On the first day of her marriage, Lyra Leighton told her CEO husband, Wesley Cheswick,

"I don't care if you fall for someone else later. But if she ever shows up in front of me, you'll never see me again."

So when he did fall for a schoolteacher, he kept her tucked away.

Gave her everything she wanted.

Everything except permission to cross Lyra.

But the side chick got bold on his affection and ignored the line.

She showed up with a baby bump and shoved it in Lyra's face.

"Wesley said it himself. He never loved you. He married you for your family's status. Know your place. Get an abortion and divorce him. Now. Otherwise, when Wesley dumps you, you won't get a dime."

Lyra smiled and called her father.

"Pull the investment from Cheswick Tech. I'm getting a divorce."

Ravenport, Carmoria

Lyra Leighton sat in the VIP room of the nail salon while the technician shifted awkwardly. "Ma'am, the store credit on your account isn't enough."

Lyra froze. Last month, her husband, Wesley Cheswick, had handed the loyalty card to her and said it had three thousand dollars on it.

This was her first time using it.

The technician checked the screen again. "Ms. Leighton, there was a twenty-eight-hundred-dollar charge last Thursday afternoon."

"Last Thursday? Twenty-eight hundred?" Lyra's fingers stilled. "I was at the office that day."

The technician hesitated. "M-Mr. Cheswick brought a woman in. Before leaving, she said to count twenty-six hundred as a tip for one of our staff."

Lyra's heart slammed, a sharp buzz filling her ears.

Last Thursday, Wesley had told her he was meeting a client. He hadn't come home until eight and complained nonstop about how exhausting the meeting was.

She remembered cutting her own meeting short just to rush home and make him honey lemon tea.

"Pull the security footage." Her voice stayed calm, even as her chest dropped.

On the screen, Wesley walked in with a girl in a light blue dress tucked close to his side.

The girl looked up and said something. Wesley smiled and ruffled her hair.

Lyra stared. That easy intimacy made them look like a couple.

If Wesley weren't her husband.

Then, Wesley knelt under the technician's direction and started painting the girl's toenails.

When he finished, he lifted her foot and pressed a kiss to it.

Lyra's blood went cold. Wesley had actually lowered himself to paint another woman's nails.

And that night, he'd come home and kissed her with the same mouth.

Her stomach lurched. She gagged.

The footage kept going. Wesley stayed glued to the girl's side. On their way out, he reached for her white handbag as if it were second nature.

Lyra stared at the screen. That bag—

It was identical to the one in her closet.

Wesley had brought it back from his "business trip" last week as a gift.

So it wasn't just for her.

"Send the video to my email." Lyra stood, legs shaky, grabbed her purse, and rushed out.

Back at the house she shared with Wesley, she went straight to the study.

Her fingers trembled as she dialed the private investigator. "I want Wesley's full schedule. Everything."

Three hours later, a dozen photos flooded her inbox.

Wesley and the girl—Irene Shmuck—buying groceries. Holding hands at the movies.

The worst one sat at the bottom.

A photo of a marriage certificate.

Dated over a year ago.

Lyra couldn't stop trembling.

She remembered Wesley standing at the altar, looking straight at her as he swore, "Lyra, I will never betray you in this lifetime."

So this was his lifetime? That short?

Her phone buzzed. The investigator sent a follow-up message: "Irene, 24, schoolteacher. The marriage certificate is fake. Wesley paid cash to have it made. He goes to her apartment every Wednesday and Friday afternoon."

Her hands shook as she dialed. "Dad, if we pulled out of Cheswick Tech's renewable energy project..."

"What happened?" Victor Leighton's voice sharpened. "Did Wesley do something to you?"

That single question broke her.

She remembered Victor at the wedding, eyes red as he placed her hand into Wesley's. "If you ever make my daughter suffer, I'll make sure you never work in this industry again."

"He—" Her throat locked, thick and tight.

Another memory surfaced. Last year, she'd been burning with pneumonia. Wesley had carried her into the ER in the middle of the night and stayed by her bed for three days.

The man who'd lost sleep over her—how had he ended up "married" to someone else?

"It's nothing for now." She bit down on her knuckle to keep her voice steady. "Wait for my word."

She hung up just as the garage door opened.

Wesley walked in with a folder, his expression warm and familiar. "You're home early?"

"Yeah. Went to get my nails done." Lyra held out her hand. "Used the store credit card you gave me."

Wesley froze for a split second.

He smoothed it over fast, but she caught it.

"Oh," she added lightly, "the staff said you brought a girl there last Thursday?"

