Chapter 1I was a divorce attorney who specialized in cheating cases—never thought I’d end up being challenged by a mistress myself.
One moment, I was reading a sweet text from my husband, Damian Blake—"How's my girl today?"
The next, his "fiancée" just walked into my law office.
She was all breathy excitement, playing coy:
"I want to hire you for my fiancé's divorce. He claims his wife's a real classy bitch, so we gotta leave her some face."
I glanced down at the intake form.
Client name: Damian Blake.
Clipped to the paperwork was a photo—same face I've woken up next to for nine years.
Except right now? He felt like a complete stranger
God, how ironic.
Five years as a divorce lawyer. Blown up more marriages than I can count.
Today, it was finally my turn.
Congratulations, Damian.
You just handed your mistress the one lawyer in New York who's going to make damn sure you regret it.
...
I closed the file and looked up at the woman sitting across from me.
She wasn't stunning—pretty, maybe. Petite frame, that kind of skinny you only got when you'd never carried a child.
Well-spoken, clearly raised right.
But there was a naive purity that hinted at her sheltered life.
When she mentioned her upcoming "promotion," there's smug satisfaction in her eyes—mixed with just a hint of nerves.
"Ms. Monroe, so... what do you think we should do?"
"My fiancé wants his wife to step aside quietly. You know, for old times' sake. He doesn’t want drama."
She said it softly, a shy little smile playing on her lips.
If I wasn't sure she had no clue who I am, I'd have sworn she was taunting me.
I curved my lips into my best professional smile.
"Ms. Rhodes, how long have you two been together?"
She blinked, caught off guard.
"Sorry?"
I slowed down, enunciating each word clearly.
"Before I can give you legal advice, I need to know every detail about your relationship."
"Oh! Right." She nodded, her voice going all soft and dreamy.
But with every word she said, my smile got colder.
"We've been together for two years. Met at a charity gala."
"Someone in his family had just been diagnosed with something serious. He was devastated. Alone on the terrace. I happened to walk by, and we just... talked for a while..."
A faint blush crept across her cheeks.
"We clicked right away. Less than a month later, we were official."
Listening to her sweet little love story, my chest tightened like a fist is squeezing my heart.
"You met him two years ago today?"
"Wait—how did you know that?" Her eyes went wide with surprise.
I let a small smile tug at my lips, my lashes hiding the ice in my gaze.
Of course I knew.
Because two years ago today, my father had a massive heart attack. He died in the ER at New York-Presbyterian.
Around the time they were "meeting," I was on my knees outside the emergency room.
Falling apart. Screaming until my voice gave out.
The old wound ripped open fresh, slicing through me over and over.
I took a silent breath and moved on to my next question.
"You know he has a four-year-old son? He just started preschool."
"Oh yeah," that timid look vanished instantly, replaced with total confidence.
"He promised once we're married, I'll be Noah's mom. Kids don't remember anything anyway. Whoever loves them is their real parent."
She looked at me, seeking validation.
"Don't you think so, Ms. Monroe?"
My knuckles went white. My face stayed calm.
"Sure. You're absolutely right."
Too bad you'll never get the chance.
She relaxed completely now, her guard down. She kept talking.
Her tone actually got a little cheerful:
"He even showed me pictures of his wife. She's got this C-section scar on her stomach—super deep and ugly."
"He said it grossed him out every time he saw it."
She let out a light laugh.
"Ms. Monroe, don't you think that woman's pathetic? Like, why would she hold on this tight? God, how desperate can you be?"
I laughed too. My eyes were frozen solid.
"Ever consider the possibility that his wife has NO IDEA your affair?"
Chapter 2
"No way!"
Tiffany's voice was razor-sharp, absolute.
"Damian can’t even stand to touch her. You'd have to be brain-dead not to notice. With me? He's all fire and hunger. But at home with that plain Jane? Says he's suffocating."
"Ms. Monroe, seriously—if you went two years without sex, wouldn't you find that weird?"
"I would."
My answer came fast, but my eyes were locked on the Cartier wedding band on my ring finger.
Damian and I came from completely different worlds.
But we went from high school sweethearts to husband and wife. Nine years total.
When I got pneumonia, he drove through a blizzard—three hundred miles—middle of the night. Just to bring me medicine.
When I was upset, he'd scour the whole Manhattan for that one bakery I loved.
When I was pregnant, when I gave birth—he never missed a single prenatal check-up.
Every time he came home, he'd hug me and Noah first, telling us we were the best part of his life.
Even when we stopped sharing a bed two years ago, he'd explained it so gently.
"Babe, having Noah wrecked your body. I can't let you go through that again."
I thought that after the passion faded, this was what marriage became—gentle, steady affection.
Never occurred to me he was just getting his satisfaction elsewhere.
Ice crawled through my veins, straight into my chest. I pushed out my last question.
"So you just want HER to file for divorce? That's it?"
"No," she shook her head hard.
"The most important thing is—his wife can’t find out he cheated. Yeah, she helped Damian rise, but his success was ALL his own now. If she finds out, she'll destroy him!"
"Ms. Monroe, you're the best divorce attorney in New York. Our future's in your hands."
I smiled and nodded.
"Don't worry."
The second she left, I called my partner Logan Reid.
"Logan. I need our top PI and forensic accountant. Now! I want every financial transaction and travel record Damian's made in the last two years."
"And tell my uncle—that fund Damian runs? Time to pull our family's investment out."
"I want to see if he can stay afloat without me."
Logan was my golden partner for a reason—his efficiency was unmatched.
Within hours, an encrypted 256GB hard drive sat on my desk.
