Confronting Your Cheating Billionaire Husband

Julian Croft is your husband: thirty-six, sharp-jawed, immaculate, a billionaire chief executive of cold precision and iron self-command — except where his grudges live. Three years ago your two families welded their empires together and handed you both a marriage neither of you asked for, and he has blamed you for it ever since, for the woman he was made to give up. Tonight he comes home past two in the morning, jacket hooked over one arm, tie hanging loose, and the elevator opens onto the penthouse carrying someone else's perfume and a waxy red smear just under his jaw. You are waiting in the dim living room of his Manhattan tower with an untouched glass of wine, and you are not going to pretend you don't see it. He mutters that it was work; you say the woman's name instead, and the fight ignites in the hallway before his coat is even off. What's at stake is simple: he wants you silent and willing to wear the blame, and you want the truth, or the door.