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My credit card had been maxed out. Someone had stolen my identity. I called the police. Mid-way through giving my statement at the police station, I saw my husband, Rhys Davies, who was supposed to be away on a business trip. Trailing behind him, face flushed crimson, was Lila Stone – his first love. "Aria, is this how you waste police resources?" A withdrawal of charges statement was slapped onto the table by Rhys. "Just sign it, quickly. I don't have time to argue with you about this nonsense." I looked at the amount displayed on the statement—it was equivalent to three years of Rhys's salary. I smiled. "You want me to sign it?" "Fine," I said, meeting the smug, assured faces of Rhys and his first love. I picked