Chapter 2

I curled myself in the back seat of my car, swallowed whole by the night.

The scandal had detonated online like a bomb. Within hours, it shot to the top of every trending list on social media and gossip sites.

Not surprising—after all, the man in that photo was a newly crowned Best Actor, Hollywood’s latest golden boy. And like every juicy scandal, there was a twist. He was married.

So of course, instead of trying to bury the story, Jarek tossed me into the fire to take the fall.

Because there was no suppressing this one.

It didn’t take long for internet sleuths to "uncover" the identity of the woman underneath that actor. According to them, it was me—Mrs. Reya Calder, the wife of Jarek Thornwell, CEO of Zenith Group Group.

A grainy screenshot from our wedding day surfaced. I was smiling in it, genuinely happy. My wedding dress slid down low enough to reveal a single, distinctive mole just below my collarbone.

That mole had been Jarek’s idea. When we first got together, he told me he loved unique beauty marks. I was so in love—so stupidly in love—I actually got it tattooed. Right where he wanted it.

Now, that mark was being used to crucify me.

Comments flooded Jarek’s Instagram and LinkedIn. People praised him for being calm in the face of betrayal. Poor, betrayed CEO. The internet’s darling.

Then he posted.

“Everyone makes mistakes. I choose to forgive. I still love my wife.”

That was the final nail in my coffin.

His faux nobility turned me into a confirmed adulteress in the eyes of the world.

My phone buzzed. It was my mother.

The moment I picked up, she exploded. “How did I end up with a daughter like you? You whore! You’ve disgraced our entire family!”

“Mom,” I whispered, my voice dry. “You’ve got it all wrong—”

“Wrong? They’re broadcasting your filth on the six o’clock news! Your brother’s too humiliated to go to school! If you’re that desperate for attention, why don’t you just walk the streets? At least then you’d get paid for it!”

Her words sliced me open.

I hung up.

My mother had remarried a rich man when I was young. Ever since, I was the stain she tried to scrub from her perfect new life. She saw me as a threat, a walking scandal waiting to happen.

And maybe she was a righter husband who had started looking at me with the wrong kind of interest. The kind that made my skin crawl. After the third time he tried to “accidentally” brush up against me, I packed my things and left.

I was barely twenty, broke, and homeless.

Then I met Jarek.

He’d been my savior. Paid for school. Fed me and gave me a place to live. He was the only light in my otherwise pitch-black world.

Now, my phone was a dumpster fire. Texts, DMs, and voicemails poured in nonstop—from friends, coworkers, strangers. Some hurled insults. Others sent crude “offers,” assuming I was as easy as the rumors claimed.

And then there were the calls from Jarek.

By the fifth one, I finally answered.

“It’s nine o’clock,” he said, his voice cool and clipped. “Why aren’t you home yet?”

Same detached tone as always.

Once, I would’ve mistaken it for concern. I’d have smiled, heart fluttering like a fool. But that illusion had shattered. The man I loved didn’t exist. He never had.

“I’m not coming back tonight,” I said.

A long pause. Then, “Feeling guilty for fucking someone behind my back, Reya?”

The accusation burned, but not as much as the deep ache that suddenly pulsed through my lower belly. A sharp, twisting pain.

Still, I welcomed it. Compared to the bleeding inside my chest, this was a paper cut.

“Get your ass home now,” he snapped. “I have something to tell you.”

Click.

My phone screen went black.

I sat there for a moment, clutching my abdomen, drenched in cold sweat.

And then, despite everything… I started the car and drove home.