Chapter 1

On Christmas Eve, my husband’s secretary, Chloe, posted an update on Ins.

"Ugh, what kind of company makes you go on a business trip on Christmas? All the hotels are fully booked! Luckily, my hot CEO is here to keep me company..."

Attached below the caption was a selfie of her lying in bed in a bathrobe.

Next to her was a man lying down, showing off a gorgeous, tan, muscular back.

Plenty of commenters were drooling over how sexy and masculine the guy was.

Chloe didn't hold back either. She replied with a shy emoji: "The sex with him is wild. My legs are completely jelly."

I sneered and sent her a $2,000 tip on the post.

A moment later, Chloe called me. She was sobbing hysterically, claiming she caught Carter in the photo by accident and never meant to provoke me.

Before I could speak, Carter snatched the phone away, his voice dripping with annoyance.

"Faith, Chloe just started as my secretary. Why do you always have to be so petty and passive-aggressive? Can you stop being so damn paranoid all the time?"

Then, turning around, he softened his voice for Chloe: "Chloe, don't take it to heart. She's just crazy."

Listening to her sweet, bell-like giggle on the other end, I hung up.

Carter and I dated for three years and had been married for four.

The seven-year itch had arrived right on schedule. It seemed there was no escaping it.

At two in the morning, Carter finally came home.

The moment he walked through the door, our eyes met. Neither of us said a word.

Carter's gaze drifted to the table covered in takeout containers. He marched over, ripped the crispy pork belly and cream puffs out of my hands, and threw them straight into the trash.

"Eat, eat, eat. That’s all you do! Keep this up and you'll turn into a giant whale!"

The last time he spoke to me like that was a year ago, right after Chloe returned from abroad. He showered her with endless compliments right in front of me, then turned around and mocked me, calling me a beached whale.

From that day on, I ate strict diet meals for an entire year.

Seeing me stay silent, he tossed a high-end designer shapewear set onto my lap.

"Chloe bought this specifically for you. See how thoughtful she is? She even said that if you don't accept her apology, she’ll delete her Ins account."

I looked at the tag on the shapewear—Accentuates Curves for a Flawless Body—and chuckled. Chloe really knew how to push my buttons.

Carter saw me smile and assumed I was over it. He handed me my phone from the table.

"Chloe went out of her way to be sweet. Aren't you going to thank her?"

I ignored him and kept staring at the TV.

"Faith, are you fucking deaf?"

He grabbed my arm and yanked me up. Losing my balance, I crashed hard onto the floor.

My lower back slammed right into the sharp corner of the coffee table.

Agony tore through me.

That was an old injury. Seven years ago, during that terrible fire, a burning beam fell on my back when I dragged Carter out of the flames.

I curled into a ball on the floor, clutching my waist, trembling from the sheer pain.

Carter looked at me, a flicker of guilt crossing his face.

"I'll go get the ointment."

I looked up at his retreating back. I wanted to call out and stop him, but I bit my tongue.

The ultrasound report had been sitting in the drawer for three days now.

When the results came in, the doctor specifically warned me to stay stress-free in the first trimester and to be extremely cautious with medications—especially topical ointments.

I had planned to tell him on Christmas Day that we had a new little member joining our family. Now, it seemed completely pointless.

Carter rushed over with the first-aid kit, dug through it frantically for a few seconds, and suddenly froze.

"Where is the ointment? Did someone..."

He stopped mid-sentence. I caught the brief shift on his face—panic mixed with raw guilt.

Suddenly, a comment Chloe had left on Ins flashed through my mind: "He’s the sweetest guy ever. I burned myself cooking, and he brought over this rare, imported ointment to put on me right away."

If this were before, I would have grilled Carter about whether he gave that imported cream—the one I had begged a friend abroad to buy—to Chloe. But this time, I didn't bother calling him out.

I gave a faint, resigned smile.

"Carter, stop looking. I'll go buy some."

Carter frowned at me sternly.

"How are you going anywhere like that? Stay put. I'll go—"

Before he could finish, his phone buzzed.

He glanced at the screen and answered instantly.

"Chloe, what's wrong?"

Chloe’s pitiful sobs came through the speaker.

"Mr. Hayes, I was feeling down and having a drink at a club... Some sketchy guys are cornering me and trying to force me into their car. They said if I don't go, they'll kill me..."

"Mr. Hayes, can you please come save me? Please..."

Carter slammed the first-aid kit onto the couch and shot to his feet.

"Chloe, don't panic. I'm on my way."

"Mr. Hayes, thank you... but maybe you shouldn't come. Your wife will be furious. I'll... I'll figure something out myself!"

"She has no right to be mad."

With that, he cast a cold, detached glance down at me, still curled on the floor.

After hanging up, he rushed toward the door.

"Carter, wait."

I called out after him.

"Faith, can you stop causing drama for once?!"

"How are you going to save anyone without your phone and wallet?"

I pointed at the couch.

His phone and wallet were lying quietly right next to the first-aid kit.

Carter looked at the kit, momentarily stunned.

"I have to go save Chloe first. When I get back, I'll take you to the ER."

Without waiting for a reply, he bolted out the door.