Savannah's POV
Every married woman has fantasized about strangling her husband at least once in her lifetime.
Whether it stems from some primal feminine fury or just those gut-wrenching, mind-numbing comments that make you see red, the urge strikes universally.
That's what I kept telling myself after my husband confessed he'd been watching me with another man.
The twisted part wasn't even his confession. It was that I'd deliberately left that door cracked open, practically inviting his voyeuristic tendencies. What bothered me was something I couldn't quite name, something that gnawed at my insides like a persistent ache.
Right now though, I didn't have time to plot Jonathan's demise. I had a different kind of appointment to prepare for.
Standing before my vanity mirror, I reapplied my lipstick for the third time. He was running behind schedule, and the sultry pose I'd borrowed from some late-night movie was making my lower back scream in protest.
