CHAPTER 1
CORA

The elevator swoops up to the sixty-second floor, and my stomach tightens with anticipation. I stroke Winnie’s bald head to calm my nerves and squeeze Pearl’s tiny hand.

“Ready to see Daddy?” I ask. Pearl smiles up at me.

She’s such a champ. It’s almost two hours past her bedtime, and both girls napped during the drive in from Connecticut. They’re still groggy, but perking up, excited to surprise Daddy. He’s been stuck in the city all week, and he sounded exhausted on the phone today. He said he couldn’t wait to be home, so I thought I’d bring home to him.

My bodyguards, Schmidt and Tiller, loom behind us, their faces reflected in the polished brass elevator doors, their disapproval masked except for the corners of their downturned mouths. They don’t like that I left the estate so late at night, especially with the children. They wanted to run this visit by Adrian’s security, but I told them they’d ruin the surprise. Adrian’s people tell him everything.

My bodyguards treat me like a child. I suppose I am young enough to be Schmidt’s child. I’m twenty-six, and he’s at least fifty. He’s the highest-ranking man on my security team, though, so when Tiller was stonewalling me about leaving so late, Schmidt called for the car and told Tiller, “She’s the boss.”

According to the prenup, that’s true. It’s one of the few things I remember. The contract was longer than a software terms of service and all small print. I skimmed most of it—or tried to and failed—but for some reason, the passage about my security detail stuck in my head. They report to me, and if Adrian and I get divorced, I keep them.

Not that we’re ever going to split up. I was nervous when we first got together, but after two kids in three years, we’re definitely family for life. We’re an odd couple for sure—he’s twelve years older than me, richer than God, and he never smiles—but we fit. He takes care of me, and the girls and I make a warm, loving home for him. He needs that in his life.

I don’t care how rich they are, he comes from awful people. His dad is this sleazy guy who squandered his inheritance and now basically leeches off the business that his sons built. Adrian’s grandfather had money, but I guess after his experience with his son, he kept his money to himself until he died. He didn’t seem to have much interest in his grandkids, from what I can tell.

His mom straight out abandoned her kids. One day, she had enough of her husband’s cheating, and she bailed to go live on a commune in Switzerland or something. Of course, Adrian didn’t tell me the backstory. His brother Logan did. Logan is ex-military and runs the family’s security, but he’s the least scary Maddox brother, Adrian included.

I don’t need Adrian to be an open book or therapized, though. Lord knows, I’m not. I accept him for him, and he has us to love him now—Pearl, baby Winnie, and who knows, maybe soon, we’ll have another bun cooking in the oven.

Winnie kicks her feet in her carrier and grabs at my face. I kiss her fingertips when they graze my lips.

Adrian is going to be so happy to see us. These days, he can’t tolerate being away from us for too long. He’ll deal with it for a night here or there, but we travel with him if he needs to be away longer than that.

He sounded so blank on the phone last night, like he didn’t have an ounce of energy left after his day. He’s involved in a hostile takeover. He didn’t tell me about it, of course. He doesn’t worry me with business, but I overheard. I didn’t hear which party is the hostile one, but I bet it’s him.

Everyone except his brothers is intimidated by Adrian. I am, too, but the feeling gives me delicious shivers down my spine. I don’t mind it.

Being married to Adrian is like owning a Doberman, except the Doberman owns everything and barks orders that people immediately obey, and he’s twice as smart as everyone else in the room. Growing up, I always thought it would feel so safe to have an attack dog who loved you and only you, and I was right.

“Mrs. Maddox, are you sure you don’t want to get the little ones settled first? We can take them to one of the corporate suites, and I’ll watch them,” Tiller says, breaking the silence.

“But they’re part of the surprise.” I flash him a smile over my shoulder so he knows that I appreciate the offer.

