Theodore Morton suffered from severe insomnia. No matter where he went, his sleep therapist had to be by his side.

At a business dinner for a new project, Nanette Dickerson—the sleep therapist—covered her nose and smiled at me in front of every partner at the table.

"Just be a good little trophy wife. Why are you out here trying to act like a man? Nobody wants to listen to you talk with that breath."

I slapped her across the face on the spot. Her cheek flushed crimson in an instant.

The next moment, Theodore Morton pulled her into his arms, his voice thick with anger.

"Nanette was just trying to give you a friendly reminder. She didn't mean anything by it. Did you really have to hit her in front of all these people?"

I didn't say a word. My eyes were fixed on the red mark on his neck.

He'd been overseas on a business trip. He'd only gotten back this morning.

An entire week. They'd been together the entire week.

Nanette hid behind him, one hand pressed to her cheek, her voice tinged with hurt.

"I was only joking with Mrs. Morton to lighten the mood. She didn't have to treat me like that, did she?"

……

One of the partners cleared his throat. Around the table, faces settled into expressions of barely concealed amusement.

I didn't spare Nanette a single glance. My nails dug deep into my palms as I swallowed the bitterness rising in my throat and looked straight at Theodore.

"Theodore. What is this?"

He went still for a beat, as if he didn't understand what I was pointing at. A flicker of panic crossed his face.

He was about to speak when Nanette popped out from behind him, raising her hand with a playful grin.

"That was me!"

"He looked so gorgeous while he was sleeping, I just couldn't help myself."

The panic on Theodore's face dissolved almost entirely. He reached out and tapped Nanette's forehead with an easy, intimate gesture, a low laugh escaping his lips.

"I was wondering where that red spot came from. Turns out it was you, you little mosquito."

The private dining room went dead silent.

I stared at Theodore in disbelief. My heart clenched as if a fist had seized it, then slowly released, leaving nothing behind but cold.

In Harborton, everyone knew Theodore Morton loved his wife more than life itself.

For years, no woman had been allowed near him. No one had ever been permitted to say a single word against me.

The entire floor of his office building was staffed exclusively with men. There wasn't even a female janitor.

The only woman with unrestricted access was me.

A year ago, Theodore had developed a severe sleep disorder. Night after night of insomnia. He'd seen every specialist, domestic and abroad, and nothing had brought him any relief.

In desperation, I turned to Nanette Dickerson, a girl I'd been sponsoring for eight years. Her college major was related to sleep therapy. It seemed like a perfect fit.

That day, Nanette became the second woman to set foot on that floor.

She wore jeans faded from too many washes and a simple denim shirt, her head bowed, unable to meet either my eyes or Theodore's.

Theodore didn't give her so much as a glance. He ordered his bodyguards to throw her out, then dragged me into the lounge with a cold expression and kissed me like a storm breaking loose.

Afterward, he sank his teeth into my shoulder in punishment, his voice rough and low.

"I don't want any other woman near me. I only want you."

I turned to face him, met his reddened eyes, and my heart melted completely.

It took my repeated coaxing before Theodore finally agreed to let Nanette try.

That first attempt showed results.

So I became even more determined to keep her around.

I paid off her mother's staggering medical bills and promised that once Theodore recovered, I'd send her abroad to study.

During that time, Theodore complained to me constantly.

"Serena Ashworth, this Nanette keeps making me do the strangest things. I hate it."

I pulled him into my arms and soothed him in a soft, gentle voice.

"She's just a young girl, innocent at heart. As long as she helps with your condition, can't you bear with it a little longer?"

Gradually, Theodore's symptoms grew milder.

Six months later, as long as Nanette was around, Theodore could sleep through the night.

To speed up his recovery, she moved into our home.

Whenever Theodore had to travel for business, he brought her along to every occasion. They were inseparable.

Within days, rumors swept through Harborton that Theodore was openly keeping a mistress under his own roof. The gossip was everywhere.

That night, Theodore's face went dark. He immediately had his PR team suppress the story and gave Nanette a stern warning.

But now, everything had changed.

The exclusivity I once held, the special place that was mine alone, had been shattered completely.

The private dining room door sat slightly ajar, and through the gap drifted the whispers of the waitstaff who had served our food moments ago.

"Mr. Morton's wife actually has bad breath! She looks so put-together. Who would've guessed she had a problem like that?"

"Right? Even rich people have embarrassing little flaws. You learn something new every day."

Behind Theodore, Nanette let out a sharp snicker.

Her face was smug, not even bothering to hide it.

Theodore listened to the chatter outside, then glanced at the expressions of his business partners. His face turned to stone.

He looked back at Nanette.

"Nanette. Apologize to my wife."

The smirk slid right off Nanette's face. Her eyes reddened, her voice cracking.

"Me apologize? For what?"

"She already slapped me across the face. What more do you want? For me to beg for forgiveness on my knees?"

Tears spilled down her cheeks in fat, heavy drops, her expression defiant.

"If you think I'm going to apologize, you're dreaming!"

"Didn't you tell me that as long as you were here, I could do whatever I wanted, say whatever I wanted?"