His expression flickered as he studied her face.

When he saw her calm, he smiled. "Mrs. Brook's daughter from next door. She wanted to try it but didn't want to go alone, so I took her to the place you like."

He stepped closer and wrapped his arms around her. "Hungry? I'll make dinner."

Lyra watched him walk into the kitchen, her chest tightening.

If she hadn't found out, how long would he have kept playing her for a fool?

She picked up her phone and texted Victor: "Pull out next week. I'm filing for divorce."

After sending it, she looked toward the kitchen.

Wesley was slicing vegetables, movements smooth and practiced.

He must have learned all that in that side piece's kitchen over the past year.

Lyra walked into the bedroom, slid her wedding ring off, and set it on the nightstand.

Then she turned and went to bed.

Lyra lay there, staring at the ceiling light.

Wesley had picked it, saying the glow would be easier on her eyes.

She rolled over and buried her face in the pillow, breathing in the familiar laundry detergent.

Wesley had switched brands too, claiming this one was gentler and wouldn't irritate her skin.

She closed her eyes, but the security footage flashed anyway.

Wesley with the girl in the light blue dress. Smiling down at her. Fingers brushing through her hair.

That smile. Lyra knew it by heart.

Three years ago, he'd looked at Lyra the same way when they first met.

Back then, Wesley was the newly acknowledged illegitimate son of the Cheswick family. Ignored at the gala. Still, he worked up the nerve to approach her, ears burning red.

"Ms. Leighton, may I have this dance?"

She ignored him.

He didn't quit. Every day, he waited outside her office with home-cooked meals, even when she never looked his way.

Three months later, she finally agreed to a date. He lit up like a kid.

He stood outside all night just so he wouldn't be late picking her up the next morning.

On their wedding day, he dropped to one knee in the aisle, took her hand, and said, "Lyra, I'll never let you down in this life."

She believed him.

And for three years, he treated her well.

When she lost her temper, he talked her down.

Whatever she wanted, he gave her.

Even when she craved cake from the east side of Ravenport in the middle of the night, he drove across the city to get it.

She thought he really loved her.

But now?

***

The door creaked open. Wesley stepped in, still carrying a trace of the kitchen with him.

He sat on the edge of the bed and reached for her face. "Lyra, dinner's ready."

She turned away from his hand, silent.

His brows pulled together. "What's wrong? Not feeling well?"

She shook her head.

"Your eyes are red." His voice tightened. "Headache? Do we need to go to the hospital?"

He was still like this. Panicking over every little thing.

Looking at his worried face made her chest ache. 'Is this concern real, or just another performance?'

"I'm fine," she said at last. "Just hungry."

Wesley let out a breath and smiled, pinching her cheek. "You little glutton. Come on, let's eat."

The table was laid out with honey-glazed ribs, pan-seared fish in a sweet sauce, and roasted squash dusted with brown sugar.

The sugary smell rushed at her, and her heart sank.

She never ate sweet dishes.

Wesley knew that.

Lyra looked up at him. "Why is everything sweet?"

Wesley paused with the serving spoon, then forced a smile. "You've been stressed at work lately. Thought something sweet might help."

She didn't answer. Just kept staring.

His smile slipped. He set the plate down, sounding rattled. "Should I... make something else?"

"Yes." She nodded.

He stood right away and turned toward the kitchen, but his phone rang.

He glanced at the screen, panic flashing across his face.

"Something urgent came up at work. I have to go." He grabbed his jacket. "Just eat what's here for now. I'll cook something new when I get back."

Lyra set her cutlery down. "I want to eat the food you make. Tonight."

Wesley froze mid-step, his frown deepening. "Can you stop being so unreasonable? What difference does it make?"

The moment the words left his mouth, even he looked shocked.

Lyra stared at him, like something inside her had just shattered.

His tone softened immediately. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean it. It really is urgent. I'll be back soon."

He left without another word.

The soft click of the closing door landed like a slap.

In all the years they'd been married, he had never spoken to her like that.

Lyra sat at the dining table, staring at the sugary dishes—the kind that side chick liked.

She stood and walked into the kitchen.

The cutting board held half-sliced vegetables.

The pot of water was almost boiled dry.

She turned off the heat, grabbed her car keys, and went after him.

Rain started to fall as she followed Wesley's car to an unfamiliar apartment building.

The elevator stopped on the twelfth floor.

When the doors opened, a syrupy voice drifted down the hall.

"Honey, you finally came."

