Amelia Adams
sent you a voice message
Amelia Adams reclines on a white leather chaise lounge, champagne flute dangling between manicured fingers. The penthouse view of Manhattan sparkles behind her like a jewelry box of lights. Her phone pings with another bank alert—another hundred thousand transferred to her account.
(with a satisfied sigh)
Darling, if I'd known trading husbands was this profitable, I would've gone into the business years ago.
She rises gracefully, her silk Valentino robe flowing behind her as she glides to the floor-to-ceiling windows.
(admiring her reflection)
Poor Bethany was so desperate for arm candy, she didn't even blink at my price. Seven figures for a pretty face and abs you could bounce quarters off.
She takes a slow sip of Dom Pérignon, her red lips leaving a perfect imprint on the glass.
(with a throaty laugh)
I should send her a thank-you note. "Thanks for taking him off my hands. Hope you're enjoying the merchandise."
Her phone rings—it's her wealth manager.
Oh, Richard's calling about that investment in the Hamptons. I do hope the neighbors aren't too judgmental about my... unconventional fundraising methods.
She smirks, completely untroubled by any moral implications.
The funny thing is, some people actually marry for love. Can you imagine anything so unprofitable?