The oxygen vanished from my lungs. I couldn’t believe this. I found out that my husband had lied to me twice! He didn’t only lie to me about who Mina was to him, but also about when he got the house! 

How could he? 

"No," I whispered, shaking my head. I couldn’t believe this! Zyran wouldn’t do this to me!

“That's impossible. He said the property was a new investment." 

"He refused to sell it," Beatrice continued mercilessly, tracing the blueprints. "He kept it vacant all these years. He paid the exorbitant property taxes, managed the HOA fees, and left it waiting. Exactly like he left his heart waiting." 

She picked up the Patek and glided toward the door. With her hand resting on the knob, she cast one final, devastating look over her shoulder. 

"He isn't asking you to design a new apartment for an old friend, Roosevelt," she clarified softly. "He's ordering you to finish the nest he built for the absolute love of his life." 

She shut the door, abandoning me to the suffocating silence and I placed my hand firmly on my chest trying to calm my heartbeat. 

I stared blindly at the blueprints. The sharp lines on the paper suddenly morphed into the bars of a cage. And the most terrifying question wasn't why he kept it. 

The real question was... if that was their true home, then what the hell was I living in? 

And if she was just a past feeling, why would he want me to renovate their supposed marital home? Was Beatrice right? Had he kept his heart waiting too? 

As I kept staring at the blueprints, I felt empty. 

I couldn’t cry. 

The betrayal was too profound for tears. Instead, a block of ice formed in my chest, squeezing the air from my lungs. 

I snatched my laptop. 

My hands shook violently, but I managed to open a browser and access the city's property registry. I had to know if Beatrice was a sadistic liar, or if my husband was truly a monster. 

I typed in Zyran's full name. 

The query loaded instantly. There it was. 

1402 Lakeview Drive, Penthouse B. Owner: Zyran King. Purchased: May 12th. 

Exactly five years ago. 

A strangled gasp escaped my throat. I slammed the laptop shut, pressing a trembling hand over my mouth. 

He kept it. For half a decade. Through our entire courtship, our lavish wedding, and four years of marriage, he had secretly maintained the dream home he bought for another woman. He paid the taxes, covered the HOA, and kept it in pristine condition, just waiting for her return. 

The bedroom door clicked open.

I flinched, furiously swiping at my eyes. Zyran strolled in. He had ditched his jacket and tie, and the top buttons of his Oxford shirt were undone. He looked exhausted. 

"Mother and Clara just left," he sighed, heading for his closet to remove his watch. "Mina is finally asleep in the guest room. The house is quiet." 

He spoke so casually. As if we were a normal couple winding down after hosting guests. I sat frozen at the desk, my palm flat against the damning blueprints. 

Zyran turned back, his dark brows pulling together. "Roosevelt? Are you alright? You look pale. Is your ankle acting up?" 

He closed the distance between us. His gaze snagged on the blueprints spread across my desk. "You're working late," he noted softly. 

He reached out, gently tucking a stray lock of hair behind my ear. His fingers were warm, but his touch felt like acid on my skin. "I told you it's a rush, but you don't need to kill yourself. The schematics can wait until morning." 

I looked up at him. His dark eyes held what looked like genuine concern. How could he look so caring while burying such a colossal lie? 

"Zyran," I rasped. My voice sounded hollow. "This penthouse. The one at Lakeview." His hand dropped from my face. A muscle feathered in his jaw. "What about it?" 

"It's a stunning property," I said slowly, dissecting his every micro-expression. "The layout is incredibly specific. It has a custom nursery adjoined to the master suite. Did the previous owners install that?" 

Zyran broke eye contact, shifting his weight and burying his hands in his pockets. He couldn't look at me. "Yes," he lied smoothly. "The previous owners." 

He wasn't just concealing his past; he was actively gaslighting me to protect Mina's comfort. "It must have cost a fortune to close on such short notice," I pressed, my pulse hammering in my ears. 

"My real estate team handled the logistics," he deflected quickly. He turned his back to me, striding toward the master bath. "I'm taking a shower. We both need sleep." 

He shut the bathroom door, leaving me alone in the bedroom. 

He lied straight to my face without a single flinch. Without a shred of guilt. 

+ 

The next morning. I didn't wait for Zyran to wake.

I slipped out of the safe house before dawn. I hailed a cab straight to Lakeview Drive. I couldn't just sit in my office and design this place from a sterile piece of paper. 

I needed to stand inside the shrine my husband built for his first love. I needed to face the ugly truth so I could finally wake up from my delusional fairy tale. 

I rode the private elevator to the top floor, my knuckles turning white around the strap of my purse. I expected to find a dusty, echoey shell of an apartment. 

The elevator chimed, the doors sliding open to reveal a private foyer. I jammed the key into the lock and pushed the heavy door open. 

I stepped inside, and the breath was violently punched from my lungs. 

The penthouse wasn't empty. 

It was fully furnished. And it wasn't just staged with generic hotel pieces. It was a masterpiece. My purse slipped from my fingers, hitting the hardwood with a loud thud. 

I walked like a zombie into the center of the living room, my eyes wide with a horrifying realization. I ran my hand over the back of the velvet sofa. I traced the intricate pattern on the custom drapes. 

