Bleaching The Sheets Of His Sins

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My husband once handed me a Permission to Stray agreement.

It was a cold, clinical piece of paper with one particularly grotesque clause: he was allotted twelve incidents of infidelity per year. Any unused credits would be converted into a cash payout at the end of the fiscal year.

I didnt scream. I didnt throw a glass. I simply offered him a faint, practiced smile and signed my name in elegant cursive.

From that day on, I became the ghost of his penthouse. I was the one who stripped the silk sheets after his "guests" left, the one who bleached the scent of foreign perfume out of his Tom Ford shirts, and the one who stocked the bedside drawer with the finest Italian prophylactics.

I took care of him and his revolving door of mistresses with the kind of devotion usually reserved for the dying.

Those women loved to parade their youth in front of me. Theyd whisper just loud enough for me to hear, mocking the "high school sweetheart" who had withered into a "hollowed-out trophy wife." They thought they were winning. They thought they were the reason Steven stayed.

I endured every insult with a spine of steel. I never cried, and I never sought revenge in the arms of another man.

I just waited. Every year, I quietly accepted the thirty-six-million-dollar "payout" for his unused indiscretions. I hoarded that money like a dragon in a cave.

I was waiting for the clock to run out. Every second of every day, I was praying for Steven Blackwood to die.

There was one thing he didnt know, though.

His latest blood work? It had already come back positive for HIV.

Incident number sixty-eight.

The sickening, rhythmic sounds from the master suite finally faded into a heavy silence.

I swallowed my dose of PEPthe post-exposure prophylaxis I took religiouslyand pulled on a pair of medical-grade latex gloves. Only then did I dare push the door open to scrub away the remains of his afternoon tryst.

A second later, the frosted glass door of the walk-in shower slid open.

Steven emerged, shirtless and radiating a dark, satisfied energy. He had his arm looped around a young girl who looked like she could barely stand on her own two feet.

"God, I told you it was my first time," she whimpered, a half-smile playing on her lips. "You didn't have to be so rough."

It was Lesleydsay, the new intern at the firm. She was fresh, radiant, and sharplike a rose that hadn't realized its thorns were being clipped.

They were flirting, lost in their own world, until Stevens eyes landed on me. The warmth in his gaze vanished instantly, replaced by a chilling frost.

"Youre fast today," he noted dryly.

He reached for his wallet, pulled out a black Amex, and tossed it onto the tangled, sweat-stained sheets. There was a small, dark smear of blood near the pillow.

"Get the most expensive thread count you can find to replace these. Use the rest to buy yourself a couple of Birkins."

His voice carried the casual dismissiveness of a man tossing a coin to a beggar.

I walked over, moved with a numbness that had become my second skin, and picked up the card.

I didn't cry. I didn't make a scene.

Because Steven had no idea.

Six months ago, I had intercepted the medical report of his sixty-seventh mistress. Positive.

I hadn't said a word. Instead, I spent my days in a state of quiet, prayerful observation, waiting until the day I finally got my hands on Stevens own secret labs. Positive.

We were the "Golden Couple" of the city. We had built an empire together.

After seven years of marriage, I never thought Id be the one counting the days until his funeral.

Seven years ago, Steven had used half of my familys estate as seed money to become the king of the Chicago tech scene. Back then, he had knelt before me, swearing I was the only woman he would ever see.

He once flew twelve hours through a blizzard just because I mentioned I missed the way he made pasta carbonara.

But as soon as my fathers business collapsed, the man who worshipped me disappeared. In his place was a stranger who handed me an "infidelity contract" and turned me from a queen into a janitor for his sins.

If love could be faked, then I would win an Oscar.

I would play the doting, pathetic wife until he was bled dry.

The countdown was in its final month. I was one step away from total annihilation.

"Finish up here. I have a call," Steven said, his phone buzzing.

He gave Lesleydsay a lingering, deep kiss, ignored me entirely, and disappeared into his study.

The vast bedroom fell silent, leaving me alone with Lesleydsay.

