CHAPTER 2

"Yes, she's no regular jewelry designer. She's also the only girlfriend our boss ever publicly acknowledged dating. I heard that she's his first love."

"Gosh, but isn't it heard that our boss and Ruth have some—?"

"Certainly not! She was only a mistress!"

"Haha! What an idiot. She thought sleeping her way to success would get the boss's heart."

I clenched my fists. My nails pressed into my palms, but I didn't say a word. My marriage was known to Frank's family and him only. No one had guessed the truth; everyone had assumed I was Frank's mistress because we worked together so intimately. Frank never denied the rumors, and I never tried to refute them. When he insisted on having me promise we'd never confess our marriage, I complied without hesitation.

The elevator doors opened, and we all entered. Manda and Lili glanced at each other before they went on talking.

"If I were her, I would quit on my own. It looks like the boss has someone he likes. It is so shameful to hang around him like a starving chick," Manda sneered.

"Shh, be quiet. She can hear you," Lili whispered, although her tone was playful.

They reveled in my misery. For years, they’d envied my closeness to Frank Lanka. Now that his ex, Dera Pete, was back in town, they relished the chance to tear me down. "I’m just saying the truth. She’s a mistress who’s about to be abandoned now that the future Mrs. Lanka has returned to the city," Manda declared.

Mistress?

I was his lawfully wedded wife. But the words stuck in my throat. Frank did not come home last night. He did not call. I imagined him with Dera, and the vision ate away at my heart like a saw-edged knife.

When I got to Frank's office, I couldn't focus. I knocked and entered, and he was sitting behind his swivel chair in a suit I had never seen. "You're late," he snapped, his voice cold.

"Yes. I overslept. I'm here to ask for a one-day leave," I said, pushing the lump from my throat down.

"Why? Are you sick?" he snarled, his gray eyes scanning me as if I was an annoyance.

I'd rather have asked where he'd stayed. But it would shatter me to find out. To not know. "I'm awful," I whispered.

"Good," he snapped. I stood there uncertainly, then he raised one eyebrow. "Anything else?"

I nodded, my heart as heavy as lead. He did not care where he'd spent the night. To him, it was insignificant.

I exited the office and out into the parking lot, vision blurry. Then I rounded a corner and bumped into somebody.

It was Dera Pete.

She curled in a glimmering wheelchair, her gaunt body framed by a taut smile. "So, you're Frank's wife, Ruth? I'm Dera. Nice to meet you," she oozed, voice sugar-sweet with goodness.

My blood froze. "Thanks for taking care of Frank the past three years," she told me.

I snorted in my mind. Taking care of him? Me, a professional nurse? Was that how she was attempting to threaten me away? "You don't have to thank me for doing my duty as his wife," I growled, the words trembling out of me.

Dera's smile grew wider. "See you around."

She wheeled off, but her phone fell off her lap. "Will you pick it up? I can't reach it like you," she said, dripping with condescension.

I moved forward, but before I could crouch, she lunged forward, screamed, and fell on the concrete.

"Ack! That hurts!" I yelled, a trickle of blood running from my cheek.

"DERA!" Frank's yell shook the garage. He rushed towards us, his face pale with rage. He scooped Dera up in his arms, his eyes blazing at me. "What did you do?!"

"I didn't push her!" I yelled, terror rising. But he shoved me aside, and I fell on the hard ground.

He cradled Dera in his arms, his voice softening. "Don't worry. I'll take you to the hospital."

His words were to her, not to me. And as I saw their receding backs, I knew the truth: Frank Lanka had already chosen his past over his secret wife.