Chapter 1

During our fifth anniversary, my boyfriend mixed up my gift with someone else's. When he pulled out the lingerie, he stumbled, claiming it was a shipping error. But the next day, I stumbled upon a post on Instagram from one of his "little sisters."

"My big bro says that old woman is so out of shape, but I'm the one who looks the hottest in this," read the caption. The video showed her wearing that same lingerie, provocatively lounging in his arms. I glanced at the engagement ring, identical to Martin's, and called my boss.

"Casey, I've made my decision. I can start at the branch office next week."

After hanging up, I stared blankly at the video, reaching for a cigarette for the first time in five years. Enveloped in smoke, my trembling hands navigated to her profile, compulsively scrolling through. It wasn't hard to unravel that Martin had been cheating for over two years. His countless broken promises, hidden under the guise of work commitments, were actually his time with her. Even last night, our anniversary, he claimed he had to work late; in reality, he was making a sleazy video at a hotel with her.

As I finished the cigarette, Martin walked in, reeking of alcohol. He shot a disapproving look my way. "You're smoking again? Didn't you say it ages you?"

I retorted without missing a beat, "Work's been stressful." Martin just grunted as he collapsed onto the bed without even changing. He waited, expecting me to fuss over him as usual, but I interrupted his attempt to speak, "I need to keep working. You should get some rest."

He didn't dwell on it, muttering a few words before falling asleep. I took my laptop into the study and received the contract from Casey. With determination, I signed.

The next morning, Martin surprised me by waking early to prepare breakfast. As I sat down, he presented me with a spiced honey cake, his supposed gift of love for our anniversary. "Handmade just for you," he declared.

I hesitated, recalling a post from the night before about his "little sister" running a handmade shop. The cake was one of the cheap items she was practically giving away. Watching him trying to sweet-talk me seemed almost laughable.

"Five years and you still don't know I'm allergic to honey?" I said dryly.

Martin froze, guilt briefly flashing across his face before his usual façade returned. "I'll remember from now on."

I smiled faintly, silently picking at the breakfast he made, waiting for him to reveal his true motives. We had this unspoken understanding—when he needed something, breakfast was his olive branch.

When I showed no sign of probing, Martin grew uneasy, pressing his lips together before speaking. "I need you to reserve a spot at the craft fair for a friend." As he started replying to messages, he assumed my compliance. Being the main organizer, such requests were within my power, but a nagging doubt lingered. They weren't interested in crafts at all, and my mind drifted to that girl.

"Which friend?" I asked, my instincts kicking in.

A flicker of discomfort crossed his face. "My little sister." Just then, a message popped up on my phone along with a friend request.

"I'm Annalise, the owner of the craft shop," it read.