When I turn back to face front, I catch Schmidt shooting him a strange look in the reflection, almost like a warning. I don’t have time to wonder about it because the elevator dings, the doors slide open, and I step over the marble threshold into the apartment where Adrian stays when he has to stay in the city. Butterflies erupt in my stomach in anticipation. He’s going to be so surprised to see us.

About twenty feet away, my husband is sitting in the middle of a white leather sofa, manspreading. A woman is straddling his lap, riding him. She’s naked except for nude slingback heels with red soles.

No. Not nude. Blush. I own those same shoes. They cost eight hundred and ninety-five dollars for one pair. I have them in black patent leather, too.

Schmidt mutters “shit” and grabs Pearl, tucking her face to his chest and twisting around so she can’t see. Tiller and I instinctively close ranks, blocking Pearl’s view of the apartment. I blink over at Tiller and a dumb thought wanders across my brain like a bumblebee—who’s going to hide my eyes?

“Mrs. Maddox.” Tiller grabs my arm, urging me back into the elevator. I yank myself free and step forward instead.

In the community room at Villa Theresa, there was a laundry basket full of board games. There was a generic Jenga game called Tower Tumble with almost all of its pieces, enough to build a structure high enough to get wobbly. Us kids would play all the time. We played all the games all the time. The facility's budget didn’t stretch to cable TV.

I never had steady nerves, so I was always the one to knock it over. There was always a moment, when I pulled out a block a little too fast or my hand shook or the tower simply wouldn’t hold anymore, a split-second right before it collapsed, when everyone held their breath, and the butterflies in my stomach felt exactly like they did when I stepped out of the elevator.

I have made a terrible mistake.

I blink my eyes like that’ll wipe the scene away, but the woman is still there, working herself up and down on my husband’s cock. Her copper red hair flows down her back. She’s gorgeous. I know her. Her name is Delaney Peirson, and she works with Adrian. She’s important. The Director of Finance. She has her own office on corporate row and her own secretary.

She always shakes my hand too tightly and smiles like we’re both in on a secret. I always figured the secret was that I don’t belong, but I guess it’s that she’s fucking my husband.

Adrian is wearing a tux. His arms are stretched out along the back of the sofa. His phone is in his hand, his gold wedding band on his finger.

He’s scowling at me now over Delaney’s naked shoulder, but a split second ago, when I first caught glimpse of him, he was scrolling on his phone. I know what he’s doing—he’s checking the markets. A woman is riding his dick, and he’s keeping an eye on his stocks. Of course. The TSE and the ASX just opened.

When I was a kid, one of my foster moms had a rule that there were no phones at the dinner table, but when her husband pissed her off by shoveling down his food and slouching off to watch TV in the garage, she’d let us get on our phones while we finished eating. The rules were suspended.

I guess when you cheat on your wife, the rules are suspended, too. You can go ahead and be rude.

For a moment, this is the thing about this whole scenario that makes the most sense to my brain—if someone let him, Adrian would absolutely monitor his portfolio while he fucked.

“Mrs. Maddox,” Tiller urges, squeezing my shoulder. “The children.”

Oh, God. Yes. The children. What am I thinking? They can’t see this. We have to get out of here.

Delaney is still working herself up and down Adrian’s cock. He’s wearing a condom. You can tell when she’s up.

She’s waxed totally bare down there. Adrian likes me to trim, not wax. He says pubic hair is natural, and to him, natural is good. He’s always lecturing me about microplastics and PFCs and BPAs and phthalates.

How can I remember the name of every bad chemical now while a woman is rising and lowering herself on my husband’s dick like a merry-go-round horse? If this were a random Tuesday, I wouldn’t be able to remember a single one.

The two of them look like a magazine spread, with her red hair and his black tux and her red soles and his thick black-brown hair. Against the white sofa, the wall of glass, and all the city lights beyond, it’s all very postmodern, if I understand postmodern correctly.

Art and style are new to me. Rich people and pre-nups and fancy open concept apartments with views of the entire city still feel new to me, too.

