Chapter 1

I was at the baby store picking out a gift for my best friend's newborn when a trending post in the local feed scrolled across my screen:

"My mistress just gave me a son. Every time I sneak her and the baby into the house, I end up smelling like milk, but my wife has a sharp nose and catches it right away. How do I keep her from finding out?"

The comments were all jokes and helpful little schemes.

I was about to swipe past when I saw the top pinned reply.

"Same exact situation, except mine's better. Three months ago my wife's best friend gave me a daughter. And my wife is child-free by choice, so she has no clue anything kid-related is even happening. Every time I cheat at home, I order ahead the seafood she hates most. The smell makes her run to the bathroom to throw up every time, which gives my mistress the chance to slip out. And even if she catches a whiff, I just tell her I've been into milk lately, and she actually believes it. Never once questioned me."

The replies all praised him for the level of detail.

Even God would have to upvote a plan like that. A perfect cover.

I shook my head, half-amused.

But by the time I got home, a call came in from a delivery driver. "Miss, did you order fresh seafood? I've left it for you at your door."

…

The words went through me like ice, and something detonated in my head.

My mind shot straight back to that top comment.

I have always hated seafood. Everyone close to me knows it — my husband most of all, the man who's spent years looking after my health.

And my best friend also gave birth three months ago.

It had to be a coincidence.

Probably the driver had the wrong door. Our groceries always came straight from an organic farm, sent over by his assistant.

All of New York knew Stuart Webb loved me to his core.

Because I'm child-free by choice, he got a vasectomy on his own to marry me, and announced that I was all he would ever need in this life.

He had even handed my parents a signed blank contract before the wedding, as proof of his sincerity.

And now it all seemed like a lie. The vasectomy was a lie, and he'd fathered a child with someone else.

Three years of marriage. He knew everything about me. He knew I loved blue roses, so he bought me a small island and planted it from shore to shore with them.

When one of his enemies once kidnapped me and demanded a hundred-million-dollar ransom and that he kneel for it, he didn't hesitate for a second. He wired the money and bent his knees, begging them not to hurt me.

After he came to free me himself, he held my mangled fingers, sick with grief, and repaid those enemies tenfold. He cut off every one of their fingers.

After that, everyone knew I was the one line no one could cross with Stuart Webb.

He was always patient with me, and he extended that care to every single person close to me.

A man like this, praised by everyone, devoted to me, would he really be tangled up with my best friend?

But that post wouldn't let go of me. The fear and the doubt wouldn't lift.

I saved the call log and made up my mind fast.

I didn't text ahead to tell Stuart I was home.

I wanted to know if there really was a husband cheating with my best friend inside that house.

At the front door, I started searching without even thinking about it.

No seafood at the door.

So I slipped inside quietly. I went into the bedroom first.

I turned the whole room over, inside and out.

The closet held only my clothes and Stuart's.

Nothing extra on the bed.

Not one thing out of place anywhere.

The bathroom, the study, the balcony. No one in any of them.

And just as the confusion was filling me up, the kitchen door opened.

Stuart stood there holding my favorite cake, surprise all over his face.

"Rosalie Carter, what are you doing home so early? You said a while ago you wanted blueberry cake. It just came out of the oven, here, taste it."

He pulled me down beside him with an easy, affectionate tug, scooped up a bite of cake, and lifted it to my lips.

I looked down at the cake, so tempting, and cursed myself inside for seeing ghosts where there weren't any.

This cake was a nightmare to make. Two hours, at least.

Clearly Stuart had been in the kitchen a long time, putting together a surprise for me.

"I came straight home after I finished buying Luna Pruitt's gift," I said.

The weight in my chest slowly settled. I bit the cake off the spoon and gave him a thumbs-up.

He nodded and smiled at me, indulgent. "Then you eat while I finish dinner. Two more dishes to go."

When he carried the last dish to the table, I saw it. A plate of garlic oysters.

In that instant the smell of the sea hit my nose, nausea climbing up my throat, and I heard my own voice shake as I asked,

"Since when do we eat seafood?"