The Captain's Cold Aspen Revenge

For seven years, I funded my husband Gonzalo's PhD. I paid for everything. A week after our wedding, his young "mentee," Kloe, moved in with us, claiming a rare autoimmune disorder made her "fragile."

On our Aspen ski trip, he used my money to buy her an $8,000 handbag. Then, he demanded I give Kloe my high-performance ski jacket because her flimsy one wasn't warm enough.

When I refused, he ripped it off my body.

I slipped on the ice, hitting my head as he walked away with her, leaving me injured and freezing in the snow.

Later that night, he abandoned me again while I was sick in our hotel room, to get a separate room with Kloe. He said they needed to "discuss his academic paper."

But he forgot one crucial detail. I'm not just a wife. I'm Captain Amy Payne, U.S. Army Reserve.

I called my best friend, a manager at the hotel chain. "I need a master key," I told her. "We're about to crash a very important academic discussion."

Chapter 1

Amy Payne POV:

My skin felt sticky, my hair clinging to my neck. Sweat beaded on my forehead, trickling down my temples. The air in our apartment was thick, suffocating. It was mid-July in Austin, and the thermostat read 85 degrees Fahrenheit.

I walked to the thermostat, my fingers already slick with sweat. I pushed the 'down' arrow, watching the numbers tick lower, 84, 83, 82. A small sigh of relief escaped my lips. I just needed it below 80 to feel human again.

The click of the door made me jump. Gonzalo.

His voice cut through the humid air, sharp and accusing. "What do you think you're doing, Amy?"

I turned, wiping a bead of sweat from my brow. "It's boiling in here, Gonzalo. I'm just trying to make it bearable."

He strode towards me, his face tight. "You know Kloe has a condition. She's extremely sensitive to cold. You can't just drop the temperature like that."

My jaw clenched. "It's 85 degrees. Nobody should be sensitive to cold at 85 degrees."

He ignored me, his gaze fixed on the thermostat. "Her autoimmune disorder is severe. It's not just about comfort; it's about her health."

"So, my comfort and health don't matter?" I asked, my voice flat.

"She's a guest, Amy. And she's fragile. We need to accommodate her." He reached over me, his hand covering mine on the control panel. He pushed the 'up' arrow. The numbers climbed back to 85.

I pulled my hand away, heat rushing to my face. "Gonzalo, it's ninety degrees outside. I can barely breathe in here."

A soft cough drifted from the hallway. Kloe emerged, wrapped in a fluffy blanket, her eyes wide and innocent. "Oh, I'm so sorry. Is there trouble because of me?" Her voice was a whisper, laced with fake concern.

"No trouble, Kloe," Gonzalo said immediately, his voice softening. "Amy just forgot how delicate you are."

Kloe offered a weak smile. "My condition, you know. The cold just... it sends me into a flare. Gonzalo is always so understanding."

I watched her, a bitter taste in my mouth. She was playing him like a fiddle.

"Maybe if Amy needs it cooler," Kloe suggested, her gaze flitting to me then quickly away, "she could... find another spot?"

My eyes narrowed. "This is my home, Kloe."

Kloe gasped, a hand flying to her chest. Her lower lip trembled. "Oh, I didn't mean... I just thought maybe for your comfort..." She turned to Gonzalo, a silent plea in her eyes. "Gonzalo?"

He put an arm around her, pulling her close. "She has a point, Amy. Kloe needs to be comfortable."

"Our marriage, Gonzalo. We just got married." My voice was a desperate plea.

"Our wedding was last week," I reminded him, the words feeling hollow. "And you're kicking me out of my own living room for your mentee because she's 'fragile'?"

He flinched, his grip on Kloe loosening slightly. "Okay, okay, let's not make a big deal. She's only staying for a little while, Amy. Just until her apartment is ready."

He looked at me, a forced smile on his face. "We can go to that resort you wanted, just the two of us, after she leaves. A real honeymoon."

I looked at him, trying to find an ounce of sincerity. He always knew how to dangle a carrot. "A resort," I repeated, the word tasting like ash.

"You know I'd never lie to you, Amy," he insisted, his eyes meeting mine, for a second.

I took a deep breath, the anger still a hot knot in my stomach. I pushed it down. I always did. "Fine," I said, my voice tight. "I'm going to change." I needed to get out of these damp clothes, away from all of them.

I stood up, needing to get out of these damp clothes. As I turned to walk to our bedroom, Gonzalo cleared his throat.

