The exclusive members-only restaurant had that peaceful, high-end vibe—exquisite dishes and prices that made your eyes water. I was enjoying my meal with my bestie, Emma Turner, when her gaze locked onto the entrance. "Look, it's Fiona Murphy! Aren't they stunning?"

Curious, I glanced up to see the jaw-dropping couple walk in. The guy had a strong, chiseled face, his sharp, intense gaze overshadowing his handsome features. Tall and confident, he was dressed to kill, radiating pure power and prestige.

The woman beside him was just as captivating, with a slender, graceful figure. She wore a vintage beige dress that hugged her curves, soft curls cascading over her shoulders, a chic scarf elegantly wrapped around her neck. She was sophistication personified, known for her gig as a top-tier TV host.

As I watched them, my fingers tightened around my fork, and my heart hammered painfully in my chest.

"Aren't they a sight for sore eyes?" Eva asked, completely clueless to the war raging inside me.

Yeah, they were—if only the man wasn't my husband.

Forrest Murphy's gaze met mine for a split second, but he just brushed it off, confidently guiding Fiona past our table like I was nothing.

Fiona, ever the picture of sweetness, beamed warmly as she passed. True to his bold, cocky nature, Forrest didn't even try to avoid me. Instead, he led Fiona to a booth right next to ours, acting like I was invisible.

I could catch snippets of their conversation, Fiona's gentle laughter floating over like tiny, stabbing needles.

This was a straight-up provocation.

I shot up from my seat, but instead of confronting them, I fled to the restroom.

In the restroom, I finally let out the breath I'd been holding. My heart ached like crazy.

I stared at my reflection, fighting back the tears. But then Fiona walked in, and I quickly pulled myself together, shoving all that emotion down.

She glided in, pulling out a compact mirror. While touching up her lipstick, she glanced at me in the mirror with a smirk. "So, how's it feel being Mrs. Murphy these past few weeks?"

I'd seen through Fiona's nice-girl act a long time ago. That sweet facade of hers was all for the public—hiding the real her.

I arched an eyebrow and said coolly, "Feels amazing. There's a line of women who'd kill to be in my shoes."

Fiona let out a light laugh. "You're just a placeholder. In a year, the Murphys will be done with you."

"Miss Quinn, at your age, you're always stressing about the future. Us younger ones live in the moment—who knows what tomorrow even brings?" I shot back with all the cockiness of youth.

Fiona's gentle smile vanished, replaced by an icy stare. "Living in the moment, huh? Well, right now, your husband is with me, making me laugh."

I wagged a finger at her, all playful. "Don't get your panties in a twist, big sis. Stress gives you wrinkles. Sure, he's with you now, but tonight, he'll be back in my bed, and we'll be working on making a family. Miss Quinn, you're pushing thirty, aren't you? Time to stop chasing after dinner dates and find a real man, settle down, pop out a kid. Clock's ticking."

Fiona's face turned white with rage, her lips trembling. I gave myself a mental high-five and walked out of the restroom, humming a tune.

Not wanting to watch my husband flirt, I grabbed Eva and we bolted after paying the bill.

After saying goodbye to Eva, I hailed a cab back to the Murphy estate.

Murphy Manor was over-the-top lavish—a European-style estate tucked between two hills with a crystal-clear lake nearby. Picture-perfect.

The estate had three stunning villas. The main one housed Forrest's grandma, parents, sister, and his younger brother Isa. Forrest and I had the east villa; his brother took the west.

I skipped the main house and headed straight to the villa I shared with Forrest. Inside, it was pure luxury—like British royal decor. Even the throw pillows were custom-made by some top British brand. Forrest spared no expense designing this place. For someone else, of course.

A dark pang hit me again—Fiona was right. I was just filling someone else's shoes.

I stayed up past ten that night, waiting for Forrest. He never showed. Figured he was with Fiona, so I gave up and crashed.

I was half-asleep when I felt someone by the bed. I opened my eyes and looked straight into a pair of cold, piercing eyes.

Forrest.

He'd just showered, his damp hair a little messy. A white towel hung low on his hips, showing off his defined chest and abs that looked carved from stone.

I'd always had this gut-level fear of Forrest—irrational and bone-deep, like he was some kind of predator. I forced a shaky smile. "You're back."

Forrest stared down at me with disgust and a dangerous glint. "So, the mask finally slips. No more playing innocent."

I bit my lip, mentally cursing Fiona. That woman had clearly turned him against me.

