Chapter 1
Kori Blake
On cue, I hear his footsteps on the grand staircase. I straighten my posture and quickly check my reflection in the polished refrigerator door. Hair smooth, makeup flawless, silk robe tied just so.
“Is my coffee ready?” Mark’s voice cuts through the kitchen before he even appears.
“Fresh and waiting,” I reply, gesturing to the steaming mug next to The Wall Street Journal.
He strides in, already dressed in a tailored Brioni suit that costs more than most people’s monthly mortgage. He doesn’t acknowledge me, just picks up the mug and grimaces.
“This is lukewarm. Again.” He slams the mug down, splashing coffee onto the pristine counter. “Is it really that difficult to perform one simple task correctly?”
My stomach tightens. “I’m sorry. I just made it five minutes ago. I can—”
“Don’t bother,” he interrupts, checking his reflection in the window and adjusting his perfect tie. “Henderson closed the Tokyo deal last night while you were wasting money at that charity function.”
“Your charity function,” I correct quietly. “For your company’s foundation.”
His eyes narrow. “Which you represented poorly. The Prescotts said you knew nothing about our Q3 projections. It’s embarrassing, Kori.”
“You told me not to discuss business—”
“I told you not to discuss business incorrectly.” He scrolls through his phone, not looking at me. “By the way, your little shopping spree yesterday? Fifteen thousand dollars at Neiman Marcus? Completely unnecessary. You have closets full of clothes you never wear.”
My cheeks burn. That spree was for the children’s hospital auction items he’d insisted I procure. I’d spent hours selecting each piece to reflect the Blake brand perfectly.
“I need you to cancel your lunch with Jennifer today,” he continues. “The Richardsons are in town unexpectedly, and I need you to entertain Elise.”
“But Jennifer’s birthday—”
“It's less important than a potential eight-figure investment.” He finally looks at me, expression cold. “This is how it works, Kori. I make the money, you make my life easier. That was the arrangement.”
He opens the fridge and surveys the contents. “Where’s my protein shake?”
“Second shelf, right side,” I answered, forcing my voice steady. “The green one, like you asked.”
He grabs it, sips, and frowns. “Too much spinach. Tastes like dirt.”
“It’s the exact recipe your nutritionist—”
“Don’t argue with me.” He sets the shake beside my strawberries. “I have the Westlake presentation today. Thirty people are watching me, hanging on my every word, while you do what? Rearrange the flowers? Or go shopping again?”
I grip the cool marble of the counter. Four coming up on five years of marriage, and every conversation still feels like walking a minefield. Despite wanting to throw it in his face that he was the one who told me to quit my job, I changed the subject.
“Lana is helping me decorate the hall for our anniversary party this weekend,” I whisper.
“Right, well, don’t keep her too long—I need her for later,” Mark waves dismissively, checking his limited-edition Rolex.
“Make sure you wear the blue Dior tonight. The Chambers will be at Morton’s, and Catherine always comments on how that dress almost makes you look like the models I could have married. ”
With a heavy sigh, I head upstairs to shower.
∞∞∞
“Kori, does this look right to you?”
I glance up from the lilies I’m arranging to find my sister Lana watching me, just as my phone buzzes against my thigh.
I ignore it and look to see that she’s pinching two swatches of ivory satin at the table’s edge, attempting to create a skirt effect.
The fabric bunches awkwardly where they meet, creating an unsightly ridge.
I wrinkle my nose. “The seam’s too obvious.
What if we disguised it with some baby’s breath or those small daisies? ”
My phone buzzes again, more insistent this time.
“That’s brilliant,” Lana says, beaming at my suggestion. “You always know how to fix things.”
The buzzing continues. “Sorry, let me just check this. Mark might need something for tonight.” I fish the phone from my pocket, swiping to unlock it.
My world stops. My lungs forget how to work.
On the screen is a photo from our elderly next-door neighbor, Mrs. Spencer. Mark has his hands tangled in dark hair. Lana’s hair. Their lips are locked together, his body pressing hers against our kitchen counter. The timestamp shows it’s from three days ago, when I was shopping for party supplies.
“Kori? What’s wrong? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Lana’s voice sounds distant, as if I’m underwater.
I stare at her, this woman arranging flowers for my fifth anniversary party, this sister who just hours ago helped me pick out the dress I’d wear tonight. The same lips that are pressed against my husband’s in this photo are now curved in concern.
