Chapter 1

Dahlia

I didn’t expect to receive dirty photos of another woman’s legs during a Tuesday afternoon meeting, but here we are.

The photo loaded slow on the conference room Wi-Fi. It showed a woman’s legs stretched out on white silk sheets, smooth and bare all the way up, one knee bent just enough to show the curve of her thigh disappearing under a tiny scrap of black lace. Red heels dangled off the edge of what looks like a man’s dress shirt and a thin gold chain around her ankle.

Below the photo was a single line of text: “Mr. Sebastian, I can’t find my stockings anywhere. Pretty sure I left them at your place last time. Think you could help me find them? ;)

It’s addressed to Sebastian Hawthorne. CEO. My boss

And—minor detail—my husband.

My finger froze on the mouse.

Well. That was ambitious.

The conference room feels smaller suddenly. Hotter even. I glance up at the twenty-something faces around the table, wondering if anyone noticed my dilemma. But they’re all watching the woman at the front of the room.

Arabella Montclair has been here exactly one week and she’s already circling my project like a vulture.

I plan luxury events for people with more money than sense. Weddings, product launches, galas and all that. My job is making sure every impossible detail comes together.

Right now that means planning Weston Thayer’s wedding to Eloise Bennington. He’s the tech billionaire who sold his startup for nine figures before he turned thirty. She’s the kind of old money whose family name opens doors that most people don’t even know exist.

They want a three-day wedding extravaganza at his private estate in the Hamptons with a budget that makes my head spin every time I look at the numbers.

Fifty million dollars.

I’ve been living and breathing this project for months now until Arabella Montclair showed up last Monday and decided she wanted it.

Right now she’s pitching her version. The one that sounds better because she’s talking about flying in performers from Ibiza.

“I can get Valentino himself to design the bridesmaids’ gowns,” she says, ticking points off on her perfectly manicured fingers.

She pauses while her gaze drifts—again—to the head of the table.

Where he sits.

Sebastian’s expression never gives away anything, which is his default setting and I know that because I’ve known him for six years. Been married to him for three but I still can’t read him.

My phone is face down on the table now but I can still see that image burned into my mind.

Whoever sent it clearly did not know that every “surprise” addressed to the CEO would, without exception, pass through the eyes of his lawful wife first.

I had just never imagined that job description would extend to managing his wandering admirers.

God was he cheating?

“Ms. Miller.”

My head snaps up as Sebastian’s voice cuts clean through the room. Everyone turns to stare at me.

“Your thoughts?”

I close my notebook. “I think we should give more focus on running the event smoothly instead of just looking impressive on paper.”

Arabella’s smile stays perfectly in place but her shoulders tighten.

Under the table, phones were already lighting up in the group chat, though everyone kept their heads down, pretending to take notes.

“This is gonna to be very bad. Ms Fancy vs Ms Nerdy”

“okay but why is the CEO even here? he never comes to departmental meetings”

“Seriously you didn’t see he’s been staring at the front of the room the whole time at Arabella? she’s gorgeous and he’s gorgeous and I’m calling it now”

“What about Dahlia? She rides in the same car with him sometimes. I’ve seen her with limited-edition bags.”

“That’s normal for a secretary riding with the boss. As for the bag, probably a knockoff. How could she compare to someone with real status?”

“With Sebastian’s background, it has to be a match of equals. Looks like the future Mrs. Hawthorne is here to learn the business early.”

“No more rumors okay? But seriously, whose plan do you think the boss is going to pick in the end?”

“Getting an exclusive performer is one piece of it,” I say. “But it means nothing if the execution falls apart.If they’re standing in ninety-degree heat with no shade, or waiting hours for food that never comes, or dealing with a sound system that keeps cutting out. Because if any of those happen, it doesn’t matter who’s performing. Everyone will remember this wedding as a complete mess.”

Sebastian’s gaze is still on me. Unreadable. Always unreadable.

The department head clears his throat and adjusts his glasses. “Well. Both perspectives have merit.”

“Ms Miller’s plan is solid,” he says. “We’ll be using that as our foundation.”

A tiny flicker of satisfaction rises in my chest.

“However,” he continues, “this is Weston Thayer’s wedding. He wants spectacle. He wants to make a statement.” He looks at Arabella. “Your vision is exactly what will make this the wedding of the year. You’ll take lead.”

And just like that, it’s gone.

Arabella’s face is the picture of gracious humility. “I’m excited to collaborate.”

I tried my best to keep my smile from looking too menacing. "Me too."

