The wedding dress fitting was over. Blake Vance gently reached across and buckled my seatbelt for me.

"Babe, I've seen you in the dress now, so I won't be coming to the wedding."

I froze, stunned. "What do you mean?"

He smiled and pressed a kiss to my temple.

"Met a girl. Feisty little thing, refused to be the other woman. So I went to the courthouse with her this morning."

"I'm someone else's husband now. If I go through with our wedding, my wife might get upset."

A high-pitched ringing filled my skull. My voice shook so badly it barely held together. "Why? We're getting married in a week."

His tone was apologetic, almost innocent. "Babe, you're the one I love most. But you know how men are. We can't resist eighteen."

"If you can't bear to cancel the wedding, just find some guy to stand in as the groom. Don't sell yourself short. It breaks my heart."

The wedding dress I'd just tried on still lay across the back seat.

White as snow. Cold enough to seep into my bones.

My body trembled. I slid the pregnancy report halfway out of my pocket, then pushed it back down.

He was right about one thing.

I shouldn't sell myself short.

——

Blake carried on like nothing had happened, reaching over to ruffle my hair the way he always did.

But the words that left his mouth were laced with poison.

"You know how girls are these days. Stubborn as hell. Wouldn't let me touch her without a ring on her finger."

"Chased her for almost six months. Finally got her into bed last night."

I stared at him, throat seized, hands and feet turning to ice.

He just smiled, slow and deep. "Right where you're sitting. Like a little wildcat. Scratched me up a bit, then went completely soft."

My gaze followed his, tracing the lingering satisfaction in his eyes.

I looked at the windshield.

Two handprints, one large and one small, overlapping. Not yet faded.

A wave of nausea surged up my throat so violently I nearly choked.

I gripped the seatbelt until my knuckles went white, my eyes burning red.

He cupped my bloodless face in his hands, a crease of confusion forming between his brows. "Why are you crying? You're still Mrs. Vance."

Those deep-set eyes of his still brimmed with devotion so thick it looked real.

As if the man who'd just casually announced he'd married another woman wasn't him. As if the man who'd sat here, drunk on the memory of tangled limbs in my seat, was someone else entirely.

The sheer absurdity of it crashed over me, tearing me apart.

I couldn't breathe.

He sighed, as though I were being unreasonable. "I know it doesn't feel great, but she's sensitive. If I show up at the wedding, she'll cry for sure. She's not like other women. She's innocent, kept herself pure. All she wants is someone faithful. I chased her for six months and she gave me her first time. I owe her that much. You've always been understanding. I know you get it, right?"

Six months.

Our wedding had also been six months in the making.

So while he'd been handpicking every detail for me—the venue, the flowers, the invitations, everything exactly the way I liked—he'd also been pouring every ounce of energy into bedding another woman behind my back.

I curled my frozen fingers inward and closed my eyes, numb.

"You married someone else. We're done."

He blinked. Then laughed softly. "Don't say things you don't mean."

"You've been with me since you were eighteen. You've lost two pregnancies for me. Without me, what man out there would want you?"

I stared at him.

My chest felt like a red-hot coal had been dragged across it.

Ten years. We'd slept under bridges. Split a single cup of instant noodles. At our lowest, the only thing filling our stomachs was water.

We couldn't afford birth control. Couldn't afford a clinic.

So I'd stood out in the freezing cold until my body gave in. Climbed to the top of a staircase and thrown myself down.

I endured the pain, crying until I had nothing left as I said goodbye to our two babies.

Blake knelt at my bedside and drove a knife into his own flesh. Twice.

His bloodied hand trembled as it covered my eyes, and his voice came word by word against my ear. "Tessa, I swear I'll give you a good life. If I ever betray you, let me die a wretched death."

That promise carried weight. I believed it for half my life.

But now, he'd been undone so effortlessly by a woman he'd known for six months.

I couldn't understand it. A man who had loved me that fiercely—how could he just rot from the inside out?

His phone rang. The ringtone was distinctive.

It had gone off many times in the middle of the night. Blake always said it was a client.

I'd trusted him so completely that I never once questioned it.

Now I knew exactly how foolish I'd been.

He didn't answer right away. His voice was calm, the kind of calm you'd use to soothe a child throwing a tantrum.

"Why make such a fuss over a plaything? We've been together ten years. You really want to throw all of that away over a piece of paper?"

"You're not young anymore, Tessa. No parents, no job, nothing. I'm the only one willing to take care of you. Keep pushing, and even that won't last."

He pulled the car to the curb. "Take a cab home. I need to go pick up my girl. Think about what I said."

The door slammed shut like a slap across the face.

I watched the car disappear down the road, then collapsed against the curb and retched until tears streaked my entire face.

Blake was wrong about one thing. Nobody gets a marriage certificate with a plaything.

That certificate—the one I'd waited ten years for and never received.

True love doesn't change. It just finds someone else.

I stared up at the overcast sky, a hollow wind blowing straight through my chest.

After a long time, I picked up my phone and dialed a number.

When I got home, Blake's Bentley was parked right out front.

Through the cracked window, a man's breathy moans drifted out.

"Call me husband."

"Husband..."

