Chapter 1

My husband finally agrees to a family portrait for our daughter's fifth birthday, and I'm so giddy I book the most exclusive studio in the city before sunrise.

Lumina Elite Studios. Six months waitlist. I pulled strings.

I'm sitting in front of the vanity in a custom Valentino gown, makeup flawless, hair styled to perfection. The lights are warm. The photographer is ready.

But Julian and Lily are nowhere to be found.

The studio's closing time comes and goes. My phone finally buzzes.

Julian:Forgot to mention. Company arranged a year-end trip. Took Lily with me. Back in a week.

Then a voice note from my five-year-old daughter, all giggles and sunshine:

"Mommy, the trip is sooooo fun! We'll take pictures with you when we get back, okay?"

I don't cry. I don't scream. I just smile, type back a cheerful "Sounds good, sweetie!" and then open a different chat.

To Logan Chase. CEO of Chase Holdings. My oldest friend. Also, technically, Julian's boss.

Me: Funny. Why didn't you tell your biggest shareholder you were sending the whole company on vacation?

Three seconds later, my phone rings.

"What vacation?"

Logan's voice is sharp, baffled.

"Chloe, are you dreaming? It's Q4. We're squeezing blood from stones over here. Nobody's on vacation except Julian. He requested PTO last week. The rest of us are pulling all-nighters."

My fingers tighten around the phone.

"Got it."

"Whoa, hey, wait. Chloe, what's going on?"

I press my lips together. In the mirror, I see a woman in a ten-thousand-dollar gown, sitting alone in a studio she rented out for the whole afternoon. A walking punchline.

"Come pick me up," I say flatly, sending him the address.

"Five minutes. Don't move."

I sit frozen at the vanity as the staff start packing equipment. I can feel their eyes shift. The whispers earlier were envious. Look at her, must be nice to book the whole place out. Now they're something uglier.

Pity. Naked, suffocating pity.

"Bet she got stood up."

"Poor thing. Money can't buy a husband who shows up."

The studio manager appears beside me, holding a thick leather portfolio against her chest. Her smile is too soft, too careful.

"Ma'am, please don't be too upset. I'm sure your husband had an emergency. Why don't you take a look at our portfolio? Pick a style for next time."

She slides the album in front of me.

I'm too numb to refuse. I flip the cover.

And every cell in my body turns to ice.

The first page is the studio's flagship piece.

A massive, gilded family portrait. Cream backdrop.

A man in a crisp navy suit, smiling like he's in a cologne ad. A woman in white silk, glowing.

And between them, a little girl in a pink tulle dress, clutching a bouquet of daisies, her eyes crescent-moon happy.

That little girl is my daughter.

That man is my husband.

And the woman…

The manager mistakes my frozen face for awe. She launches into her sales pitch, practically beaming.

"Oh, you have excellent taste! That's our signature family. Such a lovely couple. They've come every year since the baby's first month."

"The husband's a CEO at some Fortune 500. Seven figures, easy. Gorgeous man. And the wife is a total sweetheart. Devoted to her husband and daughter. The little girl is a natural in front of the camera, our whole staff adores her."

Every word is a knife sliding between my ribs.

Six years ago, I quietly funded Julian's career. I hid him inside Logan's company so no one would push him around.

I anonymously invested millions to make sure he became Top Performer of the Year, then VP, then CEO.

And every time I tried to take a picture of Lily, she'd scream and hide behind Julian.

"Mommy, GO AWAY! I HATE pictures!"

Julian would always smirk and say, "Babe, drop it. She doesn't like your photography. Honestly, neither do I."

She doesn't hate pictures.

She hates pictures with me.

My eyes drift back to the woman in white. At first glance, just familiar. But now…

Vivian Rose.

The poor scholarship girl I funded through four years of college. The one I personally called in favors to place at a Fortune 500 firm after she couldn't land a job.

I gave that girl a degree. A career.

And apparently, my husband. And my daughter.

"Ma'am? Ma'am, do you like this style? If so, we can…"

A roar of an engine outside. Tires screeching. Then footsteps pounding through the lobby.

"CHLOE!"

Logan bursts in, hair wild, leather jacket half-zipped. His eyes sweep over me, the empty studio, the Valentino gown.

"Damn, girl. Look at you. Red carpet ready." He grins, then frowns. "Where's Julian? Where's Lily? Thought you were doing the family portrait thing?"

I close the album. Slowly. Carefully.

Because I refuse to let him see the picture inside.

"Chloe? Why do you look like that?"

I lift my chin and smile. A smile sharp enough to cut glass.

"Take me to The Grand Sovereign. Apparently, my daughter's having a birthday party tonight."