It was ten p.m. when Raiden Evans walked through his front door, and sure enough—there was someone waiting for him in the living room, just like always. He tossed his coat carelessly to the nearest servant, who spotted the lipstick stain on the collar instantly, tucked it out of sight quick, and acted like he’d seen nothing. Every single staff in this mansion knew about Raiden’s little side affair, but they all had the good sense to keep their mouths shut.

"Madam came home this afternoon," the servant informed him.

Raiden just grunted in reply. He was halfway up the stairs when the front door swung open, the click of the latch echoing down the hall. Violeta Reynolds was home. Her hair was a little wind-tousled as she bent to slip off her heels, and the movement stretched the line of her long, pale legs.

Raiden caught the faint flush on her cheeks, and his brows pulled down. "You’ve been drinking?"

Violeta almost never drank outside the house. If she wanted a drink, she’d rather have it alone in the privacy of their bedroom. She steadied herself on the newel post, a little jittery about rolling in this late, but by the time she crossed the threshold, she’d already masked any loose emotion with that cool, calm composure she always wore. No one cared if she came home early or late, anyway.

But Raiden didn’t smell liquor on her—he caught the faint, bitter tang of coffee instead. He stepped forward and tugged her close against his chest. "Drowning your sorrows in extra caffeine, huh? What’s eating at you that you can’t tell your own husband?"

Raiden had always been like this: slippery, soft-spoken, never letting his mask slip. Even while carrying on an affair right under their roof, he still kept up the image of the perfect, dignified CEO. Both of them knew which lines were better left uncrossed. At least this way, Violeta still got to be "Mrs. Evans," and everyone still treated her with the proper respect.

She pushed him away gently. "Just work stuff at the studio."

It wasn’t anything earth-shattering, and Raiden let her pull away. He’d stopped enjoying touching her a long time ago. The last time they’d been intimate was two whole months back. Don’t get him wrong—Violeta was stunning, that perfect mix of soft innocence and smoky heat. But she was too uptight for his taste. And in his circle, that brand of icy beauty was a dime a dozen. Raiden had gotten bored ages ago.

"Studio having problems?"

His voice was flat and uninterested as he climbed the stairs, thumb already flying over his phone screen, replying to a text from someone who wasn’t her. Violeta’s throat tightened, but she followed him up to their shared bedroom anyway. She watched him, and she knew exactly who he was texting: Lenora Kelly. When she stepped into the room, Raiden’s easy smile dimmed just a little, and he hit end on the call. "You need something?"

Violeta tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear, her voice soft and steady. "I need access to some resources at Bright Horizon Entertainment. It’s one of your subsidiaries, right?"

His fingers never stopped tapping across his screen, but his gaze lifted to lock on hers. Violeta almost never asked him for anything, so this request hung awkward between them. Still, her spine was straight, her resolve clear.

A faint smirk tugged at the corner of Raiden’s lips. "Sure. Just don’t go overboard."

Violeta mumbled a quiet thank you, then turned to grab her pajamas for a shower. Raiden’s arm wrapped around her waist before she could move, his lips brushing the curve of her neck. "No need to be so formal, baby. Sharing resources with your husband is what I’m for, isn’t it?"

Her heart skipped a single stupid beat—then another scent hit her, sweet and floral, not hers. Someone else’s perfume, clinging to his shirt. Raiden never bothered sugarcoating anything. People were just disposable toys to him, anyway.

His phone rang again, *Lenora* blaring bright on the screen, but he acted like he didn’t see it. He pressed a light kiss to her cheek. "Work emergency. Gotta pull an all-nighter at the office."

Violeta said nothing. She just lowered her head and stepped past him into the bathroom, scared if she spoke too loud he’d take back his approval. She added, soft, "I already know one of the directors over at Bright Horizon."

Raiden kept walking toward the door, waving it off like it was no big deal. "Fine by me. Just don’t get tangled up in all that stupid celebrity drama."

As the words left his mouth, he caught the irony of it, and huffed a laugh. "Tough times build character, right? Maybe you’ll have fun with it."

Half joke, full knife to the gut. He knew damn well Violeta would never stoop to his silly little cheating games.

Once the door clicked shut behind Raiden, Violeta pulled out her phone to call Charlie Snyder, the director at Bright Horizon. "Charlie, it’s Tessa."

Tessa was her stage name. "Violeta Reynolds" was too stuffy, too tied to the Evans family. When she and Leighton first decided to dip their toes into the entertainment industry, she’d created this separate identity for herself. Anyone who knew knew better than to go running their mouth about it.

