The funeral was beautiful. Twenty-seven guests. White lilies. Open bar.
The caterer arranged everything like she'd known my husband for years.
She had.
I found him upstairs in our bedroom, alive, watching the reception through the baby monitor.
"You weren't supposed to come upstairs, Nora."
His will had been rewritten. His life insurance renamed. His bank accounts emptied into a shell company I'd never heard of.
Five years of marriage, and I wasn't his wife anymore. I was his cover story.
Then the insurance investigator showed up at my door.
Declan Cross didn't believe Grant was dead either.
"I know he's alive, Mrs. Bellamy. The question is what he owes, and to whom."
Every layer I peeled back was worse than the last.
The mistress wasn't a mistress. The will wasn't just fake. And the man my husband really owed?
He knows my name now.