Just then, his voice cut through the silence behind me.

"What are you looking at?"

I hit the lock button and spun around.

Chandler stood at the bathroom door, his hair still dripping, a bathrobe knotted loosely at his waist.

The scent of cedar and tobacco, a scent that had once captivated me, washed over me.

"What were you doing with my phone?"

"Couldn't sleep. I wanted to check the stock market and grabbed the wrong one." I placed the phone back on the nightstand. "I remembered a few of our stocks were underperforming."

He let out a soft laugh and came over, sitting behind me.

"Workaholic," he murmured, his breath warm against my neck. "It's late."

His hand rested on my shoulder, its warmth damp against my skin.

After five years, the touch was all too familiar.

But tonight, a wave of nausea rolled through me.

I stood up, pulling away from his touch.

"I'm too tired."

"Colette?"

His voice was tinged with confusion.

I walked to the window, the lights of Chicago glittering like scattered diamonds below.

"Chandler," I said, my back to him. "Since I became the Donna, you've never let me attend a single family summit."

A beat of silence.

"Didn't we just talk about this?" His tone was strained with impatience.

"Yes." I turned to face him. "But I want the real reason."

"The rules—"

"Stop talking about the rules," I interrupted. "Tell me the truth."

Chandler's expression hardened.

He rose to his feet, the oppressive aura of the Moretti heir radiating from him.

"Colette, are you questioning me?"

"I'm exercising my right to know as your wife," I said, holding my ground. "I have a right to be aware of major family decisions."

"The summits are the Don's business," he said, his voice hard. "The Donna's duty is to uphold the family’s public face and manage the legitimate businesses, not to get involved in our other affairs."

"What other affairs?"

"Infiltration from rival families." Seeing my resolve, he sighed. "Colette, you weren't born into this. Many of the Capos have their opinions. Keeping you away is how I protect you."

Such a noble excuse.

If I hadn't seen those photos, I might have let myself be convinced again.

A bitter smile touched my lips. He was still lying, right to my face.

"I see. I'll sleep in the study tonight."

Chandler frowned. "Why?"

"I have some accounts to double-check." I stood and grabbed my jacket.

"Colette—"

"You work late in the study all the time, don't you?" I looked at him. "I never ask about family business."

The words silenced him.

He was quiet for a moment, then gave a curt nod.

I grabbed my car keys and left the bedroom.

The study was in a separate building connected to the main house.

It was a wedding gift from Chandler. He’d said I needed my own space.

Looking back, maybe it was just to keep me conveniently out of the way.

I sat at my desk and opened my laptop.

The screen's glow pushed back the darkness.

Using my administrative access as Donna to the estate's assets and personnel, I found a security loophole. An entry point into the family's encrypted server.

I'd just never had a reason to use it before.

One by one, I opened the encrypted files.

At every family summit, Brandy's name was on the list of attendees.

Designation: Chief Advisor to the Heir, Chandler.

Advisor.

An orphan from a fallen family. What kind of advice could she offer the Moretti family?

I kept scrolling and discovered something even more absurd—

At a trade meeting in Miami, her designation was "strategic partner."

On the family's anniversary, she was a "special guest."

At a negotiation in New York, she was a "family representative."

And I, the actual Donna, hadn't attended a single one in five years.

My phone suddenly vibrated.

A message from the estate's butler:

"Donna, the Heir has ordered the car for six in the morning. He has urgent business."

A message like this at three in the morning.

So urgent it required three hours' notice?

"Understood," I replied.

Then I set my alarm for five.

The early Chicago morning was shrouded in a thin, gray fog.

I sat in my car, parked in the shadows of a tree just outside the main estate's side gate.

At 5:45 a.m., Chandler's bulletproof Cadillac Escalade slid out of the garage.

He didn't head for the family-controlled port. He drove toward the city center.

I followed, keeping a careful distance.

Yale Law had taught me this much—surveillance, analysis, evidence gathering.

Only this time, the subject was my husband.

The car stopped in front of a private penthouse in the heart of the city.

I knew the building. The family's top brass held secret meetings here sometimes.

But at six in the morning?

Chandler got out and walked into the lobby.

I waited for ten minutes, my hand on the door handle, ready to follow—

A silver sedan pulled up next to my car.

Brandy got out.

She wore a light gray silk robe, her hair piled loosely on her head. She looked like she had just rolled out of bed.

She rang the apartment's doorbell.

The door swung open.

Chandler stood there.

He grabbed her hand and pulled her inside.

The door clicked shut.

My knuckles turned white on the steering wheel.

My instincts screamed—Danger. Betrayal. Invasion.

Taking a deep breath, I got out of the car.

The apartment had a side door leading to a small, private garden.

I had been here once with Chandler. I knew the layout.

I slipped around to the side, hiding behind a row of manicured hedges.

Through the floor-to-ceiling windows on the ground floor, I saw them.

In the lounge, a fire crackled in the hearth.

Brandy was curled on the sofa as Chandler handed her a cup of coffee.

They were talking, their words lost to the glass between us.

Then Brandy stood and walked toward him.

She rose onto her toes.

Chandler lowered his head.

They kissed.

It started with a brush of lips, then deepened into a hungry, possessive kiss—the kind of intimacy I had never known.

Brandy's arms wrapped around his neck as Chandler’s hands clamped onto her waist.

A raw, tearing pain ripped through me, and a scream of betrayal died in my throat.

I stumbled back, leaning against the cold brick wall.

The morning wind was sharp on my face.

Bile rose in my throat.

My phone vibrated. A text from Chandler.

"In an emergency meeting with the union guys. Won't be back until noon. Thanks for handling things at the estate today."

I stared at the words.

A meeting.

Through the window, I could see him pinning Brandy to the sofa, their movements a practiced, familiar dance.

A chill that had nothing to do with the morning air settled deep in my bones.

I leaned against the wall, a silent spectator.

Through the glass, the two were lost in their own world, his hands gripping her waist as they kissed.

The 'C' tattooed over my heart—for Chandler, a symbol of my vows—seemed to burn with an icy fire, a violation that chilled me to the bone.

I turned and walked away, my steps feeling strangely light.

Back in the car, I didn't start the engine.

I just sat there, staring at the building's main entrance.

It was 6:30 a.m. The streets were still empty.

The city had not yet woken, but betrayal had already taken root.

My phone vibrated again.