"It hurts so much. I can't breathe," Crystal grunted.

Asher's irritation vanished, replaced by panic. He leaned back. "What's wrong?"

"I think it's my peanut allergy," she choked out.

Asher turned around, glaring at me. "You knew about her allergy. Why didn't you warn the kitchen?"

I was stunned by the absurdity.

He had never told me anything, and it wasn't my responsibility to manage Margaret's menu for an uninvited guest. Furthermore, the food had been served when we arrived.

"I didn't know," I said, my voice cold as ice.

"That's bullshit!" he yelled. "You did this on purpose. Are you so jealous?"

A hollow laugh escaped me. "So what? You expect me to take responsibility for her?"

"I'll let it slide this time," he said through gritted teeth. "But she's living with us. Be careful when you cook, no more mistakes."

He expected me to cater to his ex. The gall was staggering.

Before I could respond, Crystal let out another pained whimper. In an instant, Asher's focus snapped back to her.

"Hang on! I'm taking you to the hospital." He revved the engine, then barked at me, "Go."

I held his gaze. "You expect me to walk home?"

The estate sat in a remote, exclusive suburb. At night, public transport was nonexistent, and taxis were a rare sight.

He slammed the dashboard. "The hospital is in the opposite direction, and Crystal is in danger. I can't detour to drop you off. Figure it out."

He slammed on the gas, and the car darted out, leaving me in a cloud of exhaust.

I stood alone on the empty road, the late wind biting my skin. He had said that so casually, as if my sacrifices all those years were an afterthought.

Pulling out my phone, I dialed his driver. "Mike, can you pick me up at the Terrell Mansion?"

Ten minutes later, the car pulled up. Mike poked his head out and blinked. "Ma'am, isn't Mr. Terrell with you? Thought you two were dining together."

I pulled open the car door and slid in. "He left early on an urgent call."

Out of his sight, I smiled bitterly.

Back home, I'd barely kicked off my shoes when my phone pinged with a message.

I checked it out, and my pupils contracted.

A photo filled the screen, showing Asher, shirtless on rumpled hotel sheets. His bronzed skin was marred by fresh hickeys trailing from his neck to his chest.

He slept soundly, oblivious to the camera.

Below was a taunting caption: [Asher is with me tonight. Says he could finally relax.]

The allergy was a lie, a ruse for their hotel rendezvous. Asher had crossed every line.

I screenshotted the evidence and sent it to my lawyer, then forwarded it to Asher.

[The house isn't enough? You have to offer yourself to her?]

He burst through the door soon after, his eyes darting with guilt. "It's not what it looks like. Crystal and I..."

"Shut up!" I snapped, my voice cutting through his excuses like a blade.

He reached for me. "Babe, don't be upset. Nothing happened, I swear."

I yanked my arm free, disgust surging through me, and stormed to the study where I opened a drawer, pulled out a thick binder, and thrust it at him. "Look at these, Asher."

My voice trembled with rage. "Remember when your family fell apart? I was there, in that miserable basement, eating scraps. I sold every piece of jewelry to pay off your millions. I carried you home drunk, stood up to your mocking friends. Where was Crystal then? Now you're back on top, with her on your arm, and I'm the discarded wife?"

Tears choked my words as I flung the papers at him. "How will you repay me for this?"