My Dad's Best Friend: The Man I Shouldn't Want

[NATALIE]

The clinking of silverware and the hum of conversation surround me as I sit at the corner table of our favorite Italian restaurant. It's the eve of our second wedding anniversary, and Michael insisted on dining out, even though I would've preferred a quiet night at home. He's always been the social butterfly, the life of every party, while I'm the grounded one-the devoted wife who treasures our private moments, despite being a budding actress in Hollywood.

I sip my wine, but there's this nagging feeling in the back of my mind that something's off. I made an effort to dress up tonight, slipping into a red silk dress that hugs my curves in all the right places. I look amazing-everyone's eyes linger on me, except for Michael's. He hasn't even looked at me properly, let alone complimented me.

The ache in my chest deepens. I know our relationship has faltered despite everything I've done to keep it together. The spark that once made him fall head over heels for me has faded. Lately, he's been distant, coming home late with weak excuses about work. He works for my father, so I know exactly what's going on-and his excuses are lies. But I keep giving him the benefit of the doubt.

Even his once tender kisses have become routine, and the desire that used to burn in his eyes is gone. He doesn't buy me flowers anymore - not even tonight, when it feels like a bare minimum for the occasion.

Does he even remember tomorrow's our anniversary?

Deep down, I know something's terribly wrong, but I keep burying my doubts, hoping they're just products of my overthinking. I love this man. He proposed to me in front of a crowded stadium, fearlessly declaring his love. I gave him everything-my heart, my love, my body, my soul. He's my everything.

"The alfredo's amazing," Mike says, his mouth full. I force a smile, but inside, I'm jealous that he compliments the pasta, yet hasn't said a word about me.

"It is," I say, dropping my fork, my appetite suddenly gone. Trying to sound hopeful, I ask, "What are we doing tomorrow? I took the day off."

Mike looks confused. Wiping his mouth with a napkin, he asks, "Why? What's tomorrow?"

I laugh to keep from crying. "Nothing," I murmur, fidgeting with my fingers. "We haven't gone out somewhere recently."

"We're out right now, silly," he says with a shake of his head. "Besides, I have an important meeting tomorrow."

He has to be joking. He's pretending to forget our anniversary because he's planning something huge, right? It has to be that.

"Sure," I mumble, my voice quieter than I intended. Then I get an idea, a way to test him. "I'll ask Meera to hang out with me tomorrow since you're busy."

Surely, he'll object. He'll feel guilty or show some sign he's planning something. But all Mike does is nod. "Sounds good. Do that."

My heart sinks. I want to scream at him, to storm out and never look back. But I remember my mom's words: You have to be patient, and understanding, and learn to make sacrifices for the man you love.

I rot through the next few minutes, watching as he gives more attention to his food than to me. He doesn't even notice I'm not eating. He doesn't care.

Until his phone starts buzzing, again and again. He tries to ignore it at first, but it's persistent.

"Just give me a moment, love," Mike says, flashing that charming smile as he stands up. "I need to take a quick call."

"Right now? Can't you just turn it off? Is work really more important than us?" I want to ask, but I just nod and watch him weave through the tables, disappearing around the corner.

As the minutes tick by, my anxiety grows. Why hasn't he come back? Did he leave me here? On the eve of our anniversary?

Unable to sit still any longer, I stand up and walk around to clear my head. The warm lighting and rustic charm of the restaurant usually calm me, but tonight, it feels suffocating.

I turn the corner, and my steps falter. There, in the dim hallway, I see him. Mike isn't alone. My breath catches as I watch him pull a beautiful woman into a passionate kiss. They cling to each other like they're the only two people in the world, completely unaware of anything else.

"This is dangerous," I hear the woman say, smiling as they break their kiss. "She's right inside!"

"Natalie's devoted to me. She would never doubt me for a second," Mike mutters with confidence before pulling her back in for another kiss. "After my company's launch event goes well, and her father sends me the check he promised, I'll leave her. Then you and I can be together."

