Seven years of marriage, and on the day I finally got a positive pregnancy test, I drove to the airport myself to pick up the husband who'd been living in another city for three years.

I waited four hours for Piers Harding. He never showed. But the girl he'd been keeping on the side did.

"You're Piers Harding's assistant, right? Don't bother waiting. Your boss wore himself out in the early hours, and he's still overseas catching up on sleep. Just drop me off at the usual spot."

I accepted the role she'd handed me, held out my phone, and let her type in the address of a thirty-million-dollar villa in the suburbs.

The whole drive, she lounged against the leather seat, chatting with her best friend on speakerphone.

"Who says good looks don't matter? That sixty grand on surgery and implants was worth every penny, wasn't it? I've got this CEO wrapped around my little finger!"

"He didn't just give me three fully paid-off condos downtown. There's also a Lamborghini. And the best part? Once I graduate, he's sending me to Harbor City for grad school!"

"He even promised that if I get pregnant, he'll give me even more!"

When her friend pushed back, the girl pouted, smug as ever. "The devoted-husband act is obviously fake. His wife at home is nothing special."

Then, without warning, she aimed her phone camera straight at my face.

"See? Like this woman slaving away for Piers Harding. Past her prime, couldn't land a man if she threw herself at one, right?"

She nudged my shoulder. "Hey, am I wrong?"

——

I went along with it. Nodded.

Then I let my gaze drift slowly to her face. Christina Winfield. Very young, barely into her twenties.

Polished like a porcelain doll. Sixty thousand dollars well spent, by the looks of it.

She was still talking to her friend, not bothering to lower her voice one bit. "Don't forget, we've known each other for three years!"

"Besides, Piers is into educated women, right? His wife did some combined master's-to-PhD program? Well, when he came to give a talk at our school, he couldn't take his eyes off me the entire time. And that's because I was the top student representative."

Listening to the sweetness dripping from every word, my fingers tightened around the steering wheel.

That was when Piers Harding called Christina Winfield.

"You landed? Why didn't you coordinate with me before you left?"

What caught me off guard was his tone. He sounded like he was talking to a subordinate. Strictly business. Nothing about it suggested he was sweet-talking a mistress.

Less than a minute after the call ended, a phone buzzed again.

This time, it was mine.

Piers Harding's voice came through my Bluetooth earpiece, syrupy and tender, like an entirely different person.

"Hey, babe. Something came up last minute, a meeting I can't get out of. I really can't make it back today."

"Are you home yet? Have you eaten? How's your appetite been lately? When I get back, I'll make you that soup you like..."

But barely ten minutes earlier, another girl's boasting was still ringing in my ears.

"You haven't seen what he's like in bed. Completely different from that cold, untouchable act he puts on. A totally different man!"

A wave of nausea surged up from my stomach.

Not morning sickness. Something deeper than that. A revulsion rising from somewhere in my core.

I pulled out the earpiece and took a long breath.

That was when Christina Winfield shoved her phone in my face. On the screen was a message thread with Piers Harding.

"Hey, sweetie, your boss says to carry my luggage inside. Got it?"

I said nothing. Killed the engine and got out of the car.

I'll admit it was curiosity that drove me. I wanted to see their little love nest for myself.

The moment I pushed the door open, the place hit me with a wave of youthful energy.

Pink everywhere.

Stuffed animals piled on the couch. Anime figurines on every shelf and cabinet.

Instinctively, I looked for traces of Piers Harding. No houseplants, the kind he loved.

No wine cabinet. No cigar wall.

For some reason, I felt a small breath of relief.

The bitter truth was that I could only cling to these scraps of evidence—things he'd been careless enough to leave behind—just to prop up the crumbling illusion that he still loved me.

Christina tossed her coat on the floor by her feet. "Nice place, right? Decorated exactly the way I like it."

My eyes locked onto the necklace resting above her V-neckline. My lips trembled.

"That necklace..."

Christina leaned in, eyes bright. "Your boss is pretty generous, huh? He gave it to me for my birthday. I heard it's super hard to get."

When Piers gave me mine, he told me it was a limited edition. He said he'd only managed to snag one.

Now I stared at the identical necklace around her neck, and suddenly I couldn't tell which one of us was the afterthought.

I turned to leave, and my gaze caught something at the entryway.

A large note was stuck to the wall. My pupils contracted.

It was Christina's class schedule, with several key courses circled in red pen.

Next to it were her exam times, down to the exact hour and minute.

Piers's friends always teased him for being a "daddy husband"—the kind who managed every detail of his wife's life.

He kept a list of my food allergies in his notes app. My monthly checkup dates were posted on the fridge. He even organized the pill cases for my family members.

I'd always believed it was instinct born from love.

Turns out it was a hobby.

Being a caretaker at home wasn't enough for him. He had to go out and raise another one.

"Want some?"

Christina ripped open a bag of snacks. "I love this beef jerky! The dining hall at school is awful. Once Mr. Harding found out, he started having the housekeeper make batches of snacks every Sunday night and deliver them to me."

She took a bite. "I just wonder if his wife knows about it."

