Chapter 1

The night my husband brought his mistress into my mother’s room, he handed her the keys in front of every guest in the inn.

"Starting today, Ivy will be leading the new branding initiative for Seabrook Inn," Conrad said, raising his champagne glass. He smiled as if he had been the main character all along. "She's going to help us bring this place into the next era."

Polite applause rippled through the lobby.

I stood by the bar, holding the wedding menu I had just signed off on.

The inn papers named me Mara Bennett-Vale—Bennett from my mother, Vale from my marriage. Guests simply called me Mrs. Vale.

Fifteen years ago, my mother bought this old seafront building with the money from selling her first flower shop.

Later, I renovated it room by room and built its reputation wedding by wedding.

But to Conrad, Seabrook Inn was "our" business—as if the late-night account books, the broken plumbing, and the flooded basement storeroom had nothing to do with me.

Ivy wore an ivory dress. She was young, beautiful, and smart enough to play her hand well. Instead of gloating right away, she walked toward me with her glass.

"Mrs. Vale," she said, "Conrad said you'd understand. Guests today want something fresher."

Her tone was polite, but her eyes drifted past me to the blue door at the top of the stairs.

That was the ocean-view suite where my mother had lived.

Since she passed away, I had never rented it out to anyone.

The room still held the vintage furniture she had picked, her annotated inn ledgers, and the faded rattan chair by the window.

Conrad knew that, of course.

He also knew I hated anyone touching that room.

"Where are you staying tonight?" I asked.

Ivy paused, as if waiting for me to lose my composure.

Conrad answered for her. "The ocean-view suite. She has a meeting with the design team tomorrow morning, so it's more convenient."

I looked at him.

Dressed in a tailored suit with his hair combed back flawlessly, he was still the attentive, steady man the outside world saw—a husband who cared for both his wife and the inn.

In our twelve years of marriage, his greatest skill was never lying, but framing every boundary he crossed as a practical decision.

"It's just a room, Mara," he lowered his voice. "Don't make a scene in front of the guests."

So he knew it was humiliating me.

I didn't answer him. I simply pulled the spare key ring from the reception drawer and placed it in Ivy's palm.

"Don't touch anything inside," I said.

Ivy tightened her grip on the keys, a flicker of triumph showing in her smile.

Conrad let out a breath, relieved that I had finally accepted his decision like a good sport.

After the reception ended, I didn't go upstairs. Instead, I went to my office to check next week's reservation schedule.

Half of the two fully booked wedding weekends had been crossed out. The vacant rooms were all marked "Pending Adjustment."

I called the front desk manager, Nora.

"Who approved these cancellations?"

Silence held the line for a couple of seconds.

"Mr. Vale said a prospective buyer might come look at the inn soon," she said softly. "He told me not to tell you yet."

Holding the phone, I stared at the crossed-out room numbers on the screen.

Upstairs, the door to my mother's room was already closed.

And for the first time, I realized that what Conrad was taking from me was never just a room.