Chapter 3

I grab the phone and zoom in.

No mistake.

That’s Grant.

My husband.

The guards see my face and apparently take that as a confession.

One pins me down again while the other grabs my arms.

“Still wanna keep lying?”

Then he kicks me in the side.

Pain shoots through me.

I grit my teeth and look straight at the sales associate.

“Call Grant Calloway.”

She laughs.

“Seriously?”

“Tell him to get down here. Now.”

She crouches in front of me and grabs my chin.

“You’re just his mistress. You really think dragging Mr. Calloway into this is gonna help you?”

Then she looks me over.

“Oh my God.”

“What?”

“You even got plastic surgery done to look like his wife.”

I stare at her.

“His wife?”

She rolls her eyes.

“Don’t act shocked. Everyone knows what Mrs. Calloway looks like.”

I almost laugh.

Apparently everyone except me.

“Grant ordered the jewelry,” I say. “The pickup is under my name. Go check.”

She stands.

“Give it up.”

The guards pull me to my feet.

I yank my arm back.

“Take your hands off me.”

One of them scoffs.

“Or what?”

I look at him.

“Or you’re gonna find out what you'll have to pay.”

“I will. And I dare you.”

A woman’s voice cuts through the crowd.

Everyone turns.

And there she is.

The woman from the photo.

She walks straight toward us.

The closer she gets, the more obvious it becomes.

She looks like me.

Not exactly.

But close enough.

Like someone handed Grant a picture of me from ten years ago and told him to go find another one.

Before I can say anything, she walks up and slaps me.

I turn back slowly.

“Who the hell are you?”

She laughs.

“Who am I?”

She points at my face.

“You got plastic surgery done just to look like me, stole my husband’s card, and you’re asking who I am?”

I stare at her.

“So you’re Grant Calloway’s 'wife'?”

“Obviously.”

She looks me up and down.

The sales associate jumps in.

“Mrs. Calloway, thank God. She’s been here claiming Mr. Calloway is her husband.”

Then she points at my black card.

“And she has his card.”

The woman’s face changes.

She turns to me.

“You stole Grant’s card?”

“It’s mine.”

She laughs.

“Wow.”

Then she holds out her hand.

“Give it to me.”

I look at her hand.

“No.”

Her eyes widen.

“You’re sleeping with a married man, spending his money, and you still have an attitude?”

Around us, the crowd starts whispering again.

“Right in front of his wife?”

“That’s insane.”

“And she’s still saying she’s Mrs. Calloway.”

The woman smiles at me.

“You wanna keep this going?”

She pulls out her phone.

“Fine. I’ll call my husband.”

I say nothing.

Please do.

She dials.

The second Grant picks up, her whole voice changes.

“Babe,” she says, all sweet and whiny.

“I’m at the Calloway Mall. There’s some crazy woman here saying she’s your wife. Can you come deal with her?”

A pause.

Then Grant asks, “My wife? What does she look like?”

I look up.

She gives me another once-over.

“Old. Ugly. Trust me, nobody you’d want.”

Grant goes quiet.

Then his voice relaxes.

Right then, my phone buzzes.

I look down.

Honey, where are you? I miss you.

Grant.

I almost laugh.

He’s on the phone with his “wife” while texting his actual wife.

Cute.

Still in Europe. I’ll be home next week.

A few seconds later, the woman’s face lights up.

She hangs up.

“My husband’s on his way.”

She points at me with a smug smile.

“You’re so screwed, honey.”

I slip my phone back into my bag.

“No.”

I look toward the entrance.

“Pretty sure Grant is.”