Chapter 1

I stared at the mahogany desk where my father used to sit, the leather chair still bearing the impression of his body. It had been three weeks since the funeral, and I still couldn't believe he was gone. The study smelled of his cologne—sandalwood and spice—and for a moment, I could almost pretend he was just in the other room, about to walk in with his warm smile and call me his 'little princess.'

But he wasn't coming back. And I needed to sort through his papers.

My fingers trembled as I opened another drawer, pulling out neatly organized folders of financial documents. Edward had offered to help, but I'd insisted on doing this alone. This was my final conversation with my father, through the artifacts of his life he'd left behind.

"I miss you, Dad," I whispered to the empty room, my voice catching.

I pulled out the bottom drawer, which stuck slightly. Frowning, I yanked harder, and it came free with a jolt. Something rattled inside—something that didn't sound like paper. Curious, I emptied the contents onto the desk and examined the drawer more closely.

The dimensions seemed off.

Running my fingers along the inside, I felt a slight ridge that shouldn't have been there. A false bottom? I pressed against one edge, and with a soft click, a hidden compartment revealed itself.

My heart quickened as I reached inside, pulling out a manila envelope. It wasn't labeled, and it felt heavy in my hands. What would my father need to hide so carefully?

I opened it, and my world collapsed.

Photos spilled across the desk. Edward—my Edward—with his arms wrapped around a woman I didn't recognize. Her long blonde hair cascaded down her back as she pressed against him, their lips locked in a passionate kiss. They were standing in front of a hotel, his hand possessively cupping her bottom.

"No," I breathed, my lungs constricting. "This can't be..."

But there was more. Hotel receipts. Restaurant bills for two. And letters—so many letters—written in flowing feminine script, signed with a looping 'Z.'

*My dearest Edward, Last night was magical. I can't wait until she's out of the picture and we can stop hiding...*

*Edward, baby, how much longer do we have to wait? You promised after her father died, we could be together openly...*

*I know the plan is moving forward. Just a little longer and all that money will be ours...*

Zoe. Her name was Zoe.

My stomach heaved. I barely made it to the wastebasket before emptying the contents of my stomach. Wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, I forced myself to look at the evidence again.

The dates on the receipts and letters went back months—well before my father had even fallen ill. This wasn't a momentary lapse in judgment. This was calculated. Premeditated.

I don't know how long I sat there, the photos and letters spread before me like the wreckage of my marriage. Eventually, a cold clarity washed over me. I needed to know everything.

For the next three days, I became a detective in my own home. I waited until Edward left for work, then methodically went through every inch of his belongings. His laptop password was easy—my birthday, the irony of which wasn't lost on me. His email revealed conversations with his brothers, Eric and Evan, discussing my father's estate. They referred to me as "the golden goose" and talked about how to "keep her in line" after they "secured the assets."

In his desk drawer, I found a flash drive. The contents made me physically ill—detailed plans for transferring my inheritance into accounts I wouldn't have access to, consultations with shady lawyers about how to circumvent the terms of my father's will, and more photos of him with Zoe, some too intimate to bear looking at.

One file contained a conversation between Edward and his mother:

*Edward: She's completely broken up about her father. Now's the perfect time to suggest she sign over control of the company shares. She can barely function, let alone run a business.*

*Margaret: That's my boy. Always seizing the opportunity. Your father and I are so proud. And what about that little tart you've been seeing?*

*Edward: Zoe knows her place. She'll stay in the background until everything's settled. Then we'll figure out how to ease Wendy out completely.*

By the time I had gathered all the evidence, I felt hollow, like someone had scooped out my insides and left nothing but an empty shell. The woman who had loved Edward, who had believed in our marriage, was dead. In her place stood someone new—someone with ice in her veins and fire in her heart.

I printed everything. Made copies. Secured the evidence in multiple locations. Then I waited.

On Friday evening, I heard the front door open, followed by giggling. Edward's voice, low and seductive, and then a woman's laugh in response. They weren't even trying to be discreet anymore.

I sat in the darkened living room, the stack of evidence on the coffee table before me. When they stumbled in, wrapped around each other, I simply reached over and turned on the lamp.

"Hello, Edward," I said, my voice steadier than I expected. "And you must be Zoe."

They froze like deer in headlights. Zoe—prettier in person than in the photos, I had to admit—recovered first, straightening her blouse with a smirk.

"Wendy," Edward said, his tone immediately shifting to one of false concern. "I thought you were visiting your aunt tonight."

"Clearly," I replied, gesturing to the stack of papers. "We need to talk."

"What's all this?" he asked, approaching cautiously.

I spread the photos across the table. "Your affair. Your plans to steal my inheritance. Your conversations about how to manipulate me while I was grieving my father." My voice didn't waver. "All of it, Edward."

His face transformed before my eyes, the mask of loving husband slipping away to reveal the stranger beneath. "You've been spying on me?" he demanded, his voice hard.

"No, Edward. I've been discovering who you really are."

Zoe stepped forward, no longer bothering to hide her contempt. "He never loved you, you know. It was always me. Always us."

I looked at her, this woman who had helped destroy my life, and felt nothing but pity. "And you think he loves you? You're just as disposable as I am once he gets what he wants."

Edward's laugh was cold. "This is pathetic, Wendy. You're acting like a hysterical widow. Your father's death has clearly affected your mental state."

"My mental state is perfectly clear," I replied, standing to face him. "I want you to explain why. Why the elaborate deception? Why marry me if all you wanted was my money?"