Chapter 2

Morning light hit the marble counters, pale and thin.

Callum sat at the island, sipping dark roast coffee while tapping on his tablet.

He looked completely unbothered in his fresh gray suit.

"Hey," I said, sliding a plate of eggs across the counter. "The car app sent a pop-up to my phone last night."

Callum's hand paused over his cup for half a second. "What kind of pop-up?"

"Just a driver profile sync," I said, pouring my own coffee. "It backs up seat settings and guest keys to our main account. I can hit 'Approve' on my end if you want."

The color left his lips, but his voice stayed flat. "Don't touch it, Sloane. Those auto-syncs mess with my seat settings. I'll handle the app myself."

"You sure?" I tilted my head, meeting his eyes. "It said it wipes guest profiles automatically. I'd hate for your settings to get cleared."

He set his mug down with a hard clack.

Black coffee sloshed over the rim, pooling on the white stone.

"I said I'll handle it, Sloane."

The kitchen fell completely quiet.

Callum blinked, realizing he'd let his temper slip.

He grabbed a cloth, scrubbing at the stain. "Sorry. Big deal today. I'm just running on short sleep."

"No problem," I said smoothly. "Go crush your meeting."

The second his car pulled out of the driveway, I grabbed my coat and drove straight to our company office downtown.

Ten years ago, Callum and I started the business together.

When Wren came along, I stepped back from daily office work to raise her, letting Callum take the public title of boss.

Everyone forgot my name was still on the original company setup files.

I didn't ask anyone for help.

I walked straight into the private back office, unlocked the main computer with my founder's code, and pulled up Callum's company card records for the last six months.

My fingers flew over the keyboard.

May 14: $8,600 -- Cartier.

June 22: $3,800 -- Ocean Prime Seafood.

That was the night of Wren's 10th birthday, when Callum claimed he was stuck at work and didn't make it home until 1:00 AM.

July 10: $15,000 -- Deposit for St. Jude's Private Care Wing.

Underneath the $15,000 receipt was a transfer note with a name: Blaire Merrick.

I plugged a USB drive into the computer and hit Copy.

A warning box popped up on the screen:

ALERT: File Download Started. Notification sent to Callum Whitaker.

My heart hammered against my ribs. Callum was getting a text right now.

I pulled the USB drive out of the computer at 89%, shut the screen down, and walked out.

My hands were shaking, but I didn't stop.

I opened his private Instagram account on my phone.

A quick search for Blaire Merrick brought up a public profile: @Blaire_Venezia.

I clicked it.

A young woman with wavy brown hair smiled at the camera.

Six months ago, she had posted an ultrasound picture.

Caption: "New beginnings. Thank you, my love, for building our home."

Right below it, Callum's private account was the very first comment:

"Can't wait to hold our boy. Anything for my two favorite people."

I closed the app.

I didn't cry.

He was running two households. Me---raising his daughter while he built his name.

And her---young, pregnant, living in a luxury villa on my family's money.

I grabbed my bag and walked out to the garage.