Betrayed on Our Anniversary

People used to say Pierce Voss, my husband, also the boss of the largest mafia in Kingsburg, and I were the kind of couple others envied.

He once lit fireworks across the entire coastline just to celebrate my birthday.

He bought me a private island because I mentioned loving the ocean.

He made the entire mafia respect me as the most esteemed woman in the world.

He shut every woman out of his world so I would never feel insecure.

I thought our love was unbreakable.

After ninety-nine rounds of IVF, I finally got a positive result. I was so happy I couldn’t sleep the whole night, planning to surprise him at our tenth-anniversary party the next day.

But instead, I cut into our wedding cake and found Lena Young’s pregnancy report hidden inside.

She fell to her knees in front of everyone, sobbing.

“Serena… I have cancer. I don’t have long. Please… let me stay with Pierce for whatever time I have left. Give my child a name.”

The room erupted, with gasps, whispers, cruel amusement.

And in an instant, the woman Pierce Voss had supposedly adored became the laughingstock of the entire Kingsburg city.

The love I had been so proud of shattered like cheap glass.

Clutching my own pregnancy report, I held back my tears and prepared to walk away with my baby, far from his world, far from the lies.

But before I could escape, someone framed me for harming her.

I was thrown into detention for three days.

And in those three days, I lost my child.

Pierce Voss lost me, and every last piece of love I ever had for him.

No matter how desperately he begs later, there is no returning to who we used to be.

The crystal chandeliers scattered fractured light across the ballroom, turning everything into a glittering illusion, perfect, polished, and painfully expensive. Our ten-tier anniversary cake rolled in on a silver cart, drawing a wave of applause from the hundreds of guests who had come to celebrate our tenth wedding anniversary.

“Mr. and Mrs. Voss,” the attendant said with a rehearsed smile as she offered the knife. “If you’d do the honor.”

Pierce’s hand slid over mine, guiding the handle into my fingers. His touch used to feel like a promise. Tonight, I didn’t know what it meant.

We pressed downward together.

The knife hit something solid.

Pierce’s brow twitched. He pulled the blade back, reached into the fault line of buttercream, and drew out a folded sheet streaked with frosting.

A medical report.

His eyes flashed crimson at the edges.

The young server pushing the cart went white. “I, I’m so sorry, Mr. Voss, Mrs. Voss! I must’ve, something slipped in. I didn’t…” She stumbled forward, panicked hands reaching for the cake.

Her heel caught.

She fell hard.

The mask on her face was knocked loose.

A pale, exhausted face appeared.

And the room stopped breathing.

My breath froze.

“Lena Young,” I whispered.

Pierce’s consigliere. The woman