Chapter 1My Husband’s Yacht Proposal Backfired

When my thumb slid across my husband’s unlocked screen, I was only looking to Venmo myself a couple hundred dollars for my weekend poker buy-in.

An accidental tap on a muted group chat stopped my heart. The "Wolf Pack" was on fire, buzzing with logistics for a yacht proposal scheduled for Saturday at seven.

One guy reminded the group to wear black tie; they wanted to give "the future Mrs." a surprise she’d never forget.

Another voice jumped in, telling Damian to make sure he kept his wife occupied. He joked that I was "too sharp for my own good."

Damian’s reply came with a digital shrug. He’d already cleared the runway, he said. I’d told him I was planning an all-night poker game with the girls, so there was zero chance of me crashing the party.

The chat exploded with laughing emojis. Someone joked that once the ring was on her finger, I wouldn’t even have a shoulder left to cry on.

Then came the question about the ring. Someone warned the "Big Dog" not to let me find it like I almost did last time.

Damian’s response was typed with terrifying confidence: It’s in the office vault. She doesn’t have the code. Once this is a done deal, let’s see her try to make a scene.

That sentence hit me like a jagged glass shard to the eye.

I scrolled up. The latest message was a voice note from Damian. I could hear the smirk in his voice as he thanked his brothers for the heavy lifting, promising to buy the first five rounds of Macallan once the deed was done. He ended it with a sharp directive: Keep a tail on her. Don't let her slip away.

The cold light of the screen washed over my face. I stared at the interface for a few seconds, the silence of our bedroom suddenly feeling predatory.

My fingers began to move again. This time, I didn't transfer two hundred dollars. I moved twenty thousand.

If I was going to play a hand this big, I needed a stack that could actually break the table.

* * *

The air conditioning in the private club was dialed down to a crisp, biting cold.

The rhythmic clack-clack-clack of shuffling chips drowned out the ambient jazz.

"Nina, look. Look at this piece of trash."

Beth shoved her phone in front of my face, the screen glowing with a photo that felt like a physical blow.

A yacht on the Hudson. Golden hour light. Silk and shadows.

Damian was down on one knee, sliding a rock the size of a postage stamp onto Kayla’s finger.

The caption read: To the rest of our lives. Forever yours.

For a moment, the only sound at the table was the low hum of the HVAC system.

"Wait... isn't that Damian?"

Penny, sitting across from me, gasped, her hand flying to her mouth.

"And his assistant? Is he... is he proposing?"

"Proposing? It’s a goddamn public execution!"

Beth’s chest heaved with fury. She pointed at the background of the photo, where our friend Scott was grinning like an idiot.

"Look at these men. Every single one of them. They’ve been playing you for a fool, Nina!"

"Scott told me he had a 'corporate retreat' tonight. Turns out he was just the wingman for his best friend’s betrayal!"

Another woman leaned in, letting out a long, slow sigh.

"Nina, everyone in the city remembers how hard he chased you back in college. You were the 'it' couple. How did it come to this?"

"Money turns them into monsters," Penny muttered. "And let’s not forget, his firm would be a parking lot if your father hadn't funded his first three rounds."

"I’ve met that Kayla girl. She plays the 'sweet intern' act well. I didn't realize she was a vulture."

"Nina, what are you going to do? You can't let this slide."

They were vibrating with secondhand rage, already mapping out a hundred ways to ruin him, to tear them both apart.

I just listened, my eyes fixed on the card I had just drawn.

An Ace of Hearts.

I looked up at Beth, who looked like she was about to cry on my behalf. I let the corner of my mouth twitch into the ghost of a smile, and then I slid my entire stack of chips into the center.

"I’m all in."

The chatter died instantly. They traded nervous glances, confused by my lack of tears, my lack of screaming.

The atmosphere turned heavy, almost surreal.

I didn't say a word. I flipped my cards over one by one.

A Royal Flush.

As they stared at the table in stunned silence, I stood up and reached for my coat.

"I believe the house owes me a payout," I said softly.