"Check the purchase history. Get the most expensive one."

Cora's hands stopped moving.

Of course. Of *course* the birthday cakes had been his assistant's doing. Three years of candlelit desserts she'd treasured like proof of his hidden affection-all of them selected by a man named Dexter who probably had a template email for the occasion.

Was there anything real? Any gesture, any moment, any whispered word that hadn't been a performance?

The question hit her so hard that her hand slipped. The swab pressed too deep into the wound.

Julian hissed in pain. His head snapped up, eyes narrowing. "Are you even qualified? You've been distracted since you got here."

His gaze dropped to her name badge.

Cora's heart stopped.

She saw the exact moment recognition hit him. His pupils dilated. The arrogant mask of command cracked, just for an instant, revealing something that might have been shock. Or guilt.

"Cora." Her name came out strangled. "What are you-you're supposed to be off tonight."

She couldn't hold the facade anymore. The mask came off. The goggles followed.

Her smile was a slash of bitterness.

"If I hadn't picked up the emergency shift, I never would have known my husband was screwing another woman in a hotel room."

Julian's expression darkened. "Don't be vulgar. Tiffany and I aren't-"

"Don't." The word came out sharp as a scalpel. "Whatever explanation you're about to give, I promise you I don't want to hear it. It'll just make me sick."

She grabbed her kit and walked away before he could see her cry.

Her chest was caving in. Every breath felt like inhaling ground glass. She had to get out of here, had to put distance between herself and the man she'd wasted three years loving-

"-Vance risked his life to save her, apparently. Ran back into a burning building."

Cora froze mid-step. Two nurses were huddled by the supply station, voices low and eager.

"She's *that* Tiffany Reed? The artist?"

"The one and only. They were apparently high school sweethearts. She left for some fellowship overseas, broke his heart. Now she's back, and..." A knowing pause. "Well. You do the math."

"Doesn't he have a wife, though? That doctor from the surgical wing-Cora something?"

"Oh, honey." A pitying laugh. "How long do you think *that's* going to last now that the real thing is back in town?"

Cora kept walking.

She'd never met Tiffany Reed before tonight. But she knew the name. Everyone who'd ever loved Julian Vance knew that name.

Before Julian was the billionaire CEO, before he was the most sought-after bachelor on the East Coast, he was just a young man in love with a girl named Tiffany. The golden couple. Everyone assumed they'd end up together.

Then Tiffany left for her fellowship senior year, and she didn't come back.

A year later, Cora saved Beatrice Vance's life.

The elderly matriarch had collapsed at a charity gala. Cora, a newly minted ER resident who'd crashed the event just to catch a glimpse of Julian, had been the only person in the room with medical training. She'd performed CPR for seven minutes until the paramedics arrived.

Beatrice survived. And she'd been so grateful-so inexplicably, bewilderingly grateful-that she'd asked Cora to marry her grandson.

Julian had agreed. One look, a single nod, and Cora's dream had come true.

She'd spent three years trying to earn his love. Three years of gourmet meals timed to his unpredictable schedule. Three years of canceled plans, missed anniversaries, cold sheets on her side of the bed while he stayed up working. Three years of swallowing her pride, her needs, her entire identity, trying to become whatever he wanted.

She'd loved him with a desperation that shamed her now.

And she'd always known, somewhere deep in the marrow of her bones, that he didn't love her back.

Now she knew why.

Cora moved through the triage zone like a ghost, treating burns and smoke inhalation, her face wet with tears she couldn't stop. No one noticed. Everyone was too busy.

---

It was nearly dawn when she finally made it home.

The bedroom light was on. Julian sat on the edge of their bed in a black silk robe, his dark hair still damp from the shower, the sutured wound at his temple giving him a rakish, dangerous look. He was beautiful. He'd always been beautiful. It was the first thing she'd loved about him.

It had become the least important thing.

"There's still time before midnight." His voice was low, carefully neutral. "The cake's in the kitchen. I'll light the candles."

As if nothing had happened.

Cora walked past him toward the closet. She needed to pack. She needed to be anywhere but here.

His hand closed around her wrist.

"Cora." A pause. "Tonight was... a misunderstanding."

She shook him off. "I said don't bother explaining. The cake is all yours. I already celebrated my birthday-Director Morgan took me out."

It wasn't entirely true. Eleanor Morgan-Mrs. Gable to the children she'd raised at the orphanage-had video-called her at midnight, singing "Happy Birthday" off-key through the phone. It was the highlight of Cora's day.

Mrs. Gable had also given her a gift beyond price: the truth about her family.

Cora wasn't nobody. She wasn't an abandoned orphan with no past and no connections. She was Cora Beaumont-daughter of Richard Beaumont IV, the real estate tycoon whose name was synonymous with wealth on the East Coast. She had three older brothers: Leo, the steady-handed CEO who'd been running the family empire since their father's semi-retirement; Nathan, the prodigy surgeon whose research was changing medicine; and Harrison, the actor-slash-race-car-driver whose face graced magazine covers and whose antics kept tabloids in business.