She didn't even try to cover herself. Instead, she sat at my vanity, picking up my expensive serums and slathering them onto her neckthe same neck Steven had just been biting.

I forced a smile. "If you like them, take the whole set."

Lesleydsay looked at me through the mirror, her eyes full of a cruel, youthful triumph.

"At least you know your place. What was it they called you? The high school sweetheart? Honey, you're just a relic now."

She leaned back, admiring her reflection. "Steven told me that since I gave him my 'first,' Im his only real love. He said hed rather die than lose me."

"So, Lydia," she sneered, using my name like an insult, "did you really think a marriage license was enough to keep a man like him?"

Real love... I almost laughed.

Didn't she realize? She was Stevens sixty-eighth "real love."

I looked at her young, ignorant face. I thought about the "first time" she was so proud of. For a fleeting second, a shred of pity pierced through my cold heart.

"Steven has had too many women, Lesleydsay. Hes... not clean," I said, my voice raspy. "If youre smart, youll pack your things and never look back."

The words hit her like a physical blow, but not in the way I intended.

Lesleydsay lunged to her feet, her pretty face contorting into a mask of rage. She swung her hand and caught me squarely across the jaw.

Slap!

The sound echoed in the empty room. My cheek burned, and the metallic tang of blood filled my mouth.

"Leave? You bitch! Youre just jealous! You cant stand that he actually loves me!"

She started screaming, her eyes welling with crocodile tears. She turned and sprinted toward the study, wailing at the top of her lungs.

"Steven! Shes being mean to me! She called me disgusting! Shes trying to kick me out!"

The study door slammed open.

Steven stormed out, his face a map of irritation and simmering fury.

He didn't ask for an explanation. He saw Lesleydsay sobbing and he saw me holding my face. He didn't hesitate. He swung his hand and struck my other cheek, harder than Lesleydsay had.

"Lydia, I don't care how jealous you are. You will fulfill that contract! I pay the bills, you do the cleaning. Do you understand?"

I fell to the floor, my ears ringing.

Through a blur of tears, I watched Lesleydsay throw herself into his arms, wrapping her limbs around him with a smug grin.

"Steven, don't be mad. Let's go back inside... I want to give you a baby. I want us to have a family."

"Anything you want, sweetheart," Steven murmured, kissing her forehead.

Before they retreated back into the room, he looked down at me as if I were a piece of trash caught on his shoe.

"When were done, make sure those sheets are bleached. I want them spotless."

"I will," I whispered, nodding slowly.

If Lesleydsay wouldn't listen to a warning, then whatever happened next was on her.

That night, after the professional sanitization crew had finished with the penthouse, I had just changed into my silk robe when the front door clicked.

Steven was back.

He smelled of heavy cologne, expensive bourbon, and the lingering scent of another woman. He stumbled slightly as he walked.

I tried to slip away into the guest room, but he lunged forward, catching me from behind. He pressed his hot, bourbon-laced breath against my ear, his voice dropping into that predatory husk he used when he wanted something.

"Lydia... watching me with her today... did it make you miss me?"

He squeezed me tighter. "Tonight, Ill take care of you. How does that sound?"

He turned me around, his mouth crashing down onto mine.

In that instant, my stomach did a violent somersault. It wasn't just disgustit was pure, unadulterated terror.

I knew better than anyone how poisoned his blood was.

"I'm... its that time of the month," I gasped, shoving against his chest, my nails digging into my palms.

Steven froze.

I took the opportunity to slide out of his grip, keeping my voice low and steady. "Im messy right now. You wouldn't like it."

He stepped back, the lust in his eyes instantly replaced by a cold, sharpened loathing.

"Always an excuse. You think you're so pure, don't you?"

He tugged at his collar, scanning me from head to toe like I was a piece of expired produce.

"Fine. You don't want me? There are a thousand women lined up outside who would kill for this. Youre going to regret this, Lydia. One day, youll be begging for me to touch you."

He let out a sharp, mocking laugh, grabbed his keys, and slammed the door as he left.

