Chapter 1

1.

In the elite circles of Manhattan, there was an open secret.

If you saw a Maybach with the license plate JSTERL1NG, you stayed the hell away from its owner.

That car belonged to Julian Sterling.

The rumor was he adored his wife, but he couldn't resist the thrill of something new.

He played his games, but he had one ironclad rule: nothing could ever disturb his delicate wife.

Everyone knew that Claire, his wife of seven years, was his one and only weakness.

If Claire disappeared for even an hour, the man would lose his goddamn mind.

This time, however, he couldn't hide his secrets any longer.

Because this new girl was reckless. Spoiled by his attention, she had brazenly flaunted their affair right in front of Claire.

So, Claire had a secret of her own.

She was done playing his game. She was going to disappear from his world for good.

...

At two in the morning, Julian pushed open the door.

He wrapped his arms around Claire over the duvet, pressing a kiss to her forehead. His voice was a low rasp. "Sorry, baby. The flight was delayed. I promise, I'll be here for our next anniversary. Don't be mad at me, okay?"

But Claire wasn't listening. Her eyes were fixed on the collar of Julian's white shirt.

It was unbuttoned. As he leaned down, the evidence was right there: a smear of bright lipstick and fresh scratch marks. They were from tonight.

A cold, sharp clarity pierced through her.

Julian didn't notice a thing.

After he went into the bathroom to shower, Claire picked up his phone and unlocked it with his fingerprint.

Everything looked normal. The texts and call logs were clean, as if her suspicions were all in her head.

Except―

Claire opened Slack, and a new message popped up.

Mr. Sterling, will you have any energy left for your husbandly duties when you get home?

Her fingers trembled slightly as she tapped on the profile picture―it was Julian's executive assistant, Maya Vance.

Their chat history was right there.

Do you really have to go back tonight?

Yes. It's our anniversary. See you at the office tomorrow.

Claire immediately searched for Maya's Instagram account.

The latest post was from the beach, probably the Hamptons. In the video, Maya's eyes sparkled as she tightly held the hand of the person filming, flashing a brilliant smile for the camera.

Claire's gaze fell on the hand holding Maya's.

She recognized it instantly. It was Julian's left hand.

That hand was so familiar―the long, elegant fingers, the distinct knuckles. She had traced every line, memorized every detail.

And now, even though he wasn't wearing his wedding ring, the pale, indented mark where it should have been was clearly visible.

Claire stared at the video, her mind a complete blank. Her fingers instinctively tightened around the ring on her own hand.

She slowly scrolled down.

Another one of the girl's posts appeared―a photo of expensive cosmetics.

Lipsticks, foundations, eyeshadows, perfumes from every luxury brand imaginable were laid out. The caption above the picture was a needle to Claire's heart:

"When you think something's too expensive, but your man buys it for you without a second thought ?? Can you even believe it?!"

The words, a brag disguised as a complaint, made the color drain from Claire's face.

She knew, with sickening certainty, that the "man" she was talking about was Julian.

Julian used to buy her anything she wanted. Now, that affection had been transferred to someone else.

Looking at the expensive makeup, thinking of how Julian doted on that girl, she felt a wave of bitterness wash over her.

Her hands shaking, Claire opened Julian's Amazon app.

She took a deep breath, trying to calm her racing heart, but the storm of emotions inside her was impossible to suppress.

The page loaded, revealing Julian's recent purchase history.

It was a list of pricey cosmetics and skincare products―every shade of lipstick, different brands of foundation, expensive La Mer cream, and an array of niche perfumes.

Claire's heart felt like it was being squeezed by an invisible hand.

But she forced herself to endure the pain, clicking on each order detail.

As she opened them one by one, the same shipping address appeared over and over―a loft in SOHO, the one Julian lived in before they were married.

And in the recipient field, the name was printed in clear, bold letters: "Maya Vance."