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.