Chapter 1

At the bell-ringing ceremony for Edward Grant's IPO, I sat offstage. Not next to my husband, the CEO, but in a cramped corner of the family section, squeezed next to the driver at a wobbly table.

Meanwhile, Sophie Lane, an intern who started three months ago, was under the spotlight.

She was wearing a sold-out designer dress that used to hang in my closet. Her arm was linked through my husband's, and she was soaking up the applause and camera flashes as if she belonged there.

When the reception wound down, Edward tossed me the plastic cake knife. His face held that familiar, cold expression that had become his default setting.

"Olivia, don't stand there like a statue. Scrape the plates and stack them. The cleaning crew charges double if we leave a mess, and we need to watch our burn rate."

All around us, employees and executives, everyone clutching their new stock option paperwork, stared at me. They looked at me as if I were a busboy who had been standing by their table for too long.

I glanced down at the plastic knife covered in vanilla frosting, then back up at Edward's smug, victorious face.

I didn't kneel and start wiping crumbs off the tablecloth the way I always used to.

Instead, I pulled out my phone and calmly typed a command. I revoked the authorization for the company's core algorithm, the ghost protocol I had built from scratch.

If he was so sure I was dead weight, I wanted him to feel exactly how heavy that weight could be when it was gone.

****

It was three in the morning, and Edward was still locked in the study on an international video call. I woke up because my throat was dry.

Barefoot, I walked out of the bedroom. As I passed the study, I saw him through the gap in the door.

He was speaking Brelani smoothly to the screen, his brow tight, his fingers tapping the desk. That tap-tap-tap meant something was wrong with the code or the numbers.

My body moved on autopilot toward the kitchen to warm up a cup of milk for him. It was a silent routine we'd built over five years of marriage and late nights building the company.

But as I reached the kitchen island, a phone screen lit up. It was Edward's personal phone, left charging next to the coffee maker.

A delivery notification from a late-night app popped up, glowing bright in the dark room. [Your Hot Romance Latte with double hazelnut syrup is on the way.]

I stopped breathing for a second.

Edward was deathly allergic to tree nuts, especially hazelnuts. A tiny trace of hazelnut oil is enough to close his throat.

I learned that the hard way in our first year of marriage when I bought a chocolate bar with hazelnuts.

I drove him to the emergency room at two in the morning, running red lights while he clutched my hand, his face turning purple. That night was the closest I ever came to losing him.

After that, nuts were banned from our house. I hadn't even looked at a jar of peanut butter in five years.

And I hated sugary coffee. That sticky, syrup-laden drink was my idea of a stomachache.

So who the hell was drinking a "Hot Romance Latte" at three in the morning?

A cold, heavy feeling settled in my chest, as if someone had replaced my blood with ice water. My fingertips started to go numb.

I didn't think about respecting his privacy the way a good wife should. My hands were shaking as I punched in the passcode I knew by heart. It was my birthday.

The phone unlocked. I opened the delivery app.

The address wasn't our house. It was a five-star hotel two blocks from the office. The recipient was Sophie.

In the driver instructions section, there was a note that burned into my eyes: [Baby, the meeting is running another hour. Have something sweet to warm your stomach while you wait for me.]

Edward called me baby only once. The day he got down on one knee and asked me to marry him.

In the five years since, even when we were close, he kept it professional. He called me "Olivia." He used to tell me that grown men didn't use silly pet names.

It turns out he wasn't too mature for pet names. He was too mature for me.

I stared at the words "double hazelnut," and my stomach twisted with a sick, sour feeling.

That was when the study door clicked open. I quickly shut off the phone screen and placed it back on the counter, exactly where it was.

Edward walked out, rubbing the bridge of his nose. When he saw me standing there in the shadows, his frown deepened instantly.

His voice was sharp with irritation. "Why aren't you asleep? You're standing in the dark like a total weirdo."

I took a shaky breath, swallowing the bitter taste that had risen in my throat. I forced my voice into the soft, gentle tone of Olivia the Perfect Wife.

"I heard you were still up. I was going to heat some milk for you."