Chapter 1

1.

On our third wedding anniversary, a courier delivered the cake Finn had so carefully prepared.

It was an exquisite, minimalist white box, tied with a silk ribbon. I opened it to find elegant frosting script that read: "Happy Third Anniversary, Finn & Cora."

In that instant, my blood ran cold. The air around me felt like it had turned to ice.

I'm not Cora. Cora is his administrative assistant, who had just graduated from university and always looked innocent.

My gut feeling was confirmed in the worst way possible. In Cora's Instagram Stories, I saw a picture. In the corner of the photo sat the cake that should have been mine―only this one had the names "Serena & Finn" on it.

The caption read: "Three years, and he's already eager for me to be the lady of the house."

A few minutes later, another private story popped up, clearly sent to the wrong group of friends:

"Delete this now! The bakery mixed up the addresses, don't let his wife see!"

It all clicked into place. Every surprise, every romantic gesture, was just part of a streamlined, two-timing operation.

At that moment, clutching my phone, I actually laughed out loud.

I laughed at him for still trying to cover his tracks. But I was different. I was already planning how to walk away from this marriage, clean and simple.

…

Not long after I closed Instagram, Finn's call came through.

His voice was hesitant, testing the waters. "Serena, did the cake arrive?"

I didn't hide it. My voice was as calm as if I were talking about the weather.

"It did. But it has your name and Cora's on it."

The other end of the line went dead silent.

After a few seconds, his once-confident voice was laced with panic.

"Serena, the bakery screwed up! I was reviewing contracts with the legal team and didn't have time, so I asked Cora to order it. The staff must have mixed up the orders."

I couldn't help but let out a small laugh. If I hadn't seen that social media post, I might have actually believed his pathetic excuse.

When I refreshed my phone, Cora's story was gone.

Too late to hide it now.

I took a breath, my tone flat. "Okay, I get it. If there's nothing else, I'm hanging up."

Hearing no hysterical questions, Finn seemed to relax, his voice immediately softening into his perfect-husband persona.

"Serena, I'm on my way home. Wait for me. I'll go to that French patisserie myself and get a new one. I promise it won't be wrong this time."

"Forget it," I said, gazing out at the Manhattan skyline. "It's too late. I have a headache and want to rest."

I hung up before he could reply.

I sat in the leather swivel chair in my study, starting to untangle the complex asset structures and trust arrangements behind our three-year marriage. If I was leaving, I was making damn sure he wouldn't get another cent from me.

I was so focused on liquidating assets that I didn't even notice when Finn came home.

He was two hours earlier than usual, carrying a new cake box.

Seeing me on the living room sofa, Finn plastered on that concerned smile, his usual social mask.

"Serena, I checked the calendar, and it should be your period. Are you having cramps again? It's all my fault, I can't believe I forgot something so important."

After three years of marriage, Finn knew my cycle down to the day.

He even learned a special massage technique to relieve the pain, claiming he'd learned it from a famous physical therapist.

I used to believe him. Now, I seriously doubted I was the only one benefiting from that technique.

Just before he walked in, I had received an anonymous text message.

No words, just a few pictures.

The angle was hidden, no faces were visible, but the hands doing the massaging wore a platinum wedding ring I knew all too well.