The moment the roar of his Ferrari faded, I picked up the phone. The "deep-clean" crew was back at the door within twenty minutes.

As the scent of industrial-grade disinfectant filled the air, I reached into my robe pocket and touched the folded piece of paper. It was a blank equity transfer agreement.

Tomorrow, all I needed was his signature.

Three of his core holding companiesthe heart of his empirewould be moved into a shell corporation I had spent years building.

This was the reason I had endured sixty-eight incidents. This was the light at the end of the tunnel.

The next morning, at the Blackwood Tower.

As the CFO, I stepped off the elevator and noticed the double doors to the CEOs office were wide open.

Lesleydsay was there, wearing a sundress that left nothing to the imagination. She was perched on the edge of Stevens mahogany desk, swinging her legs while barking orders at the head of HR.

"The budget for the retreat is too low. Steven said I get to pick the venue. Ive booked the Waldorf, and the per-head cost is four thousand. Fix the numbers."

The HR manager looked at me, eyes pleading for help.

Lesleydsay saw me and smirked. It was the look of a cat who had finally caught the mouse.

She hopped off the desk and strutted over, waving a stack of receipts in my face.

"Hey, Lydia. Be a doll and sign these reimbursements. Last months personal expensesSteven said to run them through the company."

I took the stack and scanned them. Eighty-six thousand dollars.

Luxury boutiques, med-spa treatments, and a receipt for a couples weekend at a private hot spring.

"These exceed the discretionary limit. They aren't compliant. I can't sign them," I said, handing the papers back.

Lesleydsays smile faltered for a fraction of a second before she whirled around and disappeared into the inner office.

Ten seconds later, Steven marched out, his face darkened with rage.

Three senior VPs were standing in the hallway, fresh out of a meeting.

In front of everyone, he snatched the receipts and slammed them against my chest. They scattered across the floor like confetti. One sharp edge of a paper grazed my cheek, leaving a stinging line.

"Lydia, is your brain rotting?"

"Lesleydsay is mine. Don't start playing the 'proper wife' card over a few pennies. Sign the damn papers."

The hallway went dead silent, the only sound the low hum of the HVAC system. The VPs looked at their shoes, too afraid to breathe.

Seven years ago, I was the one who infused this company with the capital it needed to survive. This building, this office, the very ground he stood onit was all bought with my dowry.

And now, he was humiliating me in front of the team I had built, forcing me to subsidize his mistress.

I knelt down, slowly picking up the receipts one by one.

"Fine," I said softly. "I'll sign."

Go ahead, Steven. Spend it all. Because when youre dead, Im taking every cent back.

When the crowd dispersed, Lesleydsay lingered. She leaned in close, her voice a honey-coated needle in my ear.

"He came to me last night, Lydia. Right after you turned him down."

She smoothed her hand over her flat stomach, her eyes gleaming with malice.

"Hes so... vigorous. If I end up pregnant... I wonder how much longer you'll be holding onto that 'Mrs.' title?"

Pregnant?

A thrill of pure, dark electricity shot through me.

I didn't argue. I didn't snap. I simply gave her a submissive, almost pathetic smile.

"You're right, Lesleydsay. Steven... he clearly adores you."

I reached into my bag and pulled out the blank equity agreement, sliding it under the reimbursement forms. I held them out to her with both hands, the picture of a broken woman.

"Could you have him sign these financial reports as well? Itll save me the trouble of going back in."

Lesleydsay blinked, surprised by my sudden obedience. She snatched the papers with a triumphant huff.

"See? Was that so hard? You might as well get used to it. Im the future of this company anyway."

A few minutes later, Steven emerged with his arm draped over Lesleydsays shoulders. He tossed the folder at me.

There it was. His signaturebold, arrogant, and sprawling.

Right on the line that transferred thirty-four percent of his empire to me.

"Oh, and Lydia..."

Steven looked up as if he had just remembered something trivial.

"We have the executive physicals tomorrow. Ive added Lesleydsay to the list as a family dependent."

He looked at her, pinching her chin affectionately.

