Chapter 5 Chapter 5

Sandra POV

My chest raced even though my face wore a smile.

I couldn’t stop hearing the man’s words: “Last one?” Dylan—had walked to the corner with the man in the black suit. They talked for what felt like forever. I stayed rooted, mind spinning with the things the mistress had revealed.

No matter how hard I tried to push the words from my thoughts, I couldn’t. Footsteps approached: Dylan and the man in the black suit. They smiled as they came closer. The man’s gaze landed on me; our eyes met and I forced a smile to hide my confusion.

“I hope she’ll be better than the last one,” he said. His question confused me, but he wasn’t speaking to me — he was speaking to Dylan. Dylan’s face tightened at the words, color draining as he heard them.

“Not now, Raymond,” Dylan replied, trying to smooth his expression into a smile.

The man returned to his Jeep. Dylan came to my side and took my hands. I yanked them away immediately. Questions flooded me. I wanted to leave then and there. After being betrayed by Lewis, I could not believe this — that the man who’d found me and pretended to love me might be playing me, too.

Act, I told myself. Don’t let him and his mistress see anything.

The night blurred in confusion. My chest felt heavy. Her words —lived under my skin. I forced a smile on my face.

Morning came. My eyes snapped open in the huge bedroom that belonged to Dylan.

Dylan wasn’t the sort of man you passed on the street. He was more — the kind of man whose life showed in the opulence around us. I didn’t need him to tell me he was rich; the building and the view did that for me.

A loud knock at the bedroom door pulled me out of my thoughts and Dylan walked in.

“Good morning, princess,” he said.

I smiled and sat up as he came closer and sat beside me.

“How was your night?” he asked.

“Perfect,” I lied. A small part of me burned to ask him what Raymond had said last night. Does he have an ex-wife? Is this all a game? If he’d told me the truth already, I wouldn’t feel this curious or unsettled. But silence breeds suspicion.

I looked at him, meeting his eyes. His smile was easy; mine was small and guarded. “Dylan,” I said, my voice rough. “Did you have an ex-wife?”

His confusion was immediate — exactly the expression I’d expected, as if the question had been a blade.

“Why do you ask, Sandra?” he said.

I hesitated. Should I tell him what my ex-husband mistress had said? Or act as if I’d heard nothing? I took a breath and pushed.

“You met me on the roadside, a few hours after my divorce. We might not fall in love, but we can be friends — and friends share important things.”

Something in him shifted, like my words had touched a locked place. He straightened, pale and unreadable.

“Sandra, some things should remain private,” he said. “Not everything needs telling.”

I stood and laughed — a short, bitter sound. “You think hiding a divorce is a secret worth keeping?” I said. His face went even paler.

“I won’t let you poke into my life,” he snapped, anger flaring as he stepped toward the door.

I didn’t back down. “Dylan, it’ll take minutes for me to find out what happened. Why hide it?”

He scoffed, then turned. His next words stung as if he'd reopened a healed wound. “Do what you like — but ask yourself: what woman gets divorced so soon and is instantly replaced by another man’s ex?”

Those words dragged me back through my past with Lewis. I had thought Dylan was different. I had trusted him in a small, fragile way. Now his tone felt cruel, using my own misfortune against me. I stepped close, our breaths nearly touching.

“Don’t you dare bring up the past,” I said, my voice low and harsh.

He laughed, as if my pain were a joke. “I won’t intervene in your history. But don’t think I’ll accept being made a fool.”

Years of bad luck and humiliation flashed in my head. I had learned to hide the hurt, to survive. Yet this — this possibility of being another woman’s shadow — felt worse than anything Lewis had done.

I took three steps back and forced a calm smile. “I’m sorry if I upset you,” I said.

He returned my smile with cold politeness. “No problem, Mrs. Sandra Lewis.”

Hearing my old name felt like a curse. Last night’s conversation, the insinuations — it all pressed at my ribs. Men, I thought bitterly, were scum. I went back to the bed, crossed my legs, and folded my hands over my chest. Dylan stood in the doorway; neither of us spoke. The silence stretched until I finally broke it.

“By afternoon we have lunch,” he said. “Don’t be absent. Remember — you’re acting as my wife for now.”

“That’s fine,” I said. “I’ll act, and you act.”

He smiled and left. I stood there, mind racing through the old memories Lewis had dredged up,

clinging to the smile I was learning to wear in this new, uneasy life.