I adjusted the strap of my bag on my shoulder as I stepped off the private elevator, the scent of expensive leather and fresh orchids filling the air. The receptionist gave me a tight, professional smile—the kind reserved for the boss's wife.

But my attention snagged on something else.

A door. Partially open. Damiano’s office door.

And through the crack, a woman’s laugh. Low. Familiar. The same laugh I’d heard at last month’s gala, hovering too close to my husband’s shoulder while I was cornered by his investors.

My steps slowed.

Inside, I could see her perched on the edge of his desk,文件夹 in hand. Dark hair falling over her shoulder. Red lips curved in a smile that wasn’t strictly professional.

And Damiano—my husband, the man who’d promised me forever with a diamond on my finger—leaned back in his chair with that lazy, infuriating smirk, watching her like he had all the time in the world.

The folder in my grip crinkled slightly.

I pushed the door open wider.