Chapter 2

"Chloe, you lived with him for three years. Did you seriously never suspect a thing?"

My best friend Harper slammed her iced latte onto the café table, her eyes filled with disbelief and heartache.

I didn't answer right away.

There had been so many red flags. Looking back now, I felt like the world's biggest idiot.

"He refused to sleep with you, turned his nose up at your cooking, and ditched you during the holidays. Did you actually buy those pathetic excuses?"

"He told me he was a light sleeper."

"And when he traveled for business? Did he book separate beds in five-star suites, too?"

"We never traveled together."

Harper stared at me for five long seconds before unlocking her phone and sliding it across the table. "Take a look at this."

On the screen was an Ins profile.

The account belonged to a woman named Sienna Cole. Her profile picture showed her side profile, her features somewhat soft-focused, but around her collarbone hung a diamond pendant necklace.

I knew that necklace. It was the one I found in the top drawer of Julian's home office desk two years ago. Back then, I thought it was an upcoming birthday gift for his mother.

A post from three years ago showed a newborn baby's tiny hand gripping an adult's index finger.

The caption read: *Thank you for giving me the greatest gift of my life.*

The timestamp—exactly five months after Julian and I walked down the aisle.

"A pregnancy takes roughly nine months. If you count backward—"

"I don't need to count," I said, sliding the phone back to her.

She was already pregnant before our wedding.

Which meant while Julian was exchanging vows with me in front of hundreds of high-society guests, another woman was carrying his child.

"How did you find this?"

"Right after you sent me that screenshot of his mom's text, I hired an investigator. Julian's secondary black card has an automatic monthly wire of three thousand dollars going directly to an account under the name Sienna Cole. Three full years, without missing a single month." Harper paused, her voice dropping. "Chloe, that's over a hundred thousand dollars in cash allowances alone."

Over a hundred thousand dollars.

For three years, I budgeted our household groceries, scrubbed the kitchen counters, and tried to cook him gourmet dinners every night, while he wouldn't even touch a bowl of soup I made.

Meanwhile, he was faithfully wiring thousands every month to his mistress.

"There's more," Harper said, swiping to another screenshot. "Sienna was hired at Julian's corporate headquarters three years ago as the 'Executive Assistant to the CEO.' She only resigned last month."

My fingers curled tightly into my palms.

"He told me she left town."

"Left town? Quitting a job counts as leaving town? She's living right here in the city! He pays her rent, he supports the kid—how is that gone?"

"Because he needed that narrative," I leaned back against the leather booth, exhaling slowly. "If she's 'gone,' the poor child is left abandoned. And if the child is abandoned, he needs me to step up and play mommy. The math only works if she's out of the picture."

Harper grabbed my hand tightly. "What are you going to do?"

"Get a divorce."

"I mean, besides the divorce."

I glanced out the window. Across the street, a local real estate agency had a digital board displaying downtown loft listings.

"Before we got married, I bought a studio apartment in the West End with my own savings. I kept it rented out, but the lease ended last month. I'm moving in tomorrow."

Harper blinked in surprise. "You... you had an exit plan all along?"

It wasn't an exit plan.

It was just that ever since I moved into his cold penthouse, an empty pit had gnawed at my stomach. I could never put my finger on it, but holding onto that deed gave me peace of mind.

Maybe deep down in my subconscious, I had known this day would come.

When I went back to pack, Julian wasn't home.

My clothes took up barely a quarter of the walk-in closet. The rest was an endless sea of his tailored charcoal suits and crisp white shirts. For three years, that ratio had never changed.

I packed everything into two suitcases.

Before leaving, I pushed open his private study to grab my architecture reference books.

The mahogany desk drawer was unlocked.

Inside sat a thick manila envelope. I opened it—a certified DNA paternity test.

*Tested Parties: Julian Sterling, Maya Cole.*

*Result: 99.99% probability of biological paternity.*

*Date: Two years ago.*

He had run the DNA test two years ago.

Black ink on stark white paper, stamped with an official laboratory seal.

He had known for two full years that she was his flesh and blood. He had confirmed it, locked the truth away in his drawer, and walked back out into the living room every evening to tell me, "I already ate at the office."

I slipped the report back into the envelope, slid the drawer shut, and closed the door behind me.

As I rolled my suitcases to the foyer, our framed wedding portrait hung on the wall, staring directly back at me.

In the photo, my smile was radiant and naive. Julian wasn't smiling at all.

Three years ago, I thought he was just nervous in front of the camera.