My Husband Faked Our Love

"What do you have in there, Nora?" Asher asked, his gaze dropping to my unclasped clutch.

I shifted my weight, turning my hip to place my body directly between him and the beaded silk bag. The thick edge of the forged documents dug into my palm through the fabric.

"Just extra blotting papers," I said. A bright, practiced smile stretched across my face. My voice held completely steady, surprising even me. "The studio lights are making me sweat. I told you, I'm fixing my makeup."

He didn't move his eyes from my hip. "You brought paperwork to our wedding?"

"It's the vendor receipts," I lied, keeping the smile pinned in place. "The event planner needed them signed before the reception."

Asher took another step forward. The heavy scent of cedar filled the small space between us. He reached out, but his hand bypassed the clutch entirely, his fingers brushing against the side of my neck. He tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear.

"Almost done," he murmured, his thumb grazing my jawline. "Just get through the vows. Once we sign today's documents, we'll be free."

My muscles locked. Today's documents.

He had another trap waiting.

"Of course," I replied. "I'll be right out."

"Two minutes," he warned. He dropped his hand, turned on his heel, and walked out into the bright hallway.

The heavy oak door clicked shut.

I threw the deadbolt. My fingers fumbled as I shoved the forged papers entirely into the clutch and snapped the metal clasp shut. I grabbed my phone from the vanity tray and dialed the only number I still knew by heart.

It rang twice.

"You are literally broadcasting live to half the planet right now," Damon answered. His rough voice crackled through the speaker.

"I need a favor," I said, keeping my voice hushed.

"Tell me you are running."

"Not yet. I need to know if you still have the envelope."

Silence hung on the line for a second. "The one you gave me at the diner?"

"Three days before my car wrapped around that oak tree," I confirmed. "The physical copy of the original trust clauses. Do you still have it, Damon?"

"It's in my wall safe," he said. "Hasn't moved in two years. Why?"

"Because Asher just tried to convince twenty-three million people that I willingly signed over my voting rights." I paced the length of the dressing room, my heels sinking into the plush carpet. "I found photocopies of the transfer agreements in his office this morning. The signatures are forged."

"I told you he was a snake, Nora."

"I need the original clauses to prove he altered the terms while I was in the coma."

"I'll bring it to the precinct," Damon offered. "We can meet with a detective tonight."

"No cops," I insisted. "Not yet. Asher owns half the judges in this city now. If I strike and miss, he'll commit me to a psychiatric ward by midnight. I need absolute proof."

"You want proof?" Damon asked, his tone shifting, sharpening. "I have something else you need to hear."

I stopped pacing. "What is it?"

"It's about Mia."

My chest tightened at the sound of her name. "Mia is in London. Asher said she couldn't afford to fly back for the wedding."

"She never moved to London, Nora."

I gripped the edge of the glass vanity table. "What are you talking about?"

"I saw her yesterday," Damon said bluntly. "She was walking out of a high-end boutique on Fifth Avenue. Carrying about ten shopping bags. She didn't look like someone who couldn't afford a plane ticket."

"Are you sure it was her?"

"I know what your best friend looks like," he replied. "She's been in the city this whole time."

"She didn't just stay in the city," Damon added, his voice dropping lower. "She drives a brand-new Mercedes, Nora. The kind that costs more than my entire apartment building."

"Mia was drowning in student debt when I had the accident," I said. The words tasted bitter on my tongue.

"Not anymore," Damon replied. "Someone paid her off."

"I have to go," I whispered.

"Nora, wait—"

I ended the call.

I stared down at my left hand. The three-carat diamond caught the harsh vanity lights, throwing fractured prisms across the glass tabletop. Asher had slipped this ring onto my finger the day I woke up in the hospital, feeding me a fabricated history of our perfect love.

And Mia.

Twelve years of friendship. We shared dorm rooms, secrets, and the early grueling days of building Vale Technologies. When the car crashed, I lost my memory, my company, and my freedom. I thought I lost my best friend to distance and circumstance.

She never left. She just stopped visiting.

A cold, sharp clarity settled over me. The confusion that had clouded my mind for two years finally burned away. I had an ally in Damon. I had the original trust documents secured. I finally had leverage. Asher's perfect lie possessed cracks, and I knew exactly where to drive the wedge.

A sharp rap on the door startled me.

"Nora!" A producer's muffled voice called out. "Sixty seconds to air!"

"Coming!" I shouted back.

I needed to hide the phone. Asher tracked my location, and if he saw the device on me, he would check the call logs.

I grabbed the small brass handle of the vanity drawer and yanked it open.

A tangle of makeup brushes and loose powder compacts cluttered the space. I shoved them aside to make room for the phone.

My hand froze.

Lying flat at the bottom of the drawer, beneath a discarded blush palette, sat a glossy four-by-six photograph.

I reached down and pulled it out.

It was Asher. He stood on the deck of a yacht, laughing, his arm wrapped tightly around a woman's waist. She wore a red silk dress, her face turned upward to kiss his cheek.

It was Mia.

I flipped the photo over and read the date stamped in faded black ink across the bottom right corner.

August 14th, exactly six months after my accident.