Selling My Husband's Secrets

[URGENT: Need the hotel Manhattan's crown prince is staying at in Seattle.

Paying top dollar!] Three years into our business marriage, I was accidentally dragged into a socialite group chat. It was an alumni chat for a gold digger bootcamp.

Every woman in it shared a single goal. Seduce Manhattan's crown prince, Alistair. I rubbed my chin. I pulled up Alistair's contact.

Me: [Husband, which hotel are you at in Seattle?] Alistair: [Grand Hyatt.] He replied instantly. I dropped the hotel name into the group chat. My phone chimed.

A $1,500 transfer hit my account. Chapter 1 Three years of marriage. Alistair and I had spoken maybe ten sentences to each other. The first was on our wedding night.

He swirled the amber liquid in his glass and looked at me. "We take what we need. We stay out of each other's way." "Got it, husband," I said. I stuck to that rule for three years.

Alistair practically lived on business trips. He rarely came home. So when I got dumped into that socialite group chat, my blood didn't boil. I leaned in.

The chat was named Manhattan's Top Beauties. It had about two hundred members. Every profile picture was a flawless selfie.

Their Instagram feeds were nothing but hot yoga and private beaches. Right as I joined, the admin, Victoria, tagged everyone.

Victoria: [URGENT: Need the hotel Manhattan's crown prince is staying at in Seattle. Paying top dollar!] She had added my finsta. My profile picture was a blurry college selfie.

My screen name matched a gaming account I hadn't touched in years. I had no idea who dragged me in. I didn't care. All I saw was a gold mine. My husband's hotel address.

That was literally a text away. After getting the name on my main account, I switched to my finsta and typed in the group. Me: [I know.] The chat blew up.

A friend request from Victoria popped up on my screen. I tapped accept.

Victoria: [For real? @Kicking the Cripple's Good Leg, if you're lying, you're getting kicked out.] Kicking the Cripple's Good Leg: [For real. Grand Hyatt.] I hit send. Silence.

I chewed on my lip. Then I added one more line. Kicking the Cripple's Good Leg: [Ten times your money back if it's fake.] Victoria didn't say another word.

She wired me $1,500 with a note. Victoria: [I trust you.] I accepted the transfer. I rubbed my chin again. This was a solid business model.

After the wedding, Alistair tossed me a black card. All my expenses came out of it. But a girl has hobbies she can't put on a joint statement.

Like premium subscriptions to adult websites. Over the last three years, I had been burning through my own trust fund to fund my private life. Now, the game had changed.

As long as I kept Alistair talking, I held a total monopoly. Zero overhead. I was going to build an empire. The next morning, Victoria tagged the whole group.

Victoria: [Ladies, it's verified! Alistair stayed at the Grand Hyatt last night! @Kicking the Cripple's Good Leg is legit!

Highly recommend!] The notifications rolled in like an avalanche. [Oh my god, you are a literal god!] [Take my money! Can you DM me first next time you get intel?

Will pay big!] [Are you an insider?! How did you get Alistair's private itinerary?] I stared at the scrolling text. The corners of my mouth curled up. Chapter 2 Insider?

I literally shared a marriage certificate with the man. There was no one on this earth more inside than me. Someone tagged Victoria in the chat, begging for details about her night.

Victoria: [Ladies, I'm not kidding. I sat at the table right next to him at dinner!

The Patek Philippe on his wrist was at least three hundred grand!] The chat descended into digital screaming. [And then?!

What happened next?!] Victoria: [I spilled coffee all over him on purpose. I offered to clean it up and asked for his personal number.] Victoria: [He just frowned and walked away.

Didn't even look at me.] A wave of disappointed texts flooded the screen. Victoria swooped in to save the morale. Victoria: [Don't lose hope!

Now that we have an insider, Alistair is ours!] Victoria: [Reliable sources say Alistair and his business marriage wife have zero feelings for each other.

They're getting a divorce soon! Hold the line, ladies! We can win this!] I raised an eyebrow. I was getting a divorce? That was news to me.

Before I could process that bombshell, another friend request popped up. The profile picture was a stunning girl holding a Hermès Birkin bag. Big money. I accepted.

She didn't waste time. [Do you have Alistair's schedule for tomorrow? Name your price.] I switched back to my main account and pulled up Alistair's contact.

I let my thumbs hover over the keyboard. I couldn't be too obvious. I had just asked for his hotel yesterday. Pushing for his schedule today would raise red flags.

I needed an angle. Kissing the Mute's Good Lips: [Husband, how's the weather in Seattle? I was thinking about coming to see you.] It was the perfect bait.

A little wifely concern to pave the way for my real question. The typing bubble appeared two minutes later.

