My Husband Cheated — So I Kissed His Secret Billionaire Heir

I found lipstick on my husband’s collar at 7:43 PM.

Bright red.

Not my color.

Not that Damien Blackwood would know what my color was anyway.

I stared at the stain for exactly three seconds before laughing.

Not crying.

Laughing.

Because this wasn’t the first time.

Or the second.

I’d ignored perfume that didn’t belong to me.

Late-night calls Damien took on balconies.

Lipstick stains cleaned by assistants before I could ask questions.

Three years of marriage had turned me into a professional liar.

Mostly to myself.

“Unbelievable,” I muttered.

The Blackwood mansion buzzed around me with preparations for tonight’s charity

gala while I stood in Damien’s dressing room holding evidence of his stupidity

between my fingers.

Staff members rushed downstairs.

Phones rang.

Champagne arrived.

And my husband was somewhere in the city screwing another woman before a public

event.

How efficient.

I grabbed my purse, shoved the shirt into a garment bag, and headed straight for

Blackwood Tower.

If Damien wanted to humiliate me, he could at least do it to my face.

Twenty minutes later, I walked through the executive floor wearing six-inch heels and

enough rage to kill a man.

The receptionist tried stopping me.

“Mrs. Blackwood, Mr. Blackwood is in a private—”

“I’m his wife.”

I kept walking.

People scattered instantly.

Good.

Let them watch.

The executive office doors stood half-open at the end of the hallway.

And outside them—

stood Alexander Sterling.

Damien’s secretary.

Tall.Cold.Perfectly composed.

He looked expensive in the dangerous way rich men do when they pretend not to care

about money.

His gray eyes lifted toward me slowly.

No surprise.

Interesting.

“You should leave,” he said calmly.

I smiled sweetly.

“Oh? Is my husband busy committing adultery?”

Alexander’s mouth twitched slightly.

That should’ve warned me.

Instead, I walked straight past him.

Then I heard her laugh.

Vivienne Laurent.

Of course.

The ex-girlfriend.

The woman Damien’s mother preferred over me.

The woman who dumped Damien years ago to chase some European aristocrat—

then suddenly remembered his existence the second he became Manhattan’s favorite

billionaire.

Inside the office, Damien’s voice lowered.

“I missed you.”

I stopped walking.

Then Vivienne laughed softly.

“You’re married.”

“That marriage means nothing.”

Silence.

Then I slowly turned back toward Alexander.

“You knew.”

He leaned lazily against the wall.

“Yes.”

I should’ve slapped him.

Instead, I laughed again.

“Wow. Men really are trash in groups.”

Alexander’s eyes darkened slightly.

Then Damien spoke again inside the office.

“If her father hadn’t saved my grandfather’s life, I would’ve divorced her years ago.”

Vivienne laughed softly.

“And yet she still acts like a real wife.”

Damien scoffed.

“She was useful. That’s all.”

Something inside me snapped cleanly in half.

Not heartbreak. Just Humiliation.

Because the bastard said my name like an inconvenience.

I shoved the office doors open so hard they slammed against the wall.

Damien froze instantly.

Vivienne nearly fell off his desk.

Honestly?

That part healed me a little.

For three long seconds, nobody spoke.

Then I tossed Damien’s lipstick-stained shirt