After the ninety-ninth heartbreak my husband gave me, I walked away.

My husband told me to lick whipped cream off another man’s thigh because his assistant refused.

She picked up a bottle and pressed it to her neck.

“Damon, I won’t do it. Make her go.”

Damon looked at me. His voice did not pause.

“You do it. I’ll make it up to you later.”

This was the ninety-seventh time he put her before me.

I did not refuse.

I owed him a life debt.

One last step, and it would be paid.

After that, we will be done.

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"Well, well, looks like the supermodel agreed to lick it after all? Damon sure knows how to handle women!"