chapter 3

03

Vanessa clutched her swollen cheek, tears streaking her makeup as she stabbed a finger toward me.

"You crazy bitch! That bag was a gift from my husband! Just wait—you'll see when he gets here!"

Her son threw Chloe's panda backpack to the ground and stomped on it.

"You're dead when my dad gets here!"

Vanessa's phone connected instantly.

"Hello? Babe? I just got attacked! Come to the city zoo—now! That psycho woman scratched the bag you gave me!"

She hung up, eyes burning into mine.

"When my husband gets here, you're finished. You even know who he is? My husband is Nicholas Foster—Vice President of TQ Corporation. You picked the wrong person to mess with."

The name detonated through the crowd.

"Nicholas Foster? Isn't that Rachel's husband?"

"Oh my God, no way—it can't be the same guy… right? Look at the kid, though—he kinda does look like him!"

"Damn, this is wild. Same husband? What are the odds?"

Vanessa's son, enraged by the whispers, shoved Chloe to the pavement.

"He's my dad! Not this liar's dad."

Chloe scrambled up instantly and shoved him back even harder, sending him sprawling.

"I'm not lying! You are!" She tapped her smartwatch, pulling up a family photo. "See? My mommy and daddy!"

The boy swiped through his own watch. "We have pictures too! Island last Independence Day! And every year before! Dad's always with us!"

The crowd pressed closer, eyes darting between the two screens.

The man was undeniably the same!

A cold dread washed over me as the pieces clicked into place. Last Independence Day, Nicholas claimed he was flying overseas for an urgent deal.

I'd felt sorry for him, juggling time zones and meetings.

So I didn't call. I didn't even try to FaceTime him, only sent occasional messages. His replies always came ten hours later.

The year before that, and the one before that—always the same excuse.

I thought he was too busy to check his phone. Now I knew—he was busy being a father to another family.

The crowd erupted.

"Holy shit, it's the same guy! So who's the real wife?"

"Has to be Rachel. No way he'd make a Bennett his mistress."

"I don't think so. Look at her. Maybe she likes stealing what's not hers!"

…

Even the children joined in.

"Chloe! Why is your daddy someone else's daddy?"

"My mom says your mom's a bad woman! So you are a bad girl!"

I drew Chloe behind me. I swept my gaze over the fickle crowd.

I said coldly, "Nicholas Foster is my husband. Our wedding was public news—look it up. Control your tongues and your children's, unless you want to face the consequences."

The crowd fell silent.

But Vanessa laughed, triumph in her eyes.

"Your husband? My son is eight. Your daughter's four or five. Do the math. Who is the other woman? It is clear. My son is Liam Foster. Your daughter is Chloe Bennett. She doesn't even carry his name. What kind of wife does that make you?"

The very condition of our marriage—that our children would bear my name—was now being used to paint my daughter as illegitimate.

Eyes widened in the crowd. A beat of silence, then chaos erupted.

"No way! The Bennett heiress is the other woman? I'm calling the tabloids!"

"Told you! She's totally got that home-wrecker vibe. Daddy's money can't buy class."

Through the shouting, a figure emerged from the crowd.

Nicholas had arrived.