Chapter 1: The Woman in My Pool
“Lauren, please don't make a scene. You're embarrassing yourself.””
Those were the first words my boyfriend said after I caught him kissing another woman in the swimming pool of the Georgia mansion I had spent five years helping him build.
Not I'm sorry.
Not I can explain.
Just a warning to protect his reputation while he stood waist-deep in our pool with another woman's hands wrapped around his neck.
For five years, I had mistaken Marcus Reed's ambition for character. By that Friday afternoon, I was about to discover how expensive that mistake had been.
My name is Lauren Mitchell. I was thirty-four, worked as a commercial real estate consultant outside Atlanta, and had built my career by knowing the difference between a promising investment and a beautiful lie.
Apparently, I had never applied that skill to my own relationship.
Marcus and I met at a charity gala in Buckhead. He was charming, impeccably dressed, and full of plans for a financial consulting company he swore would change our lives. I was attracted to his confidence. He said he wanted a partner, not a woman who needed taking care of.
Three years later, we bought a sprawling mansion in an affluent community north of Atlanta.
The house had white columns, twelve-foot windows, a sweeping staircase, and a backyard that looked like something from a luxury magazine. The previous owners had neglected it, but Marcus saw potential.
So did I.
I paid for the kitchen renovation, the marble bathrooms, the landscaping, and most of the furniture. When Marcus's business struggled, I covered nearly half the mortgage to keep us from falling behind.
Whenever I asked when we would finally get married, he kissed my forehead and gave me the same answer.
"Lauren, baby, once the company takes off, I'll give you the wedding you deserve.""
I believed him.
I even believed him when he started keeping his phone facedown at dinner.
I believed him when business trips appeared on his calendar without warning.
And I believed him when he introduced a blonde woman named Brianna as his new business consultant.
"She's brilliant," Marcus had told me one evening, scrolling through his phone while I cleared the dinner plates.
"She understands wealthy clients. She could help us land some major investors.""
I had smiled.
"Then invite her over sometime. I'd like to meet her properly.""
"Absolutely," he said.
He never did.
Last Friday, a client canceled a meeting three hours early. I decided to surprise Marcus by bringing home his favorite takeout from a restaurant in Alpharetta.
The afternoon sun spilled across the driveway as I parked my Mercedes. I carried the food through the side entrance, already imagining his smile.
Then I heard laughter.
It came from the backyard.
A woman's laughter.
I walked toward the glass doors, set the takeout on a console table, and stepped onto the patio.
Marcus was in the pool.
So was Brianna.
His arms circled her waist. Her legs were wrapped around him. His mouth was pressed against hers with the kind of familiarity that made my stomach turn before my mind could catch up.
For a moment, I couldn't move.
The water glittered beneath them. A bottle of champagne chilled beside two crystal glasses. My white pool towels lay scattered across the deck, and Brianna's expensive cover-up rested on the lounge chair where I usually read on Sunday mornings.
This wasn't an accident.
This was a date.
"Marcus?""
He jerked away from her so violently that water splashed over the pool's edge.
His expression changed three times in two seconds: surprise, fear, then irritation.
"Lauren!"" He grabbed the side of the pool.
"What are you doing home?""
I stared at him.
"I live here.""
Brianna glanced between us, suddenly pale.
Marcus climbed the steps and snatched a towel from a chair.
"Baby, listen to me. Please don't make a scene.""
I almost laughed.
"You brought another woman into our backyard, and you're worried about a scene?""
"It's not what you think.""
"Then tell me what it is.""
He rubbed the towel over his face instead of looking at me.
Brianna climbed out of the pool and wrapped herself in another towel.
"Wait," she said, studying my face.
"You're Lauren?""
I turned toward her.
"And you're the business consultant.""
Her lips parted.
Marcus stepped between us.
"Lauren, this is a misunderstanding.""
"Funny. I don't remember business consulting requiring a bathing suit and champagne.""
Brianna's cheeks reddened.
"Marcus told me you two were basically finished.""
I looked at the man I had supported for five years.
"Is that what you told her?""
He lowered his voice.
"Can we please talk about this privately?""
"No. You can answer me here. How long?""
He glanced toward the house.
"Lauren—"
"How long have you been sleeping with her?""
"Don't do this.""
"How. Long?""
Brianna suddenly looked more frightened than embarrassed.
"Marcus, you said she wouldn't be home until tonight!""
Silence settled over the patio.
I watched him process the fact that his carefully arranged afternoon had collapsed.
Then I noticed his shirt lying beside Brianna's cover-up. The designer label was one I had bought him for his birthday.
Something inside me went still.
I picked up both pieces of clothing.
"Lauren, what are you doing?"" Marcus demanded.
I walked toward the outdoor fireplace.
He followed, water dripping from his shorts.
"Put those down.""
I opened the fireplace screen and tossed the clothes inside.
Then I struck a match.
Flames caught the fabric, curling the expensive shirt into blackened scraps.
Brianna shrieked.
"Are you insane? That cover-up cost nine hundred dollars!""
I looked at her.
"Then ask Marcus to replace it.""
Marcus grabbed my wrist.
"Have you lost your mind?""
I pulled free.
"No, Marcus. I think I finally found it.""
He stared at me, breathing hard.
For the first time in five years, I didn't care whether he was angry with me.
I took out my phone and opened the security app controlling the driveway gate.
Marcus frowned.
"Who are you calling?""
I tapped the screen.
"Someone who needs to see what's happening here.""
The gate began to slide open in the distance.
Brianna turned toward the driveway.
The moment she saw the black Cadillac Escalade approaching the house, every trace of color drained from her face.
She grabbed Marcus's arm so hard that her nails dug into his skin.
"Oh my God," she whispered.
"No. No, no, no.""
Marcus pulled away.
"What is wrong with you?""
Brianna looked at me, her eyes wide with panic.
Then she leaned close enough for only me to hear.
"Lauren, please. Whatever you do, don't let him see us together.""
I stared at her.
"Who?""
The Cadillac stopped beside the patio.
The driver's door opened.
A tall man in a charcoal suit stepped out, carrying a leather folder beneath one arm.
Brianna began to tremble.
May you like
Then she whispered five words that made the entire afternoon feel like a nightmare.
"That's my husband right there.""
