Chapter 1

Adriana Cotton lived a life of perfect order, a flawless extension of her husband Gifford Stanton' s brand. Her dresses were tailored, her posture straight, her smile measured. She was the epitome of a Stanton wife.

But on her birthday, she found him at a food truck, silk tie loosened, peeling a hot dog for a young woman giggling across from him. It was Jovita Griffith, the daughter of their former housekeeper, whose education Gifford had been funding for years under the guise of charity.

Adriana' s carefully constructed composure shattered. She confronted them, only to be met with Gifford' s dismissive excuses and Jovita' s feigned innocence. She posted a scathing selfie, but Gifford, blind to the truth, accused her of being overly emotional and announced Jovita would be staying with them.

Later that night, she returned home to find her surprise birthday party in full swing, hosted by Jovita, who was wearing Adriana' s vintage Chanel dress. Jovita, smug and victorious, whispered venomous words, claiming Gifford found Adriana "cold in bed. Like a fish."

The insult, a brutal blow, pushed Adriana past her breaking point. Her hand flew up, connecting with Jovita' s cheek, the slap echoing through the silent room. Gifford, enraged, cradled Jovita, glaring at Adriana as if she were a monster.

He roared, "Have you lost your mind?" He accused her of humiliating him, of being out of control, and ordered her banished to the countryside. Adriana, however, was done playing by his rules. She called Alexzander Wilson, her childhood friend, who arrived by helicopter to whisk her away.

"Not anymore," she told Gifford, her voice clear and strong. "We are not a family." She threw divorce papers in his face, leaving him and Jovita to their chaos.

Chapter 1

Adriana Cotton lived by a set of rules. Not her rules, but his. Gifford Stanton' s rules.

He was a man of impeccable taste and discipline, and as his wife, she was expected to be the same. Her dresses were always perfectly tailored, her posture always straight, her smile always measured. She was a flawless extension of the Stanton brand.

But Gifford, the architect of this rigid world, was breaking his own code.

He was sitting at a food truck, of all places. He had loosened his silk tie, a transgression she' d never witnessed. He leaned back in a cheap plastic chair, a half-peeled hot dog in his hand. He offered it to the young woman giggling across from him.

Adriana parked her luxury SUV down the street. The click of her designer heels on the pavement was sharp and angry. She walked toward them.

"Mr. Stanton, tough day at the office? Is this your new conference room?"

Gifford looked up. The relaxed expression on his face vanished, replaced by a mask of shock and guilt.

From his open laptop on the table, a voice chirped, "Mr. Stanton, taking your lady out for street food, huh, haha..."

Adriana leaned into the camera's view. The man on the screen, one of Gifford' s associates, froze. His jesting smile disappeared. "Ms. Cotton," he stammered nervously.

Gifford slammed the laptop shut.

"Adriana, let me explain. This is Jovita Griffith. Mrs. Miller's daughter. She just got back from overseas."

Jovita smiled, her eyes wide and innocent. "Ms. Cotton, it's so nice to finally meet you! Gifford talks about you all the time."

Adriana knew who she was. The daughter of their family' s former housekeeper, Mrs. Miller. Gifford had been funding her education abroad for years. Millions. He had called it charity. A noble gesture. Adriana now saw how naive she had been.

She ignored Jovita' s outstretched hand. Instead, she sat down and picked up the hot dog Gifford had been peeling. Gifford, a man so obsessed with decorum he wouldn't touch food with his bare hands. She once saw him at a gala, faced with a messy hors d'oeuvre, meticulously use a fork and knife to eat it. Now, he was peeling a hot dog for another woman.

Adriana took a small, deliberate bite. She chewed for a moment, then delicately spit the food into a napkin.

"This hot dog tastes off."

Jovita's eyes immediately filled with tears. "Ms. Cotton, it's all my fault. I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to cause a misunderstanding..."

A misunderstanding? Adriana felt a cold laugh rising in her chest. She pulled out her phone. She framed a selfie to include all three of them, zooming in on Jovita' s perfectly tear-streaked face.

Jovita gasped and reached for the phone. "What are you doing?"

Adriana' s glare stopped her cold. "Just taking a picture. Why are you so flustered?"

Right there, in front of them, she posted the photo to her social media. The caption was simple and brutal.

"My husband' s birthday surprise. So unique."

Gifford frowned. He wanted to stop her but didn't know what to say. After a long, tense silence, he finally sighed. "Adriana, don't be so sensitive. I just see her as a little sister."

Jovita immediately chimed in, her voice trembling. "That's right, Ms. Cotton..."

Adriana cut her off with a sharp laugh. "Calling the housekeeper's daughter 'sister'? My family doesn't have that rule."

Jovita' s tears flowed freely now, as if she had suffered a terrible injustice.

Adriana stood up to leave. She had seen enough.

But Gifford shot out of his chair and grabbed her wrist. His grip was surprisingly strong, bruising. "Adriana Cotton, you are being incredibly rude. A wife of a Stanton shouldn't act like this."

Always that line. The wife of a Stanton.

His tone grew impatient. "Alright, stop making a scene. Jovita just got back, and she has nowhere to stay. She'll be staying with us for a while. Drive us home."

Adriana felt an absurd urge to laugh. She turned and looked directly into his deep, angry eyes.

"Gifford Stanton," she asked, her voice dangerously calm, "why today?"