“How could you?” My voice is barely a whisper as I turn the phone screen toward her.
Her face drains of color. “I can explain—”
“Explain what? That while I’ve been planning this party for months, you’ve been sleeping with my husband?” My voice rises with each word until I’m nearly shouting.
“It’s not what it looks like,” she stammers, reaching for me.
I step back, knocking over a vase of lilies. Water pools across the tablecloth, soaking into the ivory satin she was arranging. “Don’t touch me.”
My mind flashes to our wedding day, how Mark’s eyes had lingered a little too long on one of my bridesmaids. I’d convinced myself it was nothing, that he’d chosen me. I knew he noticed other women—I wasn’t naive—but this? My own sister?
“Was it just once?” I ask, though I already know the answer from the easy familiarity in their embrace.
Lana’s silence tells me everything.
“I trusted you,” I say, grabbing my purse. “Both of you.”
“Please, Kori, let’s talk about this.” She’s crying now, mascara tracking down her cheeks. “The party is in six hours. All our friends and family—”
I laugh, a hollow sound that doesn’t belong to me. “You think I care about the party right now? That I want to stand next to him, pretending we’re celebrating our love, when all this time—” I can’t finish the sentence.
My phone buzzes again. Another message from Mrs. Spencer: “Sorry, dear, I was trying out the camera on my new phone and happened to come across them. I thought you should know.”
Tears stream down my face as I back away from her, from the decorations, from the celebration of a marriage that was apparently a joke to the two people I trusted most.
“Kori, please—”
“Don’t.” I hold up my hand. “Just don’t.”
I turn and head for the exit, my vision blurred by tears. Behind me, I hear the soft tap of Lana’s footsteps as she follows, her voice pleading, but I can’t bear to look at her. Not now. Maybe not ever again.
My phone buzzes again in my hand. Mark. “Can’t wait to see you tonight, babe. Five years strong!”
I feel like I’m going to throw up. Five years of what, exactly?
I wonder how many other women there have been.
How many times has my sister betrayed me?
The lilies and daisies blur through my tears as I push through the double doors of the hall, leaving behind the anniversary celebration that now feels like nothing but an elaborate lie.
How many times did he go on a work trip while I stayed home?
Hell, I wasn’t even a stay-at-home parent; he just wanted me at home.
At first, I loved the freedom of not having to work every day, but after a while, I felt stifled.
Having given up my job as a marketing executive had seemed like a good idea when Mark convinced me three years ago.
“You don’t need to work,” he’d said. “I make more than enough for both of us.”
I remember how his words had felt like a gift then. No more sixty-hour weeks, no more stress. But now I see it differently. He hadn’t wanted to free me—he’d wanted to control me.
Standing here in the parking lot, I realize how much I’ve lost—my career, my independence, my confidence.
I’d become the perfect, docile wife who managed his social calendar and kept his house spotless while he ‘networked’ at conferences.
Conferences where Lana often accompanied him as his company’s event coordinator.
God, how blind I’ve been.
I climb into the car, my fingers trembling as I start the engine. I need to go somewhere —anywhere — that isn’t filled with reminders of them. My phone buzzes again—Lana is calling now. I silence it and toss it onto the passenger seat.
The road blurs before me as I drive aimlessly, memories flooding back with sickening clarity, how Mark discouraged me from pursuing a new job when I mentioned feeling restless. How he’d suggest I focus on “our future family” instead, though he always found reasons to delay trying for children.
No longer able to see the road, I pull into a small park. Of course, it had to be where we once had a picnic in the early days. Before the marriage. Before he slowly chipped away at everything that made me, me.
An older woman walks by with her dog, giving me a concerned look. I must be a sight—mascara-streaked face, clutching the steering wheel like it’s the only solid thing left in my world.
My phone lights up with another text. Not Mark or Lana this time, but Jennifer.
“Hey, need help with anything for tonight?”
Jen. The one who warned me about Mark’s wandering eyes years ago. The friend I’d gradually seen less of because Mark always had some reason why we shouldn’t get together. The same one that I had to cancel her birthday plans just yesterday because of Mark.
I pick up the phone and call her instead of texting back.
“Kori?” she answers immediately. “What’s up?”
“The anniversary party is off,” I say, my voice steadier than I expected. “Mark’s been cheating on me. With Lana.”
The silence on the other end speaks volumes.
“You knew,” I whisper, a fresh wave of pain washing over me.