I never told my husband I secretly owned the company he worked for. In his eyes, I was only his “embarrassing, uneducated” wife. At the annual gala, he introduced me to the CEO as his “nanny” to save face. I kept quiet. But later, his sister intentionally spilled red wine on my white dress, pointed to the stain, and ordered, “Since you’re the help, clean it.” That was enough. I stepped onto the stage, took the microphone from the CEO, and said, “I don’t clean floors. I clean house. Trevor, Brianna, you’re fired, starting now.”
Part One: The Invisible Wife
The mirror in the penthouse bedroom reflected a woman dressed in pearl-colored satin.
Vanessa Reed stood still for a long moment before adjusting the thin straps resting on her shoulders. The gown shimmered under the recessed lighting, expensive but not loud, elegant but not attention-seeking. It had cost more than the imported sedan parked in the underground garage downstairs.
Her husband hadn’t noticed when she purchased it.
