Chapter 1

### Chapter 1

At the family banquet, my husband peeled off hundred-dollar bills one by one and flung them in my face. "Take the money and get out. Don't soil this dinner."

My mind went blank. I stared at him, unable to believe it.

Five years married to Julian Farley. Five years of quiet, endless work behind the scenes, all so I could reach this day, the day the Farleys were finally set to rejoin the four great families of New York.

And this was what it bought me. His eyes across the table, full of disgust.

"Lorraine Pruitt, don't think I don't know. To keep your seat as Mrs. Farley, you spent five years passing yourself around a dozen men to win the backing of the Whitneys and the Pruitts."

Before I could get out a single word, his housekeeper, Anna Henson, curved her red lips and twisted the knife, slow and sweet.

"Lorraine came out of Chairman Whitney's room the other day and had to lean on the wall, her legs shaking so hard she couldn't walk. And that other time, young Mr. Pruitt's car seat, was it soft enough for you?"

She flicked a hand, and the screen at the far end of the hall lit up. One "intimate photo" after another began to scroll.

Me stepping in and out of hotels with different men. One with an arm around my waist, another carrying me sideways into a room, everything staged to look filthy, to make people imagine the worst.

The guests erupted at once. Contempt, disgust, laughter, every gaze pricking at me like needles.

I looked at those so-called intimate photos, and my fingertips went cold.

I raised my head and looked Julian dead in the eye.

"So these photos are enough for you to condemn me to death?"

He gave a cold snort and tossed a divorce agreement at me.

"You have no shame. I won't have a slut like you at my side. As of today, you're cast out of the Farley family, and your shares in the Farleys are wiped to zero."

"Julian, maybe you should look into whether those photos were AI—"

He cut me off, furious. "You mean tell me Anna faked the photos to frame you? Shut up!"

There was nothing else to do, so I stopped talking and bent to pick up one of the bills. Julian's face instantly filled with contempt, the look that said I knew you were a gold-digger.

But I turned and tucked the bill into his suit pocket, patting it flat.

"Take your fake money and treat yourself to something nice. You won't get the chance much longer."

...

Julian went from humiliated to enraged in a breath and seized my wrist.

"Lorraine Pruitt, the Farleys clawed their way back to where they are today, every single one of us fighting for it. And you're the only one who makes me sick."

His eyes were bloodshot, his grip crushing enough to grind my bones. "Haven't I been good enough to you all these years? And you go around making a cuckold of me, humiliating me in front of everyone!"

Every guest looked at him with sympathy.

The pain forced a sharp breath out of me, and I struggled to explain. "Julian, let go. Don't let people turn you against me. You know in your heart how much I've done for the Farleys all these years. Those photos—"

Anna cut across me with a light sneer.

"Done what, exactly? Climbed into a few families' beds? Everyone saw it. You put in some very 'thorough' effort."

Laughter broke out at once.

One of the Farley relatives spat on the floor. "Shameless. Who knows how many men have worn her out. And to think I used to hold her up as a model, telling everyone what a capable woman Mrs. Farley was."

"Exactly. A woman who drags the Farley name through the mud has no right to be Mrs. Farley!"

The insults came one after another, hurled at me like stones.

I never imagined that the Farley relatives who fawned over me and flattered me every single day would all turn on me now, each one wearing a different face.

"The photos don't prove anything." I clenched my fist and forced down the tremble in my throat. "I was only discussing business with them."

"What business gets discussed all over a man's body?"

Anna pointed at the frozen image on the big screen. "Then explain it. What is this?"

"Everyone, I'll stake my word these photos are one hundred percent real. If she doesn't believe me, I'll bring in an expert right now to prove it." Anna folded her arms, her smile certain, as if the outcome were already decided.

I stared at the screen.

In the photo, Byron Whitney, head of the Whitney family, had his arm around me as we ducked into the back seat of a luxury car, the angle sly, the pose suggestive.

I looked at it, and I almost laughed out of sheer fury.

Because Byron Whitney is my own uncle.