I'm one of the top luxury real estate agents in the city.

Right now, I'm the real estate agent selling my husband and his mistress their dream love nest.

I've been with Edwin for five years. I spent three of those years bankrolling his entrepreneurial ambitions. In the last two, I got married, became pregnant, and had our son.

I've never been short of money; my family has deep roots on the East Coast. But whenever I brought up the home I’d always dreamed of, his answer was always, "Just a little longer." That is, until the day I received a new appointment for a viewing.

My new client was a young woman whose eyes curved into sweet crescents when she smiled, her face alight with anticipation.

"My boyfriend picked this place out himself," she said, her voice soft. "He insisted on buying it for us, for our new home."

I took the client file from her, my gaze falling upon the name of the apartment.

The Zenith. The Zenith Penthouse. The very one I had mentioned to my husband countless times, the home of my dreams.

I was about to comment on her impeccable taste—identical to my own—when the name listed under "Partner" caught my eye.

Edwin Croft.

My fingers froze on the page.

The girl across from me was still lost in a blissful haze. She added, a dreamy look in her eyes, "We only made it official a few months ago, but he said he wanted to give me the most incredible surprise."

I fought to suppress the storm raging within me and forced my lips into a professional smile. My mind, however, was filled with the face I'd woken up next to for five years.

So, the day had finally come for me to sell Edwin his dream home.

Unfortunately, I wasn't the woman he’d chosen to share it with.

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1

I set the file down and looked up, calmly studying the girl across from me.

She was young, with the kind of pale skin and willowy figure that screamed delicate fragility—the type designed to tug at a man's heartstrings.

My prolonged, professional silence was clearly making her uneasy.

Bonnie Reed chose her words carefully, a flicker of hesitation in her voice. "Ms. Hayes? Is there... a problem with my information?"

I leaned back in my chair, my gaze drifting back to the partner's name printed on the paper.

"No, no problem at all," I said, my voice steady. "It's just that your boyfriend's name seems familiar."

Bonnie’s eyes darted down, and she denied it a little too quickly. "I... I don't think so. You must be mistaken. Edwin has been focused on his career; this is the first home he's ever bought for a... a wedding."

The moment the words left her mouth, she realized her mistake. Her entire body went rigid.

I lowered my gaze and let out a soft, humorless laugh.

One casual question, and she’d practically given herself away. Edwin's taste in women was as terrible as ever.

I feigned ignorance, pretending not to have noticed her slip-up. Tapping my finger on the apartment's brochure, I smoothly steered the conversation back on track.

"Ms. Reed, what made you choose this place? As far as I know, The Zenith's board is extremely selective. They don't just consider financial standing; they also run extensive background checks."

Seeing that I wasn't going to press the issue, she visibly relaxed. A hint of pride crept into her voice.

"Edwin chose it. He said he spent ages searching for this perfect view, overlooking all of Central Park. He’s always dreamed of building a home here with the woman he loves."

"He told me that he'd been with other women, but he never even considered bringing them here," she said, looking up at me, unable to hide the triumph in her eyes. "Then he met me. And he knew, instantly. I was the one he wanted to hold in his arms, right in this very spot."

I watched her spin this fantasy for herself and let my gaze drop, masking the bitter scorn in my eyes.

The reason I’d agreed to marry Edwin was simple. While I was busy finding dream homes for New York’s elite, he was the first man who ever painted a picture of a home just for me.

He once held my hand, patiently describing the life that would be ours.

Sunlight would stream through massive floor-to-ceiling windows, flooding the living room. We would cuddle on the sofa, watching the city lights twinkle below, and whisper promises of forever.

He said he wanted to give me the perfect home at the peak of my life. And for that single promise, I waited like a fool for five years.

Now, he was actually buying it. Paying in full, no less.

In a place he had described to me countless times. Only now, the lady of the house was a woman he’d known for a mere few months.

I chuckled softly, my tone betraying nothing. "What a touching love story."

If that man wasn't my husband, it truly would have been a beautiful fairy tale.

Perhaps my "praise" bolstered her confidence, because she immediately began to gush about her relationship with Edwin.

"That night, I was on duty in the pediatric ER. I saw him right outside the trauma room where they were working on... his family member," she paused, as if choosing her words, then corrected herself. "He was clutching the doctor's arm, begging them to save that person. He looked so distraught, I went over to comfort him."

She pursed her lips and smiled shyly.

"He said he fell for me right then and there, because of how gentle I was."

So that was it.

I remembered that day far more clearly than she ever could.

That day, I was the one holding our son, who was in anaphylactic shock from a severe allergy, begging the doctors with every fiber of my being to pull him back from the brink of death.

To think I had witnessed the very moment they met. Was I supposed to be heartbroken? Or grateful?

A dull ache throbbed in my chest. I dug my nails into my palm, forcing my expression to remain calm and professional.

"Ms. Reed, do you have any other requirements for this apartment?"

Bonnie tilted her head, thinking for a moment, then suddenly flashed her wrist, revealing an exquisite vintage watch. "Oh, right. The security here has to be top-notch. Edwin gave me this watch, and it's incredibly valuable; I can't risk anything happening to it. Money is no object; Edwin has plenty of it."

At that, I almost laughed out loud.

