"Long time no see." He raised his glass and tossed it back in one gulp. "Thanks for taking care of Margaux these past six years. I heard she got so depressed after I left the country that she nearly committed suicide. Silly girl."
My jaw clenched. 'He was thanking me for looking after my wife? This fucking asshole!'
"Let me remind you, Branson. Margaux is my wife," I said, voice low and steady. "Taking care of her is my responsibility. Don't act like you did me a favor."
Archie gave a lazy chuckle, smug and irritating. "Six years, and the little lapdog finally knows how to bark, huh? You really think you're Margaux's husband? Come on, man. Margaux only picked you because I wasn't around. You were just available. A warm body."
He leaned in, just slightly. His tone dropped as he added, "I didn't say anything back then because, well... at least you were cleaner than hiring a random escort."
Archie then straightened, smugness written all over his face.
"Oh, and about that divorce? I'm all for it. But let me make something clear. Don't even think about sticking around Margaux afterward. Just because you slept with her a few times doesn't mean you get to keep hovering."
He paused for effect.