After the Divorce, I Became the Billionaire's Lost Heiress

I was in a baby boutique, picking out a gift for my best friend's newborn, when a trending local post stopped my scroll:

"My side girl just gave me a son. Every time I sneak her and the baby into the house, I come away smelling like milk, and my wife has a nose like a bloodhound. How do I keep her from catching on?"

The comments were nothing but jokes and helpful tips.

I was about to swipe past when I saw the pinned top comment.

"Same boat as you, except mine's juicier. Three months ago my wife's best friend had my daughter. And my wife is childfree, so she doesn't know a thing about the kid. Every time I have my girl over, I order a seafood delivery first, the kind my wife can't stand. She smells the fishy stink, runs to the bathroom to throw up, and that's my window to get the girl out. Even if she does catch a whiff, I just say I've been into milk lately, and she buys it. Never once questioned me."

The replies were all praising his attention to detail.

Even God would have to upvote this one. A flawless cover-up.

I shook my head as I read it.

But when I got home, my phone rang. The delivery driver. "Miss, did you order the fresh seafood? I've left it at your door for you."

...

The words turned me to ice. My mind went white, then blew apart.

I thought of that top comment.

I have always hated seafood. Everyone close to me knows it, and no one knows it better than the husband who has spent years tending to my health.

And my best friend had her baby three months ago too.

It had to be a coincidence.

Probably the driver had the wrong address. Our food always came from an organic farm, delivered by Stuart's assistant.

All of New York knew Stuart Webb loved me down to the bone.

Because I'm childfree, he got a vasectomy to marry me, and swore that for the rest of his life I was all he would ever need.

He even handed my parents a blank signed contract before the wedding, to prove how serious he was.

Now it all felt like a lie. The vasectomy, a lie. And he had a child with someone else.

Three years of marriage. He knew everything about me. He knew I loved blue roses, so he bought an island and planted it edge to edge with them.

Once, an enemy of his kidnapped me and demanded a ransom of a hundred million dollars and that he get down on his knees. He didn't hesitate for a second. He wired the money and bent his knees and begged them not to hurt me.

After he rescued me himself, he ran his thumb over my crooked, mangled fingers, pain in his eyes, then paid those enemies back tenfold and had every one of their fingers cut off.

After that, everyone knew I was the one thing you didn't touch where Stuart Webb was concerned.

He was endlessly patient with me. He even looked after every person close to me.

Would a man like that, a man everyone praised, a man who loved me, sleep with my best friend?

But that post wouldn't let go of the fear and suspicion taking root in me.

I saved the call log and made up my mind fast.

I didn't text Stuart ahead to say I was home.

I wanted to know whether there really was a husband in this house cheating on me with my best friend.

At the front door, I caught myself searching before I even thought about it.

No seafood at the door.

So I let myself in quietly. The bedroom first.

I turned the whole room over, inside and out.

I dragged the closet open—only my clothes hanging there, and Stuart's, nothing that shouldn't be.

I pulled back the covers, ran my eyes over the sheets. Not a thing out of place.

I checked again, and still nothing answered the dread building in me.

The bathroom, the study, the balcony. Empty, all of it.

Just as the confusion was filling me up, the kitchen door opened.

Stuart stood there holding my favorite cake, surprise all over his face.

"Rosalind Carver, what brings you back so early? You said you wanted blueberry cake, didn't you? It just came out of the oven. Have a taste."

He pulled me down beside him, easy and fond, scooped a piece, and lifted it to my mouth.

I looked down at the cake, so tempting, and cursed myself for jumping at shadows.

That cake is a nightmare to make. An hour or two, at least.

Stuart had clearly been at it in the kitchen for ages, all to surprise me.

"I came straight home after I finished buying Luna's gift," I said.

The stone in my chest slowly settled. I bit the cake off the spoon and gave him a thumbs-up.

He nodded and smiled at me, indulgent. "Eat up, then. Dinner's almost ready. Two more dishes."

When he carried the last dish to the table, I saw the plate of garlic oysters.

In that instant the fishy smell hit my nose, nausea climbing into my throat, and I asked in a shaking voice,

"Why are we having seafood tonight?"