Edwin. The ordinary programmer I had propped up with my family’s money and connections. The man who once couldn't afford rent on a one-bedroom in Brooklyn was now the CEO of a tech company worth hundreds of millions. I helped him achieve in three years what takes most people twenty.

Perhaps I had paved his path too smoothly, making him forget where he came from—and forget the person who moved heaven and earth to pave that path for him.

As for the watch, it was an antique Patek Philippe from my grandmother's estate.

On my eighteenth birthday, my grandmother gave it to me, telling me it symbolized our family's legacy. It went missing some time ago, and after a long search, I’d assumed I had carelessly misplaced it.

Now I understood. The heirloom I’d torn my hair out looking for had been stolen by him to woo his new mistress.

I closed the folder. "I understand completely, Ms. Reed. I promise you'll get a home money can't buy."

After smiling and seeing her off, I let out a cold snort and called my best friend and lawyer, Zoe.

"Edwin is cheating," I said, my calmness surprising even myself. "I want him to walk away with nothing. Not a single penny. Whatever equity I secure from his company in the divorce, half of it is yours. That's your fee. Also, get me a private investigator and a forensic accountant. I want a full audit of his books."

Zoe's efficiency was astounding. In less than twenty-four hours, the proof of Edwin's affair and his financial discrepancies landed in my encrypted inbox.

It was only a few months of data, but it was a terabyte of betrayal.

The first video was from the day our son was in the emergency room. Bonnie hadn't told the whole story.

While I was breaking down outside the trauma room where our son lay dying, Edwin was using an "urgent matter" as an excuse to take her to a hotel.

I stayed with my son all night. He only rushed back in the morning, his clothes disheveled, lying that he’d been meeting an important investor.

The second video was from our son Liam's second birthday party.

A guest had accidentally knocked over a fruit platter. Liam, who has a severe nut allergy, broke out in a horrific rash and began struggling to breathe. We rushed him to the hospital.

While I stood trembling in the hallway, Edwin snuck into an empty hospital room to fool around with Bonnie while she was on shift.

The third video was from the time I, sympathetic to the pressures of his startup, let him go on a "business trip" to Miami.

The excuse was laughably thin.

Most of the company's startup capital and connections had come from my family. How could I not know if that trip was necessary?

But I saw the exhaustion etched on his face from the baby's cries waking him every night, and my heart ached for him. So I let him go, told him to relax.

I never imagined my kindness was just a free pass for his romantic getaway with Bonnie. An undisturbed Caribbean getaway for two, sweet and indulgent, funded by the wealth that should have been ours.

My hand trembled as I held my phone, tapping on the longest video.

It was surveillance footage. A piercing cry filled the air. I recognized it instantly. It was my son, Liam.

My fingers shaking, I scrubbed through the video.

Bonnie’s sickeningly sweet voice floated through the recording. "Are you sure about this, Edwin? Using your own son to help me practice... It feels wrong. What if something happens?"

Edwin answered nonchalantly, a hint of a smile in his voice. "What's the problem? People are always saying you can't handle an allergic reaction properly. Practicing with fake data is nothing compared to a real person. If he can't even handle a little test like this, he's no son of mine. Don't worry, I'm timing it. He won't die."

In the past, I had always thought Edwin was a good father. He went from initial clumsiness to being adept at feeding and changing diapers.

Especially after he started his frequent "business trips," he seemed even more attentive and experienced with the baby, always volunteering for one-on-one time with our son.

That's why I trusted him to take our son out alone.

I never imagined he could be so monstrous to his own flesh and blood.

In the video, Edwin forcibly held down our sobbing son while Bonnie, a nurse, calmly fed a spoonful of peanut butter into his tiny mouth.

My son's cries grew weaker, his little face turning red as he began to gasp for air. A vise gripped my heart, so tight I couldn't breathe. I wanted to smash through the screen and kill that despicable pair with my bare hands.

To show off for his lover, to help her practice her so-called medical skills, he was willing to gamble with his own son's life.

I bit my lip until I tasted blood, using the sharp pain to stop myself from calling the police right then and there.

No. I would make him lose everything at the peak of his pride.

Then, in the next second, my phone rang.

I took a deep breath and answered. Bonnie's shy, sweet voice came through the phone. "Ms. Hayes, the wedding might have to be moved up. Edwin's mother has chosen a date for us. We're getting married in Napa Valley in three days. Could you please speed up the process for the house?"

Almost simultaneously, a text from Edwin lit up my screen.

"Honey, I've got an urgent, last-minute business conference. I might have to fly to California as early as tomorrow morning. You and Liam be good at home. I'll bring back presents for you both. Love you."

I looked at my phone's wallpaper—a picture of my son sleeping peacefully, his face soft and innocent—and I suddenly laughed.

My husband was getting married. As his legal wife and his "real estate consultant," how could I possibly miss it?

I took my family's private jet and flew to Napa Valley, arriving a step ahead of Edwin.

The moment I landed and turned on my phone, his message popped up. "Honey, how are you and our son? I just got off the plane."

I replied, emotionless, with a photo of Liam and me from a month ago.

He texted back almost instantly. "Our son looks great. And you look beautiful, honey. I don't even want to go to this meeting; I just want to come home to you and our boy."

I stared at the words, a cold sneer playing on my lips.

That photo was a month old. I wasn't that thin back then. My son was also much smaller than he is now.

Edwin had taken that picture himself, yet he hadn't even looked closely enough to notice anything was wrong.