"I’m bringing someone in for an audition tomorrow. Thanks a million," she said, then ended the call and stared out the window at the glowing city skyline, dragging in a deep breath.

She knew Raiden’s every habit inside and out. His name was carved into her bones, and leaving it all behind was going to hurt like ripping flesh off muscle. But it was time. Time to stop playing the quiet, obedient trophy wife just to get by.

She pulled up Quincy Lawrence’s contact—an up-and-coming actor Leighton had recommended—and sent him a friend request on WhatsApp.

He replied right away, and straight up turned her down. She realized she’d forgotten to introduce herself, so she sent a correction: *Quincy, it’s Violeta Reynolds.*

*Tomorrow morning, come meet a director with me. He’s casting a supporting role.*

Her text was blunt and to the point. She’d seen his work, thought the kid was insanely talented—even if he was a little too standoffish, a little too stubborn for his own good.

Inside the private booth, Raiden Evans sat with Lenora Kelly tucked right beside him, a handful of his friends circling the table. He’d already introduced her to the group, but he’d intentionally kept her presence a secret from his wife, Violeta Reynolds.

Lenora had that soft, first-love glow about her—she clung sweetly to Raiden’s arm, her voice thick with sugar. “Raiden, I have that big audition tomorrow. I’m so nervous… Will you stay with me tonight?”

She blinked up at him with those wide, spellbinding eyes—this was exactly what had hooked him the first time they met. Lenora knew just how to tug him in with her little-girl charm.

Raiden chuckled low and peeled a piece of fruit for her. It was a small thing; he’d been spoiled his whole life, he wasn’t used to waiting on anyone.

A warm, foreign satisfaction bloomed in Lenora’s chest. Her cheeks flushed pink as she snuggled deeper into his arms. “Please?”

Right then, his phone buzzed. The screen lit up with one word: *Wife*. The smile in his eyes dimmed just a hair. He fed the fruit to Lenora first, then pulled back, brushing his thumb softly over her lips.

Lenora turned crimson. It was hard not to—Raiden’s sharp, stunning good looks had an pull no one could deny. That signature charisma of his was impossible to resist.

He answered the call, his voice ice-cold and detached. “What do you want?”

Halfway across the city, Violeta stood by her bedroom nightstand, turning the whole place upside down looking for her ID. She was positive Raiden had moved it somewhere. As a studio owner, she needed it for a stack of contracts first thing tomorrow.

“Where did you put my driver’s license?” she asked.

“Ask the housekeeper. I’m busy. How the hell should I know?” Raiden brushed her off.

Violeta already knew not to count on him. She took a slow breath. “Alright.”

He was still smiling, his fingers still tracing the curve of Lenora’s mouth, amusement glinting dark in his eyes. “Looking for your ID’s just an excuse, isn’t it? You’re just checking up on me.”

His words twisted truth and lies together so tight she couldn’t untangle them to answer.

Luckily, she caught a faint murmur of another person’s voice in the background, like someone shifting close to him.

She flicked her lashes down. “I’m not. I’ll hang up now.”

Raiden ended the call, and Lenora immediately climbed right into his lap. “Raiden, why won’t you stay over with me tonight?”

Raiden glanced over at his friends. This was old hat to all of them.

Adonis Howell laughed. “It’s only the fifteenth, and you’ve already stayed ten nights with her. Even back in the day, you’d give your main girl more than that, yeah?”

Lenora’s face burned hotter. She buried her face in Raiden’s chest, her heart hammering. Raiden was so handsome, so soft with her—how could anyone not fall head over heels? She prayed he’d dump that boring plain wife of his and pick her. But she knew better than to push. Rush things, and it’d all blow up in her face.

Lenora hadn’t met many old money types working in showbiz. Next to the guys at this table, every man she’d ever dated was just cheap, flashy nouveau riche. These boys were real aristocracy—each one oozed power and influence. All the socialites back in her world had money, sure, but these men were born to privilege, through and through.

She couldn’t let this go. She had to hold on tight, get Violeta out of the picture for good.

Raiden turned and pressed a kiss to her cheek. “Be good, head home. I’ve got stuff to handle tonight.”

Lenora hated it, but she knew when to behave. She kissed him back slow, dragging it out, before finally standing to leave. Once the door clicked shut behind her, Adonis leaned in.

“You know Violeta’s gonna find out eventually, right?”

