Chapter 1

The ballroom shimmered with opulence. Crystal chandeliers cast a golden glow over the elegantly dressed guests, their laughter and conversation blending seamlessly with the soft melody of a string quartet. The air carried the scent of roses and expensive perfume, mingling with the faint aroma of champagne. It was an evening of celebration—love, success, and a marriage that seemed picture-perfect. At the heart of it all stood Isabella Marsden, the woman every woman envied. She moved with effortless grace, the ivory gown hugging her figure in perfection. The diamonds at her throat caught the light, sending tiny prisms of color dancing across the polished marble floors. Her long, dark hair cascaded over one shoulder, framing a face that wore the perfect mask of happiness. Tonight, she was the embodiment of perfection. The devoted wife. The admired socialite. The woman who had it all. Across the room, Adrian Marsden held court, his presence commanding attention. In a fitted black tuxedo, he was striking—sharp-featured, confident, devastatingly handsome. People gravitated toward him, hanging on to his every word. He smiled easily, laughing at some joke made by a business associate, but then—his eyes found Isabella. For a brief moment, their gazes locked. And then, ever so smoothly, he raised his glass toward her in a silent toast. To the world, they were a love story written in gold—untouchable, enviable. A fairytale come to life. But only Isabella knew the truth. Her fingers tightened around the champagne flute, the cold glass grounding her against the storm inside her chest. She hadn’t been meant to know. The messages, the photographs, the transactions—proof of her husband’s betrayal—weren’t meant to be in her hands. And not just any woman. Celeste Laurent. A name that now made Isabella’s stomach twist. Celeste had always been in their world, another socialite, another face in the endless sea of privilege. Beautiful, poised, harmless. Or so Isabella had believed. But the images she had uncovered told a different story. Adrian’s hand over Celeste’s at an intimate dinner. A weekend retreat under the guise of business. A luxury apartment—paid for by Marsden Enterprises. The worst discovery of all? A DNA test. Twins. His children. Not hers. The knowledge had hit her like a freight train, shattering the perfect illusion she had once believed in. She should have confronted him, demanded answers. Screamed, cried, done anything but what she had done. She had smiled. A warm hand slid around her waist, pulling her close. The scent of his cologne—sandalwood and dark spice, once so familiar and comforting—washed over her, but now, it only made her stomach turn. “Happy anniversary, sweetheart,” Adrian murmured, his lips brushing against her temple. Isabella turned, meeting his gaze, and lifted her chin. He kissed her softly, and the crowd erupted in applause. She smiled. But inside, she felt nothing. Only the suffocating weight of betrayal. “Happy anniversary,” she whispered back. Adrian’s grip tightened slightly as he studied her. “You look breathtaking tonight. I can’t take my eyes off you.” Did he say the same words to Celeste? Did he hold her like this? Make her feel like she was the only woman in the world? The thought made Isabella’s stomach churn. “Dance with me,” Adrian said, his voice smooth as silk. She hesitated for half a second before allowing him to guide her toward the center of the ballroom. The music shifted, a tender love ballad filling the space. Isabella let him lead, their movements effortlessly synchronized, the picture of a devoted couple. To the world, they were perfect. To Isabella, it was a cruel joke. A hollow ache settled deep within her, but she forced it down. She couldn’t break. Not tonight. Not here. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. Their marriage had been a symbol of power, a perfect union between two influential families. Adrian had been the devoted husband, charming and attentive, making her believe—if only for a while—that they had something real. He had given her everything: security, admiration, the illusion of love. And now, he had taken everything away. “You’re quiet,” Adrian murmured, his thumb grazing the back of her hand. “Are you happy, Bella?” The same voice that had once made her feel safe now made her skin crawl. She let out a soft laugh, effortlessly masking the turmoil within. “Of course.” His smile was easy, practiced—but something flickered in his expression. A hesitation. Did he suspect? Did he know that she knew? She held his gaze, her fingers tracing the back of his neck in a practiced motion of intimacy. A lie in the shape of affection. “I was just thinking,” she said, her voice smooth as honey, “about how much I love you.” Adrian grinned, but Isabella saw through the illusion. The dance ended, and the guests erupted in applause. Adrian lifted her hand to his lips, pressing a slow, deliberate kiss to her knuckles. She should have felt something. But all she felt was cold.