When I caught them together in our bedroom, my husband sl@pped me, pushed me into the dresser, and k!cked my leg when I tried to reach the door. “You’re the problem, not her,” he shouted.
Part 1 The first thing I saw was my wedding photograph turned facedown on the dresser. The second was my husband, Julian, climbing out of our bed while Victoria Vance—his company’s most aggressive supplier representative—pulled my silk robe across her bare shoulders. “Elena, wait,” he said, as if I had interrupted a meeting. On the…