MARRYING HIM WAS A MISTAKE

PROLOGUE: (Six Months Later)

"I don't love you."

Jimmy said it twice. The first time, I pretended not to hear him but the second time, the words reverberated and hit me so hard like a punch to the guts.

I sat on our cream leather sofa, the one that cost more than most people's cars, staring at our wedding photo on the canvas. We looked so happy in that frame. Young, Stupid but happy.

"Say something," Jimmy said.

I looked at him with bloodshot eyes. When had his eyes become so cold?

"What do you want me to say?" My voice came out steadier than I felt.

"I don't know. Scream. Cry. Throw something." He loosened his tie. "Just... react."

But I was done reacting. Done performing. Done pretending I didn't know how we'd gotten here. Of course, this1 wasn't where the story began.

It began six months earlier, on an ordinary Tuesday, when I still believed my marriage could be saved.

******

I woke to the sunlight streaming through the ceiling windows and an empty half made bed.

Jimmy's side was cold. He had either left hours ago or never came home at all. I couldn't really recall which it was and that terrified me more than I wanted to admit.

The alarm on my phone buzzed. 6:47 AM. Jaden's school pickup was at 3:30. Eight hours to fill with nothing. This has become my routine over the last few years.

I lay there, staring at the ceiling of our bedroom–correction, his bedroom since I'd started sleeping in the guest room three weeks ago. Neither wanted to acknowledge it. We were experts at acting like everything was alright and avoiding matters.

My phone lit up. Marcus. My brother had been calling all morning.

I let it go to voicemail.

Whatever situation he had managed to get himself into today could wait. I had my own problems.

I forced myself out of bed and caught my reflection in the mirror. The woman staring back looked expensive but empty. Like a designer mannequin someone had forgotten to dress.

When did I become this person?

I used to be Sandra Morrison, my father's daughter, heir to Morrison Properties, the second largest conglomerate in the state. I used to walk into boardrooms and make million-dollar decisions before lunch. I used to matter.

Now I was just Mrs. James Banks III. Billionaire's wife, a professional accessory, a housewife.

And the worst part? I'd chosen this.

Seven years ago, I had owned everything Jimmy has now.

Morrison Properties wasn't just my father's legacy, it was mine. Daddy had been grooming me to take over since I was sixteen. I'd spent my college summers learning acquisitions, spent my twenties closing deals, spent every waking moment of my life proving I could run the company better than anyone else. I truly did live up to my father's expectations of me.

Then I reconnected with my first love in college at a fundraiser– Jimmy.

Harvard MBA. Venture capital dreams. Empty pockets but his eyes were full of ambition.

I never gave love a chance but if I was going to, I wanted it to be him and so I thought the stars were aligning in my favour when we began to fall in love, maybe a little too fast.

One year later, he proposed to me. My parents were completely in disagreement.

"He's using you," my mother had said, voice shaking. "Can't you see that?"

"He loves me," I'd insisted.

"He loves your portfolio."

But I never listened. I married him anyway, in a ceremony my parents refused to attend except my brother.

On his thirtieth birthday, the same year Daddy died of a heart attack and left me everything, I went on to make the greatest mistake of my life, I did the unforgivable.

I signed Morrison Properties and conglomerate over to Jimmy.

Every damn thing. The company, the assets, the legacy my father had built from nothing. I had wrapped it in a bow and handed it to the man I loved, believing we were building something together.

"Happy birthday, baby. Let's make this ours."

He'd cried when I gave him the papers. Called me his queen. Promised we'd run it together as equals partners.

But that lasted exactly eight months.

Then he renamed it Banks Enterprises, restructured the board, and slowly, so slowly I almost didn't notice, pushed me out of every decision, every meeting, every conversation that mattered.

Within two years, I wasn't even copied on emails.

"You should focus on Jaden," Jimmy had said when I protested. "He needs his mother."

But what he was truly saying that I could never decipher because I was still blinded by love and loyalty was that I have served your purpose.

Now the company was worth eight hundred million dollars. And legally, I didn't own a single share.

I'd signed it all away.

