Isla's POV
In the second year of my marriage to Theo, I started learning things about this world that didn't match its polished surface.
It began with a dinner party at the Carlyle—the kind where the guest list was more exclusive than the Met Gala and twice as carefully curated. Theo had excused himself to take a call, leaving me alone with Margaux Liang-Pemberton, whose husband ran one of the largest hedge funds on the East Coast. She was on her fourth martini and her tongue had loosened accordingly.
"The things I could tell you about half the men in this room." She'd swirled the olive in her glass, eyes tracking a silver-haired man across the room. "See Collier over there? The one with the Patek Philippe and the devoted-husband act? He keeps a townhouse in Chelsea. Not for work. Not f