"There's one more thing, Amy," he said, avoiding my gaze. "Kloe's condition... she really can't be near any drafts. The guest room faces north, it's naturally cooler. So, if you wouldn't mind... staying in the guest room tonight? So she can have the master."

I stopped dead. My blood ran cold, despite the sweltering heat. "And where will you sleep, Gonzalo?"

Kloe spoke up, her voice small, almost childlike. "I get so scared alone, Gonzalo. With my condition, I just... I get so anxious."

Scared? She was practically a grown woman, a "wellness influencer" with thousands of followers. Did she really think I was that stupid?

Gonzalo quickly stammered, "I'll just sleep on the couch, Amy. Don't worry. I'll be right out here."

My chest felt tight, like a fist was squeezing my lungs. I took another deep breath, trying to control the tremor in my voice. "Or," I suggested, my words slow and deliberate, "Kloe could just share the master bedroom with me. Since Gonzalo is a married man, it would be improper for him to sleep anywhere but in our master bedroom."

Kloe gasped, a hand flying to her chest. "Oh, Amy, I couldn't possibly! I wouldn't want to intrude on your space." She shot a quick, nervous glance at Gonzalo. "And my... my condition... it's just so unpredictable. It wouldn't be fair to you."

"Unpredictable," I scoffed softly, the word barely audible. This woman was something else. Part of me, the part that was still trying to be a good wife, wanted to believe Gonzalo was just being naive. But the other part, the Army Captain part, knew a tactical maneuver when she saw one. This wasn't about health; it was about territory.

Amy Payne POV:

I watched Kloe, draped in her blanket, her eyes darting between Gonzalo and me. The way she played the victim, the innocent little lamb, made my stomach churn. She was a master manipulator, and Gonzalo, my brilliant Art History PhD student husband, was falling for it hook, line, and sinker.

"You know, Kloe," I said, my voice deliberately even, "this house actually has a pretty state-of-the-art security system. Cameras everywhere. Inside and out."

Kloe's pale face went even paler. Her eyes widened, and she looked at Gonzalo, a flicker of panic replacing her feigned innocence. "Cameras? Inside?"

Gonzalo glared at me. "Amy, what are you talking about? Why would you bring that up?"

I shrugged, a small, insincere smile touching my lips. "Just a friendly reminder. For everyone's peace of mind, you know? It's good to be aware of your surroundings. Especially in a new place." My gaze lingered on Kloe. "Wouldn't want anything... unexpected... to be recorded, right?"

Kloe's lips thinned. She looked away, her perfectly styled "wellness influencer" composure finally cracking. Gonzalo, sensing the tension, stepped between us.

"Alright, alright," he said, rubbing his temples. "This is ridiculous. Kloe, Amy is just being... Amy. She means well." He turned to me, his voice strained. "Amy, we don't need to discuss the house's security system right now."

I just nodded, still holding Kloe's gaze. The message was clear. Any "unpredictable" behavior would be caught on tape.

Gonzalo sighed, a long, suffering sound. "Look. Neither of you needs to move rooms. I'll just sleep on the floor between both doors, okay? That way, Kloe won't be alone, and you'll still have your room, Amy. Everyone happy?"

I gave a slow, sarcastic clap. "Brilliant, Gonzalo. Truly brilliant."

Kloe mumbled something under her breath, a reluctant agreement. She still looked shaken.

So, Gonzalo ended up sprawled on an air mattress in the narrow hallway, a flimsy barrier between his wife and his 'mentee'. I heard him tossing and turning for a long time that night. I didn't sleep much either. My mind was racing, replaying seven years of my life, paying for his education, his lifestyle, his very existence. And this was my reward.

The next morning, the sun streamed through my bedroom window, mocking the chill that still held my heart. A knock. It was Gonzalo.

"Amy? Are you awake?" he called, his voice muffled through the door.

"Now I am," I mumbled, pulling myself out of bed.

He pushed the door open, a hesitant smile on his bruised face from sleeping on the floor. "Morning, Captain. Could you... make us some breakfast? Kloe needs to eat something light for her condition."

My eyebrow twitched, but I said nothing. I walked into the kitchen, the air still uncomfortably warm despite the early hour. I made oatmeal, a simple, healthy choice. I set three bowls on the table.

Kloe appeared moments later, dressed in a silk robe, smelling faintly of expensive perfume. She glanced at the oatmeal. Her nose wrinkled almost imperceptibly.

"Oh," she said, her voice a little too loud, "oatmeal. I'm not really used to... savory breakfasts."