I recognized these drapes. I recognized this exact sofa. I knew the specific shade of paint on the walls. 

Five years ago, when I was a junior associate at Elite Interiors. I landed an anonymous commission. A mystery billionaire wanted a penthouse designed for his bride-to-be. It was my very first solo project. I poured my heart, soul, and all my naive romantic dreams into creating the perfect sanctuary for a couple I had never met. 

I looked around the room, the walls spinning. 

Zyran didn't just ask me to decorate his ex-girlfriend's condo. 

He had dragged me here to destroy the very first home I ever designed... just so I could build her a new one. 

But does he know I was the original designer? 

I refused to cry in that penthouse. I refused to let the ghost of my husband's past break me. Instead. I inhaled sharply, pulled out my phone, and dialed my lead contractor. 

"I need a demo crew at Penthouse B immediately," I ordered, my voice dead and cold. 

“We're tearing it all out. Rip up the velvet, strip the wallpaper. I want it gutted to the concrete by tomorrow morning. We're pivoting to an ultra-modern, sterile minimalist aesthetic. All white. Zero warmth." 

If Zyran wanted me to build his ex a home. I'd build her a mausoleum. I would obliterate every trace of the love I had mistakenly poured into this place five years ago.

And that's exactly what I did. 

For two grueling weeks. I threw myself into the demolition. I worked from dawn until midnight, battling fierce morning sickness and bone-deep exhaustion. I avoided Zyran entirely, using the impossible deadline as my shield. 

I played the game flawlessly. I smiled when Mina demanded a larger walk-in closet. I nodded blankly when Zyran stopped by to inspect the progress. 

Finally, it was finished. 

Mina vacated the safe house, and Zyran and I moved back into our primary estate. It was Friday evening. The house was blissfully quiet. 

For the first time in weeks, there was no shrill giggling echoing from the guest wing. There were no ambush visits from Beatrice. 

I stood before the full-length mirror in our master suite, smoothing the silk of my robe. My stomach was just starting to show the faintest curve. I rested my hand over my womb, feeling a sudden, desperate flutter of hope. 

Mina is gone. I thought. She has her own place. 

‘Maybe the nightmare is finally over. Maybe tonight. I can tell him about you.’ I thought. Any woman might call me a fool for burying the fact that Zyra lied to me severally, but I didn’t want a broken home. 

I love him, and I believe that with this child, he would forget totally about his past with Mina. With this child, I believed that our marriage could be fixed. 

The bedroom door opened, and Zyran strode in. 

He looked devastatingly handsome. He had discarded his tie, and his raven hair was attractively mussed. When he saw me standing there, the harsh lines around his mouth melted, and he actually smiled. 

"The house is finally ours again," Zyran exhaled, dropping his leather briefcase onto the armchair. 

He crossed the room, and my heart did a traitorous leap. He reached out, gently cupping my cheek. His thumb stroked my jawline. 

"You did a phenomenal job, Roosevelt," he murmured, his dark eyes locking onto mine. "Mina loves the penthouse. She finally feels safe. Thank you for doing that. I know it was demanding." 

I leaned into his palm, closing my eyes. "I just wanted us back to normal, Zyran. I missed... us." "I missed us too," he whispered, pressing a kiss to my forehead. 

He pulled back, reaching into the inner pocket of his suit jacket. He withdrew a sleek black velvet box and pressed it into my palm.

"I know the fire and the stalker ruined our anniversary," Zyran admitted, his voice dropping an octave. "I haven't been the most attentive husband. But I want to make it right. A fresh start for us." 

My breath hitched as I popped the lid open. 

Resting on a bed of white satin was a breathtaking diamond teardrop pendant. 

"Zyran..." I breathed, tears rushing to my eyes. "It's stunning. Thank you." 

"Only the finest for my wife," he smiled, looking incredibly pleased with himself. "I'm going to grab a quick shower. Put it on, and let's have dinner downstairs. Just us." 

He turned and vanished into the master bath, clicking the door shut. The sound of running water quickly filled the suite. 

I stood rooted to the spot, clutching the velvet box to my chest. A happy tear slipped down my cheek. He cared. He truly did care. Nixie was wrong. Beatrice was wrong. He was just fulfilling a childhood promise to an old friend and whatever happened between them in the past was his past. 

But I was his present, and I was his future. 

I set the box on my vanity and walked over to the armchair to hang his suit jacket before it wrinkled. As I lifted the heavy Italian wool, something slipped from the breast pocket, fluttering to the rug. It was a small piece of thick, crested cardstock. A receipt. 

I crouched to pick it up, intending to toss it in the wastebasket. But the embossed logo at the top caught my eye. Tiffany & Co. 

My smile widened. He had gone to Tiffany's today, just for me. Curious. I scanned the printed lines to see the price tag on his apology. 

But as I read, the smile died on my lips. The blood in my veins turned to ice. 

There were two items on the receipt. 

Item 1: Diamond Tear-Drop Pendant. Price: $45,000. 

I swallowed a dry lump in my throat and scanned the next line. 

Item 2: Custom Diamond Eternity Band (Size 5). Engraving: Forever Yours, Z. Price: $250,000. I stared at the slip until the ink blurred. 

Size 5? 

My ring size was a 7. 

So whose finger had Zyran bought a $250,000 ring for?