Chapter 1
Three years into our marriage, I'd never once thought about going through Adam's drawers.
That day, I was just looking for a bank card when my fingers brushed against an official-looking document hidden deep in the drawer.
It was a marriage certificate.
The spouse's name on it was Emily Lane.
It wasn't me.
I put the certificate back, closed the drawer, and sat in the study, watching the night outside the window. I didn't shed a tear, and I didn't reach out to him.
My mind was terrifyingly clear.
Three years.
I, Claire Sutton, stood by his side through everything—from being broke to starting a company, from a tiny rental apartment to this place with a river view.
And the name on his marriage certificate? It was another woman's.
My phone screen flashed.
Adam texted me: [Got a work thing tonight, not coming home.]
I sent back just one word: [Okay.]
*****
I unlocked my other phone.
There were seventeen unread messages, all work-related.
No one knew I'd been hustling these past three years either.
I never made a scene or caused drama.
If he wanted to keep things from me, that was his business.
After all, I never needed him.
The next morning, Adam came home.
There was a faint trace of perfume on his suit—definitely not my scent.
"I drank too much last night and crashed at the office." That was his excuse.
I set breakfast on the table.
"Okay," I replied.
He glanced at me, looking relieved.
To him, I was probably just the wife who's easy to handle—always quiet, never asks questions.
"The company party's next week. You're coming with me," he said.
"Okay," I replied.
He took a couple of bites of his toast, got a call, and left.
As soon as the door clicked shut, my other phone rang.
"Ms. Sutton, the paperwork for yesterday's land deal just got approved. They're asking when you want to sign," my assistant said.
"Three o'clock this afternoon," I replied.
"Got it," she said.
After hanging up, I took off my apron, changed into a different outfit, and headed out.
Not your typical housewife attire.
It was a sharp black suit.
At three in the afternoon, I was at the Eastgate Business District.
I sat at the head of the negotiating table, facing Richard Warren, the vice president of Pinnacle Realty.
"Ms. Sutton, we really can't go any lower on the price," Richard said.
I flipped to the next page of the document.
"Mr. Warren, have you seen the soil test report for this land? There's a problem with the underground pipes in the northwest corner. Fixing it will cost at least seven million dollars," I said.
Richard's smile froze for a second.
"How did you know—" he started.
"I read your internal assessment from last month," I cut him off.
He gripped his coffee cup, saying nothing.
My assistant, Sophie Green, slid a contract across the table.
"This is our final offer. It's three million dollars less than you expected, but I'll cover the pipe repairs. Do the math—you'll end up one million dollars ahead," I said.
Richard stared at the numbers for half a minute.
"Ms. Sutton, you're a straight shooter," he said.
After signing, Sophie and I walked out of the building.
"Claire, does your husband even know you've got six projects running under your name?" Sophie asked.
"Nope," I replied.
"You're not gonna tell him either?" she pressed.
"There's no need," I said.
Sophie shook her head.
"You really know how to keep your cool," Sophie said.
I opened the car door.
"He hid whose name was on his marriage certificate from me for three years. If I lost my cool, what good would that do me?" I replied.
Sophie froze for a second.
"Wait—what did you just say?" she asked.
"I'll tell you later," I said.
As the car pulled away, Sophie's messages started blowing up my phone.
I didn't even bother to check them.
Another message popped up on my screen.
It was from an unknown number: [Ms. Claire Sutton, this is John Law, the legal counsel at Adam's company. I have something I'd like to discuss with you in private.]
Now that's interesting.
I didn't reply.
No need to hurry.
Saturday was Adam's company annual party.
He asked me to wear that floral dress from last year.
"Don't get too fancy. It's just a regular dinner," he said.
I slipped into the dress.
The hotel ballroom was packed with his colleagues.
Adam slipped his arm around my waist and introduced me, "This is Mrs. Carter."
A few department managers nodded and smiled, making small talk.
I saw a woman standing in the corner—long hair, red lips, and flawless makeup.
She raised her glass and gave me a knowing smile.
That smile—every woman knows that look.
Emily Lane.
She made her way over.
"Mrs. Carter, it's our first time meeting. I'm Emily Lane, Mr. Carter's secretary," she said.
She offered her hand.
I smiled and shook her hand.
"Hello," I said.
Adam stood beside me, his expression giving nothing away.
"Emily's very capable. She's been overseeing several projects this year," he said.
"Appreciate your hard work," I said.
Emily took a sip of her drink. "It's nothing, really. Mr. Carter takes good care of us."
The way she looked at Adam wasn't just professional—it was something else.
But I just smiled and turned to grab a glass of juice.
Halfway through the party, I headed to the restroom.
As I pushed the door open, I heard two women talking in the next stall.
"Did you see Mrs. Carter? Looks like she picked that dress up from the bargain bin online," one of them said.
"For real. Emily's dress is an exclusive designer piece—nine thousand dollars," the other replied.
"I don't get what Adam sees in her. She's so plain, and her style's nothing to write home about," the first one scoffed.
"She was there when Adam was just starting out. But once a guy gets rich, who remembers that?" the second one said.
I washed my hands, dried them off, and walked out—totally unfazed.
I wasn't mad.
Seriously, I wasn't mad.
Because they had no idea that the assets under my name were three times the valuation of Adam's company.
I just didn't want anyone to know.
But keeping it under wraps? That wasn't going to last much longer.