I stared at the jerky in her hand. My nails dug into my palms.

Of course she didn't know.

I'd even thought Piers was the one who liked them. Sometimes I'd help the housekeeper make them myself.

"Miss Winfield, did you know that Mr. Harding and his wife have been together for seven years?"

"Sure." Christina blinked, all wide-eyed innocence. "So what? It's not like I want to marry him."

"He gives me money and connections. I keep him happy. Everybody wins."

She leaned closer. "Think about it—his wife's at home turning into a frumpy housewife, dealing with groceries and bills all day. What kind of excitement does a man come home to? I'm different. I'm young and gorgeous. He can show me off."

Her eyes lit up. "A little while ago, he took me to this wine-tasting event. Very upscale."

"Know why he brought me instead of his wife?"

I looked at her. I didn't answer.

"Because I'm the one worth showing off." She flipped her hair. "You guys probably don't even know what Mr. Harding's phone wallpaper is, do you? It's me."

"His lock screen, though—that's his wife." She clicked her tongue. "Tsk."

"That's men for you. Not a decent one in the bunch. They want the trophy on the outside and the stability at home."

I lowered my eyes. A wave of bitter irony washed over me.

"All right, head on up."

Christina waved me off. "Leave the luggage—I'll handle it myself. Thanks, sweetie."

I turned and walked out.

But her words had already lodged in my skull like a splinter, throbbing with every thought.

Seven years of marriage, and I had never once checked Piers's phone.

His wallpaper was me. I'd always known that.

But it had never occurred to me that a woman could live the way Christina did—young and pretty, and that was enough to justify wedging herself into someone else's marriage without a shred of shame. She'd laid it all out like it was the most natural thing in the world.

I felt sorry for her. I felt sorry for myself.

Most of all, I felt sorry for the tiny, unformed life in my belly.

When I started the car, all I could think about was every good thing Piers had ever done for me.

All those things I thought were mine alone. One of a kind.

I was a light sleeper, so he warmed milk for me every night before bed. He kept that up for seven years. He had a recipe folder saved on his phone, filled with nothing but my favorites: when to add the sugar to the sweet-and-sour ribs, how many minutes to steam the crab. He even collected our movie ticket stubs like a lovesick teenager.

How could a man like that not love me?

But he'd done every single one of those things for someone else, too.

He brought Christina meals. He memorized her class schedule just so he could see her between lectures. He took her shopping. He gave her the same gifts he gave me, all to keep her happy.

I blinked hard and swallowed the sting behind my eyes.

Three days later, Piers came home.

Kisses landed on my face one after another, trailing downward.

"Baby, I missed you so much."

His lips pressed against the hollow of my neck. "You've lost weight. Have you been skipping meals because you missed me?"

No one at his company would have believed this was the same man who never cracked a smile in the boardroom.

"I brought you something."

He produced a bottle of wine like a kid showing off a prize. "Your favorite label. I made a special trip to pick it up."

"How about we open it tonight?"

I stared at the bottle.

Every time he traveled for business, he came back with some thoughtful little gift, always exactly what I'd been wanting. I once asked him how he always knew. He told me he'd overheard me mention a bracelet while I was on the phone with a friend, and he'd kept it tucked away in his memory ever since.

But after seeing all those matching "surprises" at Christina's apartment, the wine just made my stomach turn.

Right this moment, was an identical bottle sitting on her counter, too?

His phone rang.

Piers glanced at the screen and silenced it.

It rang again. He silenced it again.

When it rang a third time, I said nothing. I peeled his hand off me and walked to the dining table.

Piers answered the call and stepped onto the balcony. A minute at most. Then he came back and offered a one-line explanation.

"Work stuff. An intern keeps messing things up."

I nodded. "Sit down and eat first."

I was ready to lay my cards on the table. After all, a decision had to be made about the baby sooner or later.

But just as I opened my mouth, his phone buzzed again.

A text this time.

He glanced down, and the color drained from his face. He shot out of his chair like he'd been launched from it.

"What's wrong?"

His voice came out clipped, urgent. "Something came up at the office. I need to head out."

Before he'd even finished the sentence, he was already pulling on his coat, fumbling for his car keys.

I watched his retreating back and spoke up. "Let Josie Parrish drive you. It's late, and you shouldn't be behind the wheel."

Piers nodded without protest.

The door clicked shut. I sat alone at the dining table and let a thin smile cross my lips.

Josie was my eyes and ears.

I wanted to know exactly what Christina was up to, dragging him out in the middle of the night like the place was on fire.

"Kate, that girl is pregnant."

Josie's voice came through the phone, dead serious. "That's why Mr. Harding rushed over. They met at the hospital last night. Now they're having dinner at a private restaurant."

"Are you okay?"

I loosened my fingers. They'd been digging into my palms hard enough to leave marks. I forced out a breath that I hoped sounded casual.

"Which restaurant?"

By the time I arrived, they were still inside a private dining room.

The door was slightly ajar, and Christina's voice drifted out.

"Mr. Harding, do you really love your wife that much?"

"She hasn't gotten pregnant after all this time. Have you... ever thought about getting a divorce?"