Renovation Gone Very Wrong

I was always flying for work, so I left the whole renovation thing to my husband, Daxton Pruitt.

This time, my flight got scrapped last minute, so I swung by the house to check in.

The second I stepped inside, some woman named Mona Scambley, who claimed she was the designer, chucked a stack of invoices at me.

Couples' lingerie display case: $15,000.

High-end waterbed: $40,000.

One glance at that pile of overpriced tacky nonsense made me nauseous. My brows pulled tight.

"Ms. Scambley, this is a private house, not some couples' motel. What is all this?"

Her face flipped in a heartbeat. She jabbed a finger at me. "The owner gave those orders. You're just the site supervisor. Disobey me again, and I'll have Mr. Pruitt fire you!"

Then she spun around and called Daxton right there.

I laughed, cold and low, about to ask what kind of clown show designer he'd hired—until I heard his voice.

Gentle. Doting.

"This is Mona and my love nest. We'll do whatever we want. Don't like it? Get out."

I smiled, snatched the list from Mona, and nodded. "Sure."

One week later, that overpriced waterbed showed up—Daxton, very much not smiling.

Faye's POV

Daxton Pruitt was still sweet-talking on the other end. "Come on, baby, don't be mad. She's just a site supervisor. I'll replace her soon. My wife already gave me $1.3 mil for the reno—get whatever you want. If it's not enough, I'll handle it."

That "baby" was sugar-coated poison.

I froze.

Then it clicked.

Two months back, Daxton claimed he was off on some work retreat for three days.

When he got home, his phone wallpaper had switched to a beachy sunset.

I said it looked cool. He dodged my eyes and muttered something about finding it online.

But now? The shell bracelet from that photo was wrapped around Mona Scambley's wrist.

Last month, when I got back from a trip, Daxton picked me up at the airport. I caught a sweet scent on him—something unfamiliar.

He brushed it off, said it must've rubbed off from a client.

I'd actually felt touched. Thought he was squeezing me in after a meeting. Thought he was loyal.

But now, that same scent was all over Mona.

It wasn't a client. It was her.

"Hey! You gonna stand there all day?"

Mona had hung up and stomped over, slapping the invoice back in my face.

"A site supervisor should act like one. Tell the crew to finish the waterbed wiring by this afternoon. And this list? Buy everything on it today. If anything's late, you're eating the cost."

I looked down, gripping the list.

Every item screamed couple goals.

Each one hit like a slap.

A reminder they were using my money to build their dream.

I didn't move fast enough, so Mona shoved me. "What's your problem? Never seen real luxury before?"

Then she sneered.

"Whatever. That cheap uniform says it all—clearly no guy's ever spoiled you. You wouldn't get how good this life feels. Just remember, Mr. Pruitt approved everything. If you're not gonna play nice, leave."

I looked down at my uniform—then laughed.

Back when Daxton was chasing me, he didn't let up. Swore he'd cut off his ex—the one who ditched him for some rich guy and vanished overseas.

After that, anytime I got sick, he'd show up with meds, waiting outside my door.

He brought breakfast every morning. Ran with me every night. Never missed once.

I fell for it. After graduation, I landed a job with a top international construction firm. Traveled nonstop, trying to rack up enough cash to give him a better life.

Turns out, I was just paving the way for him to crawl back to his ex.

This uniform—one I wore through airports, sun, and storms for him—was now the reason she thought I was a nobody.

What a freaking joke.

I swallowed hard and looked up, forcing a smile. "You're right. I'm just the site supervisor. Whatever the client and you need—I'll handle it."

"Smart girl." Mona snorted, strutting off.

Her heels clacked hard against the concrete.

"Move it! Anyone slows me down, Daxton'll fire the whole lot of you!"