A year after she stole my husband, my former best friend mailed me an invitation to her baby shower. “Come celebrate our little miracle,” she wrote, adding a smiley face. “Sorry you couldn’t give him a son.”

After the cake cutting, he followed me quietly into the hallway.

“Naomi,” he whispered. “Please.”

I turned slowly. “Please what?”

His face crumpled immediately. Alistair had always been softer than Daniel, though softness was not the same thing as innocence.

“It only happened once.”

“Then you’re an incredibly efficient brother.”

He flinched visibly.

“She told me Daniel knew,” he said desperately. “She said they had an arrangement. She said he couldn’t… she said they needed help.”

“And you believed her?”

“I wanted to.” His voice cracked painfully. “She told me she loved me.”

For one brief second, I almost felt sorry for him.

Almost.

“Did Daniel know?” I asked.

Alistair looked toward the ballroom where Daniel accepted congratulations like royalty.

“No.”

There it was.

Not destiny. Not an agreement. Just another betrayal built entirely on vanity.

I opened my clutch purse and handed Alistair a folded document.

His eyes scanned the page. The color drained from his face immediately.

“What is this?”

“A notice. Your father has been funneling company money into Daniel’s lifestyle while hiding it beneath consulting fees. Daniel signed false financial disclosures during our divorce. Camille helped move assets through her boutique account.”

“I didn’t know.”

“Now you do.”

He stared at me silently.

I stepped closer. “You have two options. Continue lying for them and drown alongside them, or tell the truth when the room starts asking questions.”

“She’ll destroy me.”

“No,” I said quietly. “She already has. I’m simply handing you the microphone.”

From inside the ballroom, Camille’s voice rang out brightly.

“Gift time!”

Alistair looked physically ill.

I touched his sleeve lightly.

“Wrong woman,” I whispered.

“What?”