My heart shatters into a million pieces, but all I hear is silence-a deafening, crushing silence. The man I've devoted my life to, the man I've loved unconditionally, is betraying me in the most unforgivable way. And I've stumbled upon them, just around the corner.

I used to admire his confidence, but now I want to spit on it. The pain threatens to consume me, but my anger rises higher. I won't be the victim in this twisted story.

"Well, well, well," I say, stepping forward with my arms folded, my voice surprisingly steady. "Isn't this a cozy little scene?"

Mike jerks away from the woman, his eyes widening in shock and guilt. I recognize her now-from his office parties. She has the decency to look ashamed, but I'm not about to let her off the hook.

"Nat, my love," Mike stammers, stepping toward me. "This isn't what it looks like."

"Save it," I snap, holding up my hand. "I don't need your lies, Mike. I've had enough of those to last a lifetime."

I turn to the woman, who's wringing her hands nervously. "And you," I say, my voice dripping with contempt. "Didn't you know he was married? It was in the fucking newspapers, sweetheart. Do you have any idea what you've done?"

She opens her mouth to speak, but I cut her off. "No, you don't. Because if you did, you wouldn't be standing here, pretending to be innocent. You didn't steal my man. You did me a favor."

Her eyes widen, and she steps back as if my words have struck her. I see the guilt and confusion battling inside her, but I don't care. I have more important things to deal with.

"Mike," I say, turning back to him. "You said you loved me. You professed it in front of a fucking stadium full of people. Was it all for show? Just to impress my father? Was I just a convenience? A trophy wife to show off at parties?"

"That's not true, Nat," he pleads, reaching for me. "I do love you. This... this was a mistake."

"A mistake?" I laugh bitterly. "A mistake is forgetting our anniversary-which is tomorrow, by the way - or misplacing your keys. This is a choice. A deliberate, cruel choice."

I take a deep breath, feeling the weight of my decision settle over me. "But you know what? I'm done. I'm done being your fool. I'm done being the dutiful wife who sacrifices her happiness for a man who doesn't deserve it."

Mike looks stricken, but I feel liberated. "I'm going to take my life back," I say firmly, more to myself than to him. "And I'm going to enjoy my freedom. For the first time in years, I'm going to live for myself."

I turn to leave but pause, looking back at the woman. "And you," I say, a touch of pity in my voice. "You can have him. Just remember, a man who cheats once will cheat again. Don't fool yourself into thinking you're special."

With that, I walk away, my heart heavy but my spirit unbroken. The cool night air greets me as I step outside, stinging my skin, but I welcome it. As I take a deep breath, I feel a sense of clarity. I loved Mike with all my heart, but I deserve better.

I'm not going to be a damsel in distress. I'm Natalie Jones, and it's time to remember that. I lost myself becoming Natalie Cooper, loving a man who never truly loved me back.

I hail a cab and give the driver the address to my penthouse. As we drive through the city, I let myself imagine a future - a future where I'm free. I picture myself traveling, rediscovering my passions, and finding the woman I lost along the way. But I also picture myself kicking Mike's ass.

When the cab pulls up to my penthouse, I snicker to myself. I step inside, taking in the familiar scent of home-every corner of it nurtured by me-and pour myself a glass of wine, savoring the rich flavor as it slides down my throat. I strip off my clothes, admire my figure in the mirror, and sink into the hot bath I've prepared. The steam wraps around me like a warm embrace as I let out a contented sigh.

Freedom never tasted so sweet. Swirling the wine in my glass with a smile, I can't wait to get back into the game.

I scroll through my Instagram feed, feeling my heart sink as I take in the posts. The venue-an opulent ballroom in the heart of the city-glitters under the soft glow of chandeliers. Every detail, from the lavish floral arrangements to the perfectly aligned crystal glasses, screams elegance and perfection-just as I envisioned and organized. I've spent weeks prepping for this day, ensuring that everything would be perfect, up until the fateful night a week ago.

