Our bedroom went dead silent.


    Camden’s face was doing this thing where he cycled through about fifteen different emotions as the reality hit him.


    How he’d built his empire on Sterling Industries‘ connections.


    How I’d sacrificed my entire legacy to boost his career.


    How I’d been left with absolutely nothing when the smoke cleared.


    Sterling Industries had gone fully international after the acquisition, with headquarters in London and Singapore now.


    Even if they wanted to get involved in small–scale California drama–which they definitely didn’t–they were way too big to care about restaurant publicity stunts.


    Camden opened and closed his mouth. Then words finally came out.


    “<b>If </b>you hadn’t been airing our dirtyundry all over social media for five years, Vera could’ve stayed under the radar. She never asked to be some tabloid target.”


    I literally couldn’t process what I was hearing.


    So this was somehow my fault too?


    For refusing to be the perfect trophy wife who smiled for the cameras while her husband yed house with his side piece?


    He’dpletely betrayed our marriage, but I was supposed to handle it with grace and discretion when their husbands had “rtion” with the other woman?


    I wasn’t allowed to feel hurt. Wasn’t allowed to be angry. And I definitely wasn’t allowed to make it inconvenient for


    them.


    I stared at this stranger wearing my husband’s face.


    When had the Stanford freshman who used to write me love letters turned into this narcissistic sociopath?


    Or maybe the red gs had always been there and I’d been too busy being the perfect girlfriend to notice.


    I bit the inside of my cheek hard enough to taste copper, fighting to keep my voice level.


    “You want me to handle this like your mom did? Just smile and wave while you keep your little girlfriend tucked away in her cute little restaurant?”


    “And then what? Wait for you to knock her up so I can have aplete nervous breakdown and drive off Mulhond


    13:26


    Hell Yeah, Forget the Other Woman, My Smart House Was Cheating On Me<b>! </b>


    <b>29.5</b><b>% </b>


    Drive? Would thatplete your fantasy?”


    Myugh came out sounding unhinged.


    <b>“</b>Congrattions, Camden. You’ve be your father.”


    Camden’s mother had been this ethereal, artistic woman–a painter who’d given up everything for love.


    His father and his secretary–turned–second–wife had systematically destroyed her until she’d wrapped her car around


    a tree on highway.


    It was Camden’s origin story–and his father was the person he’d spent his entire adult life trying not to be.


    The color drained from Camden’s face. His pupils went pinpoint.


    “You’vepletely lost your fucking mind!”


    He kicked over chair so hard it shattered against the floor–to–ceiling windows.


    “You’re absolutely psychotic.”


    I’d hit the bullseye. He was losing it because I’d called out exactly what he was doing.


    I expected him topletely blow up. To finally drop the mask and show me who he really was underneath all that venture capitalist charm.


    Instead, he took several deep breaths. His expression smoothed into that familiar, calcted calm.


    “Which is exactly why I’m handling this differently.”