Chapter 1

The day I was ready to slap the divorce papers in my husband, Drogo Erickson's face, his mistress came knocking at my door.

She was the kind of girl who looked both sweet and smoking hot, with a tiny tear-shaped mole at the corner of her eye. When she cried, she could melt anyone's heart, including mine.

She clung to my hand, crying her heart out. "Gina, I'm so sorry. I didn't know he was married. It was just one night. I lost my mind and seduced him. He only cares about you. He doesn't like me at all…"

I stared at her and felt nothing. I almost wanted to laugh.

I pulled my hand back and gently patted her slightly rounded belly, which her Chanel coat couldn't hide. My voice was soft, like I was soothing a scared little kitten.

I said, "It's fine. I don't blame you. Drogo never sleeps with anyone he doesn't like."

*****

"Gina, what do you mean?" Trista Barton's sobs stuck in her throat, her pretty eyes full of disbelief.

I lounged back on the couch, picked up my glass of lemonade that had long gone cold, and sipped it slowly.

I said while setting the glass down with a crisp click, "It means, thanks for the show. You really put on quite an act. But next time, maybe pick a story that's a bit less obvious."

Trista's face drained of color in an instant.

The strong perfume she wore was right under my nose. It was "Bluebell". It was the same scent Drogo had told me came from a female coworker who'd spilled it on him by accident, just two weeks ago.

That was the final straw. The scent sealed my decision for good.

Trista insisted, though her voice was trembling, "I'm not acting. Drogo is really..."

"Hold it." I cut her off with a wave of my hand, not interested in hearing any more of her tired lines.

I asked, "What did you just call him?"

I laughed while pointing at myself. "I'm five years older than you, have known him for ten years, married for five, and I've never even called him that way. Sweetheart, you sure sound intimate with him."

Every word was a needle, puncturing her act with perfect precision.

Trista's face went from pale to ashen, her knuckles whitening as she clutched her bag strap.

In her plan, I was supposed to lose it, go off the rails, and rip her to shreds. However, at that moment, I was making small talk like nothing had happened.

"Gina, I know you're upset, but you can't just smear me like this..." Trista protested.

"Smear you?" I laughed out loud, like I'd just heard the biggest joke of the year.

I asked, "What are you really here for? To plead for Drogo? Or maybe you just wanted to mark your territory and see if his wife is as pathetic as you hoped?"

I stood up and slowly walked over to her.

Towering over her by half a head, I looked down and couldn't miss the way her lashes trembled and panic flickered in her eyes.

I lowered my voice, leaning in close to her ear. "Let me guess. Did Drogo tell you I'm some cold, controlling woman who only cares about work? Did he say being with me is suffocating, and the only place he can breathe is with you?"

Her eyes flickered with panic.

I continued, "Did he tell you he loves me, but we're just having some problems and he needs time to sort things out? Did he ask you to just wait for him, not to come see me, so you wouldn't set off his 'crazy, unstable' wife?"

With every word I said, she went even paler.

Finally, I straightened up and put some space between us, looking at her bloodless face as I dropped my final bomb.

I said, "You came here behind his back, hoping your whole act would make me step aside, so you could slide right into my spot, right?"

"No, that's not true!" Trista screamed back, but her voice sounded thin and shaky.

Just then, the sound of a key turning in the lock echoed from the front door.

Trista and I both whipped our heads around at the same time.

The door swung open. Drogo was standing there with a briefcase in his hand, looking totally wiped out.

When Drogo walked in and saw us locked in a standoff in the living room, his tired look flipped to pure shock and panic.

He shot a glance at me, mouth opening like he was about to explain himself, but nothing came out.

Trista beat him to it.

She burst into tears, looking like the world had just crushed her. Practically throwing herself at Drogo, she latched onto his arm. "Drogo, I'm so sorry. Gina got it all wrong about us!"

I was amazed at her act of playing the victim.

Drogo froze, glancing between Trista clinging to his arm and me, who was stone-faced. He knew that he was done for.

I crossed my arms, quietly enjoying this drama. I almost wanted to give them a round of applause.