Alistair: [Why would you do that?] Kissing the Mute's Good Lips: [I missed you~] Goosebumps erupted on my arms the second I hit send. We had been married for three years.

I had never spoken to him like that. The reply came through in a heartbeat. Alistair: [It's 86 degrees and sunny in Seattle.] Another text chimed three seconds later.

Alistair: [You want to come? I'll have my assistant book your flight.] I scrambled to shut that down. Kissing the Mute's Good Lips: [No, no! I'm just asking.

What's your schedule like tomorrow? If you're too busy, I won't bother you.] Alistair: [Meetings at the Seattle headquarters starting at 3 PM.

Dinner banquet in the evening.] Jackpot. I copied the text, switched to my finsta, and forwarded the intel to the Birkin bag girl. She replied with a catch. [Give me a number.

But you can't sell this to anyone else.] My pulse picked up. Nonexclusive drops were going for fifteen hundred a pop. What was the market rate for an exclusive?

I chewed on the inside of my cheek. Kicking the Cripple's Good Leg: [Deal. Flat rate of fifteen thousand dollars.] The next few days were a blur.

The group chat posted new bounties every single day. Chapter 3 They wanted everything.

Alistair's schedule, his hobbies, his favorite restaurants, his coffee order, his current projects. Bounties ranged from a few hundred bucks to fifteen thousand.

As his wife, I had the ultimate inside scoop. I became the most soughtafter VIP in the chat. In half a month, I raked in fortyfive grand.

The feedback from the girls proved Alistair was icing them out. But they only grew more obsessed. I felt zero guilt. They were trying to bag my husband.

Charging a minor consulting fee was just good business. But as my side hustle blew up, Alistair started acting weird.

While fishing for his itinerary, I casually asked what he had for breakfast. He actually sent me a picture of his plate.

Alistair: [The eggs benedict at this hotel isn't bad.] The hairs on the back of my neck stood straight up.

Kissing the Mute's Good Lips: [I'll make it for you when I get the chance~] Kissing the Mute's Good Lips: [Husband, where are you staying tonight?] Alistair texted back an address.

I copied it, switched to my finsta, and hit paste. The bounty for this drop was five grand. The girl on the other end had been blowing up my phone for ten minutes.

She wired the money the second I hit send. I accepted the transfer and casually glanced at the address I just sold. My eyes blew wide in sheer horror. That was my house.

I stared at the text on my screen. Cold sweat prickled down my spine. The girl's messages kept rolling in. [Thank you so much!

I'm going to bump into him tonight!] [Don't worry, I'll pay you double when I get him!] My fingers stiffened over the keyboard.

Kicking the Cripple's Good Leg: [Uh… security in that neighborhood is super tight. You won't get in.] [Hehe, I have my ways.] My stomach dropped.

Kicking the Cripple's Good Leg: [What ways?] Kicking the Cripple's Good Leg: [???] Kicking the Cripple's Good Leg: [Girl!] I spammed her chat. She left me on read. I was dead.

I flew too close to the sun. I paced the living room, my mind spinning. First, I had to stop her from actually getting to Alistair.

If this blew up and he traced it back to me, my empire would crumble. He said we should stay out of each other's way.

But turning his private life into a commodity for two hundred thirsty women definitely crossed that line. I sucked in a breath and called the estate management.

I ordered them to double the patrols and screen everyone at the gate. For the insane HOA fees we paid, the manager agreed instantly. But my heart kept pounding against my ribs.

For the next few hours, I couldn't sit still. I stared at the clock. Seven. Seventhirty. Eight. Eightthirty. Alistair said he would be home by nine. There was still time.

Chapter 4 I walked to the floortoceiling windows in the living room and peered out. The estate was dead silent. Nothing out of the ordinary.

At exactly 9:03 PM, Alistair's black Maybach rolled into view. The car glided down the private road toward our driveway. I finally exhaled.

It looked like nothing was going to happen. I turned to head outside to greet him. Then, a shadow shot out from the hedges. Straight toward the hood of the car.

The deafening shriek of slamming brakes shattered the night. My heart slammed against my ribs. A woman crumpled to the pavement. A mere three feet from the bumper.

Alistair threw his door open. He stepped out, his brows pulling into a sharp frown as he looked down at the body. She wore a creamcolored knit dress.

Her long hair fanned out across the asphalt. The perfect image of a fragile damsel in distress. I recognized her instantly.

It was the rich girl who had wired me five grand earlier today. She looked exactly like her profile picture.

Seeing Alistair approach, she propped herself up with a delicate, practiced wince. "I—I'm okay. Please don't worry about me…" She was severely overestimating him.

A second later, Alistair pulled out his phone. "911? There's a suspicious person trespassing on a private residential estate