Chapter 2

Chloe Whitmore was the least afraid of him of all the women he'd kept. The most spoiled. The most reckless.

He doted on her in a way I'd never seen him dote on anyone.

A year ago, when his mother passed unexpectedly, he was her only son. Tradition would have had him sitting the vigil.

But Chloe had gotten herself drunk that night. She was crying, begging him to come stay with her.

So he passed the vigil to me. And went to her.

In the middle of the night, I got a text from her. A photo.

"Julian's taken me so many times tonight he's passed out. Sorry you have to handle the Sterling family business all by yourself."

No one knows how I got through that night. There were moments I couldn't breathe through the pain.

Before Chloe, Julian had been a devoted son. That night I understood something I'd been refusing to see. He hadn't just cheated with his body.

He loved her. He loved her enough to trample my dignity for her.

"You're my goddamn empress, okay? I can't explain it to you any more than I already have. Fine. Tomorrow I'll have a doctor examine her. Will that finally convince you?"

Julian's voice snapped me back to the present.

I couldn't believe it. After I'd said no to his face, he'd agreed to her demand anyway.

The next morning, Chloe showed up early. With a male doctor.

Julian actually flinched. "Absolutely not. It has to be a woman."

His face went hard. A flash of jealousy. For all his cheating, he kept a tight leash on me. If I spent more than two minutes talking to another man, he'd lose his mind.

Classic case of do as I say, not as I do.

Chloe pouted. "How am I supposed to know your female doctor isn't in her pocket? What if you two are in on it together?"

Julian humored her. "Fine. You find a female doctor. You pick one."

She agreed reluctantly, sulking.

They really thought I'd just sit there and take it.

Until I walked up to Chloe without a word and slapped her across the face.

"Who do you think you are?"

"You're a mistress hiding in the shadows. You don't get a say in what happens between me and my husband."

It felt good. Honestly, it felt incredible. And to really twist the knife, I added:

"You know why Julian missed your quota this month? Because he was in my bed seven times. He was too exhausted to make it over to yours."

Seven. That number hit her like a grenade.

She broke down. Tears streaming. She turned on Julian.

"You still deny it? She just admitted it!"

Julian glared at me, furious. "What are you doing? You want to make this worse?"

Chloe fled the house, clutching her face.

Julian ran after her to smooth it over.

The ironic part? As he was chasing her out the door, he turned to the butler and said:

"Make sure she takes her medicine."

Ever since the cheating started, ever since I developed my "condition," he'd spent a fortune on specialists. Pills. Tinctures. Experimental treatments.

He'd murmur things like, "We'll figure this out. When you're better, we'll have a baby."

What he didn't know was that every one of those pills went down the sink. I'd never swallowed a single dose.

I was counting the days until I could leave.

On my way to the visa office, his men intercepted me and brought me back.

They held me at the Hamptons estate. Pinned me down on a cold examination table.

Five female doctors. They strapped down my wrists and ankles.

As I was thrashing, one of them picked up a video call. Chloe's voice came through the speaker.

"Make sure you do it thoroughly."

"Miss Whitmore, we're professionals."

I screamed. "Chloe, I hope you rot. Julian, I hope you rot."

I knew he was there with her. Sure enough, his voice came next.

"Mira. Chloe's pregnant. I'm thirty-five. Don't make this harder for me than it has to be."

His meaning was clear. He wanted me to cooperate.

He'd wanted to be a father since he was twenty-five. We'd tried, a long time ago. His sperm count was low. It took years of treatment before I got pregnant.

That pregnancy was the happiest time of our marriage.

I was nine months along when Julian met Chloe Whitmore.

She was young. She was gorgeous. She had that careless energy that makes older men stupid.

She took him on the back of her Ducati once. That was all it took.

She posted a photo of the two of them on Instagram. The comments were a stampede. What a couple. Made for each other. Relationship goals.

I saw the post three days later. The shock sent me into labor. The baby didn't make it.

Losing our child wasn't enough to bring him back.

He cried. He promised. "It was an accident. We'll have another."

He didn't know it then, but from that moment on, I was done with him.