Suddenly, Forrest leaned over me, his powerful frame looming like a dark cloud. Fear washed over me in a crashing wave.

"Who gave you permission to pull stunts like that? We have a deal—stay married till you pop out a kid. Did you actually think you were Mrs. Murphy?" His rough hand clamped down on my shoulder.

Terrified by his icy demeanor, I couldn't even speak.

Forrest had already taken off for work. As I made my way down the grand staircase, one of the maids—dressed in a crisp, classic uniform—greeted me with forced politeness. "Good morning, Mrs. Murphy."

The staff here, like everyone else in the Murphy household, were always courteous but distant. They treated me with that chilly, reserved respect that comes from my awkward place in this family.

I knew exactly what they thought of me.

After all, my father was notorious, a walking scandal, and my mother had been the other woman. Me? Unmarried and already a mother to Forrest's child. And to top it off, I'd married him for money to have another baby.

Let them look down on me—I was staying anyway.

Because when I was seventeen, I fell hopelessly, stupidly in love with Forrest Murphy. And for our little boy.

After breakfast, I wandered into the sprawling gardens, hoping to catch a glimpse of my son. No school today. The Murphy estate gardens were like something out of an English manor painting—vivid blossoms soaking up the sun, their heady perfume drifting on the air.

Luck was on my side. Up ahead, I spotted the nanny with Little Sam.

At three, he was an angelic vision—but delicate, his cheeks pale and sickly in a way that twisted my heart with love and pain.

Oh, my sweet boy. Don't you worry. I'll save you. I swear it.

Sam wasn't much of a talker. No matter how the nanny cooed and coaxed, his little face stayed stoic, reserved—just like his cold, hard father.

Seeing him was a rare, precious joy. I moved toward him carefully, my heart slamming against my ribs.

When the nanny looked away, I bent down and whispered, "Hey, handsome little man!" I reached out, aching to touch his tiny hand.

But Sam was ever the vigilant one. He pulled back in a flash, his dark eyes swimming with wary suspicion.

Like father, like son.

I tried to inch closer, but the nanny caught me.

"Sam, come here right now!" she gasped, scooping him up like I was some kind of threat. She hurried back toward the main house without a backward glance.

Watching my son being carried away like that? It shattered me.

Dejected, I dragged myself back to the villa to get ready for Sophie Mitchell's birthday party that afternoon.

Sophie's party was held in a stunning hall—champagne towers rising high, fairy lights twinkling overhead, and tables piled with exquisite food. The room buzzed with chatter and laughter.

After wishing Sophie a happy birthday and handing over my gift, I slipped away to the quieter buffet corner for something good to eat.

"You should try the steak—it's killer here," a voice said.

I turned. A guy in trendy streetwear stood beside me, sharp features set off by a bold streak of blonde. His smile was way too bright and way too mischievous.

"Thanks," I said flatly, grabbing a glass of juice and stepping away.

"Has anyone ever told you you're absolutely stunning? I mean, crazy beautiful," he pressed, all enthusiasm.

"Has anyone ever told you your pickup lines are seriously from the Stone Age?" I shot back, trying to shake him off.

He followed, eyes sweeping over me head to toe. "I'm serious. You're breathtaking."

I stopped, swirling my drink, and let him look his fill. "I'm married. You're wasting your time."

His expression flickered—a blush creeping up before he let out a low chuckle. "Andy Jennings. We're definitely destined to meet again."

Destined, my ass.

I smirked, heading for a secluded lounge at the edge of the hall, desperate for an escape from his persistence.

Andy watched me go, his gaze fixed on my retreat like I was the most interesting thing he'd seen all night.

I settled into the quietest corner I could find, savoring my juice in peace. Most guests were too busy showing off in the main hall to bother me.

A waiter in uniform approached with a tray of delicacies. "You're a guest of Miss Mitchell's, correct?" he asked politely.

"Yes."

"Please, enjoy." He set the tray down and left.

Now that was service.

I lost myself in the food and the solitude—juicy steak, succulent shrimp—every bite a little slice of heaven.

After I'd eaten my fill, a drowsy warmth crept over me. I meant to get up, go home, and crash, but my eyelids grew heavy. Before I knew it, my head was on the table, out cold.

Outside the lounge, two men in hotel uniforms had been waiting. The moment they saw me asleep, they slipped in. Quietly, they lifted me and started toward a pre-booked room upstairs—fast.

