Chapter 1

The call came from the concierge at Lakeview Gardens. My welcome package, they said, was ready for pickup.

I froze.

Just days ago, my husband Daniel and I had talked about buying a new place, but we hadn't even narrowed down a neighborhood.

I’d casually asked him, "Dan, you didn't go and buy a house behind my back, did you?"

He’d stiffened for a fraction of a second.

"Lakeview Gardens? Erin, we can't afford that. They definitely have the wrong number." He paused, smoothing his tie. "I was thinking we’d get a small, practical condo near the office. We need to spend our money on what actually matters."

My heart sank.

I hadn't even mentioned Lakeview Gardens.

A few minutes later, I dialed my best friend, Camille.

"Cami, can you have your compliance team run a name for me? I need to know if Daniel left my contact info on file at Lakeview Gardens."

Dan and I had been married for five years.

He was always preaching about the future, about being frugal. So, even as he climbed the corporate ladder, we stayed crammed in a dingy, 550-square-foot apartment.

It wasn't until I got pregnant and begged for a bigger place—just so the baby would have room to breathe—that he finally relented.

Camille knew we were house-hunting. She’d smiled and told me that if we liked any properties built by her family's company, Bennett Real Estate Group, she could get us the best possible deal.

I was thrilled. I spent that whole afternoon prepping dinner, wondering how to tell Dan the good news.

But before I could even bring it up, he cut me off. "As long as a new place is big enough to live in, that's fine. Don't go chasing some luxury lifestyle."

I swallowed my words.

And yet, here I was, listening to the Lakeview Gardens concierge tell me that the registered owner of Unit 1203 was Daniel Hart, and I was listed as his emergency contact.

"Yes, Mrs. Hart," the receptionist confirmed. "You're the emergency contact on file. Your number was checked to receive move-in notifications, which is why the system flagged you. You can pick up the package anytime."

When I hung up, Dan’s slip of the tongue from that morning—Lakeview Gardens—felt like an ice pick to the chest.

The next morning, I went straight to the building.

The lobby was sprawling and bright, anchored by a massive floral arrangement. I walked up to the concierge desk.

"Hi. You called me yesterday about a welcome package for a new owner."

The receptionist glanced up from her monitor. "Which unit? I need to verify the registration."

"1203."

She frowned. "The registered resident of 1203 just asked about the package as well. I'm sorry, I can't confirm details with a non-resident. If you're the emergency contact, I need your ID to check the system."

I stared at her. "What is the registered owner's name?"

She looked me up and down, her eyes narrowing. "You don't look like a resident. Are you trying to claim someone else's property?"

"The male owner of 1203. Is his name Daniel Hart?" I demanded. "He's my husband."

Her expression turned ice-cold. "I cannot confirm your relationship to 1203. Without resident authorization, I'm not handing over anything."

She paused, her tone dripping with condescension. "I've seen Mr. Hart attend property events with his wife. I'm sorry, but it wasn't you."

She tapped her phone screen and slid it across the marble counter. "This is a PR photo from the ribbon-cutting. I saw them arrive together."

In the photo, Dan was in a dark suit, smiling warmly, his arm wrapped intimately around a woman's waist.

She wore a cream-colored designer dress, her makeup flawless, her expression delicate and fragile.

I knew her.

Vanessa Cole. Dan's coworker.

The blood in my veins turned to ice.

Before I could speak, the receptionist looked past me. "The resident is back. You need to leave right now, or I'm calling security."

I turned around.

Vanessa was strolling into the lobby, a Chanel bag slung over her arm. She froze when she saw me, then quickly plastered on a sickeningly sweet smile and hurried over.

"Erin? Oh my god, what are you doing here? Are you condo hunting?"

Chapter 1

The call came from the concierge at Lakeview Gardens. My welcome package, they said, was ready for pickup.

I froze.

Just days ago, my husband Daniel and I had talked about buying a new place, but we hadn't even narrowed down a neighborhood.

I’d casually asked him, "Dan, you didn't go and buy a house behind my back, did you?"

He’d stiffened for a fraction of a second.

My heart sank.

I hadn't even mentioned Lakeview Gardens.

A few minutes later, I dialed my best friend, Camille.

"Cami, can you have your compliance team run a name for me? I need to know if Daniel left my contact info on file at Lakeview Gardens."

Dan and I had been married for five years.

He was always preaching about the future, about being frugal. So, even as he climbed the corporate ladder, we stayed crammed in a dingy, 550-square-foot apartment.

It wasn't until I got pregnant and begged for a bigger place—just so the baby would have room to breathe—that he finally relented.

Camille knew we were house-hunting. She’d smiled and told me that if we liked any properties built by her family's company, Bennett Real Estate Group, she could get us the best possible deal.

I was thrilled. I spent that whole afternoon prepping dinner, wondering how to tell Dan the good news.

But before I could even bring it up, he cut me off. "As long as a new place is big enough to live in, that's fine. Don't go chasing some luxury lifestyle."

I swallowed my words.

And yet, here I was, listening to the Lakeview Gardens concierge tell me that the registered owner of Unit 1203 was Daniel Hart, and I was listed as his emergency contact.

When I hung up, Dan’s slip of the tongue from that morning—Lakeview Gardens—felt like an ice pick to the chest.

The next morning, I went straight to the building.

The lobby was sprawling and bright, anchored by a massive floral arrangement. I walked up to the concierge desk.

"Hi. You called me yesterday about a welcome package for a new owner."

The receptionist glanced up from her monitor. "Which unit? I need to verify the registration."

"1203."

I stared at her. "What is the registered owner's name?"

She looked me up and down, her eyes narrowing. "You don't look like a resident. Are you trying to claim someone else's property?"

"The male owner of 1203. Is his name Daniel Hart?" I demanded. "He's my husband."

Her expression turned ice-cold. "I cannot confirm your relationship to 1203. Without resident authorization, I'm not handing over anything."

She paused, her tone dripping with condescension. "I've seen Mr. Hart attend property events with his wife. I'm sorry, but it wasn't you."

She tapped her phone screen and slid it across the marble counter. "This is a PR photo from the ribbon-cutting. I saw them arrive together."

In the photo, Dan was in a dark suit, smiling warmly, his arm wrapped intimately around a woman's waist.

She wore a cream-colored designer dress, her makeup flawless, her expression delicate and fragile.

I knew her.

Vanessa Cole. Dan's coworker.

The blood in my veins turned to ice.

Before I could speak, the receptionist looked past me. "The resident is back. You need to leave right now, or I'm calling security."

I turned around.

Vanessa was strolling into the lobby, a Chanel bag slung over her arm. She froze when she saw me, then quickly plastered on a sickeningly sweet smile and hurried over.

"Erin? Oh my god, what are you doing here? Are you condo hunting?"