chapter 1

Lia's hands shook as she fumbled with her house keys.

The charity gala had been hell. Three hours of fake smiles and Margaret's passive-aggressive comments about how she still hadn't produced a Whitmore heir after five years of marriage. Five years of trying to be perfect. Five years of pretending she didn't notice the lipstick stains and late nights.

The headache that sent her home early was real. The exhaustion was real. The breaking point she was racing toward was very, very real.

She pushed open the front door of the Ravencourt Estate. Their house. Except it had never felt like hers. Just another thing Julian's family owned, including her.

The house was dark. Julian's car was in the driveway though, which was weird. He'd said he was going to the after-party at the Johnsons' place. Said he'd be out until two or three in the morning. It was barely eleven.

Maybe he'd come home early. Maybe for once he'd actually wanted to be with his wife.

Lia kicked off her heels and walked toward the stairs. She needed to get out of this dress, wash off the makeup, stop pretending to be someone she wasn't.

That's when she heard it.

A sound from upstairs. A woman's laugh. High-pitched, breathless. Definitely not the television.

Lia froze, one foot on the bottom stair.

No. No, he wouldn't. Not in their house. Not in their bed.

Another sound. A moan. Then Julian's voice, low and rough. "God, you're so much better than her."

The words hit her like a physical blow.

Her legs moved on autopilot, carrying her up the stairs even though every instinct screamed to run. To leave. To not see what she already knew was happening.

The bedroom door was cracked open. Light spilled into the hallway.

Lia pushed it wider.

Julian was in their bed. THEIR bed. The one they'd picked out together. The one where she'd cried herself to sleep more nights than she could count.

And he wasn't alone.

Vanessa. His secretary. Twenty-four years old, blonde, perfect body on display as she straddled Lia's husband.

For a second, nobody moved. Lia stood frozen in the doorway, her brain trying to process what her eyes were seeing. This couldn't be real. This was a nightmare. She'd wake up any second.

Then Vanessa screamed and scrambled off Julian, grabbing the sheet.

Julian's face went pale, then red. "Lia. Fuck. What are you doing at home?"

What was SHE doing at home? In her own house?

"Get out," Lia heard herself say. Her voice sounded strange. Distant. Like it belonged to someone else.

"Lia, let me explain." Julian was climbing out of bed, completely naked, not even bothering to cover himself. "This isn't what it looks like."

A laugh bubbled up from somewhere deep in Lia's chest. Hysterical. Broken. "Not what it looks like? You're fucking your secretary in our bed and it's not what it looks like?"

"Don't be dramatic."

"Dramatic?" Her voice rose, all the rage she'd been swallowing for five years suddenly erupting. "You piece of shit! In our bed! IN OUR BED!"

Vanessa was crying now, pulling on her clothes with shaking hands. "I'm so sorry, Mrs. Whitmore. I didn't mean for this to happen. It's just..."

"GET OUT!" Lia screamed. "Get the fuck out of my house right now before I call the police!"

Vanessa ran. Literally ran past Lia in her half-buttoned dress, shoes in hand, mascara streaming down her face.

Which left Lia alone with her husband.

Julian had the nerve to look annoyed as he pulled on his pants. "You're overreacting. It's not that big of a deal."

"Not that big of a deal?" Lia couldn't breathe. The room was spinning. "How long? How long have you been fucking her?"

"Does it matter?"

"HOW LONG?"

Julian sighed like she was being unreasonable. Like she was the problem. "Six months. Maybe seven. I don't know."

Seven months. While Lia had been planning their fifth anniversary dinner. While she'd been going to fertility doctors because his mother kept asking why they didn't have children yet. While she'd been trying so damn hard to be the perfect wife.

"There have been others," she said. Not a question. A statement.

He didn't even deny it. "Yeah. So what? You think I was supposed to stay faithful to someone who's basically a roommate? When's the last time we had sex, Lia? When's the last time you even tried to be interesting?"

The words were knives, each one cutting deeper.

"I've given you everything," she whispered. "I gave up my job. My friends. My dreams. Everything to be what you wanted."

"I never asked you to do that."

"Yes, you did! You and your mother and your whole fucking family! The perfect Whitmore wife doesn't work. Doesn't have her own opinions. Just smiles and looks pretty and produces heirs on command!"

