Chapter 1: The Jet That Never Reached Zurich
My husband told me he was flying to Zurich to save a billion-dollar deal.
At 2:17 a.m., I watched his private jet land in Milan.
At 2:19 a.m., a woman wearing my emerald earrings posted a photo from a hotel balcony with the caption: “Some men know where they belong.”
I was eight months pregnant, barefoot in the kitchen, one hand on my stomach, and one hand holding the phone that would ruin him.
I simply zoomed in on the photo.
There it was.
The marble lion carved into the balcony rail. The blue edge of Lake Como behind her shoulder. The Grand Bellafiore Hotel.
Grant Hawthorne had not gone to Zurich.
He had gone to Italy.
And he had taken his mistress to the same suite where he had proposed to me six years earlier.
The baby kicked hard beneath my ribs, as if she already knew her father had chosen another woman before she had even taken her first breath.