Chapter 2

Here's how this whole mess started.

The day we got married (city hall, no guests, no cake, just me and a man who looked like he was signing a business contract), Cassian told me we had to keep it quiet.

"You just started at the company. You haven't even proven yourself yet."

"If people find out you're married to me right when you're getting promoted, they're going to say you didn't earn it."

Made sense at the time. Genuinely. So when my manager made my life difficult, when the "I've been here longer than you" crowd froze me out, when some guy's cousin swooped in and took credit for a project I'd built from scratch; I gritted my teeth and swallowed it. Every time.

And when it got really bad, I had this one thing that got me through it: picturing the day it all came out. Picturing the faces of everyone who'd spent months stepping on me the second they thought no one important was watching.

God, it felt good just imagining it.

But some days, no amount of imaginary payback was enough.

Like after I had Atlas, when my supervisor started scheduling one-on-ones that were somehow never about work: just him, staring at my chest like I wasn't standing right there. A few times he "accidentally" brushed past close enough that it clearly wasn't an accident.

I finally snapped and told Cassian. Went home and laid it all out.

He looked at me like I was overreacting to the weather.

"You've always been sensitive. You read into things."

"Keep that out of the office, please."

"This company runs on merit. Don't go making noise to get ahead."

I just stood there. Staring at him. Genuinely could not process what I was hearing.

And that's when it landed: my husband, my boss, the man I'd married, didn't trust a word out of my mouth, and he sure as hell wasn't going to have my back.

Fine. Noted. I'd back myself, then.

My supervisor was only one rank above me, so I put everything I had into the next promotion cycle: the product director role. And I got it. Eighty percent approval. First place, no contest.

I didn't even get a full minute to enjoy it.

Because Cassian walked into the room with a woman on his arm.

Designer everything, the kind of polished that only comes from a lifetime of never hearing the word no. And Cassian, the same man who has approximately two facial expressions, actually smiled at her.

"Everyone, this is our new product director. Blair Whitmore."

The room went dead silent.

Every single person turned to look at me.

I just stared at him. Blank.

She'd been parachuted into the role I'd spent three months killing myself for. Late nights, client dinners, revising every single pitch deck until it was bulletproof. I was running numbers in my head while I rocked Atlas to sleep. Cassian knew that. He watched me do it. He was my husband; if anyone understood exactly how hard I'd fought for this, it was him.

I couldn't hold it in anymore. My voice cracked.

"Darling, you told me it was about merit—"

"Enough."

He cut me off, flat and cold, looking at me like I was a stranger who'd wandered in off the street.

"If you didn't get the promotion, maybe consider that it's a you problem, instead of trying to play the connections card in front of everyone."

"Less fantasizing. More working."

The room erupted in soft laughter. A few people who'd never liked me made sure I saw them smirking.

I stood there. White as a sheet. Completely, unbearably humiliated.