The meeting ends five minutes later.

Sebastian left the conference room surrounded by people, including Arabella. I quietly packed up my materials behind them.

Several colleagues came over to comfort me, I had to pretend to be fine and said I was okay. But my mind was reeling from both the leg photo and the project being stolen from me.

Honestly I have no idea which of the two things I should be more upset about.

The executive floor bathroom is empty when I walk in.

I run cold water over my hands and look at myself in the mirror. There are shadows under my eyes I didn’t notice this morning.

I look tired.

The door opens behind me and Arabella walks in. She stops two sinks down from mine, pulls a golden cased lipstick out of her purse and applies it without looking at me.

She then caps the lipstick and drops it back in her bag.

“You know,” she says, “I wasn’t sure at first.”

I glance at her reflection.

“Whether you were sleeping with him.”

My hand stops.

She’s looking at me now.

“The proposal was good,” she continues. “Better than I expected from someone at your level. So I thought maybe you had some kind of… connection.”

I dry my hands slowly.

“But then I thought—no. You’re too… plain for that”

She turns to face me fully.

Her eyes drop to my bag sitting on the counter. Sebastian gave it to me last year for our anniversary.

“This bag,” she said, gesturing vaguely. “I was there when he bought it. Though even then that the style was so outdated. The color too.” She looked me up and down, smile deepening. “But it fits quite well for you, such a surprise.”

Something in me snapped tight.

“Stealing a project wasn’t enough?” I meet her eyes in the mirror. “Now you need to worry about my bag?”

“Steal?” She looks genuinely amused. “I’m not here for that.”

My jaw tightens.

She steps closer. “And for the record—I didn’t steal anything. Your project isn’t that special. I’m not here for some mid-level work.”

She tilts her head.

“I’m here to take back what’s mine. The position. The life.” Her voice drops. “And the person.”

I studied her confident face, and a thought struck me with sudden clarity. “That email. That was you, wasn’t it?”

Her smile froze, color rushing to her face, then draining just as quickly. She clearly had not expected me to know, much less confront her directly.

At that moment, my empty stomach twisted violently. Nausea surged without warning. I bent forward, covering my mouth, retching dryly as tears pricked my eyes.

Arabella stiffened, her anger giving way to uncertainty. Her gaze flicked to my abdomen.

“You… what is that?”

I swallow hard, forcing the nausea down.

“I’m fine,” I manage. “I just get nauseous around things that are particularly fake.”

Her face goes red.

I pick up my bag and walk out.

Sebastian’s car is waiting when I get outside.

The black sedan is idling at the curb. The driver sees me coming and opens the back door.

Sebastian is already there, scrolling through his tablet. He doesn’t look up as I slide in without a word

The door closes and the car pulls into traffic.

“How was the meeting?” Sebastian’s voice is distracted, his attention still on the tablet

I keep my eyes on the window. “Fine.”

He sets the tablet down and I feel his gaze shift to me. “Dahlia.”

I don’t turn around.

Before I can register what’s happening, his hand wraps around my wrist and pulls. I stumble sideways and land across his lap with an undignified gasp, my hands bracing against his chest to steady myself.

“What are you doing—”

“Sit still.” His arm curves around my waist and locks me in place. The expensive wool of his suit does nothing to hide the hard muscle of his thigh beneath me or the way his body radiates heat through the thin fabric of my dress.

This is too close. Way too close.

“Now tell me what you are sulking about?” His breath ghosts across my ear and I hate that my pulse kicks up in response.

“I’m not sulking.”

“You’re terrible at lying.” His thumb presses into the curve of my spine and I have to focus on not reacting. “Your proposal do has flaws so let her lead.”

I try to shift away but his grip tightens, keeping me exactly where he wants me.

“And my mother wants us at dinner tonight,” he continues. “Just show up. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”

My back is flush against his chest now and I can feel every breath he takes, the steady thud of his heartbeat against my shoulder blade.

All the anger and resentment from the meeting is still burning under my skin but it’s getting tangled up with something shapeless, compressed into this tight aching knot in my chest that I can’t swallow down or spit out.

Then the phone he had casually tossed onto the seat beside us lit up, the sudden glow cuts through the dim interior and my eyes catch on it automatically.

On the lock screen, a message preview appeared.

I had seen the same message only hours ago on my computer screen.

It had come again. This time straight to his private phone.

Sebastian saw it too.

Then, under my nearly rigid gaze, he reached out with the hand that had been holding my waist, picked up the phone, swiped the screen open with his thumb, and tapped directly into the message.