---

---

My husband Elliot ran a well-regarded private piano academy.

Natasha had been his student for just over a year.

I don't know exactly when things started between them. What I know is that three months ago, I went to find him at the studio and walked in on them kissing at the piano.

My heart stopped.

I wanted to push that door open. Every part of me wanted to. But something — pride, or the cold clarity that kicks in when you're in shock — rooted me to the spot.

My vision blurred, but my mind was sharp. I memorized her face. Then I went to the office and matched it to a student file.

Natasha Fairfax.

Young. Beautiful. Long-legged. She'd enrolled in the advanced track — the most expensive tier — and paid for thirty-two sessions upfront.

A lot of money for someone her age.

"Not a small sum for a girl that young," Dominic said, no expression on his face.

"I know she asked me for roughly that amount once." He paused, running some calculation behind his eyes.

So she'd pocketed the difference. Good to know.

I kept that thought to myself. It must be nice, having someone that generous in your corner.

Because I'd only caught them the once, I wasn't sure if it was a fleeting thing or something long-term. So I started following her.

Natasha's life was immaculate.

She didn't work. She slept until afternoon, drove a Porsche, lived in a gated estate. Her days were afternoon tea with friends, golf, tennis. I tailed her for two weeks and came away feeling worse about myself than I had in years.

"To be honest, I was shocked. She had everything. I couldn't understand why she'd bother with my husband."

Dominic's expression darkened. His jaw tightened.

"Would you mind telling me about his finances?"

I told him plainly.

"He has a doctorate in music. He left his university post a few years ago to start the academy. Annual income just crossed six figures."

"Six figures."

He said it in a way that made it clear the number was barely worth registering. Then he looked me over with a faint, grim kind of amusement. "So he must be very good-looking?"

I handed him my phone to show him a photo of Elliot.

"I mean... he's fine. Honestly, not as good-looking as you."

He looked up at me. His eyes narrowed slightly. "You think I'm better-looking than your husband?"

I blinked.

Had I said that?

"No — I just meant — we're ordinary people. Not like you and your, uh, daughter, with your very exceptional... genetics."

He studied me for a moment. Then he reached out, gently lifted my phone from my hand, and tapped the screen once.

"He's ordinary-looking. You're not."

My heart gave a strange little kick. I took the phone back.

"Mr. Kingsley. I came here to ask you to rein in your daughter."

"Of course I will." He nodded, meeting my eyes. His tone was even. Neutral. "But I'm curious — do you actually think that's enough to save your marriage?"

The words landed exactly where they were aimed.

"No."

I tucked his business card away and stood up. I took a breath, looking down at him.

"I just don't want my ex-husband finding a rich woman to latch onto after the divorce."

Dominic didn't move. He tilted his head back and watched me with something like amusement.

"What's your name?"

I held out my hand.

"Vivian Hartley."