Chapter 1The office erupted the moment Sarah Donovan walked in. People swarmed around her like she'd just walked off a magazine cover. Even the Dylan's eyes lit up with obvious admiration.
"Well, that's Munich excellence for you."
"Congratulations, Sarah. Yesterday's assignment—exclusive with Thaddius Huston—locked down today."
Everyone in the States knew his rules: Thaddius Huston didn't do interviews. Huston Industries didn't need press coverage—he was the brand.
Sarah's lips curved into that perfect, confident smile.
"Just doing what I'm paid for."
The whole newsroom was losing their minds. Since Thaddius took over his family's empire, he'd shut out every single media outlet.
I forced a smile, but inside? I was seething. Five years at Fox News. Five damn years, and I was one step away from hosting The Five.
Her introduction had been textbook perfect.
"Hey everyone, I'm Sarah Donovan."
"Fresh off Munich, but I'll be honest, zero experience in broadcasting before."
"Hope you'll all show me the ropes."
Sweet. Humble. Everyone bought it completely.
A slight, almost imperceptible smirk curved her lips. Smug. Deliberate.
Dylan called us both into the office.
“Natalie,” he started, “we want an exclusive with Thaddius Huston. So here’s the challenge.”
“Whoever lands this interview takes the primetime anchor seat.”
My chest tightened in a thrill. I had this. Thaddius wasn't just some CEO to me. He was my secret husband.
As we stepped out, Sarah extended her hand.
"Good to officially meet you, Natalie."
"Just call me Sarah."
I raised an eyebrow. She already knew my name? Her whole arrival felt way too targeted. Like she'd come here specifically for me.
I kept my expression neutral. "Natalie Collins. Just Natalie's fine."
We swapped numbers and headed toward the elevators. Right before we stepped outside, she turned to me.
"Natalie."
"Game on."
Just an anchor gig, but her eyes were burning with pure hunger.
Like we weren't just fighting over a job.
Like this was war.
Chapter 2
Last night, Thaddius stumbled through our front door reeking of top-shelf whiskey, his cheeks flushed that telltale red. His tailored shirt clung to every muscle, jacket slung carelessly over his arm like some GQ cover shot.
The foyer lighting hit his face just right—sharp jawline, those impossibly dark eyes under thick brows that made half of Manhattan swoon.
He barely glanced up. "What?"
No "hey babe." No "how was your day." Just *what*.
I didn't waste time with small talks. "I need that interview."
He paused, eyebrows drawing together slightly. After a moment of silence:
"Natalie."
“I don’t do interviews. Not to anyone. No exceptions.”
When management handed down that challenge, I thought it was a done deal. Thaddius was my husband—secret or not, I thought that meant something.
Wrong.
Sitting there, completely humiliated, I went for gamble.
"Not even for your WIFE?"
He didn't even hesitate. "Not even for my wife."
My throat choked, but I forced the words out. “Got it.”
I tried to convince myself if I couldn’t land it, then Sarah Donovan didn’t stand a chance either.
Joke's on me.
The next morning, our news director dropped the bomb: Sarah had locked the Huston exclusive.
The room erupted. Applause, disbelief, cheers.
Meanwhile, I sat frozen, staring at my desk like I’d forgotten how to breathe.
Miranda leaned close, squeezing my arm.
“Nat, don’t you blame yourself up. This was wired from the start. She’s a plant, and everyone knows it.”
But my gut twisted, this wasn't just about losing the promotion—this was about my own husband choosing some other woman over me.
And when I found out Sarah wasn’t just anybody—she was his first love? That was the knife.
Sarah wasn't just after my anchor chair.
She was after my own HUSBAND.
After her little victory lap, Sarah played the humble card perfectly. The second Dylan left, she smiled brightly.
"Starbucks run, anyone? My treat!"
The office went wild. Landing Thaddius meant quotas smashed, bonuses doubled, job security guaranteed.