"We might have a little 'surprise' on the way, babe. Better to get everything checked out now."

Physicals. Blood work. Full panels.

My heart hammered against my ribs.

If Steven gave blood tomorrow, the results would be back within forty-eight hours.

With his ego, he wouldn't feel fear firsthed feel rage. Hed launch an investigation. Hed check the sources, hed check everyone around him, hed freeze the companys assets.

The final transfer of funds I was middle of moving would be flagged.

Five years of planning. Sixty-eight incidents of hell. All of it would go up in flames.

I couldn't let him go to that appointment.

At six a.m. the next morning, I stood in the kitchen, my fingers trembling as I held a small packet of brown powder.

Senna extract. Concentrated, tasteless, and odorless. Mixed into warm milk, it would cause hours of violent, uncontrollable cramping and diarrheanothing a doctor could trace back to anything but a bad oyster.

I set the milk on Stevens usual black coaster.

I knew his routine better than he knew himself.

At seven sharp, Steven came downstairs, dressed in a bespoke navy suit. He sat down, reaching for the glass.

But before his hand touched the rim

"Steven!"

Lesleydsay ran into the room, still in her silk pajamas. She plopped herself onto his lap and playfully snatched the glass from his hand.

"I want some! Im the lady of the house now, I should get the first sip of everything."

She shot me a look of pure spite before tilting her head back and draining the entire glass.

I stood frozen, holding a tray of fruit, my heart stopping in my chest.

Sure enough, by the time we were supposed to leave, Lesleydsays face had turned a sickly shade of grey.

As the car pulled onto the expressway, she clutched her stomach, breaking out into a cold sweat.

"Steven... I think I'm going to be sick..."

Stevens expression shifted instantly to one of intense panic. "Turn around!" he barked at the driver. "Get us to the nearest ER!"

Lesleydsay threw up three times before we reached the hospital. By the time they wheeled her in, she was semi-conscious and limp in Stevens arms.

He stayed with her, his eyes red with worry. I was the one who got the call ten minutes later.

"Lydia, you useless bitch! You cant even make a simple breakfast? Did you do this on purpose? Did you poison her?"

His roar was so loud the taxi driver flinched.

When I arrived at the VIP wing, Steven was kneeling by Lesleydsays bed, tucking the blanket around her with a tenderness I hadn't seen in years.

He heard my footsteps and bolted upright.

A cup of ice water flew through the air, drenching me.

The force of it knocked me back against the wall. Cold water dripped from my hair, soaking into my blouse. My forehead stung where the rim of the glass had clipped me.

In front of three nurses and the attending physician, he shoved his finger into my face.

"If it weren't for the fact that your father is dead, I would have thrown you out on the street years ago!"

My father.

He had the nerve to mention him?

The man who needed three million dollars to save his legacy, a pittance Steven could have provided, but instead watched as my father jumped from his office balcony.

I looked down, water dripping from my eyelashes like tears. They weren't.

"If anything happens to her..." Steven grabbed my jaw, his grip so tight I thought my teeth would shatter. "I will make you pay with your life."

"I'm sorry," I whispered, my voice trembling with a fake, submissive fear. "It was my fault. Should we... should we reschedule the physicals at the center?"

"Are you kidding?" he spat, waving his hand dismissively. "We're staying here until Lesleydsay is cleared. Push the physicals to next week."

He turned back to her, lacing his fingers with hers. It was a beautiful, tender scene.

It reminded me of three years ago, when I was hemorrhaging in an ER after a miscarriage. I had called him seventeen times. He never picked up.

I found out later he was celebrating the birthday of mistress number thirty-four.

Buzz.

Stevens phone erupted.

He frowned, answering it with a snap. Within five seconds, the color drained from his face, turning from a furious red to a ghostly white.

"What do you mean?"

Even from where I stood, I could hear the voice of the head of accounting, trembling over the line.

"Mr. Blackwood... theres a three-hundred-million-dollar discrepancy in the accounts. The system shows the approval came from... the CFO. Your wife."

The air in the room curdled.

