Chapter 1
On our third wedding anniversary, my husband brought his pregnant mistress home and told me to give up the master bedroom.
I signed the divorce papers that same night.
Then I called Dominic Ashford — the billionaire who'd been pursuing me for five years — and said six words:
"I'm ready to marry you now."
...
Three years. I had been Nathan Cross's secret wife for three years.
No wedding photos on his desk. No ring on his finger in public. No mention of my name at any company event.
"It's not the right time to go public," he always said. "My grandmother arranged this marriage. Once I secure the CEO position, I'll announce it properly."
I believed him. Every single time.
I played the perfect invisible wife. I cooked his meals, managed his household, attended his grandmother's medical appointments, and never once complained about being hidden like a shameful secret.
But tonight, when I came home with the anniversary dinner I'd spent four hours preparing, I found a strange woman lounging on MY sofa, wearing MY silk robe, drinking from MY favorite mug.
Her belly was round with pregnancy — at least five months along.
Nathan stood behind her, massaging her shoulders with a tenderness I had never received in three years.
"Aria." He didn't even look up. "This is Serena. She'll be staying with us from now on. Move your things to the guest room."
The casserole dish slipped from my fingers.
It shattered on the marble floor, exactly like something inside my chest.
Nathan finally glanced at me, annoyed: "Can you not make a scene? Serena's pregnant. She needs rest and a stress-free environment. Be considerate."
Serena looked at me with wide, innocent eyes. "You must be the housekeeper Nathan mentioned? I'm so sorry for the trouble. I promise I won't be difficult."
Housekeeper.
He told his mistress I was the housekeeper.
My hands trembled as I pulled out the divorce agreement I'd found hidden in his study drawer last week — the one he'd already prepared but hadn't given me yet. He'd been planning to discard me all along.
I grabbed a pen from the counter and signed my name in one fluid stroke.
"Aria, what are you—" Nathan finally looked alarmed.
I slammed the signed papers onto the dining table.
"Congratulations. You're free."
I walked out the door without looking back.
In the elevator, I pulled out my phone. My fingers found a contact I'd saved but never called.
Dominic Ashford. The CEO of Ashford Empire. The man whose company owned 40% of Nathan's corporation. The man who sent me flowers every single birthday, even after I married Nathan.
He picked up on the first ring, as if he'd been waiting.
"Aria?" His deep voice was cautious, hopeful.
"Dominic. Are you still willing to marry me?"
Dead silence.
Then: "Where are you? I'm coming right now."
"Don't waste time asking questions," I said. "Do you want to or not?"
His laugh was breathless, almost disbelieving: "I've had the marriage license application ready for three years. Tell me your location. I'll be there in fifteen minutes."
He made it in twelve.
I signed the divorce papers that same night.
Then I called Dominic Ashford — the billionaire who'd been pursuing me for five years — and said six words:
"I'm ready to marry you now."
...
Three years. I had been Nathan Cross's secret wife for three years.
No wedding photos on his desk. No ring on his finger in public. No mention of my name at any company event.
"It's not the right time to go public," he always said. "My grandmother arranged this marriage. Once I secure the CEO position, I'll announce it properly."
I believed him. Every single time.
I played the perfect invisible wife. I cooked his meals, managed his household, attended his grandmother's medical appointments, and never once complained about being hidden like a shameful secret.
But tonight, when I came home with the anniversary dinner I'd spent four hours preparing, I found a strange woman lounging on MY sofa, wearing MY silk robe, drinking from MY favorite mug.
Her belly was round with pregnancy — at least five months along.
Nathan stood behind her, massaging her shoulders with a tenderness I had never received in three years.
"Aria." He didn't even look up. "This is Serena. She'll be staying with us from now on. Move your things to the guest room."
The casserole dish slipped from my fingers.
It shattered on the marble floor, exactly like something inside my chest.
Nathan finally glanced at me, annoyed: "Can you not make a scene? Serena's pregnant. She needs rest and a stress-free environment. Be considerate."
Serena looked at me with wide, innocent eyes. "You must be the housekeeper Nathan mentioned? I'm so sorry for the trouble. I promise I won't be difficult."
Housekeeper.
He told his mistress I was the housekeeper.
My hands trembled as I pulled out the divorce agreement I'd found hidden in his study drawer last week — the one he'd already prepared but hadn't given me yet. He'd been planning to discard me all along.
I grabbed a pen from the counter and signed my name in one fluid stroke.
"Aria, what are you—" Nathan finally looked alarmed.
I slammed the signed papers onto the dining table.
"Congratulations. You're free."
I walked out the door without looking back.
In the elevator, I pulled out my phone. My fingers found a contact I'd saved but never called.
Dominic Ashford. The CEO of Ashford Empire. The man whose company owned 40% of Nathan's corporation. The man who sent me flowers every single birthday, even after I married Nathan.
He picked up on the first ring, as if he'd been waiting.
"Aria?" His deep voice was cautious, hopeful.
"Dominic. Are you still willing to marry me?"
Dead silence.
Then: "Where are you? I'm coming right now."
"Don't waste time asking questions," I said. "Do you want to or not?"
His laugh was breathless, almost disbelieving: "I've had the marriage license application ready for three years. Tell me your location. I'll be there in fifteen minutes."
He made it in twelve.