Replacing My Cheating Husband With A Younger Billionaire

The year was our fifth, but for the last three, I’d been keeping a younger man.

I no longer let Liam’s betrayals turn me inside out.

Just like now. I spotted the shredded sheer stockings snagged on the passenger side floor mat.

Liam glanced over, a lazy, indulgent smile playing on his lips. “Little thing likes to play rough, Eleanor. Don’t mind her.”

This time, I didn’t scream. I didn’t smash things.

I merely nodded, a gesture of quiet acceptance.

His face clouded. He slammed on the brakes.

1

“Don’t come over tonight. Liam’s back.”

The immediate reply was a crying-face emoji.

A small, genuine smile almost escaped me. I looked up and met Liam’s intensely dark gaze, finally registering the suffocating silence in the car.

I lowered the phone, my tone flat. “What is it?”

“You look… different.”

I felt a slight jolt.

This wasn’t the first time his latest distraction, Maya, had decided to rub my nose in it. Last time, it was a lace thong tucked into the pocket of Liam’s tuxedo jacket.

I had destroyed our bedroom then, screaming at Liam until I sounded like a feral animal.

All I got in return was his cold, clipped voice: “Can you just act normal for once?”

Now, I was finally doing what he asked—facing his infidelity with utter, profound calm.

I gave a short, brittle laugh. “Isn’t this exactly what you wanted?”

Liam’s expression hardened, a cynical edge entering his voice.

“Maya might be young, but she’s certainly got some moves. Entertaining, you know.”

He looked at me, his eyes challenging. “You should take notes, El. Stop being so goddamn boring.”

He raised an eyebrow, a clear taunt. “Maybe then I’d stick around the apartment for more than a few days.”

“Don’t bother,” I said, leaning my head against the cool window and closing my eyes.

He hadn’t been home for a solid month.

He’d taken Maya to the Maldives—a honeymoon of sorts—complete with highly-publicized, non-stop Instagram stories. It had made me the biggest joke in our social circle.

Now, he stood in the doorway of our bedroom, his brow furrowed as he took in the changes.

I’d replaced all the bedding, taken down the framed wedding photo from the nightstand, and purged any trace of his routine. The room was sterile. Uninhabited.

“Where are my things?”

“I tossed them.”

Liam spun around. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

He stared at me, then abruptly softened his voice, forcing a charming smile. “Honey, I know I went too far this time. You’re mad, right?”

“Look, I’m home now, aren’t I?”

“I even brought you a peace offering.”

He placed a discreetly wrapped shopping bag on the coffee table and headed into the bathroom.

He emerged moments later, toweling his damp hair, his voice laced with suspicion. “Why did you switch out my shower gel?”

I paused, confused for a moment before remembering. Damon had changed it.

The younger man had complained he didn’t like the heavy sandalwood scent Liam favored, replacing it with something crisp—Orange Blossom.

That familiar, musky scent of Liam’s damp skin and the newly layered citrus crept closer. He wrapped his arms around me from behind, deliberately pressing his body against my neck.

“God, I missed you, Eleanor…”

My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic, panicked beat.

The fading hickey Damon had left on my collarbone was still visible.

If Liam looked down even an inch, he would see it.

I twisted, shoving him away with all my strength. “I’m not Maya. Go find her if you’re horny.”

Liam stumbled back a few steps before catching himself, his face now a mask of fury. His voice was squeezed out, raw with rage. “Are you ever going to drop this, Eleanor?”

“It was just a honeymoon trip. Have I never taken you on a trip? Does it really warrant this meltdown?”

I met his eyes, my voice chillingly calm. “It does. And Liam? I think you’re disgusting.”

The veins pulsed in his fists hanging at his sides. He snatched his jacket from the sofa. “Fine. Be a martyr! Just don’t come crawling back when that little boy breaks your heart.”

The front door slammed, the noise echoing through the apartment. I walked to the coffee table and looked at the bag.

The fifth wedding anniversary. I’d forgotten until that moment.

I opened the box. It was a handbag—the limited-edition piece I’d posted about on my social media a few days ago. One of only five in the world.

I let out a weary chuckle.

It must have been so inconvenient for him, having to shop for me while he was on his extended sex-cation.

My phone chimed. It was a photo from Maya.

She was half-dressed, Liam’s head resting carelessly on her breast.

“Auntie, you had your chance. Why didn’t you use it?”

“I specifically told Liam to go home and check on you.”

2

The phone’s sudden, sharp ring cut through the quiet of the night.

I answered. Liam’s voice was slurred, thick with alcohol. “Eleanor… Eleanor, come get me…”

I was about to hang up when a different, sober voice cut in. “Hello? Your husband is pretty drunk. Could you come pick him up? We’re closing soon.”

Without a moment’s hesitation, I recited Maya’s phone number.

“Call her. I’m tied up.”

This wasn’t a new scene.

