Chapter 1

1.

On the night of our fifth wedding anniversary, Lucas gave me a diamond necklace from Tiffany & Co.

Later that same night, I saw a post on Rachel Vance’s social media.

The photo showed an identical necklace. The caption read: Every day spent with you is worth celebrating.

For Lucas, I had given up the chance to become a top-tier lawyer. I spent five years as a housewife, dedicating my life to our family.

And him? He lost himself in temptations outside our home.

This time, I didn’t cry. I didn’t scream.

I simply made an appointment at the clinic, quietly ended my pregnancy, and handed him divorce papers.

The irony is, now that I’m done, Lucas is acting like a madman trying to win me back.

That night, I sat in our home in Greenwich, Connecticut, staring at the candlelight dinner I had painstakingly prepared.

I waited until the grandfather clock chimed twelve.

The candles had burned down, the wax dripping onto the tablecloth like tears.

Suddenly, the motion sensor light in the foyer turned on.

Lucas was back.

Seeing me sitting alone in the dark dining room, he paused. Then he took a deep breath, looking utterly exhausted.

He shook off his Armani suit jacket and pushed a blue bag with the Tiffany logo across the table toward me.

"Sarah, happy anniversary. I'm sorry. The company called an emergency meeting, and it dragged on too late."

Hah. An emergency meeting.

He doesn't even put effort into his lies anymore. It’s always the same pathetic excuse.

I looked at him, expressionless. "It's past twelve. The anniversary is over."

He loosened his tie, a flicker of impatience crossing his face. "I said I was sorry, didn't I? We're preparing for the IPO, and I'm swamped. Sarah, don't give me that look. Don't add to my stress, okay?"

I opened the exquisite jewelry box in front of me.

It was an Elsa Peretti diamond necklace. The teardrop diamond shimmered in the dim light.

I lit up my phone screen and opened Instagram.

Just an hour ago, Rachel had posted a story: Every day with you is an anniversary.

There were two photos.

One was of the exact same diamond necklace. The other was a selfie.

The background was a luxury hotel suite in Manhattan. Rachel was taking a mirror selfie, and the camera "accidentally" caught the back of a man standing by the floor-to-ceiling window.

Even though it was blurry, I would recognize that back anywhere.

Who else could it be but my husband, Lucas Sterling?

I turned off my phone.

In silence, I took the cold Beef Wellington and the dessert I had spent hours baking, and scraped them, bit by bit, into the kitchen disposal.

The machine roared with a low, grinding sound.

If I had held onto a shred of hope before tonight, in this moment, my heart completely died.