I picked up my spoon, stirring my bowl. "Savory?" I asked, looking up at her. "It's plain oatmeal. With a little honey. What kind of breakfast are you used to, Kloe? Instant ramen and energy drinks back in your village?"

Her face, usually so carefully composed, flushed a deep red. "I... I just meant, I prefer lighter, fresher things. I'm not really accustomed to... heavier fare."

I took a slow spoonful of my oatmeal, savoring the bland warmth. "Right. From your village in, what was it, rural Idaho? I distinctly remember you telling me you grew up on canned peaches and instant mash. Funny how quickly people forget their roots when they start building a 'wellness' brand."

"You're being rude, Amy!" Kloe snapped, her soft voice gone. "You're always trying to make me feel small!"

I raised an eyebrow. "Is that what I'm doing? I thought I was just stating facts. And speaking of small, isn't it interesting how people who claim to have delicate conditions always seem to manage to be so... loud?"

The doorbell rang, a welcome interruption. Gonzalo practically leaped to answer it. He returned a moment later, holding a large takeout bag.

"Surprise, Kloe," he said, his voice brimming with false cheer. "I ordered you some avocado toast and a green juice. Hope that's light enough for your delicate constitution."

Kloe's face lit up, and she shot me a triumphant smirk. "Oh, Gonzalo, you're the best! You just know what I like."

She took the bag, pulling out the expensive, freshly made food. "See, Amy? Gonzalo really takes care of me."

After breakfast, Kloe started pulling out clothes for our planned ski trip to Aspen. She held up a flimsy, brightly colored ski jacket. It was clearly more fashion than function.

"What do you think, Gonzalo?" she asked, twirling in front of him. "It's so chic, right? Perfect for photos."

He frowned. "It's beautiful, Kloe, but it looks a little thin. Are you sure it'll be warm enough? You get cold so easily."

"Oh, I'll be fine," she waved him off, then shot me a side-eye. "It's all about the aesthetic, Amy. Can't sacrifice style for practicality, can we?"

I just hummed, a noncommittal sound. She was purposefully wearing an impractical coat, knowing fully well she'd inevitably 'get cold'. This was another one of her games. I decided then and there that I would just watch them. Let them play out their little charade.

We packed the car. Despite Kloe's flimsy jacket, she insisted on riding shotgun. "Oh, I get so carsick in the back," she whined, already halfway into the passenger seat.

Gonzalo, of course, backed her up. "Amy, you don't mind, do you? Kloe needs to be comfortable. Her condition, you know."

Kloe leaned out the window, a sugary sweet smile on her face. "And Gonzalo's front seat is always just for me. It's our little tradition, right, Gonzalo?"

I just let out a soft, humorless laugh. "Whatever makes you happy, Kloe." I got into the back seat, buckling up. My gaze lingered on their reflections in the rearview mirror. I just needed to watch them. Really watch them.

Amy Payne POV:

The Aspen air hit us like a slap. Crisp, biting, and undeniably cold. We stepped out of the car, and Kloe, predictably, started to shiver. Her fashionable, thin ski jacket was clearly no match for the mountain weather. She wrapped her arms around herself, her teeth chattering.

"Oh, it's so cold!" she whimpered, her voice tiny and pathetic.

Gonzalo was instantly by her side, pulling off his own thick, down-filled coat. He draped it around her shoulders. "I told you that jacket wasn't warm enough," he said, but his tone was gentle, filled with concern. "Why do you always do this to yourself?"

Kloe burrowed into his coat, her head coming up to gaze at him with adoration. "But it's so pretty, Gonzalo! And it'll look amazing in photos. You know how important my aesthetic is for my brand." She then looked at the coat he'd given her, a small frown on her face. "But this... it's just a regular coat."

"It's practical, Kloe," Gonzalo insisted.

"I have something much better for you." She pulled out a small, exquisite leather handbag from her luggage. "Gonzalo, darling, you forgot to give me my new bag! It's the perfect accessory for my outfit."

My eyes widened. It was an $8,000 designer bag, a limited edition from a brand I recognized. Gonzalo had just bought Kloe an $8,000 designer bag? My blood ran cold, colder than the Aspen air.

"Gonzalo," I said, my voice dangerously soft, "where did you get the money for that bag?"

He flinched, turning to me, his face pale. "Amy! It's just... a small gift. For her hard work, you know. Mentorship."

"A small gift?" I scoffed. "Eight thousand dollars is not a small gift. It's more than you've spent on me in the last five years combined."

