold form of empathy.
I nodded again, more forcefully this time.
"I see," he said slowly, his long fingers tapping a rhythm on my desk. "So, do you want to take a bigger one on hers?"
I!!!
The half-chewed dumpling nearly shot out of my mouth.
What? Did I hear him right? My boss was so offended on my behalf that he was going to personally step in and help me get revenge?
Revenge was all I needed to hear!
I dropped my chopsticks, my eyes wide. "Yes! Absolutely! A massive one, boss! Super-sized, with extra toppings!"

2
A second later, he delivered the punchline.
"I want your husband. You help me get him, and you'll get back at the mistress. It's a win-win."
His words hit me like a lightning strike.
My eyes widened, my mouth hanging open. "What? You you want to get my husband into your bed?"
I wondered if I'd cried so hard I was hallucinating. Or maybe my boss had eaten one too many expired snacks. "Mr. Thorne are you feeling alright?"
There wasn't a trace of embarrassment on his face. Instead, he shifted into full-on business negotiation mode. "I'm perfectly fine. And perfectly clear. Also, for the record, I'm a top."
I
That was too much information. My brain was overheating.
Ignoring my petrified state, he strode over to the office whiteboard and expertly drew a mind map.
"Let's conduct a rational analysis of your current situation."
On the board, a logic diagram with "Mark" at its center took shape.
"First, the marriage. The mistress is five months pregnant, and your husband is resolute. This divorce is happening. It's just a matter of when and how much you get."
"Second, your financial status. Even with a 50/50 split of the condo and one car each, your monthly salary is $3,500 after taxes. Subtract your $500 car payment, and you're left with $3,000. Given the cost of living in this city, assuming no major illnesses, no new clothes, and zero entertainment, you'll be barely surviving."
The cold, hard numbers were a slap in the face. I could already picture myself eating instant noodles and living on the poverty line.
"Therefore," he concluded, "if you refuse my proposal, you're not just facing a personal life collapse, but likely unemployment. With my influence in this industry, it would not be difficult to ensure you don't find a suitable job for some time. At which point, you won't even have that $3,500 to fall back on."
I sucked in a sharp breath. This was a threat, plain and simple.
"However," his tone shifted, dangling the bait, "if you choose to cooperate, we become allies. Our goals are aligned. I get the man I want, and you you get your dignity back."
I cut him off. "Wait! Dignity? Boss, is dignity all I get?"
After that brutal financial analysis, my priorities were crystal clear.
He seemed to have anticipated this. "Of course not. When this is done, I'll give you a one-million-dollar bonus."
"One million dollars?!"
I grabbed the calculator from my desk, my fingers trembling as I punched in the numbers: 1,000,000 3,500 12 23.8.
That was almost twenty-four years of my current salary! Paid in advance!
He continued, sweetening the deal. "In addition, I'll have the company's top project director personally mentor you. You'll gain new skills and become an essential part of the team in the shortest possible time. Which means, even without the million, you'll be able to build a very comfortable life for yourself."
Oh, my God.
This wasn't kicking me while I was down. This was a winning lottery ticket falling from the heavens. A Michelin-starred, solid gold lottery ticket.
He must really, really be in love with my husband. So in love that he'd resort to threats and bribery, personally crafting a "husband-snatching" strategy.
The scales in my mind tipped dramatically.
Mark's betrayal, Lily's arrogance, my bleak future compared to the very real pile of money, career advancement, and this bizarre but promising new path? They were nothing.
He cheated on me with a woman. So what was wrong with me introducing him to a powerful, successful man? It was perfectly reasonable! This was a public service! I was helping him explore new, exciting horizons!
"Boss," I declared, my voice ringing with newfound purpose. "From this day forward, I am your dedicated strategist. I will do everything in my power to uh clear the way for you to secure your target!"
Uriah Thorne looked at my impassioned face and gave a slight, satisfied nod. "Excellent. A pleasure doing business with you."

