His Stand-In Wife's Billion-Dollar Revenge

The fifth year of being Mrs. Stephens.

I sat in the back seat of my husband Simon Stephens' car, like a stranger sharing a ride.

The passenger seat was permanently reclined to exactly 115 degrees, the angle his childhood sweetheart found most comfortable.

Whenever I tried to adjust it, Simon would gently press down on my wrist.

"Iris Young, that adjustment lever sticks a little. Anna's back is bad, and she takes my car to physical therapy all the time. Fiddling with it back and forth will only break it. Would you mind sitting in the back? It's more spacious anyway."