He Chose His Secret Wife Over Me

I reached for my fiancé's phone to silence an alarm and found a hidden folder named "The Protocol." Inside was a spreadsheet that systematically dismantled my entire existence. Task 399: Buy blue hydrangeas. Note: Her favorite. For Denzel. Task 400: Schedule anniversary dinner. Note: Make sure she feels special. For Denzel. In that heartbeat, I realized the man I had loved for three years hadn't looked at me once without seeing a chore list left by his dead brother. I wasn't Elfrieda Stewart, the woman Jaxon Tate loved. I was a legacy project. The truth turned lethal at our engagement gala. When a massive chandelier detached from the ceiling, Jaxon didn't lunge for me. He tackled his "ex" Janice—who I later discovered was his secret wife—to safety. He left me standing in the center of the target to be crushed by shattering glass. But the cruelty didn't end there. On a "reconciliation" yacht trip, Janice pushed me overboard. Jaxon looked at me struggling in the freezing black water, then threw the life preserver to her. He saved the shark and left me to drown. I lost everything in that water, including the unborn child I hadn't even told him about. He thought I was dead. He thought he was free to play house with Janice. But my brother pulled me from the darkness. And when I resurfaced in Norway, wearing the ring of a man far more dangerous than Jaxon could ever dream of being, Jaxon realized too late that he had destroyed the only thing that could have saved him. Chapter 1 Elfrieda Stewart POV I was reaching for my fiancé's phone to silence a shrill alarm when my thumb grazed a secure folder named "The Protocol." In that heartbeat, I realized the man I had loved for three years hadn't looked at me once without seeing a chore list left by his dead brother. The screen glowed with a spreadsheet that systematically dismantled my life. Task 399: Buy blue hydrangeas. Note: Her favorite. For Denzel. Task 400: Schedule anniversary dinner at Le Monde. Note: Make sure she feels special. For Denzel. Task 401: Renew the lease on her apartment. For Denzel. My thumb hovered over the glass, trembling slightly. I wasn't Elfrieda Stewart, the woman Jaxon Tate loved. I was a legacy project. I was an administrative duty inherited along with the Tate family’s territory in Chicago. The bathroom door creaked open. I instantly locked the phone and placed it face down on the marble counter just as Jaxon walked out, a towel slung low on his hips, steam rising from his damp skin. He looked like a god of the underworld. He had the chiseled jawline and the cold, predatory eyes that made men in this city cross the street to avoid him. "Happy anniversary, El," he said. He leaned in to kiss my cheek. His lips felt like a brand. A lie. "You smell like vanilla," he murmured, reciting a line from a script I hadn't known existed until thirty seconds ago. My stomach lurched. I forced a smile that felt like it might crack my face into pieces. "Three years," I said. "To Denzel," he whispered, almost to himself, before catching my eye. "To us." He poured two glasses of champagne. He was a *Soldato* in the Outfit, a man who broke fingers for late payments, yet here he was, playing house because his dying Capo brother had made him swear an oath. His phone buzzed on the counter. The screen lit up. It wasn't a number. It was a contact saved simply as "HQ." Jaxon’s face changed. The charming mask slipped, revealing the frantic edge underneath. "I have to take this," he said. He stepped out onto the balcony, sliding the glass door shut behind him. He didn't realize the wind was blowing the wrong way. He didn't know I could hear him. "I can't right now, Janice," he hissed. "I'm with her." My blood went cold. Janice. I knew that name. She was his college ex, the one he claimed was crazy, the one he said he hadn't spoken to in five years. "It's the anniversary," Jaxon said, his voice pleading. "I have to finish the checklist. You know the rules. If the Boss finds out I'm neglecting Denzel's girl, I'm dead." I walked to the glass. I watched him run a hand through his hair in agitation. "I love you," he said to the phone. "You know I love you. This is just business. She's just a task." The champagne glass in my hand didn't break. I set it down on the table with a soft, deliberate clink. My hands weren't shaking. They were perfectly still. Jaxon hung up and came back inside, composing his features into a look of practiced regret. "Family emergency," he said. "A shipment at the docks. I have to go." "On our anniversary?" I asked. "It's the life, El. You know that. I do this to keep you safe." He kissed my forehead. He grabbed his jacket and his gun. He left me standing in the middle of our penthouse, surrounded by the blue hydrangeas he had bought because a spreadsheet told him to. I waited until the elevator dinged. Then I picked up his iPad. He had synced his photos to the cloud. I didn't need a password; he thought I was too stupid, too innocent to snoop. I opened the hidden album. There were hundreds of photos. Jaxon and Janice in Cabo. Jaxon and Janice at a Christmas party I wasn't invited to. And then, the one that stopped my heart. A wedding photo. Dated six months ago. Jaxon in a tuxedo, Janice in white, holding a marriage license that violated every law of the Outfit. He wasn't just a liar. He was a dead man walking. And I was the fool who had been warming his bed while he played husband to another woman. I didn't cry. The tears wouldn't come. I reached for my phone and dialed the one number I was never supposed to use for personal reasons. "Jameel," I said when my brother answered. "Elfrieda? What's wrong? Is it Jaxon?" "No," I said, my voice sounding like it belonged to a stranger. "It's not Jaxon. It's the Protocol."