Now, I stand on the balcony of the adjoining building, a safe distance from the entrance, my eyes fixed on the scene below. It's a grand affair, the kind of event that commands attention, and tonight, Mike is in his element.

From my vantage point, I can see the throngs of people arriving, mingling, and exchanging polite pleasantries. They're the sort of people you'd expect to see at events like this-high-powered businessmen, socialites, and even a few celebrities who grace the occasion with their presence. Everyone seems to be enjoying themselves, oblivious to the agony and insult I feel so acutely.

And then I spot him-my husband, soon to be my ex-husband-standing near the entrance with that same effortless smile I fell for years ago. Mike is the perfect host, charming and attentive, moving through the crowd with practiced ease. His tailored suit clings to his athletic frame, and his posture exudes confidence. He laughs, jokes, and chats with everyone, completely being himself, as if he hasn't a care in the world.

As if the woman he's been married to for the last two years-the one who set up this entire event-hasn't discovered his ugly, heart-wrenching secret.

But I know better.

My gaze shifts to the woman by his side-the same woman I caught him kissing in that dimly lit hallway a week ago. I can't deny that she's stunning, her sleek, dark hair pulled back into a polished bun, her body encased in a figure-hugging plum dress that subtly matches Mike's tie. She's careful not to linger too close to him, maintaining just enough distance to keep the relationship from looking too obvious, yet close enough to suggest something more than just a casual acquaintance.

As I watch them, Mike leans in close to her, whispering something that makes her laugh softly. He doesn't look the slightest bit bothered, not even sparing a glance at his phone to check on me. I've tried to contact Mike, desperately so, despite all my good judgment. But he has avoided my calls, brushing me off with excuses and acting as if I'm the one at fault. And now here he is, acting like nothing is wrong, like he isn't cheating on me with the woman right in front of my eyes.

'I should've canceled the event,' I think to myself. 'That would've been the perfect way to embarrass him.' After all, I'm the one who paid the event planners, caterers, and decorators. I clench my fists, my nails digging into my palms. The time for tears has passed. I've dwelled enough in the betrayal and pain. Now, it's time for action.

I check my reflection in the mirror one last time, adjusting the plunging neckline of my black, backless dress. It's a custom-made piece that clings to my curves in all the right places-a dress designed to turn heads and make headlines. My stylist has outdone herself, selecting the perfect ensemble for my revenge. My makeup is flawless, my lips painted in a daring shade of crimson, and my long dark hair cascades in loose waves down my back. I look stunning, every inch the Hollywood actress I dreamed of being before becoming Mrs. Mike Cooper. And tonight, I'm going to remind everyone exactly who I am.

Taking a deep breath, I descend the stairs and make my way toward the venue. I time my entrance perfectly, just as Mike is about to take the stage for his welcome speech. The cameras that have been trained on him turn as I enter, flashbulbs popping in rapid succession. I walk with purpose, my hips swaying seductively, my eyes focused straight ahead as I glide through the crowd.

Gasps and murmurs ripple through the room as all eyes turn to me. I revel in the attention, knowing I'm making an entrance that will be talked about for days, if not weeks, to come. Mike's launch event will become secondary, a mere backdrop to the spectacle I'm about to create.

For a brief moment, Mike's smile falters when he sees me; his eyes widen in shock. I catch a flash of panic across his face, but then, as if flipping a switch, he regains his composure. The bastard has the audacity to smile at me as if nothing has happened, as if we're still the perfect couple everyone thinks we are.

"Nat," Mike says smoothly into the microphone, his voice carrying through the room. "I'm so glad you could finally join us. Everyone, please welcome my loving wife."

The words feel like acid on my skin. I see through his pretense-he's doing this to impress my father, Elliot Jones, who stands beside him on the stage. He wants to show the world what a great son-in-law he is, maintaining the facade that everything is fine between us. But I'm done playing the role of the devoted wife. I don't miss the disapproving glare my father passes my way, but I choose to ignore it, just as he has ignored my calls over the last week to discuss my divorce with Mike. I don't care about being the perfect daughter anymore.

