His Lover's Dawn, My Cold Floor

For three years, my estranged husband, Dayton Cole, paraded his childhood sweetheart around while I upheld our billion-dollar family merger. His latest hotel scandal splashed across the news, and I was once again called to clean up his mess, playing the part of the devoted wife.

But this time was different. My best friend handed me divorce papers, urging me to finally choose myself. Yet, Dayton cornered me, using my family's ambitions as leverage. He demanded I maintain our charade for three more months-a performance that included sharing his bed.

He'd humiliate me, calling me a tool for his family's image, then turn around and whisper that I was a beautiful woman he couldn't let go of. His jealousy flared when another man showed me kindness, yet he spent his nights rushing to his lover's side.

The ultimate degradation came when he forced me to sleep on the floor of our shared room at his family's estate, declaring he had no desire for a wife who didn't want him.

But in the dead of night, as I shivered on the cold floor, I felt his arms wrap around me, his lips brush my temple in a secret, tender gesture.

I woke up alone, the warmth gone. A quick check of social media showed a new post from his sweetheart, thanking her "quiet strength" for being there at sunrise.

That was the moment everything snapped. The game was over. He could have his fragile flower. I was taking back my life.

Chapter 1

Alyssa York POV:

The phone call hit me like a physical blow, even though I' d been expecting it for three years. It was Jerald Cole, Dayton' s grandfather, and his voice, usually calm and commanding, was sharp with barely suppressed fury. "Alyssa, you need to fix this. Now."

I stared at the news headline flashing across my tablet screen, the image of Dayton Cole, my estranged husband, with Kristin Goodwin, his childhood sweetheart, plastered everywhere. "Tech CEO Dayton Cole Caught in Hotel Scandal with Aspiring Actress." The words burned, not with jealousy, but with a familiar, dull ache of public humiliation. We had been separated for three years, living in different cities, but the world still saw me as Mrs. Cole. His scandal was, by default, my scandal. Our companies, the York family's architectural firm and the sprawling Cole tech empire, were in the midst of a billion-dollar joint venture. This PR nightmare threatened to derail everything.

"I understand, Grandfather," I said, my voice flat, a practiced calm I' d perfected over years of navigating this family's expectations.

My hands, however, were not so steady. They trembled slightly as I scrolled past comments, each one a fresh stab. "Poor Mrs. Cole," "She must be devastated," "Dayton always had a soft spot for Kristin." Each word a public carving of my private grief. I saw Kristin' s face in the blurry night-shot, her delicate features and wide, innocent eyes seemingly tear-filled, clinging to Dayton' s arm. She was