Chapter 1

I married Tristan three years ago. We've slept in separate rooms for one thousand and ninety-five days.

Everyone says Tristan is cold and ascetic, like some untouchable deity.

I used to think so too, until tonight, when I pushed open his study door to finally settle that long-delayed divorce agreement.

I witnessed a scene that made my face flush and my heart race.

Cassidy's POV

The main light in the study was off. Only the blue glow from the computer screen barely outlined the silhouette of the man behind the desk.

The usually immaculate Tristan was now leaning back in his leather chair.

His shirt collar hung wide open, exposing a large expanse of flushed chest. His tie dangled loosely around his neck, pulled askew.

His entire body was trembling violently.

And the instant I pushed the door open, a heavy, nasal groan drilled clearly into my ears.

"...Mm."

I froze in the doorway, my palm gripping the door handle instantly slick with sweat.

What was he doing?

In the middle of the night, hiding in his study-what was he doing?

My gaze involuntarily traveled past his shoulder toward the lit computer screen.

The screen seemed to show a video window, but I only caught a glimpse of a blurred, flesh-colored blur.

"Who let you in?!"

An furious roar exploded through the room.

Tristan's reaction was startlingly fast. Almost the instant my eyes landed on the screen, he slammed the laptop shut.

He spun around, his phoenix eyes alarmingly red.

He sat there in the darkness, chest heaving violently, staring at me with deadly intensity.

"Get out!"

He ground his teeth, voice hoarse. "Who gave you permission to barge in without knocking? Get the hell out!"

His savage expression scared me into taking a step back, the divorce papers in my hand nearly slipping to the floor.

A massive wave of shame and fury surged through me.

Three years of marriage, and he wouldn't even touch me once.

I'd even suspected at one point that he had some kind of dysfunction down there, and felt guilty enough to buy him six months' worth of vitamins and supplements.

And the result?

He wasn't impotent. He just wasn't interested in me!

He'd rather hide in his study watching God-knows-what filth on his computer, rather handle things himself, than fulfill his duties as a husband!

"Tristan, you disgust me."

I took a deep breath, forcing back the sting in my eyes, and hurled the papers at him.

"Since you're so in love with your computer, let's just get divorced! I don't want this 'Mrs. Bennett' anymore!"

White pages fluttered through the air. One sharp edge sliced across his cheek, leaving a thin line of blood.

Tristan didn't even seem to feel the pain.

He just sat there rigidly, hands gripping the desk edge so hard his knuckles were white, nails nearly embedding into the wood.

His Adam's apple bobbed as though he wanted to say something, but in the end, only one word squeezed from his throat.

"Leave."

I let out a cold laugh, turned, and slammed the door behind me.

Back in my bedroom, the more I thought about it, the angrier I got. My hands were shaking.

What had these three years been? A decoration? A joke?

Not only did I have to endure a sexless marriage, I had to endure this kind of mental humiliation too!

I dragged out my suitcase and started throwing clothes into it haphazardly.

I couldn't do this anymore. Not for one more minute!

Just as I zipped up the suitcase and prepared to leave, a massive crash of shattering glass echoed from downstairs.

Then came the housekeeper, John's panicked scream.

"Mr. Bennett! Mr. Bennett, are you ok?! Someone help! Mr. Bennett collapsed!"

I froze mid-motion.

Collapsed?

I wanted to just walk away, but my feet seemed rooted to the spot.

A few seconds later, cursing my own soft heart, I dropped the suitcase and rushed out of the room.

Downstairs in the living room, Tristan lay collapsed beside the sofa, his laptop thrown to one side.

His eyes were shut tight, his face deathly pale, but his body was burning hot.

Even unconscious, his body continued to convulse uncontrollably, incoherent murmurs spilling from his lips.

I ran over and tried to lift him. The moment my hand touched his skin, I was scalded by the shocking temperature.

"Tristan? Tristan!"

I leaned close to his lips, trying to hear what he was saying.

Amid the chaotic, ragged breathing, I finally made out those two syllables.

He was calling.

"...Cassidy."

I froze.

He was calling my name?

Just then, the laptop on the floor suddenly flickered to life.

On the screen, that video window popped up again.

I instinctively glanced over.

This time, I saw it clearly.

It wasn't some explicit video. It wasn't some cam girl stream.

It was surveillance footage.

And the background was my room.

The woman sleeping on the bed, clutching a pillow, was clearly me from last night!