When my husband fell seriously ill, I finally had a reason to step into his office after seven years of marriage. All I wanted was to ask for his sick leave. Instead, the receptionist froze, eyes widening as she studied my face. “The man you’re talking about… he owns this company. Our boss and his wife arrive and leave together every day. Unless… you’re not his wife.” In that second, my world cracked open.

“It’s breathtaking, isn’t it?” she purred, lifting her chin so the diamonds flashed. “Steven has such good taste. Maybe if you behave, he’ll buy you a bracelet. A small one.”

Someone nearby choked on a laugh and turned it into a cough.

I smiled, slow and genuine in a way I hadn’t felt in weeks.

“Oh, I don’t want the necklace,” I said sweetly. “I just wanted to see what my money bought.”

The smirk slid off her face.

Steven tightened his grip on my arm.

“Lower your voice,” he muttered. “We’re leaving.”

“No,” I said, pulling my arm free. “You are.”

He stared at me, thrown off by how calm I sounded.

At that exact moment, as if Ethan had choreographed it for maximum dramatic impact, four men in dark suits entered the ballroom. They moved with the purposeful strides of people who were not there to enjoy the canapés.

Two uniformed officers flanked them.

The music faltered, then stopped. Conversations trailed off. Heads turned.

The lead officer scanned the room, then walked directly toward us.

“Mr. Steven Condan?” he called.

Steven squared his shoulders. “Yes,” he said, trying to sound authoritative and only managing strained. “What’s this about?”