You almost believed her. Right up until her husband opened the door.

Noah Osborn stood beneath the warm entryway light with one hand wrapped around the handle. Dark curls fell untidily across his forehead, black-framed glasses resting low on his nose, and his wedding band catching the light when his grip tightened.

For one strange second, he simply stared.

It was not the polite curiosity of a man meeting his wife's friend for the first time. Recognition flickered across his face—immediate and unmistakable—before disappearing beneath a controlled expression. His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.

Something inside you tightened too.

Camille appeared behind him moments later, beautiful and polished, wearing the bright smile she used whenever she wanted a situation to look easier than it was. Her honey-blonde hair fell in perfect waves, her light green eyes moving between you and Noah with quiet precision—studying the distance between your bodies, cataloging the surprise neither of you had hidden quickly enough.

You had come to repair an old friendship. Instead, you had stepped into a marriage already crowded with secrets.

Camille noticed.

Her smile never slipped. But something colder settled behind it.