"Silly girl," Wesley said, using that same gentle tone. "Did you eat properly today?"

"I couldn't without you," the girl complained.

"Well, I'm here now." His voice softened. "Even if you don't feel like eating, the baby needs to. Be good, okay?"

The keys slipped from Lyra's hand and clinked against the floor.

Wesley spun around. The color drained from his face when he saw her. "Lyra... what are you doing here?"

Lyra turned and walked away.

Irene was pregnant.

Lyra got in her car, rain and tears blurring everything.

In the rearview mirror, she saw Wesley running after her.

His mouth kept opening, calling her name.

She didn't want to hear a single word.

Rain hammered against the windows.

He pounded on the door, shouting through the downpour. "Lyra! Let me explain!"

Lyra sat in the driver's seat, fingers tapping lightly on the steering wheel. Watching the two of them soaked in the rain, she suddenly found it a little funny.

She slowly rolled the window down. Wesley's voice rushed in. "When did you get here?"

"Just now." Her smile was cold.

Wesley's expression shifted. The words tumbled out fast. "She's the one—Mrs. Brook's daughter. Her power went out, so I came to check on her."

Lyra reached for the window switch. She didn't want to hear another word.

"Lyra!" Irene ran over and planted herself in front of the car. Rain soaked her white dress, leaving her looking fragile and pitiful. "This is all my fault. There's really nothing between us. Please don't be mad at Wesley."

Lyra frowned and turned the wheel, ready to drive around her.

Bang.

Irene suddenly threw herself onto the hood, stumbled, and collapsed onto the wet ground.

Lyra slammed the brakes, her heart jerking hard in her chest.

"Irene!" Wesley rushed over and helped her up. Then he turned on Lyra, eyes blazing.

"I'm fine," Irene said weakly, her face drained of color. "Wesley, go comfort Lyra."

"I've been comforting her for years!" Wesley snapped. "To her, I'm just some pathetic doormat. And now you're hurt, and you're still worried about her? Why are you so darn kind?"

Lyra froze in the driver's seat, fingers curling tight.

She had never heard him sound like this.

The edge in his voice, the raw disgust, felt like a mask finally torn away.

"She threw herself at the car," Lyra said after a beat.

"Enough!" Wesley cut her off. "It's bad enough you misunderstood me. Now you're accusing her? Do you even realize she's pregnant?"

Each word drove straight into Lyra's chest.

"Is it yours?" she asked.

Wesley went rigid, like the question finally caught up to him. His lips parted. "Lyra, don't say that."

"Ah!" Irene suddenly cried out and collapsed.

"Irene!" Wesley panicked. He yanked open the passenger door. "I need the car. I have to get her to the hospital!"

Lyra sat in the passenger seat as Wesley took the wheel, his hands shaking as he gripped it.

In the backseat, Irene lay unconscious—though her lashes kept trembling.

"You're this nervous," Lyra said quietly. "Is the child really yours?"

Wesley floored the gas. "This is about someone's life. Can you stop causing drama right now?"

Lyra turned toward the window.

She knew this road too well.

Three months ago, she'd had acute gastroenteritis. Wesley had driven her to the hospital the same way, tearing through the streets.

He'd been so frantic he put his shoes on the wrong feet, repeating over and over, "Lyra, I've got you."

"Wesley, you've really outdone yourself," she said now, leaning weakly against the glass.

Wesley leaned on the horn and cut past another car. "Whatever you want to say, save it for home!"

At the hospital, he barely stopped before jumping out and lifting Irene into his arms.

Lyra stood off to the side, silent, watching his hurried back.

It looked exactly like the day he'd run through the ER carrying her when she had a fever.

"Move!" Wesley shouted as he slammed into her shoulder.

She stumbled and went down hard, palms scraping against the rough pavement.

When she looked up, all she saw was Wesley's back vanishing into the ER with Irene in his arms.

A nurse hurried over. "Ma'am, are you okay?"

Lyra shook her head and pushed herself up against the wall.

Her knee burned, but it was nothing next to the hollow ache tearing through her chest.

From inside the ER, Wesley's voice cracked with panic. "Doctor! How is she? Is the baby okay?"

The nurse handed her a tissue. That was when Lyra realized she was crying.

She took it, but the tears wouldn't stop.

So even when a heart dies, the body still feels pain.

The ER doors swung open. Wesley rushed out, then froze when he saw her.

He opened his mouth, his eyes dropping to the blood on her palm. "Go home. I'll explain everything later."

Lyra nodded without a word. But as she turned, the world spun—and she collapsed.