"Ouch!" one of them yelped as he was suddenly thrown off balance. "Who the hell dares mess with my plan?" he snarled, spinning around.

Standing there was the same young guy from before, still in streetwear, blonde streak catching the light. He looked equal parts cool and dangerous.

"Who are you? What the hell do you think you're doing?" The sleazy man scrambled to his feet, ready to throw down.

Andy Jennings crossed his arms, fixing the slimy man with a look of pure disgust. "Who sent you? How much are they paying you?"

The man feigned innocence. "I have no clue what you're talking about. You need to leave, or I'm calling the cops."

"Go ahead. Call them," Andy shot back with a confident smirk. "The woman inside is my girlfriend. You drugged her in broad daylight to assault her. Let's see who ends up in cuffs first."

The man's eyes darted nervously toward the door. "Tell me who sent you, or I'm calling them myself!" Andy's smile vanished, replaced by a hard, steely glare.

Panic flooded the man's face as he stammered, "Please, spare me! I was forced… they made me do it…"

He inched toward the door, and when Andy's attention flickered for just a second, he bolted. Andy took off after him but lost him in the chaos. Not wanting to leave me alone for too long, he decided to drop it and headed back to the room.

I was still on the bed, lost in a deep sleep. My long lashes lay still, and my pale skin seemed to glow softly in the dim light, giving me an almost ethereal look. The sight made Andy's heart race. He quickly yanked open the curtains, then grabbed a wet towel and gently dabbed my face, eager to rouse me.

The cold towel jolted me awake. Blinking my eyes open, I found a handsome young face hovering over me. "Wha… what are you doing here?"

Andy raised an eyebrow, a playful glint in his eye. "I told you we'd meet again, didn't I?"

My head was still spinning from whatever they'd slipped me, and my body felt like lead. Slowly, the events leading up to this moment came swimming back. Rage surged through me. "Did you spike my drink and drag me to this hotel?"

Andy put on a wounded expression. "A guy can't even be a good Samaritan without getting accused these days! Miss, I just saved you. You were drugged and almost assaulted. They were even planning to film it."

I stared at him, still skeptical.

Andy snatched the camera off the nightstand and played back the footage. "See for yourself. Don't jump to conclusions."

As I watched, horror and disbelief flooded through me.

Realizing I'd misjudged Andy, a wave of gratitude washed over me. "I'm sorry, I misunderstood. Thank you for saving me. I can't even imagine what would have happened…" Who could hate me enough to stoop to something so vile?

"It's nothing, really," Andy said with his usual nonchalant shrug. "Do you need me to call someone for you?"

"No, thank you!" I shook my head quickly, knowing this was something I absolutely couldn't let the Murphys find out about.

"How about I take you to the hospital? You don't look so good," Andy offered, noticing how I kept rubbing my temples.

"No need, thank you. I'll just splash some water on my face," I said, still woozy. I managed to stagger off the bed and head to the bathroom.

After splashing cold water on my face, I felt a little more alert. I dried my face hastily, desperate to put this whole ordeal behind me.

"Thank you for everything. I have to go now. My friends are waiting," I said to Andy politely.

He gave me a curious look, as if I were a delicate angel standing by a tranquil lake, radiating beauty and vulnerability.

As I left the room, a lingering sense of shame clung to me. I was in no mood to go back to Sophie's party, so I stepped outside instead, gulping the fresh air like I'd narrowly escaped death. Who would do this to me? I frowned, thinking hard. The only person who came to mind was Fiona Murphy. That venomous bitch! I seethed internally, but without proof, I had to just chalk it up to shitty luck.

Just then, my phone rang. Forrest Murphy.

Seeing his name flash on the screen, a wave of vulnerability crashed over me, and tears welled in my eyes. God, how I ached to tell Forrest what just happened, to have him hold me and whisper that it was all okay. I took a shaky breath and answered, fighting to keep my voice steady. "Hello?"

"Where are you?" His deep voice carried that familiar edge of authority, even beneath its warmth.

The words snapped me back to reality, dousing my fleeting fantasy like ice water. I gripped my coat tighter, steadying myself. "I'm at a friend's birthday party."

"My sister's son is back from overseas. There's a family dinner tonight. Be home by five."

"Okay, I will."

And just like that, he hung up.

Standing there, surrounded by bustling strangers, reality hit me with a fresh wave of pain. The man I loved so deeply, my husband, remained cold and distant when I needed him most—just out of reach, like always.