Chapter 1

The very afternoon we signed our marriage license at City Hall, I found out my husband was cheating on me.

Staring at my phone screen, my hands wouldn't stop shaking. There were hundreds of intimate photos of my brand-new husband wrapped around another woman.

The text from her felt like a series of slaps straight to my face:

"He bought me a house. He bought me a car. We’ve even picked out a name for our baby."

"Just let him go. You'll never be happy with him anyway."

I scrolled through the photos over and over again, my heart turning into a pile of cold ashes.

This was the same man who always told me he hated taking pictures, claimed his family was dirt poor, and swore he couldn't afford a home.

Turns out, he didn't hate taking photos. He just hated taking them with me.

"Let’s meet," her next text popped up. "Let's settle this face-to-face."

She dropped an address: Grandview Manor.

Just then, Ethan walked over from behind. His arms slipped gently around my waist.

"Babe, you’re finally my wife! Where do you want to go celebrate tonight?"

I stared blankly ahead and calmly read out that exact address.

"Grandview Manor."

"Sounds great! Whatever you want," Ethan beamed, a bright, boyish smile spreading across his face.

"Wherever my wife wants to go, that's where we go. Today is our big day, and we're going to celebrate it right."

As he spoke, he sprang into action.

The moment I stood up, he had already scooped my purse into his hand. Then he grabbed a few tissues from the coffee table, folded them neatly, and slid them into his jacket pocket.

"It's chilly outside. Keep these just in case your nose runs. I don't want you catching a cold."

He hurried to the foyer, lined up my flat shoes, and knelt down, ready to help me slip into them.

Watching him flutter around like a devoted puppy, a wave of unspeakable nausea hit me.

For five years, he had been exactly like this.

Attentive. Thoughtful. Impeccable down to the last detail.

From planning entire road trips down to the minute, to tracking my monthly cycle, to knowing my exact clothing size and food preferences—he never missed a beat.

All I had to do was show up, and he’d handle the rest.

I used to count my blessings. Sure, he was broke and couldn't afford to buy an apartment, but his devotion seemed pure as gold.

Only now did I realize that this relentless pampering was just the perfect camouflage for his betrayal.

Because I trusted him completely, I never checked his whereabouts. I never snooped through his phone.

Like an idiot, I had happily lived inside the modest, romantic fairy tale he spun for me.

"Babe? What are you daydreaming about? Let’s roll."

Ethan had his shoes on. He reached for my hand, his palm warm and dry.

I snapped back to reality, swallowed the cold venom in my throat, and slipped my hand out of his grip.

"Let's go. Right now."

Ignoring his awkward blink, I pushed the door open and walked straight out.

Down in the garage, Ethan opened the passenger door of his beat-up VW Jetta, carefully placing his hand over the doorframe so I wouldn't bump my head.

I slid into the seat. But the moment my back hit the cushion, I froze.

The seat was wrong.

The backrest was reclined way farther than where I usually kept it, and the seat was pushed forward by several inches.

I always pushed it all the way back because I had long legs and needed space.

This seat had clearly been adjusted for someone much shorter.

And when I touched the adjustment lever, a faint trace of perfume lingered in the air.

Floral. Sweet. Nothing like what I wore.

"Why is the seat adjusted like this?"

I turned to look at the man walking around the hood to the driver's side, my tone completely flat.

Ethan’s hand paused on the door handle. He masked it instantly, slid into the driver's seat, buckled his seatbelt, and gave an easy chuckle.

"Oh, remember when Mom came into town a couple of days ago? When I drove her home, she complained about feeling squished and moved it around."

"I totally forgot to put it back. Is it uncomfortable, babe?"

He leaned over, reaching out to fix the seat for me.

I leaned back, dodging his fingers.

"Your mom?"

I let out a cold laugh, my gaze cutting across his face like a razor.

"Ethan, your mom has a golden rule about riding in your car. She refuses to sit shotgun because she says that seat belongs strictly to your wife. She only ever sits in the back."

"In five years, has she ever sat in the front seat even once?"