"Fine. If your word means nothing and you're just going to stand by while I get bullied—"

"Then from now on, whether you sleep or not has absolutely nothing to do with me!"

She grabbed her purse strap and headed for the door without a second of hesitation.

"Nanette! Don't you dare!"

Theodore's voice was sharp, but I caught the panic underneath it.

He closed the distance in two strides, took the bag from her hands, and met her tear-streaked face. Every ounce of authority drained out of him in an instant. When he spoke again, there was a coaxing softness buried in his tone, barely perceptible.

"Why are you crying? If you don't want to apologize, then don't."

Then he turned to me. His brow furrowed, his voice edged with impatience.

"Serena, she's just a kid. She doesn't know when to hold her tongue."

"You're going to scare her acting like this. Can you just let it go?"

I stared at his blatant double standard. The corner of my mouth twitched involuntarily. In the end, I said nothing.

Theodore watched Nanette settle back into her seat, then casually speared a piece of fruit from a plate and walked over to me.

He held it to my lips the way he always did, his voice dropping to something gentler.

"Have some fruit. Freshen up your palate."

"Don't be angry. You were the one who told me she was just a young girl, told me to be patient with her. So why can't you do the same?"

"Think of it as doing it for me. Don't hold it against her, okay?"

My chest felt impossibly tight, like someone had stuffed a wad of soaking-wet cotton behind my ribs, pressing the air out of my lungs.

He was right. He wasn't wrong. I was the one who had brought Nanette to him.

I was the one who gave her the chance to get close. I paved the road for her, let her seep into Theodore's life inch by inch until she had burrowed into his heart.

So on all those nights when I wasn't by his side, what had happened between them?

My stomach lurched violently, nausea surging up my throat. I stepped back and knocked his hand away, hard.

"I don't need it."

Theodore looked at my red-rimmed eyes and let out a helpless sigh, reaching out to pull me into his arms.

Nanette, standing off to the side, saw the gesture and cut in immediately, her voice laced with urgency.

"Theodore!"

"Your secretary just called. The client from Italy lands in fifteen minutes. We have to go now!"

Theodore's hand froze mid-air. He pulled it back, a slight crease forming between his brows.

A second later, the crease smoothed out and his expression returned to normal.

He looked at me, his tone flat.

"Serena, the client really is about to arrive."

"Once things settle down, we'll take that road trip to Napa. Just head home for now."

Then he signaled his assistant to escort the business partner back to the hotel.

The two of them walked toward the exit, one after the other. Nanette trailed behind him, the picture of obedience, but the moment she was past me she whipped her head around and pulled a face, her eyes glittering with naked provocation.

I stared at Theodore's retreating back and the words tore out of me before I could stop them.

"Theodore, do you really think I'll just keep waiting for you forever?"

He turned. The look he gave me carried a note of reproach, as if he thought I was throwing a childish tantrum.

"Serena, be good."

"I made you a promise, and I don't break my promises."

I stood at the floor-to-ceiling windows in the hotel lobby and watched Theodore shield the top of Nanette's head with his hand as she ducked into the car.

Long after the taillights had dissolved into traffic, I fished out a cigarette and lit it.

My phone buzzed violently. Vera Henson.

"Serena! That ungrateful snake Nanette, does she have a death wish? Check the video I just sent you. Now!"

What followed was a clip filmed inside a movie theater.

The lighting was dim, but I recognized his profile instantly.

His head was tilted toward Nanette, their lips locked together like neither could bear to pull away.

When they finally parted, the hand wearing his wedding band drew her into his chest and stroked the crown of her hair.

A fog rolled across my vision. Everything blurred.

I couldn't tell if it was the cigarette smoke or the acid burning through my chest.

So there was no Italian client. There never had been.

The whole thing was a performance. A script the two of them had rehearsed together.

In seven years, Theodore and I could count on one hand the number of times we'd gone to the movies.

Back when we first got together, he'd been a broke architect whose entire monthly salary couldn't cover the cost of one pair of my shoes. He always said movies were a waste of time. He could use those two hours to chase another project, get one step closer to giving me the life I deserved.

In all those years, we'd seen maybe two or three films, and every single one was a Marvel movie he picked.

Now he was ditching me with a made-up excuse so he could take Nanette to an animated film.

He sat beside her in the dark. Laughed with her. Shared popcorn with her.

And the moment the lights went down, he leaned in and kissed her.

The cigarette burned to the filter. A sharp sting bit into my fingertips, snapping me back.

I crushed it out and answered Vera's call.

"The video's gone viral. Everyone's saying you're so 'generous' you found Theodore a little side piece yourself..."

She didn't finish, but I knew exactly where the sentence was going.

The pampered princess of the Ashworth family, married beneath her station, and now supposedly hand-picking a mistress for her own husband. How deliciously ironic.

Half the social circle was probably laughing at me right now.

I drew a long breath and steadied my voice.

"Don't worry. I'm fine."

I hung up.

Then I dialed Dr. Swanson.

"Move Nanette's mother out of the VIP ward. Disconnect every machine and suspend all medication."

"And one more thing. I need you to find out exactly how far Theodore's sleep disorder has actually recovered."