Chapter 1

Aaliyah's POV

The elevator opened, and I stepped into the sleek, glass-walled penthouse floor of Smith Enterprises, clutching a velvet box with a chocolate fudge cake—Henry’s favorite.

Today was a special day. It was my husband's birthday.

My heart fluttered, a nervous rhythm against the silk of my dress. I had planned this surprise for weeks, picturing his green eyes lighting up just the way they used to when he’d pull me close.

The office was dim, the city skyline glittering beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows. I paused at the reception desk, expecting to see Margaret, Henry’s assistant, but it was empty.

Then a murmur drifted from his corner office. I looked and found the door slightly ajar. My heels clicked softly on the marble as I approached.

“Henry, you have to do it,” a woman’s voice purred, low, insistent and slicing through the quietness.

My breath caught as I froze just outside the door, hidden by the shadow of a potted fern.

“I know,” Henry replied, his voice was a familiar rumble, but sharper and strained. “I will.”

"When?” she pressed with a coaxing and almost mocking tone.

“You’ve been dragging this out, darling. Aaliyah’s nothing but a placeholder. You know that already. You need to kick that bitch out."

My chest tightened as soon as I heard my name and the insult following it. The cake box felt as heavy as lead as I inched closer, peeping into the room.

Henry stood by his desk, his dark brown hair catching the lamplight as his broad shoulders tensed up.

A woman leaned against him, her back to me. She had short blonde hair spilling over her red dress. I couldn’t see her face, but her hand traced his jaw, intimately and possessively.

"I’ll divorce her,” Henry said flatly, his words a blade to my heart. “I promise. Tomorrow, on our anniversary. It’ll be clean.”

I gripped the box harder as I felt the world spin around me.

The woman laughed; a soft, cruel sound.

"Perfect. You belong with me, Honey. Always have.” She pulled him down, and their lips met, a kiss that was all hunger and passion.

My vision blurred, tears stinging as I watch my husband—my Henry—kiss another woman with his hands gripping her waist like he once gripped mine.

The cake box slipped from my fingers, crashing to the floor with a dull thud. Chocolate smeared the floor, ruining the marble like this unexpected scene had ruin my hopes.

They didn't hear the cake falling to the floor though, they're too lost in each other.

I stumbled back and flee to the elevator with tears streaming down my face. The doors closed, leaving me alone with my heart shattered and the city lights mocking me through the glass.

Now at home, I paced the living room, my blue eyes red-rimmed and my long blonde hair tangled from running my hands through it. I was going insane.

The clock ticked past midnight and Henry’s birthday faded into our anniversary. Fourth anniversary.

I should confront him. I ought to demand answers. But the image of that kiss burnt my heart each and every time. It was choking my courage.

Why is he doing this? What have I done to deserve this from him?

I've done nothing but love this man all the four years we've been together after my foster parents arranged my marriage with him.

God, Why now?

I tried so hard to stop the tears gathered in my eyes from flowing down.

Soon, the front door clicked open, and Henry strided in, his tailored suit impeccable but his hazel eyes icy.

It's been like that for the past two weeks now.

Since the day he came home and asked why I never told him about my twin sister, Aurora, a part of me I've been trying so hard to forget for many years.

He's been cold to me since then, devoid of warmth, as if I betrayed him or something by not telling him about the identical twin sister I had.

“Aaliyah,” he called, barely glancing at me as he tossed his keys onto the console. “Why are you still up?”

I opened my mouth, the words ‘Who was she?’ clawing at my throat, but they died easily under his cold stare.

“I… I wanted to see you,” I stammered. I hate my weakness. I hate it more than anything .

“It’s your birthday.”

He snorted, loosening his tie. “Don’t bother. I’m tired.”

He brushed past me, heading for the stairs, his scent—cedar and betrayal—lingering.

“Henry, wait,” I called, “Can we talk? Please?”

He paused with one hand on the banister and his chiseled jaw tight.

“Not tonight,” he snapped before disappearing upstairs, leaving me in the silence of our crumbling marriage.

With his promise to divorce me echoing in my ears, I sunk onto the couch, curled into myself and my mind spiralled.

Today is our anniversary, and I’ll wait, like a fool, hoping for a miracle, dreading the truth I already know.