I plaster a smile on my face as I ascend the stage, my steps slow and deliberate. "Thank you, darling," I purr, my voice dripping with sweetness. "I wouldn't miss this for the world."

Mike's eyes narrow slightly, as though he senses the threat beneath my words, but he remains composed. He turns back to the crowd, continuing his speech with practiced ease, though I can see the tension in his shoulders. He's nervous. God, he's nervous. And that's exactly what I want.

As Mike's speech comes to an awkward end, the room dims for the presentation-a video montage chronicling his journey from an ambitious young man to the successful entrepreneur he is today. I watch with detached interest as images of our early days together flash on the screen-pictures of us at various events, laughing and smiling, looking like the perfect couple.

Then comes the segment that nearly makes me lose my composure. A voiceover of Mike's deep, sincere tone echoes through the room. "I couldn't have done any of this without the support of my wife, Natalie. She's the woman of my dreams, the one who believed in me when no one else did. Without her, I'd be a nobody."

Although the audience claps as the video comes to an end, for a moment, only silence rings in my ears. I feel the weight of the lie pressing down on me, threatening to suffocate me. But then, a bitter laugh escapes my lips, loud enough to cut through as the applause fades.

Heads turn, and the room grows quiet again as people look at me, confused. I see Mike's jaw tighten, and I can sense the fury in his eyes. But I don't care. I'm not going to let him get away with this charade.

"Bravo," I say, my voice carrying across the room. "What a performance."

Mike's eyes lock onto mine, but he doesn't say anything. He doesn't need to. The message is clear-I'm done playing nice.

I turn away, heading to the bar, where I order a drink. I need something strong to take the edge off the anger simmering inside me. The bartender hands me a glass of whiskey, and I take a long sip, closing my eyes and letting the burn of the alcohol distract me from the pain.

When I open my eyes, I see Tyna Brooks, my co-actor from my debut movie and long-time frenemy, walking up to the bar. She has a scandalous look plastered on her sharp face, and I can guess her question before she even coughs it up.

"That bastard is lucky, you know? He has such a gorgeous wife. That was quite the entrance, truly. I didn't expect less from you, Nat. But some out here were betting on whether you would even show up."

I smirk, twirling the glass of whiskey in my hand as I watch Mike from a distance, deep in conversation with my father. "Now that would be something to talk about, wouldn't it?"

"Certainly would be. Worth making headlines," Tyna agrees, winking. "What are you doing here, though? Shouldn't you be by his side?"

"I should be now, shouldn't I?" I counter, already feeling myself tire from this conversation. Maybe if I keep throwing back questions, Tyna will leave me the hell alone.

"Gosh, don't tell me, Nat, that you're already drunk!" Tyna cackles, throwing her head back.

I take another sip, my smirk widening. "Not quite enough, Brooks. Oh, and... keep your ears tuned for another announcement later tonight."

Tyna nods slowly, her gaze shifting to a careful, predatory glint. She seems to have finally found the answer she was looking for. "Congratulations, honey," she mumbles before slipping away.

I watch her go, only to be greeted by another familiar face-my aunt Lizzie this time. "You took your sweet time to show up, woman!" Lizzie cries, nudging me in the shoulder. "You had your father worried."

I snicker, thinking bitterly of how my father only cares about his reputation. If he truly cared about me, he would've given me time to talk about Mike.

"Oh, I wouldn't miss this for the world, Aunt Lizzie," I reply with a sly smile, my eyes glinting with mischief. "After all, it's not every day you get to watch history being made."

It's then that I notice him-a man standing a few feet away, watching me with an amused expression. He looks older than me, probably in his late thirties, with dark hair streaked with grey and a strong, chiseled jawline. His tailored suit fits him perfectly, accentuating his broad shoulders and lean build. There's something about him, something in the look in his eyes that draws my attention.

I don't notice when Lizzie leaves, too focused on the man as he strolls over to me leisurely, as if he has all the time in the world.