A billionaire's daughter. A dynasty's lost princess.

She'd planned to tell Julian tonight, over what she'd hoped would be a romantic dinner. She'd imagined his surprise. His pride. Maybe even his admiration.

Now the thought made her want to laugh until she was sick.

"Cora." Julian moved into her line of sight, blocking her path to the door. He was holding a jewelry box. "Forget the cake. Open your gift."

She didn't move.

His jaw tightened, but he popped the lid himself.

Inside lay a sapphire pendant on a platinum chain. Deep blue. Tear-shaped. Stunning.

Exactly like the one hanging around Tiffany Reed's throat.

Ice flooded Cora's veins.

"Happy birthday." Julian lifted the necklace from its velvet bed. "Let me put it on you."

She snatched it from his hands and hurled it across the room. The chain hit the wall with a faint, musical clatter.

"*Enough.*" Her voice shook. "How long are you going to pretend tonight didn't happen?"

Julian's face went very still.

Then, with the patient condescension of a man explaining something to a difficult child, he said: "Tiffany has been my friend since childhood. She was in an accident overseas-her wrist was injured badly, she couldn't paint for months. She's been struggling with depression." A pause. "She came back, and I'm supporting her as a friend. You're making this into something it's not. You're being irrational."

Cora felt the floor drop out from under her.

Her husband had been pulled from a burning hotel room with another woman in his arms, and *she* was being irrational?

Her lungs constricted. Her vision blurred. She thought about the fertility supplements in her nightstand drawer, the ones she'd started taking because she'd convinced herself a baby would fix whatever was broken between them. A child. A family. Something real to hold them together.

God, she'd been so stupid.

Julian retrieved the necklace from the floor, brushing off invisible dust. "There's something else I need to discuss with you."

"Can't wait to hear it."

"I think we should get a divorce."

The words hit her like a physical blow. Even knowing what she knew, even after everything-hearing him say it out loud stole the air from her lungs.

"A temporary one," he added quickly, as if that made it better. "Tiffany is fragile right now. She feels guilty about coming between us, even though she hasn't done anything wrong. If we're officially separated, she can focus on her recovery without that burden. Once she's better, we'll remarry."

Cora stared at him.

"Let me make sure I understand." Her voice was eerily calm. "You want to divorce me-on paper-so your mistress doesn't feel bad about being your mistress."

"She's not my-" Julian stopped. Exhaled. "You're twisting this. Tiffany is kind. She doesn't want to hurt anyone. *You're* the one turning this into something ugly."

"Julian." Cora's voice cut through the room. "If she's so mentally fragile that she's sleeping with a married man, she needs a psychiatrist, not my husband."

His expression snapped shut like a steel trap.

"Don't talk about her that way." Cold. Hard. The voice of a stranger. "Tiffany would never be as calculating as you're implying. She doesn't have a malicious bone in her body."

Not like you, he didn't say. But she heard it anyway.

In that moment, Cora understood.

Julian didn't love her. He never had. She'd been a placeholder, a warm body, a convenient arrangement to please his grandmother. And now that the woman he actually wanted was back, Cora was nothing more than an obstacle to be managed.

"Fine." The word came out on an exhale, carrying the last three years of her life with it. "I'll give you your divorce."

*But not the way you want it.*

Julian's shoulders relaxed almost imperceptibly. Of course she'd agreed. Cora always agreed. She was an orphan with no family, no resources, no leverage. What else was she going to do?

He had no idea.

"And Cora?" He reached out, almost touching her cheek. "This doesn't change anything between us. I'll take care of you. I'll be *better* to you."

The audacity nearly knocked her over.

"One more thing." His tone shifted to business. "Grandmother's health is precarious. She can't know about the divorce. If she finds out..." He didn't finish. He didn't need to. Beatrice Vance controlled the shares that made Julian CEO. If the marriage ended, so did his position.

Cora's smile was a blade. "Ah. So that's what this is about. Not the mistress's feelings. The *shares*."

His eyes flashed. "I've told you-I have no intention of truly ending this marriage. Tiffany and I are just-"

"Friends. Right. Got it."

She looked at the man she'd loved since she was nineteen years old, and she felt nothing but cold, clean contempt.

"We'll meet at the courthouse at nine tomorrow. The divorce paperwork should be convincing enough for your *friend*."

Julian blinked, momentarily wrong-footed. Then he nodded.

"Good. That's... reasonable." He paused at the door. "This is just temporary, Cora. You'll see. Once Tiffany is better, we'll-"

She didn't hear the rest. A wave of nausea had been building since she walked through the door, and now it crested into something violent. Her stomach seized. Her vision whited out at the edges.

She doubled over and vomited blood onto the hardwood floor.