Chapter 2 THE JAM

The man who had just shoved her aside in the elevator... was her husband - Don Ashford.

Linda Williams froze for a heartbeat before swiftly lowering her gaze, her breath catching.

Back when Don held his high-profile bride selection gala, she had gone out of her way to remain invisible, hiding in plain sight.

She had no intention of becoming a candidate, but fate, or perhaps irony, had other plans. Don Ashford had wanted a quiet, obedient woman-one who didn't seek the spotlight-and so, she was chosen.

Now she lived under the same roof with him, wearing the title of "wife," yet playing the part of the gentle and dutiful woman he expected. Her real self - one who pulled off covert ops and sabotage gigs under the Raven Crest Agency-was carefully hidden behind layers of illusion.

If Don ever uncovered that she wasn't the demure spouse he thought she was... If he found out she was behind tonight's stunt that embarrassed his business partner, Greg Taylor, there would be no containing his fury.

As Linda panicked internally, trying not to let it show, a light-hearted, teasing voice rang through the elevator.

"Whoa there, gorgeous. You might want to steer clear of my man. He's married and not into random women throwing themselves at him," the voice drawled with mock drama. "But hey, if you're dying for a warm embrace, my arms are open twenty-four-seven."

Her lips twitched, part amusement, part exasperation. Of course, it's him.

That voice belonged to Charles Jenson-Don Ashford's longtime friend and the one who had witnessed their secretive wedding. Of all the people in Don's circle, Charles was the one Linda had become most familiar with, if only because he practically lived in the Ashford mansion.

But what he had just said sent a wave of relief washing over her.

If Charles didn't recognize me... then Don probably didn't either.

Her disguise tonight had been on point: a sultry red dress, killer heels, and makeup so heavy her own mother might not have known her. Still, she kept her head low and whispered apologetically, "My apologies... I didn't mean to intrude. I'll be leaving now."

She pressed the elevator's open button with trembling fingers, slipped out quickly, and vanished down the hallway without looking back.

"Look what you did, man. You scared off the pretty lady," Charles grinned as he nudged Don.

Don didn't respond. His steely eyes narrowed, not on Charles but on the faint smudge now staining the sleeve of his designer coat. A faint scowl creased his expression as he rubbed at the cosmetic residue.

How much foundation did that woman pile on her face?

Meanwhile, Linda reached the emergency stairwell and paused to steady her breath. She couldn't believe how narrowly she'd escaped being recognized. Just then, the elevator beside her dinged open again, sending her into a mild panic.

Could that be him again?

She instinctively darted toward the stairwell door-but realized her frantic movements might draw unnecessary suspicion from the security guards still tailing her from earlier.

Forcing herself to calm down, she whirled toward the lingering staff and glared, barking out, "What? Never seen a woman in heels before?"

They averted their eyes, clearly flustered.

Satisfied, she walked briskly to the opposite lift bank.

Greg Taylor's men had been instructed to keep an eye out for a short-haired woman in sportswear-how she had looked when she delivered the explosive cake earlier. Now, dressed in a completely different outfit, with a styled wig and bold makeup, she sailed past unnoticed.

But just as she exited the elevator on the lobby floor, her eyes locked with someone stepping into a sleek black car near the hotel entrance.

Don Ashford.

Her stomach dropped.

Panicked, she stepped back and clung to a marble pillar, pretending to scroll through her phone. Once she saw his car pull away and disappear around the corner, she took a long breath and headed for her car.

By the time Don got home that evening, Linda was the picture of domestic bliss.

The vampish look had vanished. Now, dressed in a modest pastel cardigan and pajama shorts, she sat cross-legged on the couch, quietly crocheting a lacy throw.

The television murmured softly in the background, playing a nature documentary. She had even brewed some chamomile tea to fill the living room with a calming scent.

When the front door opened, she stood up immediately, carefully placing her crocheting on the coffee table.

She padded over, picked up his leather shoes, handed him his slippers, and took his coat wordlessly.

"Dinner already?" she asked sweetly.

"Yeah," Don replied flatly, handing over his coat without looking at her.

"Do you need to get back to work?"

"No."

"Alright then. I'll draw your bath," she offered with a bright smile.

She had practiced this routine countless times-gleaned from romance novels and soap operas. Soft voice, gentle steps, caring questions. All meant to keep suspicion at bay.

He gave a curt nod in response.

As she walked into the bathroom, she allowed herself a tiny smile. She was certain now-he hadn't recognized her at the hotel. If he had, he wouldn't have walked in as calm as he did just now.

Still, even with that reassurance, unease continued to bubble beneath the surface.

Linda knew better than to underestimate Don Ashford.

He wasn't the type to confront a problem immediately. He studied it, waited, and struck when least expected.

Which means... if he did know... he wouldn't let on until he had evidence.

So she had to be even more careful moving forward. One slip, one moment of carelessness, and her carefully built facade would come crashing down.

And she wasn't ready to find out what her husband would do once he realized his quiet, obedient wife was anything but what he thought.