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My husband, Liam, wanted to give his illegitimate son my family's century-old apple orchard. In the fifth year of our marriage, he brought the three-year-old boy straight into our home. "He's the orphan of a business partner. From now on, he's our son," he lied without blinking. I stared at the boy’s face, a perfect miniature of his father's. "Which partner? The one in Portland three years ago? The one who had you renting an apartment instead of staying at the hotel?" His composure shattered. With the lie dead on arrival, he laid his cards on the table. "The boy's mother is moving in, too. You can't have children, Elara. Are you going to stop me from finding someone who can?" "Besides," he added, "your position as mistress of Dawnlight Estate is rock-solid." I almost laughed. Rock-solid? I would show him exactly how his cider company had been started with my trust fund and built on my family's land. "Liam, get ready for a divorce." "I'll make sure you remember exactly who owns this land." ... Liam scoffed, as if I'd just said the most ridiculous thing he'd ever heard. He lifted the boy, Leo, into a high chair, then turned to face me. Sliding his hands into the pockets of his slacks, he looked me up and down. "Remember who owns the land?" he repeated, the mockery in his voice a blade. "Elara, let's get something straight. Who is the CEO of Orchard Bloom, LLC?" "You are." "And whose name are the cider trademarks registered under?" "Yours." "Who negotiated our biggest distribution deals, from Whole Foods on the West Coast to boutique grocers in New York?" "You did." "Exactly." He walked to the bar and poured a glass of water, setting it down with a sharp tap on the granite countertop. "So what makes you think you're in any position to talk about dividing assets? Just because you own this land?" He took a long drink, as if quenching a deep thirst. "Have you forgotten Section 7B of the company'......

My husband, Julian, the celebrity chef, was counting on the opening dinner of his Michelin-starred restaurant, Aethel, to make him a legend overnight. But to please his mistress, Sienna, a food influencer, he decided to crown my signature dish, Tears of the Deep, with a wad of cheap, pink cotton candy. And so, with a Netflix documentary crew and the top food critics in America watching, that work of culinary art was carried to the table with a ridiculous lump of cotton candy perched on top. Dead silence. The investors’ faces darkened. Social media exploded. “Is this fine dining or a children’s carnival?” Julian’s career collapsed on what should have been the most glorious night of his life. And I, the restaurant’s pastry chef, simply watched from the sidelines. Because in my last life, I had fought with everything I had to stop him from making that stupid decision. The result? When the restaurant later caught fire, he chose to save his unharmed mistress......