Chapter 1

I was forced to kneel on the floor, using a pin to alter my husband's mistress's evening gown.

My knees pressed against the cold marble floor, and an old injury throbbed as if shattered bones were grinding together.

Ethan Smith stood nearby, gazing at Amber Rose with unmistakable tenderness.

Those same eyes had once looked up at me as he knelt before me, swearing that if he ever cheated again, he would give up his inheritance.

Now, all he said was,

"It's the first time she's ever loved something this much. I just want to give her the best."

The needle pierced my fingertip.

A drop of blood bloomed across the hem of the gown.

Lowering my eyes, I quietly wiped away the blood.

The only thought in my mind was this:

Next week, while my flight takes off from Paris and Ethan escorts Amber down the red carpet at Milan Fashion Week, the court's divorce papers will arrive on his phone right on schedule.

Chloe POV

Ethan Smith spent an entire year chasing Amber Rose, a rising young model.

Over the past year, his gifts to her, from diamond necklaces to luxury yachts, had constantly made headlines in New York.

And now, he was spending a fortune to host a solo fashion show for Amber. He wanted her to shine on the runway at Milan Fashion Week next week.

To make that happen, Ethan actually came to me, asking to borrow a few custom gowns from my studio.

One of the gowns Amber had her eyes on was my masterpiece. I had spent three years designing and crafting it for the upcoming International Fashion Design Competition.

But Ethan didn't care about my hard work. He brushed it off like it was nothing.

Seeing my silence, Ethan's face darkened slightly.

"You have designed so many dresses, Chloe. Missing one won't hurt you. You can just use another piece for your competition."

"But Amber is different. She just started modeling. The major luxury brands won't lend her their couture lines yet."

I swallowed the bitter laugh bubbling up in my throat. But in the end, I couldn't help but let out a cold sneer. "Well, Ethan, you can buy her a yacht. Why not just buy her a custom couture gown? Surely, the great Ethan Smith isn't getting cheap now?"

A no-name model like Amber could only rent out-of-season designs from three years ago, even with her agency's best efforts.

Sure, Ethan could buy her a brand-new season runway piece.

But wearing retail luxury would only make his new mistress a laughingstock in the elite fashion circle.

He obviously didn't want that.

But if Amber wore an exclusive piece from a rising, award-winning independent designer like me...

The next day, her PR team could spin it as her having "unique, sophisticated taste," solidifying her image as an elegant muse.

Ethan's expression hardened. His voice turned ice-cold. "Chloe, stop throwing a tantrum."

"A tantrum? I am your legal wife. Why would I waste my energy being angry at a mistress? Am I right, Ethan?" I looked at him, my eyes filled with nothing but cold detachment.

I didn't know if Ethan was too arrogant, or if he truly didn't care.

How could he possibly think that I could watch my own husband publicly chase another woman and feel absolutely nothing?

Ethan frowned, as if suppressing his annoyance. He softened his tone slightly, trying to sound gentle. "Chloe, no one can ever take your place. You will always be Mrs. Smith."

"This is the first time I've genuinely liked a girl this much. I just want to give her the best."

I almost laughed out loud.

Looking at the deeply emotional man in front of me, I felt a wave of absurdity.

Five years ago, when I wanted to marry Ethan, his grandfather, Arthur Smith, was dead set against it.

To prove my worth, I was locked in the freezing, damp cellar of the Smith estate, kneeling on the icy stone floor for three days and nights without food or water.

During those three days, Ethan stood outside the locked door, crying with me. He swore to God that if he ever betrayed me, he would deserve to burn in hell.

My knees were ruined that week, leaving me with chronic joint pain that could never be cured. Yet, just two years later, he cheated on me for the first time.

Back then, I threw my wedding ring in his face and demanded a divorce. Ethan went crazy. He self-harmed and even crashed his sports car into a guardrail just to force me to show up.

He bought a private island, knelt before me, and cried, promising that if he ever looked at another woman again, he would forfeit his inheritance to the Smith empire.

I thought he genuinely couldn't live without me. So, I agreed to take him back.

But only two years had passed, and he was doing it again.

My understanding, my gentleness, and my quiet compliance...

In Ethan's eyes, they had all become boring and taken for granted.

Meanwhile, Amber's wild defiance and constant rejections had reignited his urge to conquer.

I forced down the rising bitterness in my chest and raised an eyebrow. "Oh? So I should thank you for keeping me as Mrs. Smith? Do I need to help you win over your mistress too?"

The faint smile on Ethan's lips vanished. He stared at me blankly.

He reached out, his fingers gently tracing my brow down to my jawline.

Suddenly, he squeezed hard, making me gasp from the pain.

Then, he uttered cold, harsh words. "Have the dress delivered next week. I'll write a check to double the investment in your studio."

My eyes welled with tears from the physical pain, but I just smiled silently.

Ethan's patience was thin. This was his warning sign before a blowout, and I knew better than to push him right now.

But beneath my sleeves, my fists clenched so hard that my nails dug deep into my palms.

Ethan let go of my face and turned to leave without another word.

The moment the front door slammed shut, I took out my phone and made a call.

"Grandpa Arthur, I'm divorcing Ethan. Please arrange my departure as soon as possible."

On the other end of the line, Arthur Smith let out a long sigh, but agreed immediately. "No problem, Chloe. I'll have everything ready for you."

After hanging up, I opened my email. There lay an acceptance letter from the Paris National School of Decorative Arts.

Without a second thought, I clicked the "Accept Admission" button.