Page 59 of My Husband’s New Fiancée

The urge to put her in her place hits hard.

And yet I don’t forget who she is.

My fucking fiancée.

With a shaky hand, I pull out my phone and check our schedules, a gesture that buys me a few seconds to choose my words.

“You have a meeting in five minutes.”

My voice stays calm despite the emotions tearing through me.

I need her out of here. Now.

Before I say something I can’t take back.

“Dante—”

“Go to your meeting,” I cut in. “Then go home. I’m sure you still have a lot to finalize for Saturday.”

The mention of the wedding calms her instantly.

I see it on her face, that release of tension, the way she clings to that date like a lifeline.

“You’re right. We’ll talk later.”

She rises onto her toes to kiss me.

I take a step back, cutting her off mid-motion.

Understanding the message, she withdraws.

As she disappears down the hallway, unease grows inside me.

This woman who stood by me at my lowest point — the woman I’m supposed to marry in three days — suddenly feels like a stranger.

Between the tears that ring false and the way she keeps trying to discredit her former friend, another side of her personality is beginning to emerge.

And that slap, out of nowhere, tells a story I’m afraid to hear.

Did I ever really know her?

My phone vibrates.

“Yes.”

“The bodyguard’s been restrained. Two agents are injured, but it’s handled. We’re bringing him in.”

“Perfect.”

It’s time to get real answers from my wife.

*

When I open the conference room door, the sight that greets me stops me cold.

Andrea is still kneeling in front of Valeria.

One hand tangled in her hair, the other holding her hands, their foreheads pressed together. He murmurs something too softly for me to hear.