Chapter 1The Gilded Spoon

It was our anniversary, and all I wanted was a slice of cake to celebrate.

Instead, I found the driver’s seat of my car pushed all the way forward.

And on the floor mat, a delicate shower of croissant flakes.

I called my husband.

“Hey, has anyone else been driving my car?”

The hesitation in his voice was a story in itself. “Oh, yeah. My cousin Nick borrowed it yesterday. Why?”

His cousin Nick is six-foot-four, built like a linebacker. He wouldn't fit in my car with the seat pushed up to the steering wheel.

More importantly, Nick has a severe gluten allergy. The man treats bakeries like biohazard zones.

A small, cold laugh escaped my lips. I hung up and drove straight to the artisanal patisserie he’d been frequenting lately.

Through the window, I saw a girl with a saccharine smile, laughing with a coworker.

“So what if I’m short?” she chirped, loud enough for half the shop to hear. “I have to pull the seat all the way up to drive, but I’ve got a man who spoils me rotten!”

I leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, and just watched her.

Alex always told me I was too tall for his taste, that I wasn’t quite his type.

It seemed he’d finally found someone who was.

* * *

“Welcome to The Gilded Spoon—”

The girl’s practiced smile evaporated the second she saw me. Panic flickered in her eyes, a tiny, satisfying storm.

She dropped her gaze to the countertop. “Hi… what can I get for you?”

The moment our eyes met, I knew. She was the one.

A slow smile spread across my face. I let my eyes drift over her, from her too-big apron to her petite frame, the picture of innocent, damsel-in-distress charm. “Two crème brûlée tarts, please.”

She was exactly his type. Small, sweet, breakable.

All those times Alex had told me, It doesn’t matter that you’re not petite, Claire. It’s cute.

I used to think he was reassuring me. Turns out, it was just wishful thinking on his part.

She handed me the neatly packaged box. As I took it, I held her gaze, my smile unwavering.

“Are you new here? I don’t think I’ve seen you before.”

The other barista, a familiar face, chimed in. “Claire! It’s been ages. This is Mia, our new intern. Your husband actually recommended her for the position.” Then, turning to the girl, she said, “Mia, this is Mrs. Hayes. You know, your sponsor’s wife. You should say hello.”

The girl—Mia—kept her eyes downcast, her voice barely a whisper. “It’s… it’s nice to meet you.”

I couldn’t help it. I laughed out loud.

Just a moment ago, she was preening, boasting about being spoiled and cherished. Now she was shrinking like a violet in a hailstorm.

I finally took the box she’d been holding out, glanced inside, and let my brow furrow.

“I didn’t ask for these to be warmed.”

Her face went blank with panic. She bit her lip, cornered. “I’m so sorry,” she stammered, her voice tight. “It’s just… Mr. Hayes always asks for them fresh from the oven. I guess I just assumed…”

I almost laughed again. Was she trying to establish her territory? To let me know she was more familiar with my husband’s habits than I was? What a pathetically childish move.

The truth was, this bakery used to be my spot. I was the one with the Black Card VIP membership. Then Alex started insisting. Let me get your pastries for you, honey. I hate the thought of you going out of your way. It’s my job to take care of you.

And just like that, I’d handed them the perfect cover for their little rendezvous.

At first, it had felt so romantic. No matter how late he worked, he’d come home with a little white box containing my favorite dessert. I’d felt a mix of sweetness and guilt.

I would help him out of his suit jacket, telling him he didn’t have to go to such trouble.

But he’d shake his head, his voice sincere. You deserve every good thing in this world, Claire.

And he acted like he meant it. I never had to do a single chore; he kept the house spotless. If I craved a specific dish, he’d learn how to make it, even if he burned his hands in the process. He’d even stop mid-Zoom call, in front of his entire team, to bring me a cup of my favorite chamomile tea if he heard me cough.

I thought I had found that once-in-a-lifetime, all-consuming love.

Now I see it for what it was. The equivalent of a 4 a.m. “I love you” text. Not a declaration of love, but an act of penance. A desperate attempt to soothe a guilty conscience.

My gaze drifted from Mia’s flustered face down to her wrist.

“Nice bracelet,” I said casually.

She gave a nervous laugh. “Oh, this? Just a cheap thing I picked up.”

I smiled and said nothing.

That “cheap thing” was a one-of-a-kind vintage piece. Alex had won it for me at a charity auction for my birthday. It was the first real gift he’d ever given me, and I cherished it. I kept it locked away in the safe in my walk-in closet.

I never thought the next time I’d see it would be on another woman’s wrist.

Just then, my phone buzzed. A text from Alex.

[Alex: Hey, you went to The Gilded Spoon?]

My heart gave a little jolt. I looked up and saw Mia hastily shoving her own phone under the counter.

A cold, heavy certainty settled in my stomach. I typed back, my fingers steady.

[Me: Just getting out of the house for a bit. Want me to bring you something?]

His relief was palpable, even through text. A voice note popped up a second later.

“No, you just get whatever you want, honey. Love you.”

The automated transcript displayed the words “Love you” under the audio file. The sight of them made me feel sick.

I glanced at Mia, who was now trying to act casual, as if she was about to strike up a conversation.

Pathetic.

I ignored her, turned on my heel, and walked out of the bakery. The moment the door closed behind me, I dialed my father’s number. His overseas firm had, just two days ago, agreed—at my urging—to invest a significant sum in Alex’s company.

“Dad,” I said, my voice calm and clear. “Don't sign the contract. And while you’re at it, could you get me the name of the best divorce attorney you know?”

“Yes, a divorce. It seems Alex has picked up a new hobby: cheating.”