Chapter 1

My husband's personal assistant had taken my black card to Maison Laurent, burned through a fortune on a single lunch, and called me a useless trophy wife in front of the whole dining room.

So I froze her card. She couldn't pay. The manager kept her in a back office for a full twenty-four hours, and all of Manhattan whispered about it the next morning.

When Julian found out, he just tapped the tip of my nose and laughed.

"You," he said, indulgent. "A grown woman getting jealous like some college girl. You humiliated her, Eve. Everyone's been laughing at her."

He wasn't angry. He acted like nothing had happened. Until the night of my birthday, when he took me back to that same French restaurant.

He'd reserved half the floor. Ordered dozens of tasting menus, bottles of 1982 Lafite lined up like soldiers. Said a few of his friends would be joining us later.

"Baby, I need to step out for a second. I'll be right back. I promise I'll be here for your birthday."

I waited until the staff was stacking chairs. He never came back. His friends never came.

When I reached for my card to close out the bill, the manager's smile was already gone.

"Ms. Mercer. I'm afraid your card has been declined. It's been frozen."