Chapter 2
I spent the next ten minutes staring at the marriage certificate.
Not because I couldn't read it.
Because every time I looked at Marcus's name, my mind refused to accept what my eyes were telling me.
He had married another woman.
While still married to me.
I studied the date.
June 14.
Two years earlier.
On that exact weekend, Marcus had supposedly attended a leadership conference in Atlanta.
I remembered packing his suitcase.
I remembered kissing him goodbye.
I even remembered sending him a photograph of the peach cobbler I had baked while he was away.
He had replied with three words.
Wish I was home.
I pressed my hand against my mouth.
He had been getting married.
My phone rang.
Marcus.
I watched his name flash across the screen.
Then I answered.
"Where are you?" he demanded.
"In my house."
"What are you doing?"
"Trying to understand what kind of man I married."
There was a pause.
"Nia, don't start."
"Who is Amara?"
Silence.
It lasted long enough for me to hear traffic behind him.
"Where did you hear that name?"
"Who is she, Marcus?"
His voice dropped.
"Stay out of things you don't understand."
I looked at the photograph.
A little girl with his eyes.
His smile.
His face.
"Is she your daughter?"
He didn't answer.
And that was all the confirmation I needed.
"How old is she?"
"Nia—"
"HOW OLD?"
"Four."
I closed my eyes.
Four years old.
His daughter had been born while I was undergoing fertility treatments.
At the time, Marcus had held my hand through every appointment.
He had told me we would become parents together someday.
I remembered crying in the hospital parking lot after our third unsuccessful treatment.
Marcus had wrapped his arms around me.
"We have each other," he whispered.
Now I knew that while I was grieving the child we couldn't have, he had already become a father with someone else.
"You're disgusting," I said.
He exhaled sharply.
"That child didn't do anything wrong."
"I know she didn't!"
My voice cracked.
"That's what makes this even worse. There is an innocent little girl caught in your lies."
"Then stop making this difficult."
I opened my eyes.
"Did you marry Selena?"
He didn't answer immediately.
"Things were complicated."
"Did you marry her?"
"Yes."
The word landed like a stone inside my chest.
I gripped the edge of the desk.
"You're already married to me."
"I know."
"You committed bigamy."
"Watch your accusations."
I laughed bitterly.
"You're worried about accusations?"
"Nia, listen carefully. We need to talk in person."
"No."
"There's paperwork involved that you don't understand."
My gaze returned to the handwritten warning.
"What paperwork?"
He went silent.
"Marcus?"
"I'll be there in twenty minutes."
"Don't come back."
He hung up.
I stared at my phone.
Then I called the only person I knew who could help me think clearly.
My best friend, Tasha Reed.
She answered on the second ring.
"Girl, please tell me you finally left that man."
I couldn't speak.
"Nia?"
"He married somebody else."
"What?"
"Marcus. He married another woman while he was married to me."
I heard something drop on her end.
"Send me your location. I'm coming."
"I'm home."
"Lock the doors. Don't sign anything. Don't agree to anything. I'll be there."
Tasha had been my friend since college.
She was an attorney, although her work focused on employment law.
More importantly, she had never liked Marcus.
Not because she was jealous of my marriage.
Because she saw things I kept excusing.
Three years earlier, Marcus had insisted that I resign from my position as director of a nonprofit organization.
He claimed his consulting company was doing so well that I no longer needed to work.
"You deserve a peaceful life," he had told me.
At first, it sounded loving.
Then he began controlling our finances.
He insisted that his accountant manage my inheritance.
He discouraged me from speaking with my grandmother's old attorney.
He said I worried too much.
And slowly, without realizing it, I had started asking permission to use money that had belonged to me before I met him.
I pulled open another drawer.
Bank statements.
Property documents.
Insurance letters.
I spread them across the desk.
A familiar address appeared repeatedly.
A commercial building downtown.
My grandmother had left me that building alongside our suburban home.
It was supposed to provide rental income throughout my life.
Marcus had offered to manage the tenants.
I had trusted him.
Now I noticed several transfers.
Large amounts.
All going to a company called MB Holdings.
I had never heard of it.
I photographed every document.
Then I found a folder labeled PROPERTY RESTRUCTURING.
Inside was a deed transfer form.
My name appeared at the bottom.
My signature looked almost perfect.
Except I had never signed it.
I froze.
Someone had forged my signature.
The property listed was my grandmother's downtown building.
The proposed new owner was MB Holdings LLC.
I searched the folder for an address.
My stomach dropped.
MB Holdings was registered to an apartment complex on Willow Creek Drive.
The same address written beside Selena Brooks's name on the marriage certificate.
My phone buzzed.
An unknown number.
I answered cautiously.
"Hello?"
A woman spoke.
"Mrs. Bennett?"
"Who is this?"
"My name is Selena."
My blood turned cold.
"You have a lot of nerve calling me."
"Please don't hang up."
Her voice shook.
"I know what Marcus told you. But you need to understand something."
"What?"
"He told me you were dead."
I stood completely still.
"What did you say?"
"He said his first wife died five years ago."
My throat tightened.
Selena continued.
"I didn't know you existed until six months ago."
"Then why did you stay?"
"Because I was scared."
"Of what?"
Before she answered, I heard a little girl's voice.
"Mommy? Is Daddy coming?"
Selena went quiet.
Then she whispered something that changed everything.
"Marcus doesn't know I sent those letters."
My eyes widened.
"It was you?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Because he's planning something for Monday."
I glanced at the calendar.
Monday was three days away.
"What happens Monday?"
Selena started crying.
"He's transferring the building, Nia. And after that, he says you won't have a house either."
A car door slammed outside.
I turned toward the window.
Marcus's Mercedes had returned.
Selena whispered urgently.
"Whatever you do, don't let him find those papers."
May you like
Then the call ended.
And downstairs, someone started pounding on my front door.