"Who do you love most?"

"So obedient. I'd give my life for you."

I stood frozen in place, every drop of color drained from my face.

The summer sun was brutal and scorching, but I felt like I'd been plunged into a blizzard.

An hour later, Blake walked in with a petite woman draped against his side.

The moment Fiona Whitmore saw me sitting in the living room, her eyes welled up as though she'd suffered the greatest injustice of her life.

"Why is she here? You told me this was our home!"

"Were you lying to me? You still can't let her go?"

"I don't care how much I love you—I will never sell my dignity to be some mistress. I'm leaving. Right now!"

Blake scrambled to grab her, pulling her into his arms and holding her tight against his chest. "What are you thinking? Our marriage certificate has the official seal on it. You're my wife. Of course this is our home. She's just here to pack her things."

He looked at me. No explanation. No apology.

"Tessa, the suburban villa is quiet. Nobody around. Go stay there for a while."

My mind went blank.

Before the anger could even arrive, a dull, physical ache seized my heart.

Three years ago, when we'd moved into this house, Blake had held me in his arms with red-rimmed eyes.

"Tessa, this is our home now. You, me, and our children."

But now, the man who'd promised me a home—

Three years later, on this day, he was throwing me out of it.

"Tessa, my wife isn't happy. I don't want to say it twice."

There was a smile on his face, but the low edge of his voice carried an unmistakable warning.

My throat felt stuffed with something sodden and bitter, like waterlogged cotton.

Through the haze, it hit me: he wasn't joking.

After a long silence, under the weight of his smug certainty that he'd already won, I nodded. My voice was barely there.

"Got it."

Blake watched me rise from my seat, something shifting behind his eyes. Then he stepped forward and caught my arm, his voice dropping a few degrees softer. "There's a gala this afternoon. Come with me."

I was about to refuse, but he cut me off.

"It's Fiona's first time at one of these events. You can carry her train and help her look the part."

I froze. It was so absurd I almost laughed.

Then I thought about how little time I had left, and I swallowed whatever words were forming.

Before the gala, Fiona claimed she didn't have a suitable gown.

She went through my closet and, with surgical precision, picked out the most extravagant birthday gift Blake had ever given me—a one-of-a-kind dress valued at six hundred million dollars, along with the matching jewelry set.

She walked in on Blake's arm. I walked behind her, holding up her train. She became the belle of the ball.

The mockery and whispers followed me like a shadow.

"You have to hand it to Vance—he's got his women trained. His wife carries his mistress's dress, and she doesn't make a peep."

"Wife? Didn't you hear? Vance already got his marriage certificate with the little mistress. Theresa Sullivan is just some used-up rag he strung along for ten years. She's nothing."

"How stupid do you have to be to walk away with nothing after a whole decade? Honestly, living like that—worse than a dog—she might as well be dead."

I fled the ballroom and locked myself in the restroom.

That was where I heard someone ribbing Blake outside.

"Blake, Theresa stuck by you for ten years. You really went and got the certificate with that little flower?"

"The girl wanted security. It's just a piece of paper. What difference does it make?"

"What if Theresa leaves? No regrets?"

My heart clenched. Then I heard him laugh, lazy and careless.

"Theresa's entire world is me. Ten years by my side—I've already ruined her for anything else. At this point, she's no different from a dirty old rag."

"I know her too well. Even after I'm done with her, she'll still be standing right where I left her, waiting like a good girl."

The rest of his words dissolved into static.

I walked to the sink and splashed water on my face, again and again, until I bit down hard on the base of my thumb.

I watched the water drip into the basin, mixing with tears I refused to let anyone hear.

Blake Vance, this time you bet wrong.

This dirty rag you threw away won't be waiting for you anymore.

I turned and walked out of the restroom.

A slap cracked across my face before I even saw it coming.

I pressed my hand to my burning cheek and turned, disbelief flooding through me.

Fiona rolled her wrist, every trace of sweetness stripped from her face like a mask torn off. "You heard everything. Blake already married me. And you're still clinging to him like some shameless parasite? Have you no dignity?"

"If you love being some man's free entertainment that badly, go find a street corner."

"Then again, a desperate little freebie who let herself get used for ten years—you're only fit to pair up with the gutter trash in the slums."

A ringing filled my skull. The world narrowed to the woman's vicious face, her mouth opening and closing, spitting poison.

Rage burned through me until it came out as a laugh. But Fiona didn't give me a chance to fight back. She let out a sudden shriek, clawed open the front of her gown, and threw herself backward.

"Theresa!"

The voice behind me was ice.

Blake rushed past me and caught Fiona, pulling her into his arms.

She collapsed against him, sobbing on cue, tears materializing from nowhere. "Blake, I'm the other woman. I'm the one who ruined things between you and Miss Sullivan. It's all my fault. I never should have shown up. I'm the horrible one."

Then she slapped herself across the face. Hard. Twice.

Blake grabbed her hands. His brows trembled. His jaw was tight.

"Who said those things to you?"

Fiona bit her lip, fingers twisting into the fabric of her dress until her knuckles went white. "Please. Don't ask."

But when her gaze swept over me, she shrank back, shaking her head in wide-eyed terror.