The third year of their marriage, Elaine Faerwyn gazed at the woman sitting across from her and released a soft. This was the ninety-ninth mistress of Alistair Chase’s that she had handled and unquestionably the most difficult of the lot. No matter how substantial the settlement Elaine offered, this woman remained immovable, stubbornly insisting on staying by Alistair’s side.
Elaine took a deliberate sip of her espresso, the bitter liquid matching her mood perfectly as her lips curved into a self-deprecating smile. You really should name your price, she said, setting down the porcelain cup with a soft clink against the saucer. He’s a wanderer who’s never found his star. Surely you can see that in him? I’m his wife, yet my primary function seems to be disposing of lovers he’s grown bored with as you see now.