3
First things first, we had to handle the divorce.
Mark arrived with Lily attached to his arm like a permanent accessory. Her slightly rounded belly was her badge of honor.
I tried to keep my voice steady, even a little nostalgic. "Mark, do you remember when we first moved in here? We didn't even have a proper table. We ate instant noodles sitting on cardboard boxes, and you promised you'd give me a good life one day"
I slowly recounted the memories we'd shared, my eyes locked on his face, searching for any flicker of emotion. If he had even an ounce of heart left, a shred of guilt, then maybe maybe my plans would have been different. Maybe his assets could have been spared.
But I was disappointed.
His eyes were filled with nothing but impatience. He cut me off. "Let's not talk about the past. I'm here to discuss the terms of the divorce."
The tiny, flickering flame of hope in my heart sputtered and died.
Fine. This just made what I had to do next that much easier.
I lowered my head, my shoulders trembling slightly, my eyes red-rimmed. "Okay, I get it. I was hoping for too much. But you're the one who wronged me, aren't you?"
"Look, I'm up for a promotion at work, and my boss puts a lot of stock in his employees having stable family lives. The company's annual gala is next week. Mark, for old times' sake, can you do me one last favor and come with me? Just show your face. If you do that, I'll sign the papers the very next day. No more fighting."
This combination of retreat, vulnerability, and mutual benefit made Mark hesitate.
But Lily was on high alert. "No way!" she snapped. "Who knows what you're planning! What if you try to get back with him?"
Her eyes darted around, and she came up with an even crueler demand. "If you want him to go, fine. But you have to give back all the designer bags and jewelry Mark ever bought you! Consider it a security deposit on your character!"
I put on a show of distress. "But those were gifts! He gave them to me! They're mine!"
"Gave them? Or you wheedled them out of him?"
The standoff was tense. My chest heaved with manufactured rage. "I need to use the restroom to calm down!"
As soon as I locked the bathroom door, I whipped out my phone.
"Boss, the mistress is demanding I give back all the luxury items Mark bought me before she'll let him attend the gala. I'm refusing, we're at a stalemate."
Uriah replied almost instantly: "How much are they worth?"
I thought for a moment. "Probably around $30,000."
My phone buzzed. A bank notification: an incoming transfer of $50,000.
Another message from Uriah followed: "Stop wasting time. Stick to the plan."
Seeing that number, a wave of calm washed over me. I rubbed my eyes in the mirror until they were satisfyingly red, then walked back out with an expression of pained resignation.
"I've thought it over. I'm serious about becoming an independent woman. These material things I don't need them!"
Under Lily's suspicious and Mark's surprised gazes, I opened my safe and piled the designer bags and jewelry boxes on the bed. "It's all here."
Lily inspected the items like a pawnbroker, a triumphant smirk spreading across her face once she confirmed they were real. "Since you're being so sensible, Mark, I guess you can go with her."
Then she turned to Mark, her voice dripping with possessiveness. "But during the gala, you have to reply to my texts instantly! And video call me to show me where you are and who you're with! You hear me?"
Mark nodded eagerly, the picture of obedience.

4
The night before the gala, Uriah summoned me to his office.
"What brand of cologne does Mark usually wear?" he asked.
I blinked, caught off guard. "Terre d'Herms. He's worn it for years."
"And his drink of choice?"
"Single malt scotch. He thinks it's masculine."
As I answered, I couldn't help but marvel at the level of detail in his research. His next questions were even more jaw-dropping. He quizzed me on everything from Mark's preferred clothing style and hobbies all the way to the most intimate details of our private life.
Uriah asked the questions without a flicker of emotion, a true scholar in his field. I gritted my teeth and reported the facts as objectively as I could.
When it was over, I couldn't resist asking. "Boss, if you don't mind my asking what is it you see in him?"
Uriah slowly lit a cigarette, took a drag, and exhaled a plume of smoke. "The front may be used," he said calmly, "but the back is brand new."
I
Rich people, I swear. They have a special kind of audacity. He didn't just not see me as a woman. He didn't even see me as a person.
He flicked some ash into an ashtray. "Liking someone is a feeling. A vibe. If it feels right, it's right. You wouldn't understand."
I certainly did not. But for the money and my career, I chose to respect the boss's vibe.
After the interrogation, he called the project director into his office. "Starting tomorrow, you'll be mentoring her personally. I want her up to speed in the shortest time possible."
I was ecstatic. My career was about to take off!
The night of the gala went exactly as planned. Under the guise of "mingling with the common folk," Uriah sat at the table with Mark and me. He had toned down his usual Devil Incarnate aura and was the picture of a charming, attentive gentleman. He was witty, knowledgeable, and could talk to Mark about everything from macroeconomics to football.
Mark, initially reserved, quickly loosened up under Uriah's calculated flattery. The two of them were soon chatting away like old friends.
But the pleasant atmosphere didn't last. Lily's check-in texts started arriving like clockwork, every fifteen minutes, the vibration of Marks phone a constant, nagging reminder.
Uriah's brow furrowed in annoyance. He discreetly sent me a transfer under the table. My phone buzzed. A peer-to-peer payment of $2,000. The note read: Make her stop.
I got the message. I slipped away and sent Lily a short video of the two men talking, then called her, my voice a low threat.
"My boss is very impressed with Mark and is discussing a potential partnership. This is directly tied to my promotion and his performance bonus. If you keep this up and piss off my boss, I swear, I will not sign those divorce papers. I will drag this out until you both rot."
She cursed me out, but as I'd hoped, she stopped bothering Mark.
Because she started bombarding me instead.
Washed-up hag. Scheming bitch. You deserve to be dumped.
The messages were vile, one after another. I was shaking with rage. The wine I'd been drinking churned in my stomach. Why? Why did they get to be so self-righteous about their affair while I, the victim, had to endure this humiliation?
A dark impulse took over. While Uriah had Mark's attention again, my hand "slipped," and I tipped a small packet of powder into Mark's drink.
He didn't notice a thing, laughing with Uriah as he drained the glass.
Not long after, Mark's eyes glazed over, and he slumped back in his chair.
Uriah immediately feigned concern. "Mr. Stevens, are you feeling alright? You've had a bit too much to drink. Our company has a corporate suite at this hotel. Why don't you stay the night? The company will cover it."
A woozy Mark had no objections, and I played my part. "Thank you, boss."
Uriah helped Mark to his feet, and I followed them out. As we neared the suite, Uriah gave me a look that screamed Get lost.
I understood.
I got lost.

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