Raiden said nothing. Instead, Logan Lawrence spoke up. “Raiden wouldn’t be doing this if he cared about getting caught. Wait… isn’t it Violeta’s little sister who’s been head over heels for you for, what, ten years? When they adopted her into the family, she was always hanging around with us, we watched her grow up. Just don’t take it too far, man.”

Raiden leaned back in his booth, swirling his whiskey slow, his voice lazy and uncaring. “When I married Violeta, I made one thing clear: I don’t love her.”

Logan took a sip of his drink. “Nobody stays cold forever, right? That actress’s eyes do look just like her sister’s. Violeta’s sister was a knockout… how’d everything end up such a mess?”

Adonis cut in. “She made a bad call. Fell for Raiden and ruined her whole life. Left Violeta stuck holding the bag.”

Logan laughed. “Who knows? Maybe one day she’ll wake up and leave you holding the bag, man. Our boy Raiden here’ll end up raising someone else’s kid.”

Raiden unbuttoned his collar, closed his eyes, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “Violeta was raised by her adoptive family just to be my wife. She’s a clinging vine—can’t survive without me.”

Nobody in the room argued. They all agreed with him.

Everyone knew the truth: Violeta was adopted specifically to marry into the Evans family and seal the alliance. Marrying Raiden was the best thing that ever happened to her.

Late that night, Violeta jolted awake feeling like garbage. She pressed a hand to her forehead—turns out all that stress from the past few days had spiked a fever.

She forced herself out of bed and stumbled downstairs looking for fever meds. A servant heard her moving, flipped on the hall light.

“Madam? What are you looking for?”

“I need fever medicine. I think I’ve got a temperature,” Violeta said, leaning against the side table to steady herself—dizziness was swallowing her whole.

The servant hurried over. “Let me get that for you. Go sit down, I’ll bring you a glass of water too.”

Violeta had always been kind to the staff, never threw her weight around. She’d been raised with strict rules, trained to be the perfect proper lady from the time she was little.

She propped her head up on one hand, shoulders hunched, nausea rolling in her stomach. The dim living room light was soft and quiet… until her phone rang again. Fuzzy with fever, she fumbled and hit speaker by accident. A rush of messy sobbing poured out:

“Raiden, I can’t do this anymore. My audition’s tomorrow, I’m so scared I can’t…”

“Raiden…”

Violeta’s face drained of all color instantly. Her fingers shook so bad she could barely hold the phone. The call disconnected before she could even blink, her vision too blurry to tap the red button in time.

The servant came back with the medicine, hovering quiet by the door.

“Madam… that must have been a wrong number…”

Of course the servant covered for Raiden. He signed her paychecks, after all. And Violeta was just the wife, nothing more.

Violeta tugged up a bitter smile. Her head was clear now, sharp as a knife. She took the pill the servant handed her and dry-swallowed it, no water needed.

“Don’t mention this to Raiden.”

The servant couldn’t hide the flash of scorn in her eyes—like Violeta was just choosing to play stupid, after all. But hey, for a twenty thousand dollar monthly allowance, anyone would pretend to be deaf and blind, right?

“I won’t say a word.”

Violeta Reynolds knew the day stretching ahead of her would be brutal. Even after a whole night fighting a fever that left her bones aching, she dragged herself out the door and headed for the studio. What she didn’t expect was to find someone already beating her to it.

Quincy Lawrence was leaning against the wall, running lines for his second lead role under his breath. His voice was one of a kind—not that generic deep, rumbly baritone everyone’s obsessed with these days. It was more like wind rustling through pine trees: cool, quiet, a little aloof. Quincy was built like a dream, broad shoulders tapering down to a narrow waist. The soft shift of his muscles under his t-shirt had that effortless, easy magnetism that drives young audiences wild. With her background in film, Violeta couldn’t hold back a little feedback.

“Try shifting the emphasis to a different word in that line,” she suggested.

Quincy flinched just a little, then lowered his lashes, leaning in to listen close. Violeta stepped closer and plucked the script right out of his hand. His fingers were long, elegant, threaded with that quiet coiled tension that only made him more attractive.

“Got here early to practice, huh? With this kind of work ethic, Quincy? You’re gonna go far.”

Quincy repeated the line with the adjusted emphasis. “Like this?”

Violeta nodded and glanced at her watch. “Time’s up. Let’s roll.”

Quincy pulled on his cap and followed her out without a word. As they drove, he stared out the passenger window for a minute before speaking. “Can you pull over for a few minutes?”