Years ago, while I was running a high fever, I’d driven an hour in the dead of night to fetch him. But when I reached for him, he’d violently shoved me away, drunkenly insisting he only wanted Maya.

“I don’t want you. I want Maya,” he’d slurred.

“Just leave me alone.”

I’d stumbled back, my hand striking the sharp metal corner of a table. The blood that dripped onto the floor was nothing compared to the agony in my heart.

My thoughts returned to the present, and I examined the faint scar on the back of my hand. Thankfully, wounds could heal. And my heart was finally numb.

It was much later, in that half-sleep where the mind never truly rests, that the familiar ringtone sounded again.

This time, the voice was a completely new, irritated woman’s. “Are you this drunkard’s wife?”

“He showed up on my porch banging on the door. You need to come get him, or I’m calling the cops.”

“What?”

She gave me an address. I put the phone down, sitting on the edge of the bed in a daze.

Liam, wasted and confused, had stumbled all the way back to the crappy studio apartment we’d shared when we first graduated.

I apologized profusely to the woman and quickly guided Liam away from her porch.

He reeked of cheap bourbon and sweat, his mind clearly disconnected from reality.

“Rory… did the audition wear you out today…?”

The long-forgotten pet name gave me a brief, painful moment of disorientation. Liam was so drunk he thought we were back in our post-grad days.

Back then, we were broke. We lived in that cramped, noisy apartment, dreaming up our impossible future.

I worked late at the orchestra, and no matter how late his own shifts were, he always showed up to walk me home. He would hold me, his eyes red with fatigue, promising that one day he’d give me the life I deserved.

My eyes suddenly stung. A tear rolled down my cheek. I quickly lowered my head to wipe it away, but Liam’s hand was faster.

He lifted his hand and very gently brushed the tear away. Then he looked at me, a wounded puppy.

“Wife, why don’t you get angry anymore? Why did you change the shower gel…?”

“How can you not be mad at Maya…?”

“You’ve changed…”

I looked down at his face, finally able to speak to him without malice. “Because I’m tired, Liam.”

He suddenly pulled his hand away and, fumbling inside his coat, pulled something out. In the faint glow of the streetlamp, I saw it: a plastic container holding a small, perfect slice of strawberry cake.

My favorite.

I thought he’d forgotten that long ago.

And thinking of cake, I remembered the very first time I found out he was cheating.

3

Maya wasn’t his first.

I discovered his very first affair on my birthday.

I had prepared a candlelit dinner, even bought a ridiculous new dress, and waited for him to come home.

I waited on the sofa from the early afternoon until late into the night. When he finally pushed the door open, the sight of the room startled him. He paused, then his eyes widened in sudden realization. He’d forgotten my birthday.

Embarrassed, he tried to cover his mistake, hastily handing me the first thing he could grab—a mango mousse cake.

He didn’t even remember that I was severely allergic to mangoes.

In that instant, a woman’s intuition became razor-sharp certainty.

I stood up abruptly, yanking open his shirt collar. A fresh, livid kiss mark stood out starkly against his clavicle.

The world shattered.

I broke everything I could reach. I cried until I choked, demanding to know why he’d done it.

I hit him. A flurry of desperate slaps.

What was Liam’s reaction then?

He knelt. He begged me to forgive him.

After that, I became a wreck—suspicious, volatile, checking his phone. He grew increasingly annoyed, increasingly absent.

Then Maya arrived.

The usual messy, agonizing argument followed, but this time, Liam didn’t concede.

He rubbed his temples in frustration. “Eleanor, I’m telling you now—I’m not cutting things off with Maya. I love her.”

“Just settle down and be the perfect Mrs. Vance. I promise she won’t threaten your position.”

My heart felt like it was being ripped into two separate, raw halves. The pain was so great I couldn’t even cry.

So I spoke, my voice a ragged whisper. “Liam, let’s get divorced.”

Liam crushed the cigarette in his hand, his voice turning to ice. “No way.”

“For us, there’s only death, not divorce. Don’t even think about it.”

“Do you want your mother to die? Then you’ll sit down and shut up.”

My mother was critically ill then. I was only a lowly pianist in the ensemble, nowhere near able to afford her medical bills. Liam was paying for the ICU.

I learned in that moment that my mother’s life was his leverage.

Every day that followed, I felt like I was dying.

I watched him escort Maya to galas and industry events. They looked like the perfect couple; I felt like the mistress hidden in the shadows.

I started swallowing anti-depressants and sleeping pills, barely sleeping a minute through the long nights.

After I slit my wrist a second time, and Liam responded by slapping me across the face, I woke up.

I thought: Why?

I wasn’t the one who had wronged him. Why was I the one destroying myself?

If Liam couldn’t give me happiness, I would find it somewhere else.

That’s when I met Damon.

He was younger, kinder, and infinitely more attentive than Liam. Most importantly, he listened. He hung on my every word.

Just like Liam, I had a secret lover.