From Temporary to Unforgettable Love

My husband, Easton, dragged me to a party for his ex-girlfriend, Kelly Holland. Our five-year marriage was a sham, a contract he'd signed to spite her after she left him. I was just the placeholder wife.

During a game of "Seven Minutes in Heaven," he chose Kelly. When they emerged from the powder room, her lipstick was smeared, and a fresh hickey stained her neck.

Later that night, Easton and Kelly stormed into our home. He accused me of stealing her multi-million dollar diamond necklace.

He didn't believe me, even when I swore I was innocent. He called the police, who conveniently found the necklace in my handbag.

He looked at me with disgust. "I never should have married you," he spat. "You're nothing but trash from the slums."

I was arrested based on the word of the woman who set me up. My five years of quiet love and devotion meant nothing. The man I had secretly fallen for saw me as nothing more than a common thief.

I spent the night in a cold holding cell. The next morning, after being bailed out, I took the SIM card from my phone, snapped it in two, and dropped it in the trash. It was over.

I would make them pay. I would burn their entire world to the ground.

Chapter 1

The divorce papers arrived on a Tuesday. The crisp white envelope sat on the marble countertop, my name, Brooke Rollins, typed in a sterile font. Next to it was another name: Easton Spencer. My husband.

For five years, that title had felt like a costume I wore. It was a sham, a placeholder marriage he' d entered into to spite his socialite ex-girlfriend, Kelly Holland, after she' d publicly dumped him.

I stood in the corner of the lavish ballroom, a flute of champagne untouched in my hand.

Then I saw them. Kelly Holland, draped in a glittering silver dress, glided toward me. Her friends, a flock of equally polished women, trailed in her wake. The air grew thick with their expensive perfume and unspoken contempt.

"Brooke, darling," Kelly' s voice was smooth as silk, but her eyes held a familiar cruelty. "I almost didn' t recognize you. You clean up surprisingly well."

I didn' t smile. I just met her gaze. "Kelly."

One of her friends laughed, a high, tinkling sound. "Still so cold. I guess you can take the girl out of the factory town, but you can' t take the factory town out of the girl."

The words were meant to sting, but I' d heard them, or versions of them, a thousand times. They were nothing.

But Kelly knew where to aim. She leaned in, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper that was loud enough for everyone nearby to hear. "I saw your mother the other day. Still limping around from that factory accident, isn't she? It' s so tragic. You' d think with all of Easton' s money, you could have at least gotten her a decent prosthetic."

A hot, white rage flooded me. My mother was my line. The one thing in this world they couldn' t touch.

My hand moved before I could think. The crack of my palm against Kelly' s cheek echoed in the sudden silence.

Gasps rippled through the onlookers. Kelly' s head snapped back, a red mark blooming on her perfect skin. For a second, she looked stunned.

Then her eyes narrowed. With a vicious snarl, she grabbed a full glass of red wine from a passing tray and flung its contents at me.

The cold liquid soaked the front of my dress, a dark, ugly stain spreading across the pale fabric. It dripped onto the floor, pooling at my feet. I stood there, shivering and humiliated, the wine clinging to my skin like a second, shameful layer.

Suddenly, a presence was behind me. A large, expensive suit jacket was draped over my shoulders, shielding me from the staring eyes.

"What the hell is going on here?"

Easton' s voice was low and dangerous. I didn't have to turn around to know he was here. He always showed up at the most dramatic moments. His shirt was slightly untucked, and his hair was a mess, as if he' d run all the way here.

He stepped in front of me, a protective wall between me and the world.

He glared at Kelly, his jaw tight. "What did you do?"

Kelly' s face immediately crumpled. Tears welled in her eyes as she pointed a trembling finger at me. "Easton, she hit me! Look! For no reason at all, she just attacked me."

I could see the gears turning in his head, the old, familiar conflict. His loyalty to me, his wife, versus the deep, toxic pull of the woman he' d loved since childhood.

He didn't fall for it this time. Not completely. "Get out, Kelly. Now."

He grabbed my arm, his grip firm, and pulled me away from the scene, through the parted crowd, and out into the cool night air. We walked in silence to his car, the engine a low growl in the quiet parking garage.

Inside the car, he let out a frustrated sigh, running a hand through his already messy hair. He looked at me, his expression a mix of anger and something I couldn't place.

"Is today something important?" he asked, his voice rough.

My heart, which I thought had turned to stone, felt a small, painful throb. He' d forgotten.

"It was our anniversary, Easton," I said, my voice flat. "Yesterday."

He flinched. The guilt was plain on his face. "I' m sorry, Brooke. I... I' ll make it up to you. I' ll buy you anything you want."

That was Easton. Meticulous with gifts and grand gestures, a performance of a perfect husband. But emotionally, he was a black hole. He could remember to send flowers but forget the reason why. He was a man of breathtaking consideration and even more breathtaking cruelty.

Just as he was about to start the car, his phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen.

Kelly Holland.