Chapter 1
Three years of marriage. One satisfying satisfying satisfying satisfying slap. And a satisfying satisfying satisfying woman wearing my exact wedding ring on her finger, calling herself Mrs. Kensington.
I wasn't supposed to be here.
My mother's hospital appointment got canceled, so I surprised Nolan by stopping at his downtown penthouse—the one he said was "just for work meetings."
The elevator opened to the sound of a woman moaning his name.
I didn't scream. Didn't cry. I just stood in the doorway of the master bedroom and watched my husband of three years tangled in sheets with a redhead half my age.
She saw me first.
Instead of scrambling for the covers, she stretched like a cat, showing off the three-carat diamond on her left hand.
My diamond. Same cut. Same setting. Same goddamn inscription on the band—I could see the engraving from here.
"Who's this?" She looked at Nolan, zero shame. "Babe, did you forget to lock the door? Your cleaning lady's staring."
Nolan's face went white. Then—and this was the part that broke something inside me—he pulled the sheet higher over HER. Protecting her modesty. Not explaining. Not apologizing. Protecting HER.
"Sienna," I said, reading the name off the Birkin bag tossed on MY side of the bed. Monogrammed. He never bought me a Birkin. "Interesting choice. Is this what those 'Tokyo business trips' were?"
Nolan finally spoke. "Mara, it's not—you shouldn't be here."
Not "it's not what it looks like." Not "I'm sorry." Just—I shouldn't be here. In a penthouse MY family's money paid for.
Sienna sat up, pulling the sheet around her like a toga, and laughed. "Oh. You're the wife?" She looked me up and down—my drugstore moisturizer, my simple blouse, my flats. "Wow. I get it now. I really get why he comes to me."
She lifted her hand, wiggling the ring. "He gave me one too, you know. Said the one he gave you was a mistake. That I'm the real Mrs. Kensington."
My blood went cold. Then hot.
"Nolan." My voice came out so steady it scared me. "Tell me she's lying."
He sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing his face. Wouldn't look at me.
"Mara, let's talk about this at home. Not here. Not now."
Sienna's smirk widened. "He proposed to me six months ago. In Paris. Where'd he propose to you? Let me guess—some sad little restaurant?"
Actually, he proposed in my mother's garden. My mother, whose family owned the entire Kensington Corp before she handed Nolan the CEO seat as a wedding gift.
But Sienna didn't know that. And from Nolan's expression, he'd never told her.
I pulled out my phone and dialed.
"What are you doing?" Nolan lunged off the bed.
I held up one finger. "Mom? I need you to come to Nolan's downtown penthouse. The one on 57th. Yes—now. Bring the lawyers."
Sienna's smirk finally cracked. Just a sliver. "Lawyers?"
I smiled—cold, bright, nothing behind it. "Sweetheart, you're not the real Mrs. Kensington. And in about forty minutes, neither am I. But the difference between us? When I leave, I'm taking everything."
Nolan grabbed my wrist. "Mara, don't call your mother. Let me explain."
I yanked free. "You have forty minutes. Start talking."
But Sienna spoke first. "Call whoever you want. You think I'm scared? Nolan's the CEO of Kensington Corp. He could buy your whole family."
And that was when I laughed—really laughed.
Because Kensington Corp? It was never his.
I wasn't supposed to be here.
My mother's hospital appointment got canceled, so I surprised Nolan by stopping at his downtown penthouse—the one he said was "just for work meetings."
The elevator opened to the sound of a woman moaning his name.
I didn't scream. Didn't cry. I just stood in the doorway of the master bedroom and watched my husband of three years tangled in sheets with a redhead half my age.
She saw me first.
Instead of scrambling for the covers, she stretched like a cat, showing off the three-carat diamond on her left hand.
My diamond. Same cut. Same setting. Same goddamn inscription on the band—I could see the engraving from here.
"Who's this?" She looked at Nolan, zero shame. "Babe, did you forget to lock the door? Your cleaning lady's staring."
Nolan's face went white. Then—and this was the part that broke something inside me—he pulled the sheet higher over HER. Protecting her modesty. Not explaining. Not apologizing. Protecting HER.
"Sienna," I said, reading the name off the Birkin bag tossed on MY side of the bed. Monogrammed. He never bought me a Birkin. "Interesting choice. Is this what those 'Tokyo business trips' were?"
Nolan finally spoke. "Mara, it's not—you shouldn't be here."
Not "it's not what it looks like." Not "I'm sorry." Just—I shouldn't be here. In a penthouse MY family's money paid for.
Sienna sat up, pulling the sheet around her like a toga, and laughed. "Oh. You're the wife?" She looked me up and down—my drugstore moisturizer, my simple blouse, my flats. "Wow. I get it now. I really get why he comes to me."
She lifted her hand, wiggling the ring. "He gave me one too, you know. Said the one he gave you was a mistake. That I'm the real Mrs. Kensington."
My blood went cold. Then hot.
"Nolan." My voice came out so steady it scared me. "Tell me she's lying."
He sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing his face. Wouldn't look at me.
"Mara, let's talk about this at home. Not here. Not now."
Sienna's smirk widened. "He proposed to me six months ago. In Paris. Where'd he propose to you? Let me guess—some sad little restaurant?"
Actually, he proposed in my mother's garden. My mother, whose family owned the entire Kensington Corp before she handed Nolan the CEO seat as a wedding gift.
But Sienna didn't know that. And from Nolan's expression, he'd never told her.
I pulled out my phone and dialed.
"What are you doing?" Nolan lunged off the bed.
I held up one finger. "Mom? I need you to come to Nolan's downtown penthouse. The one on 57th. Yes—now. Bring the lawyers."
Sienna's smirk finally cracked. Just a sliver. "Lawyers?"
I smiled—cold, bright, nothing behind it. "Sweetheart, you're not the real Mrs. Kensington. And in about forty minutes, neither am I. But the difference between us? When I leave, I'm taking everything."
Nolan grabbed my wrist. "Mara, don't call your mother. Let me explain."
I yanked free. "You have forty minutes. Start talking."
But Sienna spoke first. "Call whoever you want. You think I'm scared? Nolan's the CEO of Kensington Corp. He could buy your whole family."
And that was when I laughed—really laughed.
Because Kensington Corp? It was never his.