When I boarded my husband’s private jet, his secretary was sitting beside him in my usual seat, feeding him peeled oranges while his mother told me to be considerate. I didn’t argue.

found something else.”
I waited.

“Jasmine isn’t her real name.”

I stared at the photograph again.

For the first time, I stopped thinking of her as a secretary trying to take my place beside my husband.

Maybe that had never been the point.

The next morning, Dad explained that Jasmine had changed her identity seven years earlier.

We still didn’t know why.

Then my phone rang.

Unknown number.

I answered.

For several seconds, there was only breathing.

Then a woman spoke.

“Alyssa.”

“Who is this?”

“If you want to know