Chapter 1

The champagne shone under the chandelier’s light, catching the glow as Sophia raised her glass. Around her, Manhattan’s finest swirled in designer gowns and tailored tuxedos, their laughter blending into a polished, practiced symphony she used to find intoxicating.

"To another successful year at Blackwood Media," Richard declared, one hand firmly on her waist. His grin was perfect, the kind that made stockholders trust him and strangers envy her. "And to my beautiful wife, who makes it all worthwhile."

Applause echoed through the room. Sophia smiled, though it felt unatural like everything about her role as Mrs. Richard Blackwood.

"You’re so lucky," Margaret Worthington murmured at her side, eyes bright with envy. "Richard is absolutely devoted to you."

"We’re devoted to each other," Sophia replied, the words slipping out automatically. It was what she knew by heart, the gracious wife, the flawless hostess, the woman who seemed to have it all. So why did it feel like she was disappearing beneath the perfection?

Jessica’s voice cut through the noise. "Sophia! You look stunning. That Valentino was made for you."

Sophia’s smile softened. Jessica Park—her best friend since college, before money and status shaped their lives—was one of the few people who could still pull a genuine laugh from her.

"You’re one to talk," Sophia teased. "Red looks good on you."

For a moment, something unreadable flashed across Jessica’s face. Then she laughed, brushing it off.

Before Sophia could think more of it, Richard slid in, his touch firm at the small of her back. "The Hendersons want to discuss the merger. I need my wife at my side."

As he led her away, Sophia caught Jessica watching him. Not just watching, hungry. The sight made her stumble.

"You alright, darling?" Richard steadied her.

"Fine," she murmured. But unease prickled her skin. Jessica was like a sister. She’d been her maid of honor, her confidante. She would never—

Or would she?

The rest of the night, Sophia noticed things she’d never allowed herself to see. Jessica’s laugh too brightly at Richard’s jokes. The casual, lingering touches on his arm. And Richard himself, animated in a way he hadn’t been with her in months.

By the time Sophia approached with fresh drinks, she overheard Richard saying, "Stop by tomorrow. Around two we’ll go over the numbers together."

Jessica smiled, slow and deliberate. "I’ll be there."

When they saw Sophia, both wore the same guilty flicker in their eyes.

"What numbers?" she asked lightly.

"Just quarterly reports Jessica wanted for her analysis," Richard said smoothly. "Boring stuff."

Once, she would have pressed further. But years of corrections—your work isn’t serious, focus on us, on me—had taught her not to. She’d sacrificed her own dreams, her career, even her instincts, live the perfect life he created for her

Tonight, for the first time, she wondered if it was a cage.

"I think I’ll go home," she said softly. "Headache."

Richard barely looked at her. "Take the car. I’ll come later."

Jessica offered a sympathetic smile that didn’t reach her eyes. "Rest, babe. I’ll check on you tomorrow."

On the ride back, the city lights blurred against the glass as her phone buzzed. A text from Jessica: Love you. Feel better.

Love. A word that should have comforted her, but instead left a bitter taste.

At the penthouse, silence pressed in. She caught her reflection in the bathroom mirror and almost didn’t recognize herself. Pale. Hollow. A woman just existing.

Another buzz. Richard this time: Don’t wait up. Meeting running late.

At nearly midnight. On a Thursday.

Sophia removed her jewelry piece by piece, each shiny gift now felt heavy, like chains she once thought were love. The Valentino dress slid from her shoulders, and she didn’t care about hanging it neatly.

Tomorrow, she promised herself, would be different. Tomorrow she would stop pretending not to notice.

Her perfect life wasn’t perfect at all. It was cracking. And she finally had the nerve to see the truth hiding beneath the lies.