He Chose The Rogue: The Billionaire Healer's Cold Revenge

On the tarmac, the wind was cold, but my husband's rejection was freezing.

"You aren't coming on the jet," Jackson said, adjusting the diamond cufflinks I had bought him.

He pointed to the stairs where his mistress, Amber, stood wearing a silk dress I had commissioned for myself.

"Amber is frail. She needs the comfort of the private cabin. I booked you a commercial flight. It leaves in three hours."

He shoved an envelope into my hand. Economy. Middle seat. Two layovers.

I stood there, the Luna of the pack, being told to fly cargo while a Rogue took my seat on the Gulfstream G650 'I' had…