Chapter 1

Everyone in New York City' s legal circles knew Ethan Cole, a top defense attorney, was a man who adored his wife, Sarah Miller.

He even had "My North Star - S.M." tattooed over his heart, a grand gesture he wasn't shy about mentioning.

His devotion was legendary, flying across the country from high-profile cases just for a few hours with her.

That was the public story, the one Sarah had believed for years.

Today, that story began to unravel.

Sarah stood outside Ethan' s office, waiting to surprise him for lunch, when she heard voices.

His junior associates, young men full of bravado and cheap cologne.

"The boss is barely back and he's already off to Napa with Jessica Vance for a 'client retreat'."

One snickered.

"You don't get it, man, Sarah's probably got needs, and our boss is just... accommodating Jessica's enthusiasm."

A coarser voice chimed in.

"Seriously though, Jessica is something else, that body..."

"Totally, last time, they went through a whole pack of Trojans in his office after hours."

The words hit Sarah like physical blows, but her face remained still.

She glanced at her phone, at Ethan's text from that morning.

[Heading to an urgent deposition in Chicago, honey. Be good and wait for me.]

Chicago, not Napa.

A client retreat, not a deposition.

With Jessica, not alone.

He didn't know his newest "anonymous" client, the one seeking a divorce attorney, was her.

Sarah didn't confront them, didn't make a sound.

She turned and walked away from the firm, her heels clicking softly on the polished marble floor.

A cab took her home to their Upper East Side apartment, a place once filled with love, now a crime scene of their marriage.

Their wedding photo hung on the living room wall, Ethan gazing at her with what she once thought was pure adoration.

Now, his eyes seemed to mock her.

Her phone buzzed. A video, sent by Jessica Vance.

Sarah' s hand trembled as she pressed play.

Jessica' s hands, tied to a bedpost with one of Ethan' s silk ties, her skimpy dress pushed high up her thighs.

Ethan, usually so cool and composed, was red-faced, panting, lost in a passion Sarah hadn't seen directed at her in a long time.

Sarah' s stomach churned. She turned off the screen.

Her reflection stared back from the dark window, makeup streaked by silent tears.

She wiped her face, her expression hardening.

Shaking, she picked up a burner phone, a cheap, untraceable device.

She texted Ethan, her husband, the renowned attorney.

[My husband is cheating with his assistant. What should I do?]

An hour later, his reply came.

[Secure all evidence of his infidelity. Bring it to me.]

Sarah typed back, her fingers steady now.

[Okay, I'll gather everything and send it to you in a few days.]

Using her alias, "Ms. Evans," she formally retained Ethan Cole to handle her divorce.

My dear husband, she thought, a bitter taste in her mouth, I hope you'll be satisfied with the evidence I provide.

She didn't sleep that night, the city lights blurring outside her window, her mind a whirlwind of pain and planning.