Steven slowly turned his head, his bloodshot eyes locking onto mine like heat-seeking missiles.

"Lydia. Explain. Now."

The only sound in the room was the rhythmic beep... beep... beep of Lesleydsay's heart monitor.

I let my face crumple. I let my hands shake.

Panic. That was the only acceptable response.

I fumbled with my bag, pulling out a folder and handing it to him with trembling fingers.

"I... I found this last week," I stammered, my voice perfectly pitched with cowardice. "Ive been investigating it. Someone stole my credentials for the approval system. The funds... they were routed to an account linked to the Greenwich estate."

Stevens pupils contracted.

Greenwich. That was the residence of Jade, mistress number sixty-seventhe one he had dumped in a spectacular, ugly fashion a month ago. She had threatened to ruin him, and he had buried her under a mountain of legal threats.

Steven snatched the report, his eyes flying over the data.

"That goddamn snake!" he roared, throwing the papers across the room.

He didn't look at me again.

Because in Stevens world, Lydia was a dog. And dogs didn't plot. Dogs didn't steal.

That night, I sat in the darkness of the study, the blue light of the laptop reflecting in my eyes.

When I hit the 'Enter' key for the final time, my hands were as steady as a surgeon's.

Over the last thirty days, my fathers old loyalists had helped me complete the final phase of the asset swap. The core of the Blackwood empire had been hollowed out, thread by thread, over five long years.

From the outside, the company looked magnificent.

But the bones were gone.

I walked to the window, looking out over the city lights.

Everything was ready. I just needed the wind to blow in the right direction.

One month later. The Blackwood Groups Year-End Gala.

Under the crystal chandeliers, Steven walked the red carpet with Lesleydsay on his arm. The flashbulbs were a constant, blinding strobe.

I was tucked away at a table in the far corner, reserved for "unassigned guests." No nameplate. I was seated with three drivers from the logistics department.

On stage, Steven raised a glass of vintage Cristal, glowing with the arrogance of a man who thought he owned the world.

He looked terrible, though.

His eyes were sunken, his skin sallow. He had been suffering from night sweats and a persistent fever. He had even developed small, swollen nodes on his neck.

He told himself it was just stress. He had finally gone for that physical a few days ago, then spent the afternoon on a private IV drip, popping fever reducers like candy.

I hadn't stopped the physical this time. I didn't need to.

At the height of the party, Steven suddenly called my name.

The ballroom went silent.

He tossed a document onto the table in front of me, his tone like he was ordering a maid to refill his water.

"Sign this. Its just a formality. Lesleydsay loves the garden at your familys old estate. Ive transferred the deed to her name. Youre the 'big sister' here, Lydia. You don't mind, right?"

I looked down. The Transfer of Title for the Lesley Ancestral Home.

The last thing my father had left before he jumped.

The garden where my mother had spent twenty years planting magnolias.

The only place in this seven-year hell that I could still call home.

My composure slipped. My hands began to shakefor real this time.

I looked up at him, my eyes burning. "Steven... do you have to be this cruel?"

He looked down at me like I was an ant in his path.

"Lydia, don't be ungrateful. Without me, you wouldn't even be allowed in this room. Sign it, and youre still Mrs. Blackwood."

"And if I don't?"

He didn't answer. He didn't have to.

Lesleydsay sauntered over, clinking her glass against his. She smoothed the silk of her dress over her waist, grinning.

"Lydia, Steven adores me now. If you want to keep your title, be a good girl and sign."

I bit my lip, the pen hovering over the paper.

Three hundred pairs of eyes were on me. Some were pitying, some were cold, most were just hungry for the drama.

Just as my nib touched the paper

SLAM!

The side doors of the ballroom burst open.

The private physician I had "consulted" rushed in, his face ghostly white, clutching a red-stamped folder. He was trembling so hard he nearly tripped over the carpet.

His voice tore through the music and the chatter, a frantic, jagged edge:

"Mr. Blackwood! Stop! There's... there's an emergency. Your lab results..."

I froze, the pen still poised.

The wind had finally arrived.