Spring Tides: The Drowning Kind

Summary

Married for three years, and my husband, Owen Vanderbilt, had never once touched me.

So I slipped into a lace nightgown, painted convincing bruises onto my skin, and sent him a carefully staged photo of myself asleep in bed, taken from the perspective of a lover.

The text was simple: “She’s incredible, man. You should divorce her. Give her to me.”

I imagined Owen would be disgusted, furious. He would cast me aside like the cheap imitation of my sister he’d always treated me as.

I thought, finally, this would be the end.