Chapter 1

For eight years, I played the perfect wife to Richard Sterling. I managed his family' s public image, hosted flawless galas, and raised our two children, Madison and Liam, to be the perfect heirs to the Sterling media empire.

I did it all with a quiet smile, a performance for a story I knew was nearing its end.

My real contract wasn't with the Sterlings. It was with a metaphysical entity I called "The Agency."

Once I fulfilled my role as the scorned wife, they would extract me. A new life, a new identity, a trust fund big enough to buy a small country, and complete anonymity.

This knowledge was my shield.

So when Richard brought his high school sweetheart, Chloe, to our Hamptons estate for the summer, I wasn' t heartbroken. I was amused.

Chloe was the perfect narrative foil. A working-class artist with a sob story about student debt and a carefully curated "authentic" charm.

The Sterlings, old money to their core, ate it up. They saw her as a refreshing change from me, the "calculating" political strategist who had married into their world.

"She's so down-to-earth," Richard' s mother told me over tea, not even trying to hide her admiration for the woman sleeping with her son.

Richard began a blatant, shameless affair.

Soon, my own children were calling her "Aunt Chloe."

Madison, my sixteen-year-old daughter, suddenly hated the etiquette lessons and the equestrian training I had meticulously planned.

"Chloe says I should just be a kid," she'd say, rolling her eyes at the designer dress I' d picked for her.

Liam, my quiet fourteen-year-old, who I was trying to mold into a future leader, blossomed under Chloe' s easy praise. He started spending hours with her, listening to her stories and eating the junk food she brought him.

I watched it all unfold, a spectator in my own life.

The final act was about to begin.

One afternoon, I was in the garden, trimming the roses. Madison stormed out, her face red with anger.

"You need to apologize to Chloe," she demanded.

I snipped a dead bloom from a bush, not looking at her. "For what?"

"For making her feel unwelcome! She said you look at her like she' s dirt."

I finally turned to her. "I don't look at her at all, Madison."

My calmness only made her angrier. "You treat me like a trophy! A doll you dress up for your stupid parties! You don't care about me!"

I remembered the countless nights I' d stayed up with her when she had a fever, the hours I' d spent helping her with her Ivy League prep, the pride I felt watching her win her first equestrian ribbon.

All of it, erased by a few weeks of Chloe' s influence.

"Chloe bought me this," she said, flaunting a cheap, trendy dress that looked like it would fall apart after one wash. "She gets me. You don't."

She ran back inside, leaving me with the scent of cut roses and the bitter taste of a role well-played.

My contract was almost complete. I just had to see it through.