Chapter 1: Betrayal on the Fifth Anniversary

Emily’s POV

I stand back and survey the dining room, letting the soft candlelight wash over the delicate table setting. Everything looks perfect. The porcelain plates, the vintage silverware, and the wine I’d picked from Nathan’s favorite vineyard. I even went out of my way to prepare his favorite dish—the one he loves when he’s in a good mood. Tonight marks our fifth wedding anniversary, and while the past few months have felt cold, distant, I still cling to hope.

I adjust the flowers in the vase one last time, but doubt gnaws at me. Nathan hasn’t been around much lately. He’s been consumed by his work, always brushing me off with vague excuses about meetings and business deals. But this is our anniversary. Tonight will be different. It has to be.

My phone rings, the sound jolting me from my thoughts. I glance down at the screen, my stomach tightening when I see Carla—Nathan’s sister. The woman never misses a chance to remind me of my failures, to drive her passive-aggressive claws in whenever she can. Hesitantly, I answer.

“Five years, and still no niece or nephew,” Carla’s voice oozes through the phone like poison no warmth, no greetings. “Don’t you think it’s time you step aside and let someone else take over? You’ve had your chance. The St. Claire family is embarrassed. Frankly, it’s pathetic.” Always ever so straight to the point.

I bite my lip, the familiar sting of her words sinking deep. "It’s not like we haven’t tried, Carla," I mutter. My hands shake slightly as I place a wine glass on the table.

Her laughter is harsh. “You’ve tried, but you’ve failed, because that's all you are, a failure. You know Nathan needs an heir, I wonder what he even saw in you," she muttered under her breath before continuing. If you had any decency, you’d leave him. Let him marry someone who’s actually worth the St. Claire name. You're only still here because of that business merger.”

I hang up before I say something I’ll regret. My chest tightens with frustration, and I fight the urge to throw my phone across the room.

No. Not tonight.

I won’t let her ruin this. Nathan and I are stronger than that.

A glance at the clock. 8:10 PM. He’s late.

I keep reminding myself that he’s busy, that he loves me, that he’ll come through the door any minute with an apology and a smile. I need to believe in that, in us. Because if I don’t, what’s left?

Finally, the sound of the front door opening pulls me from my thoughts. Nathan steps inside, looking... detached. His eyes flick over the room with little interest before settling on me. He doesn’t even smile.

“Sorry I’m late,” he mutters, his voice distant. He places a small, hastily wrapped gift on the table—a gift that already feels like an afterthought.

My heart sinks, but I force a smile. “It’s okay. You’re here now.”

I wait for him to compliment the effort I’ve put in, to notice the meal, the wine, the flowers. But instead, he pulls out his phone and begins scrolling through his messages. “I can’t stay long. Something came up with work.”

My smile falters. “It’s our anniversary, Nathan.”

He finally looks up, but his gaze is cold. “Yeah, and I have an important client meeting. We’ll celebrate properly another time.”

I swallow the lump in my throat, trying to hide my disappointment. “Your family has been harassing me again,” I say quietly, hoping to at least have a conversation, to talk about the way they constantly pressure me about the lack of children. But Nathan doesn’t react. No comforting words, no reassurance. Instead, he shrugs, barely acknowledging my words.

It was too unlike him. Nathan hasn't been nice to me or even bothered to pamper me recently, but this sort of silent, is all too new and taunting.

“I’ll deal with them later. I have to go now,” he says flatly.

I step toward him, feeling the faint whiff of perfume—a scent that isn’t mine. My pulse quickens, but I try to convince myself that it’s nothing. That I’m overreacting. But as I reach for him, hoping for a simple touch, a reminder of the man I married, he steps back, pulling away from me.

“I’ll see you later,” he says, and without another word, he walks out the door.

I stand there in silence, the only sound in the room the ticking of the clock. He’s gone. And deep down, I know he’s not coming back tonight. Not for me.

I sit down at the table, staring at the empty seat across from me. The candles flicker, and I suddenly feel ridiculous, sitting here in the dress I’d picked out just for him, waiting for a man who’s already left me behind.

Then my phone buzzes. I reach for it, expecting some meaningless message, but instead, my heart stops.

A photo. No—a video.

I click on it, my hand trembling. The screen fills with an image of Nathan—my husband—wrapped around Camille, his ex. They’re at a hotel, laughing, kissing. The camera zooms in as their lips meet, and I feel the last shred of hope drain from my body. Camille, the woman I once pitied, the woman I had taken in after her divorce and helped, is now draped over my husband as though they belong together.

They look happy when he told me that I was the one behind his smile.

My breath catches in my throat, and for a moment, I can’t think, can’t move. My world fractures, cracks splintering through the fragile walls I’d built around myself. It’s happening, everything I was afraid of is happening.

The video plays on, my heart shattering with every second. And then I see it—a faint swell of her belly. Camille is pregnant.

Suddenly, Carla’s cruel taunts from earlier replay in my mind, her voice echoing like a jagged blade in my chest. "You're barren, Emily. The St. Claire need an heir, and you’ve given us nothing," and her mother's agreement in the background.

But they are wrong. They don't know the truth about how it's their son that is infertile.

I kept it from him for years. I didn’t want to destroy his pride, didn’t want him to feel broken. But now? Now, I see the irony in it. The woman he’s chosen to betray me with is carrying another man’s child, and he has no idea.

A bitter laugh escapes me as I drop the phone onto the table. I feel... nothing. No more hope. No more love. Just emptiness. This is over.

I stand, smoothing the fabric of my dress as I walk toward the door. He doesn’t deserve the truth. Let him live in his lie a little longer.

I’ll find my way out. I’ll take back everything he’s stolen from me but until then, I need to catch him in the act.