"Everything you asked for. It's all in there."
I plugged it in. Clicked open.
First video: on a private yacht.
Damian in a white linen shirt, looking gentleman as he clasped a Graff diamond necklace around Tiffany's neck.
Last month on my birthday, Damian said he had an emergency meeting at work. When he got home, all he brought was a wilted carnation he'd bought off the street.
Second video: department store security cam.
Damian had his arm around Tiffany's waist as they browsed through luxury boutiques.
Clothes, handbags, shoes—shopping bags piled up at Tiffany's feet like a small mountain. The intimacy between them practically leaked through the screen.
At checkout, the associate threw in a music box—free gift. He ended up giving it to Noah and told him 'Daddy picked it out special'.
I closed the file without expression and opened the next folder.
Damian's offshore account showed multiple large transfers labeled as "investment consulting fees"—all ending up in an account ending in 3308.
Account holder: Tiffany Rhodes.
Such a sloppy attempt at asset concealment. Did he really think I'd never find out?
The last file made my fingertips go ice-cold.
Chat logs from Noah's preschool teacher.
Tiffany had been posing as "Noah's aunt," constantly asking about his daily routine. She'd even already RSVP'd to next week's parent day!
My hand clenched around the mouse.
I couldn't accept it. Damian's betrayal had already crept into our son's life.
When Noah was born, Damian had held that tiny life in his clumsy arms and promised he'd cherish him forever.
Even just now, when Tiffany said she wanted custody, I'd held onto a sliver of hope.
At least Damian loved our son.
Even if we divorced, at least he wouldn't hurt him.
I was wrong.
Chapter 3
A gaping hole tore open in my chest, icy wind howling through.
I couldn't take it anymore. I grabbed my phone, ready to warn him to stay the FUCK away from my son.
But my phone buzzed first—a message from Tiffany.
She'd sent a photo of herself, asking for my opinion.
"Ms. Monroe, does this outfit work? Damian's taking me and Noah to meet his parents tonight. I'm so nervous."
Almost immediately, Damian's message came through:
"Babe, Mom and Dad are missing Noah. I'm taking him to the estate tonight. You've been working so hard—I booked you a spa appointment at the Equinox Hotels. Go relax."
Looking at my son's innocent face in the photo, I smiled softly.
A spa? Not nearly as entertaining as this little family dinner show.
If they were meeting the parents, naturally the REAL wife should be there to supervise.
I hung up and immediately drove straight to the Blake estate.
On the way, Damian's messages kept popping up.
"Babe, you there yet? Traffic's bad on the main road—everything okay?"
He was tracking my location.
Calmly, I found a random spa photo online and sent it.
"Just got here. Nice place."
Short reply. But he seemed satisfied.
"Have fun. Love you."
Same old sweetness. Now it just made me sick.
I pocketed my phone and ignored the rest.
I parked the car and slipped in through the side entrance, sunglasses on.
Dinner hadn't started yet, but most of the Blake relatives had already arrived.
Damian's mother Helena was bustling between the kitchen and living room, all smiles—
The same warm, attentive energy she'd shown me years ago.
When I was exhausted, she'd bring soup to my office every week.
When I was cold, she'd knit me scarves and slippers, treating me better than her own son.
She even remembered my father's back problems and went out of her way to find an acupuncturist to help him.
My father—who could read anyone—had told me:
"The Blakes are good people. Marrying into that family, I've got no worries."
Now, she was the first to greet Tiffany as she walked in beside Damian.
"You must be Tiffany! So pretty—I can tell you'll give us lots of grandsons."
"Damian, don't you dare mistreat this girl."
Damian's dad Thomas, usually so reserved, set down his coffee and patted Damian's shoulder with satisfaction.
"Smart choice, son. About time we had more boys in this family."
Suddenly, it clicked—they were mad I only gave them ONE.
Funny—since Damian was the one who said no to more kids.
Tiffany straightened proudly, her voice dripping with sweetness:
"Don't worry, Uncle Thomas, Aunt Helena. Damian took me to get checked. The doctor said I'm very likely to have boys."
"Wonderful! Just wonderful!" His parents beamed while my son stood alone in the corner, forgotten.
Relatives crowded around, showering her with praise.
The cousin I loaned $150K? "Damian, you absolute legend!"
The aunt whose kid I got into a study abroad program? Sobbing. "Tiffany's such a sweetheart!"
The cousin whose startup I saved with my connections? Raising his glass. "To the happy couple!"
Every single one of them had benefited from my help. Not one of them remembered my name now.
The aunt wiped her tears, then excitedly grabbed my four-year-old son and shoved him toward Tiffany.
"Go on, call her Mommy!"
Helena immediately chimed in, forcing Noah's hand into Tiffany's.
"Be a good boy, Noah. Say Mommy!"
My son stumbled backward, terrified.
"No! She's not my mommy! My mommy's name is Selena!"
Helena's face twisted instantly. She pinched his arm hard.
"Don't talk nonsense! This IS your new mommy!"
Thomas glared coldly.
"Damian, is this how you're raising your son? No manners at all!"
Tiffany nestled into Damian's arms, pouting.
"Damian... does Noah hate me?"
Damian held her close, his voice soft and soothing.
"Of course not. He's just a kid—he doesn't know any better. Once we're married, you'll handle all his discipline. I won't interfere."
I stood outside the door, watching this absurd scene unfold, and finally—I couldn't take it anymore.
Then I pushed the door open.
Every face in the room froze in shock as I smiled lightly.
"Family dinner, huh? Weird—how come nobody told me?"
