Serena, Welcome to Your Hell

For three years, I served Serena Sinclair like a beaten dog — swallowing her mockery, her contempt, and every cutting word she threw at me. I even stood there and watched her writhing in the hot spring pool with her so-called "best guy friend," water splashing, her breathless moans filling the air.

Everyone laughed at me. They called me a spineless cuckold, a freeloader living off his wife. Even Serena believed I could never leave her.

But what she didn't know was that the man groping her freely in that water — I'd paid him a million dollars to be there.