After five rocky years of marriage, I thought the worst part of my life was struggling to conceive. But nothing compared to catching my husband, Logan, in a jazz club with another woman—his mistress, Brenda. While I stood frozen in shock, Logan simply smirked and said, “I’m in love with someone else. It’s over.” Still in disbelief, I returned home the next morning, hoping he might’ve come to his senses. Instead, I found all my belongings scattered on the lawn. Logan stood on the porch, hand-in-hand with Brenda, grinning as he told me I had no claim to the house since it belonged to his grandfather. “You’re out,”

he said coldly. I held myself together, quietly gathering my things, but the humiliation was unbearable. Brenda didn’t miss the chance to gloat either. “I can’t wait to redecorate,” she said smugly. Just when I thought it couldn’t get worse, a sleek black BMW pulled into the driveway. Out stepped Mr. Duncan—Logan’s grandfather and the true owner of the house. He looked around at the mess, then at me, then at Logan, and his expression darkened. “What the hell is going on here?” he demanded. Logan tried to spin the situation, but Mr. Duncan saw right through him. In