Everyone knew how good he was to me.

So when photos surfaced a month before the wedding—him pressed skin-to-skin against some nightclub dancer—

I assumed our competitors had fabricated them with AI to take him down.

Until the dancer herself strolled into Graves Group headquarters with a swollen belly, looked me dead in the face in front of senior management, and sneered: "Mrs. Graves, can't keep your man? Then get off the throne already."

"I'm carrying the Graves family's firstborn heir right here."

I laughed. Not out of sarcasm. Because she was stupid. "You waltz in here waving a pregnancy test and claim it's Conrad's child? Do you think this family runs an orphanage?"

The dancer's face cycled between red and white.

Then Conrad dropped to his knees at my feet, slapping himself across the face as he begged: "Tracey, I'm sorry. I was drunk, I mistook her for someone else. Hit me, curse me, I'll take all of it."

"But the baby she's carrying is my first child."

I stood frozen. I couldn't believe the Conrad who loved me had fallen for someone else.

He said nothing more. The next day he called a press conference and announced the baby's arrival.

Someone leaked that the woman was the other woman.

The backlash hit her so hard she lost the baby.

Conrad was certain I was behind it.

Cold flooded through me. "Conrad Graves, I am your wife. You married me properly and publicly. No matter how much I despise that woman, I would never stoop low enough to go after someone pregnant."

No matter how I explained, he refused to believe me.

After that, he started bringing women home out of spite.

To keep me quiet, he poured jewelry and property into my accounts like hush money.

Every time the thought of divorce surfaced, I'd think of that golden promise.

I told myself, quietly, that he'd come back.

Then came our third anniversary. Conrad sought me out, made peace, and promised me a grand wedding.

I thought I'd finally waited long enough.

But when I brought the wedding invitations to his office, I walked in on him pinning Secretary Fox beneath him on the desk.

He saw me and didn't even flinch.

I grabbed the ashtray off the desk and hurled it at his forehead, screaming, "Why do you keep lying to me?!"

He shrugged like it was nothing. "Tracey, I gave you the home you wanted. I'm young—I want to have my fun."

"Then what about the wedding?" I pressed, refusing to let go.