Chapter 1

I married Jacob Thorne, a man who recoiled from human touch.

For three years, he never once touched me.

Then I saw him in a live stream, holding Celeste Monroe, the acclaimed pianist who was his first love. He was stroking her hair.

So it was not an illness. He was simply allergic to me.

When the earthquake hit, he shielded Celeste and rushed for the door, leaving me behind.

My right hand was fractured. He said coldly, "Her hands are for playing piano. Yours? Just tie it to a piece of wood."

I wiped my tears and pulled out the art box I hadn't opened in years.

This time, I was done with him.

Later, I, a left handed artist, took the art world by storm. A loving new partner stood by my side.

And the man who once said my touch made him sick knelt in the rainy night, covered in blood, trembling as he asked, "Anya, now am I worthy of touching you?"

Anya POV

Jacob and I had been married for three years, but I'd never once touched him.

Everyone in New York knew of Jacob's condition: a severe psychological aversion to touch. The slightest physical contact could send him into a state of violent revulsion.

For three years, we slept in separate rooms, ate at separate tables, and even passed documents through a cloth.

At two in the morning, I stared at the replay on my phone, a cold dread settling in my bones.

There, on screen, was my husband, Jacob, holding a woman in a white gown in a tight embrace.

She was weeping, her face buried against him, while his hand moved in slow, gentle circles over her back, stroking her long hair.

That woman was Celeste. Jacob's childhood sweetheart. The pianist who had just claimed an international prize.

Jacob's grandma Emma had chosen me as his wife, simply because at a Thorne family banquet, I was the only woman he had stared at for more than five seconds.

The Thorne family had covered all expenses for my seriously ill mother until her passing.

On our wedding day, Emma had held my hand, tears in her eyes.

"Anya, I know what I'm asking of you is difficult. Jacob's condition...no doctor has been able to reach him. As his wife, you must have patience. Stay with him, and I believe he can heal."

I believed her. Because I, too, had fallen for Jacob the moment I saw him.

I accepted the marriage. And in my quiet hope to "cure" him, I put away every sharp, artistic part of myself.

Before marriage, I was a well-known painter. But Jacob couldn't stand the smell of paint, I sealed away my brushes.

I studied psychological counseling, learned non-contact companionship, but Jacob remained as distant as ever for three years.

Yet now, in the video, Jacob looked completely at ease in that embrace, his eyes even filled with deep affection.

So, there was no condition. No psychological aversion.

He just didn't want to touch me.

My fingers shook as I scrolled to the comments.

"Oh my god, isn't Mr. Thorne unable to touch people?"

"That's Celeste. His first love. She's always been the exception!"

"This is the famous 'I'm allergic to the whole world, except you'!"

I couldn't help but let out a bitter laugh, tears streaming down my face.

My three years of careful devotion had been a complete and utter joke.

Two hours ago, I'd asked him when he'd be home, and he'd only replied with a cold "overtime."

His "overtime" was spent accompanying Celeste to her award ceremony.

Since he wasn't sick, and since his white moonlight was back, it was my turn to exit the stage.

I wiped my tears and pulled out the art box I hadn't touched in three years from under the bed.

I was going to get a divorce.

The next afternoon, I went to the downtown art center to pick up a stored painting.

"Mr. Thorne, this is the exhibition hall reserved for you."

The curator's eager voice reached me.

I turned, holding the canvas, and saw Jacob and Celeste walking in.

Celeste intimately linked arms with Jacob.

Our eyes met. Jacob's gentle expression instantly froze, and he instinctively pulled his arm away, looking at me.

"What are you doing here?"

Celeste seemed to just notice me, covering her mouth in feigned surprise. Then she flashed an innocent smile and re-linked arms with Jacob.

"Jacob, this must be your wife, right? What a coincidence."

She glanced at the painting in my hands.

"This painting... did your wife paint it? It looks pretty mediocre, actually."

Jacob didn't even look at the painting, only stared coldly at me.

"This isn't where you belong."

I took a deep breath, just about to speak-

Boom!

The floor violently shook!

"Earthquake! Run!"

The exhibition hall instantly descended into chaos. The art center's glass dome and heavy chandeliers swayed precariously in the tremor.

I was jostled by the crowd, the sharp edge of the painting frame in my arms slammed hard against my ribs.

"Jacob!"

Celeste shrieked.

I looked up to see Jacob sweep Celeste into his arms without a moment's hesitation, shielding her with his body as he bolted for the emergency exit.

Above me, the great crystal chandelier began its deadly plunge.

"Jacob."

I instinctively called out.

Jacob's stride hitched for less than a second. Then he tightened his hold on Celeste and vanished through the exit, never looking back.

Crash.

The massive impact and flying glass shards instantly engulfed me.

Excruciating pain shot through me as I fell into a pool of blood, my right wrist pinned beneath a heavy piece of metal.

The scene was pure chaos.

Not far away, Celeste lay on a stretcher, with only slightly disheveled hair.

"Ambulance! Treat Celeste first!"

Jacob blocked the paramedics rushing towards me.

"Celeste's hands are for playing the piano; there can't be any mistakes with them!"

A nurse, unable to bear it, pointed at me and said,

"Sir, that lady is bleeding a lot, and her right hand might be broken..."

"Treat Celeste first!"

Jacob pushed the nurse away, glancing at me in the corner.

"As for her hand..."

"Just splint it with a piece of wood. It can wait until she gets to the hospital."

The crash of the chandelier didn't hurt half as much as his words did.

So, in Jacob's world, Celeste's hands were priceless.

And mine were disposable.

The piercing pain made me extremely clear-headed.

With my left hand, I pulled out my phone and slowly typed a line.

"Jacob, let's get a divorce."

I hit sent.