Chapter 1

"Sweetheart, please... just do this one thing for me. If you give in to Mr. Lowell, I'll finally get that Director promotion..."

Tears blurred my vision as I stood outside the hotel, wiping them away with trembling fingers. My husband's desperate plea echoed in my ears. Then, steeling myself, I walked toward that room.

What I didn't know—what I couldn't have known—was that Mr. Lowell wasn't alone.

Inside, several middle-aged men waited, all with thick necks and greedy eyes.

Because the "Mr. Lowell" my husband had mentioned wasn't just one man.

My stomach twisted. I wanted to run, but my legs wouldn't obey.

The juice Daniel had given me earlier… something was off.

My name is Emily Laurent. I've been married for just a year.

Life with Daniel had been perfect—until it wasn't.

For the past month, he'd been drowning under work pressure, obsessed with landing a promotion.

Tonight, he invited his boss, Richard Lowell, to our home for dinner—a last-ditch effort to secure his future.

I left work early, bought fresh ingredients, and cooked my best dishes—roast chicken, garlic mashed potatoes, glazed carrots—paired with two bottles of expensive Cabernet.

When Daniel arrived with Mr. Lowell, I forced a polite smile.

First impression? Greasy. Overweight. Balding. The kind of man who made your skin crawl.

No wonder Daniel joked privately that people called him "Fat Richard."

The moment he stepped inside, his beady eyes locked onto me.

"Emily, what a lovely wife you have," he said, gripping my hand too tightly, his thumb brushing my knuckles. "Beautiful and talented, I bet."

I yanked my hand back, mumbling an excuse to wash up in the kitchen. Only then could I steady my breathing before bringing out the rice.

Dinner was a performance. Mr. Lowell raved about my cooking while Daniel nudged me under the table—Keep drinking with him. Smile more.

I wasn't a drinker. One glass left me dizzy.

Daniel, though, downed most of the wine, laughing too loud, steering every conversation back to the promotion—only for Mr. Lowell to smirk and change the subject.

After dessert, they lounged on the sofa while I cleaned up.

Then—hands. Thick, clammy hands snaking around my waist from behind.

I spun around.

Not Daniel.

Mr. Lowell loomed over me, his breath reeking of wine.

"Mr. Lowell—you're drunk. Let me pass—"

He blocked the doorway, arms spread. "Emily... your husband's passed out cold. You do want that promotion for him, don't you?"

His grin widened as he reached out, his fingers grazing my cheek.