At exactly 3:07 a.m., my phone vibrated across the marble nightstand.
Not loud enough to wake the entire mansion in Beverly Hills. Just enough to wake a woman who had spent seven years learning how to sleep beside a man who lied beautifully.
I opened my eyes slowly, reaching for the glowing screen in the dark.
One photo.
Sent from an unknown number.
But I didn’t need the contact saved to know exactly who it was.
Vanessa Carter.
My husband’s executive assistant.
The same woman Ethan Whitmore had introduced at a gala in Los Angeles as “the most loyal employee in the company.” The woman who laughed too softly at his jokes. Who stood too close during meetings. Who looked at me with the polite smile of someone already imagining herself living in my house.
I tapped the image open.
There she was.