"Well, you failed at that last part, didn't you?" Julian's face was cruel now, mask completely off. "Five years and you can't even get pregnant. Maybe the problem isn't me. Maybe you're just broken."

Lia slapped him.

Her hand connected with his face so hard her palm stung. His head snapped to the side, and for a second she saw real shock in his eyes.

Then his hand shot out and grabbed her wrist. Hard. Painful.

"Don't you ever fucking touch me again," he said, voice low and dangerous.

"Let go of me."

"Not until you calm down and stop acting crazy."

"I said let go!" She yanked her arm back, stumbling when he released her suddenly.

They stood there, breathing hard, staring at each other like strangers. Maybe they always had been strangers. Maybe she'd been married to someone she never actually knew.

"I want a divorce," Lia said.

Julian laughed. "No, you don't."

"Yes. I do."

"You signed a prenup, remember? You leave me, you get nothing. No money. No house. No car. Nothing. You'd be broke and homeless with no job experience because you've been a housewife for five years."

The prenup. God, she'd been so stupid. So trusting. His lawyers had pushed it before the wedding, and she'd signed because she'd been in love and thought it didn't matter.

"You're trapped," Julian continued, enjoying this now. "So here's what's going to happen. You're going to stop being hysterical. We're going to continue our marriage. And you're going to stop asking questions about what I do or who I do it with."

"You're insane if you think I'm staying after this."

"Where will you go? Back to your parents? Tell them their daughter's marriage failed? That she wasn't good enough to keep her husband happy?"

Shame burned through her. Because he was right. Her parents had been so proud when she married into the Whitmore family. So happy she'd found someone from such a good family with money and status.

"I hate you," she whispered.

"No, you don't. You hate that I'm telling you the truth." He grabbed his shirt from the floor. "I'm going to the Johnsons' after-party like I planned. Clean up this mess before I get back. And Lia? Don't ever embarrass me like this again."

He walked out.

Left her standing there in their bedroom that smelled like sex and betrayal.

Lia's legs gave out. She sank to the floor, her beautiful dress pooling around her, and finally let herself break.

She cried until she couldn't breathe. Until her throat was raw and her eyes burned. Cried for the girl she'd been five years ago. For the dreams she'd buried. For the life she'd wasted trying to be enough for someone who would never value her.

Her phone rang.

Margaret. Of course.

Lia almost didn't answer. But some trained instinct made her pick up.

"Aurelia." Margaret's voice was cold. "Julian just called me. He told me about your little scene tonight."

"My scene?" Lia's voice cracked. "He was fucking his secretary in our bed!"

"Don't be vulgar. And don't be naive. Successful men have needs. You should have been fulfilling them instead of driving him to look elsewhere."

The words were so casual. So matter-of-fact. Like Lia's pain meant nothing.

"You knew," Lia said slowly. "You knew he was cheating."

"I knew Julian was unhappy. I told you months ago to try harder. To be more attentive. But you've been so focused on this ridiculous baby obsession that you forgot to be a wife."

"He doesn't want children! He told me that tonight. Said I was broken."

"Then perhaps he's right. Perhaps you are the problem." Margaret sighed like this was all very tiresome. "Here's what you're going to do. You're going to apologize to Julian. You're going to be discreet. And you're going to remember that Whitmore women don't make scenes or cause scandals."

"I'm not a Whitmore woman. I'm a prisoner."

"Don't be melodramatic. You have a beautiful home, unlimited money, and a husband from one of the best families in Silvercrest. Most women would kill for what you have."

"Then most women can have him."

Lia hung up.

She sat there on the floor of her bedroom, surrounded by the wreckage of her marriage, and felt something shift inside her.

The perfect wife died tonight.

Whatever came next, whoever she became, she'd never be that naive, trusting girl again.

Her phone buzzed. A text from Isla.

**Isla:** You okay? You left the gala so fast. Want to talk?

Lia stared at the message for a long moment. Then she typed back with shaking hands.

**Lia:** Can I come over? Please. I can't be here right now.

**Isla:** Already putting sheets on the guest bed. Come now. And Lia? Whatever happened, we'll figure it out together.

Lia grabbed her purse, her keys, and walked out of that house.

She didn't look back.

Tomorrow she'd figure out how to survive. How to fight back. How to destroy the man who'd destroyed her.

But tonight, she just needed to breathe.