We’re so high in the air up here. So exposed. There are no shades or curtains on the glass walls. Anyone high enough could see this woman fuck my husband.

Oh, God. The children. I forgot again. What’s wrong with me? I cover Winnie’s eyes, even though she’s facing me. She squeals a protest.

“Delaney,” Adrian finally says sharply, gripping the redhead’s waist to stop her from jacking herself up and down.

She finally glances back over her shoulder, tossing her glorious copper hair. Her smokey eyes round with surprise as her pouty red mouth forms an “O.” She tries to dismount, but Adrian holds in her place.

“Stay,” he snaps at her.

“Mommy?” Pearl whispers from behind me.

What do I do? My legs don’t work. Neither do my eyes. I can’t tear them away. Delaney’s creamy skin is perfect. Her heart-shaped ass is perfect; her butt crack is a perfect pink. She looks like fan art. Like a horny teenage boy drew her.

Is Adrian in love with her?

Is this what he really wants? I thought he didn’t like the woman on top.

“Get them out of here, Schmidt,” Adrian snarls.

He means us. His family. He’s kicking us out. Delaney gets to stay. On his dick.

My brain still can’t catch up. It’s a broken escalator, and every thought I have immediately slides down into a jumbled heap.

Adrian is fucking Delaney from the office on the corporate apartment’s sofa, even though he’s in love me. He doesn’t say it—he told me when we got together that he doesn’t do heart-to-hearts—but he shows me all the time in a hundred ways. Besides, a man like him would never marry a woman like me if he weren’t head over heels in love.

He married me, even though we’re so different, because I make him happy. He does things for me he’s never done for any other woman. His brothers marvel at it. He might not talk about his feelings or show emotion, but that’s his way. He’s infamous for it.

He’s Adrian Maddox. He could have married anyone, but he married me, a foster kid from Baltimore with no diploma or anything, because he loves me. It’s the only way we make sense.

Why is he doing this?

I can hear the delusion, but my brain won’t stop. It’s trying to argue its way out of the reality staring us in the face.

Schmidt tries his luck, grabbing my upper arm from behind. “Come on, Mrs. Maddox,” he says.

I jerk my arm forward. “Adrian, what’s going on?”

He’s the one who explains things, who takes care of things. If I have an issue, I tell him, and it’s fixed immediately, either by him personally, one of his scary brothers, or by the legion of employees and henchmen at their command. Life doesn’t work for him like it does for everyone else. Nothing tragic happens in Adrian Maddox’s world; nothing is a problem.

Oh, God, my heart hurts. I go to press my fist against it, to staunch the pain, but Winnie’s there in her carrier, so I uncurl my fingers and rest my palm on her back. She squeals again and stiffens her legs. Oh, no.

Not now.

She’s working on a poop.

“Schmidt,” Adrian growls. “Get them out of here now.” People jump when he uses that tone of voice. Delaney tenses, but she stays put and keeps her mouth shut.

Adrian is in charge. Here and everywhere. When you have as much money as he does, you don’t usually have to ask twice or raise your voice.

“Schmidt!” he barks.

Schmidt murmurs to me, his hand tugging my sleeve, but his words don’t register. It’s like he’s talking underwater.

There’s a glitch in the matrix.

I’m the glitch.

I’m not supposed to be here.

I was never supposed to be here.

I was wrong. I made a terrible mistake. The floor is crumbling under my feet.

Schmidt tugs my shirt harder. I look back over my shoulder. He has resettled Pearl on his hip, her head tucked into his shoulder so she can’t see. Tiller is pushing the button to hold the elevator door open.

Schmidt gently draws me backward. “Come on. Let’s take the little ones somewhere else, please, Mrs. Maddox.”

Tiller holds his hand out to me. I take it. Behind me, Adrian makes a sound almost like a snarl, but I can’t see why.

My back is turned to him now.