I Took Everything After Learning He Got His Mistress Pregnant

The penthouse glittered like a jewelry box. Five hundred guests moved through our living room in silk and tailored wool. Crystal chandeliers threw light across champagne flutes and diamond earrings. I stood near the marble fireplace in a white Givenchy gown, Cain's hand warm on the small of my back. His thumb traced small circles against the fabric. A photographer's flash caught us mid-laugh. The perfect couple. The perfect lie.

"You look stunning tonight," Cain murmured into my ear. His breath smelled like expensive scotch. "Thirty-two looks good on you, sweetheart."

I smiled up at him. "You say that every year."

"Because it's true every year." He kissed my temple. The guests nearest us made approving sounds. I heard someone whisper about how lucky I was.

I had been lucky once. I believed that with my whole heart. Cain Gordon learned Italian to impress me on our first date. He proposed on a bridge in Venice at sunset. He called me *tesoro* and *amore mio* and made me feel like the only woman in any room. That was six years ago. Tonight was my birthday. Tonight was the night my marriage died.

Cain squeezed my waist. "I need to grab Reid for a minute. Business thing. You okay?"

"Of course." I touched his cheek. "Go."

He moved through the crowd toward the terrace bar. I watched him go. Reid Calloway was already there, leaning against the railing with a rocks glass. They had been friends since college. Reid worked in private equity. He wore his wealth like cologne—too much, too obvious. Cain clapped him on the shoulder. They turned toward the terrace doors, half-open to let in the October air.

I circulated. I thanked Mrs. Chen for the orchid arrangement. I complimented Amanda's new engagement ring. I refilled my champagne flute and drifted closer to the terrace. Not close enough to join them. Just close enough to hear.

Cain's voice floated through the gap in the doors. He was speaking Italian. Rapid, relaxed, unguarded. My heart kicked once, hard.

"*L'accordo con Zaria procede perfettamente,*" he said. The arrangement with Zaria is going perfectly.

I stopped moving. My champagne flute was cool against my palm. I kept my face blank. I kept breathing.

Reid laughed. "*Quattro mesi ancora?*" Four more months?

"*Esattamente. Il bambino arriverà a febbraio.*" Exactly. The baby arrives in February. "*Le dirò che è un'adozione tramite beneficenza. Un orfano che abbiamo salvato. Estella sarà commossa. Penserà che sono un santo.*" I'll tell her it's a charity adoption. An orphan we rescued. Estella will be moved. She'll think I'm a saint.

Reid whistled low. "*Elegante.*"

"*Considerato,*" Cain corrected. Considerate. "*Le risparmio un'altra gravidanza. Le do la famiglia che vuole. Tutti vincono.*" I'm sparing her another pregnancy. Giving her the family she wants. Everyone wins.

My vision narrowed. The room tilted. I set my champagne flute on the nearest table before my hand could shake. I pressed my nails into my palm until the pain cleared my head. I did not scream. I did not run. I turned smoothly and walked back into the center of the room.

Someone asked if I was having a good time. I said it was the best birthday ever. My voice sounded normal. My smile felt like glass cutting my face from the inside.

Cain returned ten minutes later. He slid his arm around my waist and kissed my hair. "Sorry about that. Reid's got a deal closing. You know how it is."

"I know exactly how it is," I said.

He smiled. He had no idea.

We cut the cake together. Three tiers, vanilla and raspberry, from the French bakery on Madison. Cain fed me a bite. I fed him one back. Everyone applauded. The photographer captured it all. I tasted nothing.

The guests left in waves. By midnight, the penthouse was empty except for the catering staff. I thanked them personally. I walked each one to the elevator. Cain loosened his tie and poured himself another scotch in the kitchen.

"Hell of a party," he said. "You outdid yourself, babe."

"I'm glad you enjoyed it."

He came up behind me and wrapped his arms around my waist. His chin rested on my shoulder. "Best birthday yet?"

"Unforgettable," I said.

We went to bed. The sheets were cool silk against my skin. Cain fell asleep in minutes. His breathing evened out. His arm draped heavy across my stomach.

I stared at the ceiling. I did not cry. Crying was for women who still believed in something worth saving. I reconstructed the past three years in my head like pulling apart a seam. Every fertility treatment he encouraged. Every doctor's appointment he attended. Every injection I gave myself in our marble bathroom while he texted someone else. Every career opportunity I turned down because he said we needed to focus on starting our family.

Zaria Patterson. The name surfaced from memory. The scholarship student I found through the nonprofit. The girl from rural Georgia I personally funded through college. I bought her first interview suit. I wrote her recommendation letters. I introduced her to people who could help her.

She was pregnant with my husband's child.

Cain shifted in his sleep. His hand tightened on my hip. Possessive even unconscious.

I closed my eyes. I did not sleep. I planned.