Chapter 1

The iron hissed, and white steam blurred my face as I smoothed a snow-white shirt, its fabric slick as water. It was Henry Shaw's favorite. Tonight he would wear it to celebrate Claire White's promotion at my father's restaurant.

My phone rang. Henry's voice came through, gentle as poison. "Vivian, you're too generous. I don't even know how to thank you."

I looked at the meek, pale, harmless face in the mirror, then put on the perfect dutiful-wife smile. "As long as you're happy," I said. "Come home early."

The call ended. The smile on my lips froze instantly, cold and eerie. I unlocked my phone.

A red dot blinked on the screen. It came from an app I had written, with real-time tracking and live audio. The coordinates pointed to the most expensive hotel suite in town.

I wasn't in a rush. Tonight was only the appetizer. The real show would begin three days from now, at my mother-in-law Margaret Shaw's seventieth birthday party, where everyone who mattered would be present.

I ironed the shirt until not a single wrinkle remained, smooth as something laid out for sacrifice. Then I folded it carefully and slipped it into a garment bag, my movements as gentle as if I were handling some priceless treasure.

An hour later, Henry came home carrying the warm aroma of another restaurant and a faint trace of a woman's perfume. Smiling, I took his coat, hung it up, and said nothing.

A week earlier, I had made homemade chicken soup and driven it to his office. In the late-night financial district, the towers looked like silent tombstones, and the receptionist watched me with pity.

When I opened Henry's office, Claire was there with her head against his shoulder. They smiled at the computer, relaxed and intimate, like a couple married for years.

My knock was as soft as a falling feather, yet they jolted apart. The sticky intimacy in the air did not disappear so easily.

I pretended not to notice, opened the food containers, and smiled. "I was worried you two would work yourselves sick. Have some soup while it's hot."

Henry and Claire exchanged a look. Claire even gave me a grateful smile, the kind a winner gives a loser out of charity.

The next day, Claire posted a carefully staged photo of the soup with the caption [Working late again. Good thing my sweet "work buddy" brought me soup.], and Henry's hand with his wedding band was visible in the corner.

I liked the post, then left a short comment: [You worked hard.]

The company group chat exploded, everyone saying the Lane Holdings heiress loved Henry so much she had humbled herself into the dust.

Two days later, at dinner, Henry brought it up as if it were nothing and watched me closely. "Claire's been wanting a limited-edition bag from Valmont lately, but it's sold out everywhere."

I was peeling shrimp for him. At his words, my hands never paused. I set a whole peeled shrimp into his bowl.

I lifted my head, wearing my usual soft, meek smile. “Really? I'll ask a friend to ship one over from France.”

"You can give it to her as a gift between friends. She has helped with so many projects. It is only right."

A flash of astonishment darted through Henry's gaze, which was instantly overtaken by a tangled blend of conceit and contempt.

He took my hand, his voice dripping honey. "Vivian, you're too good to me."

I lowered my head, my lashes hiding everything, like a puppet with no soul.

I called Margaret, and she sighed over the phone. "Vivian, not to lecture you, but you need to keep a closer eye on your man. Don't let him do whatever he wants."

I only gave a soft "Mm," then obediently answered, "Got it, Mom."

After I hung up, I looked out at the gray sky.

The smile on my lips did not move, but the knuckles around my phone had gone white.

Margaret's seventieth birthday party filled the top-floor ballroom of Summit Grand Hotel.

Crystal chandeliers spilled like a river of stars, silverware flashed with a cold surgical gleam, and elegantly dressed guests moved through air thick with perfume and champagne.

The Lane family had paid for everything, yet I, the real sponsor, looked like an invisible server.

My beige skirt suit nearly disappeared among the gowns. Carrying a wineglass, I checked the menu and music while wearing the flawless smile expected of the Shaw family's proper daughter-in-law.

Claire entered like a film's leading lady. Her wine-red mermaid gown showed off her figure, and a diamond necklace glittered at her throat.

She linked arms with Margaret and acted like the lady of the house. Beaming, Margaret patted her hand and told her friends, "This is... Henry's trusted assistant. She is more thoughtful than a daughter."

The shrewd guests traded loaded looks, then watched me with contempt. Henry approached with champagne, wearing the shirt I had ironed.

Henry walked over to me with a glass of champagne in hand. He wore that white shirt I'd ironed myself. Handsome, tall and poised.

His gaze swept across the entire room, never once landing on me. Barely parting his lips, he forced the words out through gritted teeth, his tone sharp with icy warning: "Everyone here tonight matters. Do not embarrass me.

"Behave yourself."