"You seem like someone who could use another drink," he says, his voice deep and smooth.

"You seem like someone who could use another drink," he says, his voice deep and smooth.

I find myself staring into his eyes - older, confident, and dark, with an air of control that quickly makes me weak in my knees. His voice makes it clear that he's not asking; he's stating a fact. The hint of a smirk pulls at his lips, as if he already knows what my response will be.

I smile, intrigued by the unexpected interruption. "Is it that obvious?"

He leans against the bar, his gaze steady, assessing me with an intensity that makes me feel like I'm under a spotlight, more than any of the other cameras ever could. "Only to those who know what to look for."

I let out a soft chuckle, glancing down at my glass before locking eyes with him again. His presence is magnetic, but there's an edge to him that sends a thrill through me - something dangerous. I trace the rim of my glass with my finger, enjoying the tension in the air. "So," I say, my voice dipping, "you intend to get me drunk?"

His lips curl into a sly smile, his gaze flickering to my mouth for just a second longer than casual. "Looks like you're already halfway there," he replies smoothly. "But I was thinking," he leans in slightly, voice lowering to a conspiratorial whisper, "I could offer a better way to get intoxicated."

"And what would that be?" I ask, the words slipping out before I can stop myself, my voice turning breathy.

His eyes darken, and for a moment, it feels like the room fades away, leaving just the two of us. He stares at me with such intensity that it sends a surge of heat through my body, sparking a desire I wasn't prepared for, or even expecting.

Hell, I just found out the man I've been in love with has been cheating on me. How can I be so easily turned on by a stranger?

The way his gaze lingers, the slow, deliberate sweep from my lips to my throat, and lower - it's as if he's already imagining us tangled together, skin on skin, in a heated mess of sheets. I can see it too, the image flashing through my mind so vividly that I can almost feel his hands on me, our bodies intertwined in a way that leaves nothing between us but heat and desire.

I swallow hard, caught off guard by the wave of arousal that sweeps through me, my pulse racing in my chest. For a split second, I can't move, can't breathe, trapped. Trapped by him. Then he shakes his head, breaking the spell, but the smirk on his lips tells me he knows exactly what I was thinking - because he was thinking it too.

"That was quite an entrance you made back there," he says, his voice smooth but with an edge of amusement, pulling us back to the present. "Impressive, really."

I blink, the heat still lingering under my skin as I struggle to refocus. My heart is still pounding, but I manage to return his smirk. "You think so?"

He nods, his eyes still holding that dangerous glint. "Definitely. I'd say you turned a few heads. Mine included."

I raise an eyebrow, acknowledging how he's understating it. "I aim to leave a mark," I say, my voice steady now.

His gaze flickers again, as if he's considering his next move, but instead, he just gives a slow, almost predatory smile. "Oh, I think you've done more than that."

"Well," I say, finishing off my drink, "I guess we'll have to see if you're right."

Before I can set my empty glass down, his hand moves quickly, wrapping around my arm with a firm, deliberate grip. His touch isn't harsh, but it's commanding, holding my attention. He leans in close, his breath warm against my ear. "When are you going to leave him?"

I stiffen, my body tensing as his words hit me. I pull back slightly, my heart pounding. "What?" I whisper, barely audible over the noise of the party.

He doesn't back down. He releases my arm, leaning back just enough to avoid making a scene. "Your husband," he says smoothly. "When are you going to leave him?"

My heart races, shock and confusion swirling inside me. How does he know? Have I been that obvious? Does that mean the announcement I'm about to make will fall flat? I narrow my eyes, trying to read him, but he doesn't seem bothered by my reaction. If anything, he looks amused.

"How do you know about that?" I ask, my voice carrying a hint of mock surprise.

He shrugs, playing along, his eyes still locked on mine. "Why else would you be here, Natalie?" he says simply, like it's the most normal thing in the world. "It's his big night."

"Maybe I'm just not one of those clingy wives," I say with a shrug, trying to match his confidence.

"That man right there," he begins, pointing his finger at Mike, "has no clue what he had. What fooled you into marrying him?"