Sarah wasn’t just the new girl anymore.
She was the newsroom’s golden ticket.
"Holy shit, Sarah," Jake from sports gushed, "you actually tamed the untameable. How the hell—"
Sarah's smile could've powered Times Square. “We’ve known each other a long time."
The words were casual, but her eyes locked on mine for one brutal second. That little smirk said LONG TIME.
The room practically vibrated with gossip.
"Wait, wait," Amanda from lifestyle leaned in, "are you two...?"
"Hold up," someone else interrupted, "isn't he married? Like, super secretly married?"
Sarah didn’t confirm or deny. Just that coy sparkle in her eyes before she waved it off. "Just text me your orders, guys."
Within minutes, she was everyone's new best friend. When the dinner invites rolled in, she laughed softly and shook her head.
"Thanks, but I’ve got plans tonight. Just a welcome-back dinner."
"Old friend's treating me to the full New York experience."
"Old friend?" someone echoed, suspicious, "please tell me it's not Thaddius Huston, right?"
Sarah just blinked those innocent doe eyes, saying absolutely nothing.
That's when my phone lit up. Thaddius: "Client dinner. Don't wait up."
Three years of secret marriage.
Three years of him being the perfect husband—loyal, respectful, always checking in. Never so much as a whisper of scandal.
But every instinct I had was screaming the same thing:
Tonight’s "welcome-back dinner"?
It had Thaddius written all over it.
Chapter 3
It's impossible not to be curious about your husband's first love.
Sarah was the kind of gorgeous that should come with a warning label—intimidating, untouchable, like she'd cut you down with one look. But in person? Total opposite. Warm, bubbly, the girl who'd remember your coffee order after meeting you once.
That kind of contrast? It made everyone think she was an absolute angel.
Her Instagram was a whole different story. Miss Perfect had a chatty side—posting every random thought, mirror selfies, vacation dumps, the full millennial package.
Then I saw his username in her likes, and my world tilted.
Thaddius_Huston.
Not just casual likes either. Consistent engagement going back months. His inner circle was all over her comments too—inside jokes, references that screamed we go way back.
Six months of scrolling painted the whole picture. These people had history.
I was about to close the app when a fresh post appeared. Group dinner at some ridiculously expensive Manhattan spot, Sarah glowing in the center of what looked like New York's power elite.
Thaddius wasn't in the shot.
But there, barely visible in the corner—a familiar arm wearing a green Rolex Submariner that cost more than most people's cars.
My husband's fucking watch.
"Most incredible welcome-back dinner ever! Love my NYC family! "
Within minutes, half our Fox News crew was in the comments.
"Sarah!! Living your best life with the 1% now!"
Her reply was sickeningly perfect: "You're all VIPs in my book! "
Three days. It took her three goddamn days to worm her way into half my life. She was everywhere.
For three years, I'd been the perfect wife. Left the hallway light on every single time Thaddius worked late. Tonight, I stood there staring at that switch like it held all the answers before killing it.
Screw the light. And screw him.
I was pretending to sleep when the shower started running. Then those familiar footsteps crossing our bedroom. The mattress dipped as he slid in, still radiating heat from the hot water.
His voice sliced through the darkness, smooth as always. "No light tonight?"
I yanked the bedside lamp off so hard I nearly broke the switch.
"Forgot."
He moved closer, smelling like that ridiculously expensive body wash and something distinctly him—the scent that used to make me melt on contact.
His arm wrapped around my waist from behind, pulling me flush against his chest like he owned me.
For one traitorous second, my body wanted to give in. Then reality slammed back.
Slowly, deliberately, I peeled each of his fingers away and shoved his hand off like it burned.
"I'm exhausted, Thaddius."
His voice dropped to that low rumble that used to be my kryptonite. "That's fine."
"I'll just hold you."
Hold me. Like I was some fragile thing that needed protecting. Like he hadn't just spent the evening with his ex-girlfriend while lying to my face about it.