I couldn't stay in this house another second.

I grabbed my keys and purse and headed downstairs. The kitchen was spotless-Maria, our housekeeper, had already made sure to go through everything. Coffee in the French press, fresh fruit arranged on the counter like a still life painting.

I poured coffee I wouldn't drink and stared out at the pool.

My phone buzzed. Marcus again.

I answered this time. "What?"

"Jesus, Sandra, finally." His voice was ragged. "I need to talk to you."

"I'm busy."

"Busy doing what? Sitting in that massive mansion pretending everything's fine?"

I flinched. "Don't."

"Someone has to say it. You're disappearing, and everyone's just letting it happen."

"I'm hanging up."

"Jimmy's cheating on you."

The words landed like a slap and for a moment my head felt like it was spinning.

"I have to go," I said quietly, rubbing my eyes.

"Sandra..."

I ended the call.

My hands shook as I set the phone down. Marcus didn't know anything. He was projecting, or stirring up drama, or...

My phone buzzed again. But this time, it wasn't Marcus.

A text from an unknown number.

You deserve to know the truth. Check your email.

I stared at the message. Spam. Had to be spam.

But I opened my email anyway.

One new message. No subject line. No text. Just an attachment.

A photo.

I clicked on it, and what I saw made my world tilt.

Jimmy. Standing outside The Carlisle hotel. And beside him, a woman. Blonde hair, red dress, perfect posture. Her hand on his arm, head thrown back in laughter.

The timestamp: Last Tuesday. 2:47 PM.

I zoomed in on Jimmy's face. He looked happy. Relaxed. The way he used to look at me.

My chest constricted. This was a mistake. Had to be a mistake.

But then I saw it-the tiny detail that made everything become real.

His tie. Navy blue Hermès. The one I'd given him for our anniversary.

The one I'd found in the hamper last Wednesday with lipstick on the collar.

I called James, my driver. "I need you to pick up Jaden from school today."

"Of course, Mrs. Banks. What time?"

"Three-thirty. Don't be late."

"You can trust me on that ma'am."

I hung up and grabbed my coat.

I was going to Banks Enterprises. I was going to walk into Jimmy's office and demand answers.

And this time, I wasn't leaving until I got them.

The drive into the city should have calmed me. But It didn't.

My mind raced. The photo. The lipstick. The late nights and cold shoulders and the way Jimmy looked through me like I was furniture.

How long has this been going on?

I gripped the steering wheel tighter and accelerated.

Traffic slowed near the financial district. I drummed my fingers on the dash, then froze.

Jimmy's car.

The Riveran S2R midnight blue, custom interior, license plate JB13. Pulling out of the underground garage at Banks Enterprises.

Too fast.

I craned my neck to see inside.

Jimmy. Aviator sunglasses. Sharp jaw.

And in the passenger seat, blonde hair, a red dress. "Was she the same person in the photo, or is this another person?"

I was pondering and trying to make sense of things.

The light turned green. Cars honked behind me.

I followed.

I stayed three cars back, hands white-knuckled, heart hammering like it was about to explode. This was insane. I was following my own husband like some desperate housewife.

But I couldn't stop.

They turned left on nineteenth avenue. Right on Madison street. Then pulled into The Carlisle.

The same hotel from the photo.

Valentine, his personal driver, took the car. Jimmy held the door for her. She laughed at something he said, touching his arm and then they disappeared inside.

I sat across the street, engine idling, phone buzzing.

I stared at the hotel entrance. Part of me wanted to storm inside. Confront them. Make a scene.

But what was the point?

I already knew.

Instead, I drove.

Past the office. Past our house. Out of the city entirely, until glass towers gave way to trees and the road stretched empty ahead.

I pulled over at a riverbank overlook and sat there, hands shaking, tears finally breaking free.

My phone buzzed. Marcus.

Please call me back. I'm worried about you.

Another text. Unknown number again.

There's more. If you want the truth, meet me tonight. The Orchid. 8 PM.

I stared at the message.

This was a trap. Had to be a trap.

But what did I have left to lose?