OBSESSED WITH MY HUSBAND’s FRIEND

The red lipstick stain on Alexander's collar makes my hands tremble as I hold the divorce papers.

It's not my shade. I wear nude tones…always have, ever since Alexander mentioned how "garish" red looked on me during our first year of marriage.

But someone else clearly doesn't share his preferences.

"Good morning, Sophia." His voice carries that clipped, professional tone he uses with everyone…his assistant, the doorman, his wife.

I quickly shove the unsigned divorce papers under a stack of charity board documents, forcing my expression into the mask I've perfected.

"Morning. Coffee's fresh."

He's already dressed for the day in a charcoal suit that probably costs more than most people make in six months.

His dark hair is perfectly styled, not a strand out of place.

At thirty-two, Alexander Kane looks like he stepped off the cover of Forbes magazine, which he has….Twice.

And apparently, he's been stepping into someone else's bed.

"The Nakamura meeting moved to eight-thirty." He doesn't look up from his phone as he pours coffee into the ceramic mug I bought him for our first anniversary.

He'd thanked me politely, used it once, then returned to his usual plain white cups.

"I'll need you ready by seven for the car."

My chest tightens, but not for the reason it used to. "I thought that was tomorrow."

"Change of plans. Nakamura's flying back to Tokyo tonight." Now he looks at me, those ice-blue eyes scanning my face like he's reading a contract. "You remember what we discussed about this deal? Don't embarrass me tonight, Sophia. You're replaceable."

The words hit like a physical slap. Three years of marriage, and he still talks to me like I'm an employee who might be terminated for poor performance.

"Of course. I'll wear the navy Chanel and keep the conversation light."

"Good." He checks his Rolex…the one his first wife bought him, though he claims not to remember that. "We can't afford any mistakes with this one."

We. Like I'm actually a partner in his empire instead of window dressing with a marriage certificate.

As he moves toward the door, I catch another whiff of unfamiliar perfume clinging to his jacket. Something expensive. Floral. Definitely not mine.

"Alexander." The words tumble out before I can stop them. "That lipstick on your collar…"

He freezes, his hand on the doorknob. When he turns back to me, his expression is ice-cold and dangerous.

"I had dinner with the board members last night. Jennifer Reeves tends to be... affectionate when she's had too much wine." He smiles "Unless you're implying something else?"

The threat in his voice is unmistakable. I've seen what happens to people who cross Alexander Kane.

They disappear from his orbit completely, their careers mysteriously derailed, their reputations quietly destroyed.

"Of course not. I just thought you'd want to know before your morning meetings."

"How considerate." He straightens his tie with deliberate precision. "The car will be here at six-forty-five. Don't be late."

The penthouse door clicks shut behind him with finality.

I wait exactly thirty seconds before my carefully constructed composure cracks.

My hands shake as I pull out the divorce

papers I've written and rewritten and destroyed because I'm too much of a coward to actually file them.

What would be the point anyway? Alexander made sure I understood the terms of our arrangement before we married.

My family's restaurant was drowning in debt…my parents faced bankruptcy, my younger brother couldn't finish college, and I was fresh out of grad school with student loans that would have buried me.

Alexander offered salvation. He'd pay off everything, set up trust funds, give me a life of luxury beyond anything I'd ever imagined.

All I had to do was be the perfect wife. Attend his events, smile for his cameras, and never embarrass him publicly.

Oh, and sign a prenup that ensures I get nothing if I leave him.

Even if he's the one cheating.

My phone buzzes against the marble counter.

Unknown number: You deserve better than a man who treats you like a business asset.

Some cages are just prettier than others.

My blood turns to ice. The phone nearly slips from my numb fingers.

Someone's been watching. Someone saw Alexander's coldness, his threats, maybe even knows about the lipstick stain I just discovered.

I text back with trembling hands: Who is this?

The reply comes immediately: Someone who remembers when you used to smile for real.