Figuring he wanted to grab a snack, Violeta pulled off to the side of the road. “Make it fast.”

He was so tall, even with his cap pulled low, his silhouette looked straight off a runway when he stepped out of the car. Violeta took the chance to shut her eyes, trying to soothe the throbbing in her skull and the stinging behind her eyes.

Her phone rang. "Husband" popped up on the screen. She answered, and a lazy, nonchalant voice hummed through the line.

“Did the housekeeper tell me you had a fever last night?” Raiden Evans asked. He’d claimed he was working late again. Lately, his whole “endless overtime” act had seemed plausible enough—until a random text blew that whole lie to pieces a few days back.

“Yeah, it’s gone down now,” she answered.

“Why didn’t you call me?”

Once upon a time, she would have. Now she knew the best she’d get was a quick text passed along through his assistant. All her soft care for him had eroded away, bit by bit, from all his endless absences and his delayed replies.

Her patience, already paper-thin from her splitting headache, frayed a little more. “Raiden. Do you have anything else you wanted to say?”

Lately, that edge of impatience had become a habit in her tone. Raiden frowned, tapping his fingers lightly against the top of his heavy oak desk, when he heard a car door click shut on her end of the line. Was someone with her?

Once, Violeta had been a full-time homemaker, almost totally cut off from any world outside their marriage and their home.

“Who’s with you?”

“An artist from the studio,” she said.

She used to be soft with him, calling just to ramble and check in, all sweet affection. But lately? She’d gone distant. Last night, even with him gone, she hadn’t even bothered to reach out.

Probably just moody, he thought. Too tired to hash it out, he hung up.

Staring at the dead call screen, Violeta let out a tired, resigned sigh. How had she ever thought Raiden was gentle? It had all just been a polished, perfect act. At the end of the day, their marriage had never been anything more than a strategic play to pump up the company’s stock price.

She massaged her temples and closed her eyes again. Beside her, Quincy pressed a pack of cold medicine and a bottle of citrus soda into her hand. The bottle was still warm from his grip, and the little touch settled soft in her chest.

The faint bitter tang of the medicine roused her enough to open her eyes. Quincy watched her for a long second, then looked away, a thousand tiny emotions flickering across his face too fast to name. “Take it,” he said.

She didn’t argue, swallowing the pill down fast, then washed it away with the warm citrus soda.

She managed a hoarse, gravelly “Thank you,” her throat still raw from the fever.

He didn’t say anything back, just tossed the empty paper wrapper into a nearby trash bag.

Violeta gripped the steering wheel and pulled back onto the road. She felt warmth spread slow through her gut, easing the sharp ache of her symptoms. “You didn’t originally study theater, right Quincy?”

“I’ll take any feedback you’ve got. I know I fit the look, but acting needs real direction. I couldn’t sleep last night anyway, so I rewatched my own editing clips a few times.”

He clutched the trash bag in his lap and gazed back out the window, lost in his own head.

Before long, they pulled up outside Clearwater Studios. Even though it was just a subsidiary of Evans Holdings, Clearwater was one of the biggest names in the entertainment industry.

The night before, Violeta had made sure Quincy’s business cards were all ready. She’d designed them herself, his stage name blared bold and clear in English across the front.

An assistant greeted them with a bright smile and led the way inside. “Right this way, Ms. Grey.”

Violeta noticed the whole studio felt tenser, more serious than usual. “Any special guests today?” she asked curiously.

The assistant giggled. “Our big boss is here for an inspection. He’s probably upstairs right now.”

Violeta froze. It clicked, why Raiden would suddenly show up unannounced at the studio. She glanced down the hallway and spotted Lenora Kelly. The truth hit her like a punch to the chest.

A sharp, aching pang twisted right through her heart.

Lenora was leaning against the stairwell corner, holding a water bottle a tall, all-too-familiar man had just handed her. Violeta recognized Raiden instantly.

Raiden showing up at the studio was already surprising enough. But him carving time out of his “busy schedule” to walk Lenora through her audition? That was a gut punch no one saw coming.

Lenora carried herself like a lovesick peacock, preening under the attention of a man who’d once sworn his whole life to Violeta.

Violeta pulled herself together, took a deep breath, shoved all her messy feelings down, and pushed open the audition room door to walk in.

A relationship that’s long past its expiration date is just like chewed-up old gum: it only turns bitter once someone else decides they want a bite of it.