A pang echoes in my chest. I was a fool indeed. I open my mouth to respond, but he isn't finished. "I can even guess who he's been spending his nights with." His gaze shifts to the far side of the room. "The woman in the plum dress. Her gown matches the color of his tie."

My eyes snap to the woman he's talking about, and my heart sinks when I spot her again. The nerve of him. He's not just watching me - he's watching Mike, too. And he knows. The realisation hits me hard, but instead of breaking under it, I find myself drawn deeper into his orbit. His confidence, his audacity - it ignites something in me I haven't felt in a long time.

I swallow hard, my throat suddenly dry. "Who are you?" I whisper, barely able to get the words out. "What do you want with me?"

He leans in closer, his voice low and smooth. "I can be whoever you want me to be, Natalie," he murmurs, his breath warm against my skin. "And what I want to do with you..." His lips curl into a wicked smile. "Well, you could take a guess."

My pulse races, my body reacting to the dangerous allure of this man in ways I hadn't anticipated. Every instinct screams at me to pull away, to run, but I can't. The pull is too strong, the temptation too great.

"Tell me," I breathe, my voice trembling, "one of the things you would do to me."

He opens his mouth to respond, but before he can, my father's booming voice slices through the tension, snapping me back to reality.

"There you are, Nat!" my father calls, his voice loud as he approaches. He claps the older man on the shoulder, grinning like a proud dad introducing his friend. "I see you've met Richard. Ric Steward."

I blink, trying to catch up with the sudden shift in atmosphere. My father keeps talking, but the words blur. Ric. His name is Ric. An old friend of my father's, tied to the family business. Forbidden territory.

Ric's expression changes, hardening slightly as he realises what's at play now. His eyes narrow just a fraction, and he pulls back, the playful flirtation replaced by something colder, more calculating. He's not retreating, but I can tell he's reassessing the situation.

"I want to talk to you later," my father warns me, his glare sharp like the one he gave me earlier. As he turns away to greet another guest, I act on impulse. Slipping a card with my penthouse address into Ric's hand, I let my fingers brush against his palm in a subtle but intimate gesture. "Come by later," I whisper, my voice low and deliberate. "And do one of the things you were about to tell me."

I don't wait for his reaction. I turn and walk away, my heart pounding with adrenaline. Every step feels calculated, deliberate, a power play that sends a rush through me. I'm about to cause a scene, and there's no turning back now.

I stride toward the stage, head held high, feeling the weight of the room's attention shift toward me. The crowd quiets as I approach the microphone, sensing that something big is about to happen. I can feel their eyes on me - especially Mike's. He's sitting there with that smug look on his face, completely unaware of what's coming.

I grip the microphone, my voice cutting through the silence, loud and clear. "Ladies and gentlemen," I begin, a wicked smile curling on my lips, "I'd like to make a little announcement."

My eyes lock onto Mike's now, watching the confusion spread across his face. He leans forward, obviously not expecting what's about to happen.

"To my wonderful husband, Michael," I continue, my voice dripping with sarcasm, "congratulations on your new life. I wish your cheating bastard ass and your little slut friend all the best."

Gasps ripple through the room as I gesture toward the woman in the plum dress, her face now as pale as a ghost. Mike's expression darkens with anger, but I don't care. I'm not done yet.

"Mike," I say, my smile widening as I prepare to deliver the final blow, "it's been quite the journey, hasn't it? If you weren't a businessman, you'd make an Emmy-winning actor. Funny thing is, I'm the one who's making a career in Hollywood." I pause, letting the shock settle on his face before adding, "Consider this my final performance as your wife."

The room erupts into whispers, murmurs spreading like wildfire. I step down from the stage, feeling the weight of everyone's stares. My father stands frozen, his mouth slightly open in stunned silence. But I'm not focused on him - my eyes find Ric across the room. He's watching me with that same smirk, the desire in his gaze unmistakable.

I've just declared war, and I'm ready for whatever comes next.