Chapter 2

In all our years together, Mark had never spoken to me like this.

When I'd oversalted the osso buco, he'd smiled and said everything I made tasted perfect.

When I'd interrupted his meetings, he'd patiently asked what I needed.

That all changed the day he told me he wanted to sponsor a scholarship student named Megan.

"Her mother was killed in a drive-by, simply for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. The girl's been working three jobs just to survive. We can't let that talent go to waste."

The first time I met Megan, she'd looked at me with those huge, earnest eyes.

"Mrs. Donovan, I'll work so hard. I promise I won't let you down."

"My grades were perfect before... before my mom died. I just need one chance. One chance to prove myself."

Looking at her, I'd seen myself at that age.I grew up without parents, endlessly drifting from one family to another.

No one ever offered me a chance to change my destiny, so I had learned to rely only on myself.

Each day, I awoke to the indifferent, sometimes contemptuous, eyes of those around me.

Seeing the longing in Megan’s eyes, I felt a reflection of my own past—a child yearning desperately to be seen, clawing at life with everything she had, desperate to seize even the faintest glimmer of hope.

I'd softened.

For months, I'd treated Megan like a little sister. I'd taken her shopping on Fifth Avenue, taught her how to navigate society events, showed her how to handle the wives of Mark's associates.

I even brought Megan into our family’s private gatherings, the kind of dinners where alliances were made over wine and old loyalties. I introduced her as my sister, guided her through conversations with family heads and their wives, and taught her how to smile, listen, and hide her nerves.

At one of those dinners, Sally Marconi, the wife of one of Mark’s lieutenants, pulled me aside near the bar.

“Leslie, watch yourself,” she whispered, glancing toward Megan. “That girl is charming your husband right under your nose. She isn’t as innocent as she looks.”

My face went cold.

“You have no right to accuse her,” I said. “Megan is still young. Don’t dress up your jealousy as concern.”

Sally flushed and stepped back.

After that night, I cut her off completely.

Megan would call me “sister” with pure devotion, insisting that I was the kindest, most generous person in her life.

She promised that one day, she would repay my kindness, and for a time, I believed her.

For a while, she did not disappoint. She gained admission to the best school here.

But on the night she received her acceptance letter, all that trust and affection shattered when she crept into my husband’s bed.

I'd left work early that day, planning to surprise her with a celebration dinner.

Instead, I'd walked into our bedroom and found them tangled together in our bed, clothes scattered across the floor.

In that moment, something inside me snapped.

I hurled the cake at them.

I smashed every vase, every potted plant in the room, letting them shatter into a thousand pieces.

Mark scrambled to shield Megan, pressing her behind him, his voice tight and panicked:

“Leslie, this is a misunderstanding! I was drunk. I don’t even remember anything after the second glass Megan brought me. You have to believe me. You’re the only one I love!”

But to me, it all felt like a cruel, absurd farce.

Megan had collapsed to her knees, tears streaming down her cheeks, her voice trembling as if it might shatter at any moment. "Leslie… we were both drunk, but I… I truly love Mark,” she sobbed.

“I know I’ve wronged you, but Mark… he’s the best person in the world to me.”

“I’m not as strong as you, not as capable as you. I just want to be with the one I love. I know I can never compete with you, but please… just let me stay in your lives. I’ll do anything.”

Mark froze, his eyes flickering with a moment of hesitation and guilt.

“I… I didn’t know. I didn’t know she felt this way about me. I’ve always treated her like a little sister. Leslie… believe me, the only person I love is you.”

My chest felt as if it had been struck by a sledgehammer.

My throat tightened, dry and raw, making it almost impossible to speak.

One was the person I had cared for and protected like a sister.

The other was the man I had shared years of love and life with.

Tears blurred my vision, and I didn’t know how to face any of it.

In the end, I chose to forgive,.

On one condition: Megan had to leave.

I'd thought that would fix us.

But three months later, the phone rang—

it was Megan. Her voice trembled with urgency, tinged with helplessness:

“Leslie… I’m pregnant… the doctor said that if I terminate, I may never be able to have children. I have to keep this baby… please, forgive me.”

From that moment, my life shifted once again, completely and irrevocably.

Mark took Megan back under his wing, bending over backward to accommodate her every whim.

Every glance, every word of caution, every gesture of care—first and foremost, they were for Megan.

Her slightest movement drew his attention; her slightest mood swing stirred him more than anyone else.

Her needs, her comfort, her fears—he was always the first to attend to them.

I had been his partner through years of struggle and the confidante who stood beside him through everything, yet I was pushed into the shadows of the life I had helped build.

I didn’t understand.

What about me?

What am I worth?

A joke?

I'd cried myself to sleep night after night, imagining the sneers of everyone in our circle.

Now, standing in the driveway, Mark's voice cut through my memories.

"Leslie, don't you understand? Your career, your reputation, and your position exist because of me. Because of my family name."

"Without me, you're nothing."

"I told you Megan wouldn't affect your life. She lost the job she worked her ass off to get because of this scandal. We owe her."

I bit my lip, closed my eyes, and drew a deep, shuddering breath.

I turned slowly to Megan, bowing my head with a formal weight:

“I’m… sorry.”

Then I raised my eyes, cold and sharp, and asked Mark:

“Now, are you satisfied?”