Chapter 1

“Sloane, your fiancé has an incredible body.”

My cousin Blaire Holloway leaned against my shoulder, drunk enough that the Chardonnay in her glass nearly spilled onto my dress.

She leaned closer, smiling as if we were still two cousins sharing a harmless secret.

“Way better than my ex.”

My smile froze.

Music thundered through the private club.

A few feet away, my father, Richard Whitmore, was raising a glass with his friends while Callum Pierce stood beside him, charming and polished.

The room was filled with relatives who had watched me grow up and friends I had known for years.

Tonight was our private pre-wedding celebration.

Everyone was here to congratulate us.

And I was the only one who understood what Blaire had just admitted.

“What did you say?”

My voice was nearly swallowed by the music.

Blaire blinked at me.

Her cheeks were flushed from the alcohol, but it did nothing to hide the flash of satisfaction in her eyes.

“I said you have excellent taste.”

She patted my shoulder, then drifted back toward the crowd with her wine.

I stood there, unable to move.

For two full seconds, my mind went blank.

Then every detail I had ignored came crashing back.

Callum’s sudden late nights at the office.

Blaire’s Chanel lipstick in our guest room.

The glances they exchanged across family dinners.

The way they always looked away before I could catch them.

My stomach lurched.

I almost threw up.

“Sloane!”

Someone waved at me from across the room.

“Come on! It’s time to cut the cake!”

Callum stood in the center of the crowd, handsome and composed, holding out his hand to me.

That same hand had tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear only hours earlier.

He had told me I would be the only bride he would ever want.

I stared at him, digging my nails into my palm.

My father’s business partners were here.

So were Callum’s investors.

If I lost control now, no one would remember his betrayal.

They would remember me as the bride who caused a scene at her own celebration.

So I walked toward him.

Callum slipped an arm around my waist.

“What’s wrong?” he asked quietly. “You look pale.”

His palm rested against my bare back.

I fought the urge to shove him away and forced myself to smile.

“Nothing.”

Across the room, Blaire was still watching me.

I raised my glass.

“She’s had too much to drink.”

Everyone laughed.

The music started again.

Callum kissed my forehead.

For the first time, his touch made my skin crawl.

It was one in the morning when we returned to our apartment in West Hollywood.

Callum had been drinking.

He tossed his jacket onto the couch, kissed my cheek, and headed for the bathroom.

“I’m taking a shower.”

I said nothing.

The bathroom door closed.

Water began to run.

I stood in the dark living room until my legs gave out.

Then I slid down the wall and sat on the cold floor.

The tears came without warning.

I bit down on the back of my hand to keep from making a sound.

I was not crying because I could not bear to lose Callum.

I was crying because the two people I trusted most had accepted everything I gave them while laughing at me behind my back.

I had introduced Callum to investors.

When Blaire’s relationship ended, I had taken her to therapy and stayed beside her through every panic attack.

All that time, they may have been discussing how much longer they could use me.

The shower stopped.

I wiped my face and forced myself to stand.

By the time Callum came out in his robe, I was at the counter pouring a glass of water.

“You’re not going to bed?” he asked.

“In a minute.”

He noticed nothing.

Or maybe he had never really looked at me at all.

Ten minutes later, his breathing became slow and even.

I slipped back into the living room and picked up the old tablet he rarely used.

At one point, his Apple account had been synced with mine.

My hands shook as I entered the password.

Wrong.

I tried again.

Still wrong.

On the third attempt, I entered Blaire’s birthday.

The screen unlocked.

I stared at the date.

The last trace of hope inside me disappeared.

There was a deleted, password-protected album in the trash folder.

The first photo showed Callum shirtless in a hotel bed.

Blaire was lying across his chest, wearing my diamond earrings.

The picture had been taken eleven months ago.

That day, Callum had told me he was in San Francisco for work.

I kept scrolling.

A hotel room.

The back seat of a car.

Our guest room.

Even the private room where Richard had hosted a dinner to celebrate Callum’s successful funding round.

They had brought their betrayal into my home.

And suddenly, I felt completely calm.

At the bottom of the deleted messages, one conversation remained.

Blaire had written:

Is she really putting your name on the apartment before the wedding?

Callum replied:

She will. Sloane trusts me.

What about the Porsche?

That too.

Blaire sent a smiling emoji.

And after you marry her?

Two minutes passed before Callum answered.

We deal with that after we get what we want.

I stared at the message.

Then I closed the conversation and picked up my phone.

I texted Evelyn Hart, my father’s attorney.

Eight tomorrow morning. I need to revise the prenup.

The message went through.

I deleted it from my phone and placed the tablet exactly where I had found it.

Callum was still asleep.

He believed that in a few weeks, the wedding would give him a wife, an apartment, a Porsche, and a place in the Whitmore company.

I stood beside the bed and looked down at him.

The wedding would not be canceled.

Not yet.