Chapter 3

Ethan’s face went stiff, and he fell silent.

I tapped my fingers on the luxury bag and turned my gaze to Sarah.

"This isn't the bag I ordered. You've completely wasted my time and my husband’s." I paused, my voice cold. "Should I file a formal complaint with corporate?"

Sarah panicked, shooting a desperate, pleading look at Ethan.

But Ethan remained quiet, sweat practically beads on his forehead.

"No, ma'am, it wasn't my mistake. Your husband was the one who—" Sarah started to stammer.

Ethan quickly cut her off.

"Babe, the bag is actually for the client’s daughter," he lied smoothly, flashing a reassuring smile. "I was worried a young girl wouldn't like the boring gray you chose, so I called Sarah back and had her switch it to the orange one."

*A young girl?*

I caught my reflection in the polished glass storefront.

I still looked virtually the same as I did ten years ago—stylish, sharp, and well-kept.

But in his eyes, I was already the "old wife."

Sensing the tension, Sarah quickly pulled a silk scarf from the display cabinet and placed it gently near my hand.

"I am so sorry, Mrs. Vance. This was miscommunication on our part for not notifying you beforehand. Please accept our sincerest apologies."

Ethan reached over, rubbing his hand through my hair, and slid close to me on the plush velvet sofa.

To avoid office gossip, he had always refused to show any form of physical affection toward me at the office.

I felt a wave of discomfort and subtly shifted away from his touch.

He frowned slightly, then gave Sarah a quick wink.

"Sarah, go grab some of your latest arrivals. Let my wife pick out whatever she wants."

Watching him play the doting, guilty husband made me feel physically sick.

I rarely visited this boutique myself. Usually, whenever he claimed a "client" needed a gift, I would just call and put it on my card.

But seeing how comfortable and familiar he was with Sarah, it was obvious he had been spending a lot of time—and my money—in this store.

"Babe, I know you're upset about the color mix-up," Ethan cooed, trying to wrap his arm around my waist. "Tell you what, whatever you want in the store today, it's on me. Happy anniversary."

Sarah brought out a dozen gorgeous bags, laying them out in front of me.

Every color, every style. But I felt absolutely nothing.

I waved my hand dismissively.

"Forget it. I have a meeting with some partners this afternoon anyway." I looked at him. "Didn't you say you had to deliver that gift to your client? You should get going."

Right on cue, Ethan’s phone buzzed in his pocket.

He quickly planted a soft kiss on my forehead. "Don't be mad at me, okay? I promise to make it up to you tonight."

I watched him stand up, check his phone, and practically skip out of the boutique.

His steps were so light, so full of anticipation.

I let out a bitter, self-deprecating laugh.

You really can't hide the energy of someone who is freshly in love.

I had been so blind for so long, busy running the actual business while he was out playing boyfriend.

The moment he disappeared from view, I stood up and walked over to Sarah.

"I want to see the full transaction history under his authorized user card."

Sarah looked me up and down, a hint of hesitation in her eyes.

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Vance, but that is private client information. We aren't authorized to share transaction details without the primary user's consent."

There was a subtle, condescending smirk on her face, as if she assumed I was just a wealthy trophy wife throwing a tantrum.

"Even if you complain to corporate, our policy stands," she added.

I reached into my Chanel wallet, pulled out my Centurion Black Card, and slammed it onto the glass counter.

Sarah’s eyes went wide, and her smug attitude instantly evaporated.

"The card he uses? It’s just an authorized user card linked directly to my primary account," I said, my voice deadpan. "Now, do I have the right to see where my money is going?"

Sarah bowed her head quickly, taking the card with trembling hands.

"Of course, ma'am. I will pull up the records immediately."

A second later, the computer screen populated with page after page of transaction history.

In the past month alone, there was over eighty thousand dollars of spending on high-end jewelry, women's shoes, and ready-to-wear pieces.

I scanned the customer profile linked to those purchases.

The phone number listed wasn't Ethan’s.

I memorized the number instantly.

"Print the entire history out for me. Now."

Holding the thick stack of printed receipts, I walked out of the store into the crisp afternoon air.

I pulled out my phone and texted my personal assistant, Amy.

"Find out who owns this phone number immediately. Also, run a forensic audit on Ethan’s personal bank accounts and our corporate expense reports for the last three years."

Less than two minutes later, Amy replied.

"Elena, I found it."

"The phone number is registered to Chloe Miller. Our front desk receptionist."