Chapter 1
Carter Hale's anniversary gift sat on the coffee table, the ribbon still perfectly curled around the box.
I untied it and lifted the lid. Inside lay a black lace lingerie set. The size tag read 36D.
For three full seconds, I could not move.
I had worn a 36A for ten years. Carter could not possibly have forgotten something like that. Unless the gift had never been meant for me.
Slowly, I looked up.
Carter was already watching me. Panic flashed through his eyes, and behind it was something he failed to hide in time.
It was guilt.
At that moment, a memory from our wedding day came rushing back.
During the bridesmaid games before the ceremony, Vivienne Whitley had deliberately put him on the spot.
She smiled sweetly and asked, "Do you know the bride's bra size? Get it right, and we'll let you in."
Carter answered before he even had time to think. "36D."
The room fell into a dead silence.
In the end, my mother was the one who broke the silence. Her face flushed with embarrassment as she leaned in and whispered, "Carter, Sienna is a 36A."
At the time, I told myself he had only said the wrong thing because he was nervous.
Now I finally understood the truth. Carter had not misspoken. He had remembered the size of another woman.
I put the lingerie set back into the box and pushed it across the coffee table. "The size is wrong."
Carter blinked. "How could that be? I clearly remembered..."
His voice cut off abruptly.
I looked at him and waited for him to finish the sentence.
He did not. Instead, he turned away and went to pour himself a glass of water. The cup struck the counter with a sharp sound that echoed through the room.
I stayed on the sofa, staring at the gift box in front of me. The black lace was still inside. So was the 36D size tag. Neither of them had anything to do with me.
My phone buzzed with a message from Vivienne.
Vivienne: Sienna, I'm coming over for dinner tomorrow! I want your tomato-basil pasta with creamy scrambled eggs.
I did not reply.
Carter came back with the glass of water and sat down beside me.
"Sienna, I'm sorry. I got the size wrong."
I looked at him without saying anything.
He lowered his voice. "Are you free tomorrow? We can exchange it together."
I shook my head. "Don't bother."
He frowned. "Don't be mad. I really didn't mean it."
I looked straight at him. "Do you honestly think anyone could mix up 36A and 36D?"
Carter had no answer.
I stood up. "Vivienne is coming tomorrow. I need to start prepping dinner."
He let out a quiet breath, as if he had just been let off the hook. "Good. I'll come home early, then."
I walked into the kitchen and opened the fridge.
Only half a box of cherry tomatoes was left.
I had gone to two different supermarkets the week before just to find them. Vivienne had said regular tomatoes made the pasta too sour, so she wanted the small ones.
I had made that pasta for her three times. Each time, she had praised it as if it were the best thing she had ever eaten.
There had once been five boxes of cherry tomatoes in the fridge. Now, only that half-empty box remained.
Vivienne came over four or five times a month, and every time she visited, she left with something.
I closed the fridge door.
Carter was standing in the kitchen doorway. "Need a hand?"
I shook my head. "No. Go do whatever you need to do."
He turned and left. A moment later, I heard the study door close.
I stared at the last box of cherry tomatoes and laughed softly.
For ten years, I had been the one bending.
When Carter first started his business, I quit my accounting job to help him run the storefront full time.
I handled product selection, daily operations, customer service, returns, and complaints. All of it fell on me.
Carter dealt with the suppliers. I dealt with everything else.
After the company took off, Carter told me he would hire a proper team. He said I could finally stay home and rest.
I believed him. From that day on, I became the unpaid housekeeper of this marriage.
I cooked his meals. I cleaned his house. I hosted his friends. And I hosted Vivienne.
Vivienne was the worst of them all. Her visits became more and more frequent. At first, she came once a month. Then she started coming twice a week. Eventually, she was practically here every day.
Every time, she said the same thing. "Sienna, I'm just grabbing a bite."
But Vivienne was never just grabbing a bite. She helped herself to my fridge, my skincare products, my laundry detergent, and even my parking spot.
In the end, she helped herself to my husband too.
