Chapter 1

After eight years of our secret marriage, I'd planned to surprise my husband, Ryan Goodman, for his birthday, so I headed unannounced straight to his company.

As soon as I entered the lobby, a cleaning lady looked me up and down with obvious disdain. "So you're the mistress Mr. Goodman keeps on the side?

"The moment Mrs. Goodman is pregnant, you're already here to take her spot?"

I froze on the spot.

I was the real Mrs. Goodman.

Who was that pregnant woman?

I forced myself to stay calm and, right in front of the entire company, called my husband and put him on speaker for everyone to hear. "Mr. Goodman, you have three minutes.

"Bring that impostor wife of yours down here to meet me. If you don't, I'll bring the whole Goodman Group to its knees."

No one had a clue that my real ace was scarier than any of them could ever guess.

*****

I walked through the doors of Goodman Group, carrying a cake.

Today was Ryan's birthday.

It was also the eighth anniversary of our secret marriage.

I wanted to give him a surprise.

The receptionist saw me and stood up with a professional smile. "Hello, do you have an appointment?"

I shook my head. "I'm here to see Ryan."

Her smile froze for a second. "You mean Mr. Goodman?"

"Yes," I replied.

She gave me a judgy look, checking me out from my dress to the cake box in my hand. "If you don't have an appointment, you can't see Mr. Goodman." Her voice went icy.

I understood.

Over these eight years, I had grown accustomed to it.

I pulled out my phone, ready to call Ryan's secretary.

Just then, a cleaning lady came over with a bucket and stopped right next to me.

The bucket slammed down on the shiny floor with a heavy thud.

She looked me up and down, her gaze sharp.

"Here comes another one," she said to the receptionist, her voice loud enough for the whole lobby to hear. "Girls these days have no shame.

"The moment Mrs. Goodman got pregnant, they were already lining up to steal her spot? They should take a good look in the mirror and see what kind of trash they really are."

My hand froze mid-air, and my mind blanked out. I could barely hear anything over the ringing in my ears.

What did she say? Mrs. Goodman was pregnant?

I was the real Mrs. Goodman. I was not pregnant.

I felt a cold shiver race up my spine. My blood ran cold.

The cake box in my hands suddenly felt impossibly heavy, like I could barely keep hold of it.

The air around me seemed to freeze solid.

The receptionist's sympathy, the security guard's contempt, and the gossipy looks from passing employees pierced me from all sides like a thousand needles.

It turned out that in everyone's eyes, I was another mistress showing up to cause drama.

So, Ryan had another wife out there who was pregnant.

For eight long years, I gave up my own career for him, hid my shine, and stayed in the shadows as the wife nobody ever saw.

I thought this was something we both sacrificed for.

I thought once the company was steady, he'd finally make our marriage public.

But instead, what I got was that everyone else knew he had a pregnant wife.

It felt like a dull knife was sawing back and forth in my chest, the ache so deep that I could barely breathe.

But I knew this wasn't the time to break down.

I took a deep breath, forcing down all the emotions threatening to overwhelm me.

I couldn't let a single tear fall.

I couldn't let my voice shake.

I put my phone away and swept my gaze over every face in the lobby, all of them watching the drama unfold.

Finally, I locked eyes with the cleaning lady and asked. "So, where exactly is Mrs. Goodman?"

She flinched under my stare and took a step back. "S-She's upstairs in Mr. Goodman's office."

"Alright." I nodded.

Then, right in front of everyone, I pulled out my phone again.

I pulled up Ryan's number, tapped call, and put him on speaker.

It rang twice, then he picked up.

The voice was so familiar that it felt like part of me came through the speaker.

"Hello? What's wrong?" Ryan sounded perfectly normal, his tone even, a little gentle.

I gripped my phone so hard that my nails dug into my palm.

I called out, "Ryan."

There was a brief silence on the other end. Then he said, "I'm in a meeting right now. Can we talk—"

"Mr. Goodman," I cut him off. "I'm giving you three minutes."

My voice wasn't loud, but it rang out through the dead-silent lobby. "Within three minutes, bring your pregnant wife downstairs and meet me in the lobby."

"Or," I paused, every word like it came straight from an ice cellar.

"Today, I'll make sure the Goodman Group's sign gets a new name," I added.

As soon as I finished speaking, the line went dead. All that was left was the hiss of static.

The lobby of Goodman Group was so quiet that I could hear a pin drop.