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.

"Someone like me has no business crossing women like you—rich, powerful, untouchable." I looked at him. "Blake, I'm not worthy of you. Just let me go. I don't want to end up dead one day for no reason at all."

He frowned, his gaze turning sharp and hostile.

"Explain yourself."

I lowered my hand, revealing the swollen red mark on my cheek.

"You should ask her what she said."

"Miss Sullivan!" Fiona shrieked, her voice pitched high and piercing. "Yes, I slapped you—because you threatened my parents' lives! They're just ordinary people! If hitting me back will make you feel better, go ahead. I'm begging you, just don't hurt them."

My eyes burned scarlet with fury. "You're lying! You were the one who—"

"Enough." Blake's cold voice cut me off. He looked at me with open disappointment. "Theresa, I've spoiled you rotten."

"What, you think because you have no parents, I won't touch you?"

Maybe I'd already seen it coming. Maybe my heart had gone cold long before this.

I laughed—a hollow, useless sound. My eyes stung so badly they ached. "So how exactly do you plan to stand up for your wife?"

He walked toward me, slow and deliberate, then peeled the ring from my finger—the one he'd made with his own hands after earning his first real money.

He turned to his assistant.

"Call the police. My wife's jewelry has been stolen. Caught red-handed."

I forgot how to move. My mind went blank.

Blake's rise to the top had never been a gentle one. He was used to being ruthless.

I was his only soft spot.

Right or wrong, he'd always taken my side. No questions asked.

Not a single person in Riverport had ever dared play dirty with me.

But now, the one driving the knife into my chest was him.

Blake turned the ring over between his fingers. Through the tears pooling in my eyes, his cold features blurred into something I no longer recognized.

"Tessa, you've been very disobedient. Go in and reflect on what you've done for a few days."

"Don't worry—it won't be long. When you come out, I'll put the ring back on your finger myself."

I twisted my lips into something bitter.

Officers walked in. As the handcuffs closed around my wrists, I pulled my hand free from his grip, my face completely expressionless.

The sudden emptiness in his palm made Blake frown. He stared at my retreating back, seized by the irrational feeling that he would never hold on to me again.

He started to step forward, but Fiona was faster—hooking her arm through his.

"Blake, thank you for standing up for me. That was terrifying."

He clicked his tongue and pinched her cheek, indulgent. "What do you want as compensation?"

Fiona beamed, plucked the ring from his hand, and tossed it into the trash.

His expression shifted. She immediately let her eyes redden with hurt. "Was it that important?"

She made a show of reaching into the trash can. "Fine, I'll fish it out. Ten years of history—even if she hurt me, I don't want to make things hard for you."

Blake caught her by the waist, his heart melting completely. "Nothing's more important than you. Don't dirty your hands. Here—take the black card. Buy whatever you want."

Fiona huffed and refused. "I don't want your money. I only love you."

"Right, right. I'm the one who wants to spend money on my wife. If you won't let me, I'll feel terrible."

Only then did she accept it, feigning reluctance.

Three days later, I was dragged out of the detention cell in a daze.

They brought me straight to a private lounge at a club.

I pushed the door open. There on the sofa, dead center, Blake and Fiona were sharing a grape between their lips.

The grape slipped. They fell into a deep, tangled kiss.

The hooting and whistling from the men and women around them was loud enough to bring the ceiling down.

I didn't know how long I stood there before Blake finally noticed me in the doorway.

His eyes locked on my gaunt, colorless face. His expression darkened instantly. "What happened? Did someone give you trouble in there?"