I Died the Day You Cheated

I stared at the live surveillance feed from Zane’s private suite above the family warehouse, and my heart sank.

On the high-definition monitor, Zane had Harper Monroe pinned against the wall. Her dress lay in shreds across the marble floor. Their bodies moved with a familiarity that no longer needed excuses.

I stood in front of the screen, refusing to look away.

Watching.

Memorizing.

Learning exactly how my husband betrayed me.

Harper had been placed in Zane’s crew three months ago.

Officially, she transferred in from one of the Shaw family’s southern strike crews after a shipment interception went wrong;

Unofficially, she arrived too conveniently.

During one dockside firefight, she’d claimed she’d been drugged by a rival crew. Zane carried her upstairs to his private quarters.

The door didn’t open for three days.

When it finally did, he looked satisfied.

Harper followed behind him, flushed and quiet.

After that, she was permanently assigned to his rotation—every collection run, every warehouse negotiation, every “temporary stay” out of town.

I already knew.

But knowing wasn’t the same as seeing.

Night settled over the city before they finally stopped.

Zane headed for the shower. Harper tried to follow.

He blocked her with one hand against the doorframe.

“Stay back,” he said coolly. “I’m going home. I don’t want my wife smelling someone else on me.”

Harper’s voice trembled. “I’ve stood beside you in gunfire. I’ve taken risks for you. And I still mean less than that soft wife waiting at home?”

Zane lifted her chin.

The gesture was intimate.

The words were not.

“You’re a distraction. Nothing more. Know your place.”

She cried.

It didn’t move him in the slightest.

When Zane dressed to leave, her eyes were swollen and red.

“I promised Chloe,” he said flatly. “I haven’t been home in a week. I’ll spend the next few days with her.”

He didn’t look back.

When Zane came home, I was sitting on the couch with a book in my lap.

He smelled like the cologne I had chosen for him years ago.

Once, it meant home.

Now it served a different purpose—masking infidelity.

Even after he showered, there was still a trace beneath the soap. Harper’s perfume clung faintly to his skin.

His hand slid around my waist. The other lingered along my thigh.

“Chloe,” he murmured. “Let’s have a baby.”

His breath brushed my cheek.

Something inside me cracked.

I pushed him away gently and locked myself in the bathroom.

I scrubbed every place he had touched until my skin burned red.

Only then did I collapse against the tile wall.

A baby?

I thought of the test from yesterday.

Two red lines.

The child he had waited five years for.

The child conceived after his betrayal.

I washed my face and steadied my voice before stepping back out.

“When’s the next job?” I asked casually.

“Three days,” he replied. “The Palermo Capture. Big one.”

He hesitated.

“It’s our anniversary. I’m sorry.”

I rested a hand against my still-flat stomach and smiled.

“It’s fine. Just come home early if you can. I’ll have something special for you.”

His grin was effortless.

“I’ll be back the second it’s done. I can’t wait to see what my wife has planned.”

I smiled back.

I hope you really do.

The next night, Zane woke me gently.

“Family dinner at the estate,” he said. “Come with me.”

I entered the Don’s mansion as nothing more than a Capo’s wife.

Security nodded.

Guns discreetly visible under jackets.

Inside the dining hall, I heard them talking.

“The strategist isn’t coming again?”

“She’s a ghost. Three years in the family and no one’s ever seen her in person.”

“All I know is she’s a woman. And every time we need something, intel lands on Zane’s desk first.”

Someone laughed.

“If you ask me, she’s got a thing for him.”

I lowered my gaze.

They weren’t wrong.

I joined the family’s Strategic Intelligence division for one reason.

Zane Carter.

I wanted eyes on every deal he made, every warehouse he entered, every rival he negotiated with. I wanted to ensure no ambush reached him first, no betrayal slipped past him unnoticed.

My condition for transferring had been simple:

Any actionable intelligence would go directly to his crew before anyone else.

So he would never walk blind into danger.

So he would always come home alive.

I told myself it was strategic positioning.

In truth—It was love.

And that was how I learned about Harper.

Before anyone else.