He bristled. "It's my money, Amy! What's it to you?"

"Your money?" I practically spat the words out. "There is no 'your money,' Gonzalo. There's only my money. The money I earn as a software engineer, the money I earn as a U.S. Army Reserve Captain. The money I've paid for your PhD for seven years! You used my money to buy her an $8,000 bag?"

"We're married, Amy!" he yelled, his face contorted in rage. "It's our money! Community property!"

"Community property for my hard-earned cash to fund your mistress's designer accessories?" My voice reached a pitch I didn't recognize. "You have some nerve, Gonzalo! I begged you for a decent ski jacket for myself last year, and you said we couldn't afford it. You said we needed to save for your academic conferences."

I remembered the cheap, ill-fitting jacket I had bought from a discount store, making do. He had always been so careful with "our" money when it came to me. Always so "frugal." Now I knew why. He was frugal with me because he was saving it for her.

Kloe, seeing her cue, tried to get in on the act. "Oh, Amy, if it makes you feel better, you can have it. I'm sure I can find another bag." She started to unclip the strap, offering it to me. Her eyes, however, held a glint of challenge.

I looked at her, then back at the bag. "Keep your secondhand goods, Kloe. I don't want anything that's touched your grubby hands."

Kloe's lips trembled, and she looked at Gonzalo, her eyes welling up with fake tears. "She's being mean, Gonzalo."

Gonzalo's face hardened. "Amy, that's enough! You're ruining the mood. Just stop it."

Kloe reached out a hand, softly touching his cheek. "It's okay, Gonzalo. Don't let her upset you." She leaned in, blowing on his bare hands. "You're getting so cold. Let me warm you."

Gonzalo sighed, a soft, contented sound. He looked at Kloe, a tenderness in his eyes that made my blood run cold. She had him completely wrapped around her finger.

"You should really put your coat back on, Gonzalo," Kloe said, still blowing on his hands. "I don't want you to get sick. I know you're so worried about me, but you need to take care of yourself too." She made a show of trying to push his coat back onto him.

He gently pushed her hands away. "No, Kloe. You need it more. You're so delicate."

"But you're cold too!" she insisted, her voice full of false concern. "If you don't wear it, I won't either."

They went back and forth, a ridiculous power struggle disguised as concern. Finally, Gonzalo, exasperated, pulled his coat back on. Kloe, still shivering dramatically, insisted it wasn't enough.

"I'm still freezing, Gonzalo," she said, her teeth chattering so hard I could almost hear them. "But I don't want you to suffer because of me." She looked at him with wide, innocent eyes, a masterclass in emotional manipulation.

Then, he turned to me. His eyes landed on my brand-new, expensive, high-performance ski jacket, the one I had bought myself with my own money, the one I had saved for for months. My Army-issued tactical jacket, designed for extreme cold.

"Amy," he said, his voice flat, "take off your jacket."

I stared at him. Had I heard him right? "What?"

"Give Kloe your jacket," he repeated, his voice firm. "You're not as sensitive to the cold as she is."

"I'm not sensitive to the cold?" I scoffed. "Gonzalo, I'm just warm-blooded. That doesn't mean I want to freeze my ass off on a mountain."

He took a step towards me, his eyes blazing. "Just take it off, Amy!"

He reached for the zipper of my jacket. I instinctively recoiled, trying to pull away. "Get off me, Gonzalo! What are you doing?"

He ignored my protests, his hands fumbling with the zipper. I struggled, trying to push him away, but he was stronger than me. We were on an icy patch of pavement near the ski lifts. My feet slipped. I lost my balance. We both went down. My head hit the ground with a sickening thud. Luckily, my helmet took the brunt of the impact, but stars still exploded behind my eyes. The world spun.

I lay there, dazed, my vision blurry. My expensive jacket was ripped from my body. I saw Kloe, her face a mask of false concern, quickly pull the jacket on, zipping it all the way up.

"Oh, Amy, are you alright?" Kloe asked, her voice trembling, though I could hear the triumph underneath.

Gonzalo looked down at me, his eyes devoid of any warmth. "She's fine," he snapped, dismissing Kloe's question. "Always so dramatic." He helped Kloe to her feet, adjusting my jacket on her shoulders. "You go on ahead, Kloe. I'll deal with Amy." He turned to me, "Amy, you can just... go back to the hotel. We'll meet you later."

He didn't offer a hand. He didn't even check if I was hurt. He just turned his back on me, on his wife, and started walking towards the ski lift with Kloe, my jacket wrapped around her.