My Ex-Husband’s Other Wife

Sapphic Awakening & Revenge Romance
by Blair Lennox

Free with Kindle Unlimited

Pairing: FF (Sapphic)
Heat: 🌶️🌶️🌶️🌶️🌶️ Inferno
Tropes: Sapphic Awakening, Age Gap, Forced Proximity, One Bed, Revenge Partners, Opposites Attract, Praise Kink

He married them both. Taking him down was business. Falling for each other was personal.

Celeste Arden spent twelve years building an immaculate marriage, a successful design firm, and a composure so flawless nobody noticed she was dying inside it. Then a nurse at a hospital said five words that demolished everything: Your husband’s wife is already with him.

Romy Castillo thought she’d finally found the partner who celebrated her bisexuality instead of tolerating it. The Tulum ceremony, the matching rings, the three years of a marriage that felt like being chosen. Until she walked into that hospital room and met the woman her husband was already married to.

Julian Cross stole from them both. He drained their accounts, forged their signatures, and built a shell company from their combined names. Now he’s seventeen days from disappearing with everything.

Following the money means sharing hotel rooms, old secrets, and the lake house Julian promised each of them. Celeste says she’s never wanted a woman. Romy says she’s never wanted the right one.

Revenge brought them together. Desire might be the only honest thing their husband ever gave them.

You’ll love this book if you enjoy:

✅ Straight-to-sapphic awakening with a 13-year age gap
✅ Two wives who choose each other over the man who deceived them
✅ Revenge-partners-to-lovers with financial thriller stakes
✅ Forced proximity, one bed, and a storm that traps them together
✅ Praise kink and a “good girl” dynamic that devastates
✅ Enough heat to melt the evidence (🌶️🌶️🌶️🌶️🌶️)
✅ The coffee-mug love declaration you didn’t know you needed
✅ HEA with a key holder, a lake house, and chosen family

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⚠️ Content Warning: This novel contains explicit sexual content (graphic FF scenes including strap-on use), strong language, bigamy deception, financial abuse, gaslighting, biphobic media attack (challenged on page), panic response, and coercive control. Consent is central to every intimate scene. Intended for readers 18+.

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Chapter One: The Correct Wife

The throw pillow on the lobby settee is a quarter-inch too far left.

I cross the marble floor in four strides, adjust it without breaking my conversation with the hotel manager, and return to my original position before he finishes his sentence about the unveiling timeline. He doesn’t notice. Nobody ever notices when I fix things. That’s the entire point — by the time anyone looks, the problem has already been solved, and the world appears as though it was always this effortless.

“The sconces are Murano,” I tell him, because he’s been calling them Venetian glass for the last twenty minutes and the distinction matters. “Custom commission. If housekeeping uses anything other than the microfiber cloths I specified in the maintenance guide, they’ll dull inside a month.”

The Bellamy Hotel lobby is the largest commercial project Arden House has completed to date, and it is, without false modesty, extraordinary. Eleven months of material sourcing, three redesigns after the client changed the brief, and one near-catastrophic marble shipment delay resolved through a supplier relationship I’ve spent six years cultivating. Every surface, every transition, every quality of light is precisely where I put it.

I wish I could say the same about the rest of my life.

My phone vibrates against my hip. I check it with the discretion of a woman who has spent twelve years married to a man whose schedule is the only unreliable element in her otherwise immaculate existence.

Julian: Closing running late. Fredericksburg. Don’t wait up. So proud of you tonight, darling.

I read the message twice. Not because it’s surprising — Julian has missed four of my last six professional milestones, always with the same warm, vaguely apologetic tone that makes it impossible to be angry without sounding unreasonable.

My phone rings at 9:47 p.m. A 540 area code. Fredericksburg.

“Mrs. Cross? This is Riverside Medical Center calling about your husband, Julian Cross. He’s been in a motor vehicle accident.”

I end the call and stand very still for approximately four seconds. In those four seconds, I catalog my responses with the clinical precision I bring to everything: Relief that he’s conscious. Concern about the injuries. And beneath all of it — the absence of the gut-level, animal terror I’m supposed to feel when someone tells me my husband is in a hospital.

The nurse meets my eyes with an expression I will replay hundreds of times in the weeks that follow.

“Your husband’s wife is already with him.”

I stare at her. She stares at me. The sentence hangs between us — syntactically coherent and semantically impossible. A door that opens onto a wall.

I turn right. I walk toward room 412. And I have no idea that the woman on the other side of that door is about to demolish every single thing I thought I knew — not just about my husband, not just about my marriage, but about the lie I’ve been telling myself for twenty years about what I want and who I am.

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The Conference Table — A scene TOO HOT for retailers

Two months after the gala. Celeste just signed her biggest post-scandal client. Romy shows up at Arden House after hours with champagne and the very specific intention of collecting on a promise she made three months ago — involving a twelve-thousand-dollar walnut conference table, praise that devastates, and the discovery that some messes are worth making.

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