Chapter 1

After my miscarriage, I became the kind of wife Ethan had always wanted.

I no longer shared the interesting parts of my day with him. I no longer called him all night when he didn't come home.

Even when Ethan and his mistress Quinn were about to have sex, I could remain expressionless and thoughtfully prepare condoms for them.

But he got angry and viciously threw the condoms on the ground.

"No need for those. I'm planning to have a child with Quinn. Aren't you jealous?"

I replied indifferently, "Whatever."

Ethan was frustrated by my lack of reaction and kept pushing, wanting to see me break down in tears.

But didn't he understand yet?

I had long since stopped loving him. Why would I care about his provocations?

Vivian Shaw POV

After my miscarriage, I became the kind of wife Ethan Blackwood had always wanted.

I no longer shared the interesting parts of my day with him. I no longer called him all night when he didn't come home.

Even when I was falsely accused and taken to the police station, and the officers said a family member had to bail me out, I just said I had no family. I calmly spent a week in detention.

Seven days later, in the evening, the iron door of the police station swung open.

I had just walked down the steps when a black Maybach screeched to a stop in front of me.

The car door opened. Ethan stepped out wearing a tailored suit. He was tall with long legs, broad shoulders and a narrow waist, as coldly elegant and eye-catching as always.

He walked up to me in a few strides, his brow furrowed slightly.

"Vivian, why didn't you call me when you were being bullied?"

I smiled faintly. "Would you have even turned on your phone?"

A week ago on my way home from work, an elderly person suddenly fell in front of my car. I got out to help, but they grabbed my arm and started shouting, "Hit and run! This young lady hit me and tried to run away!"

The surveillance footage proved my innocence, but according to procedure, a family member had to come sign for my release before I could leave.

I said I had no family. The police didn't believe me and looked up my marriage registration information, finding Ethan's phone number.

They called. It was turned off.

They called dozens of times. Always turned off.

Ethan's expression changed slightly. "The night you were detained, Quinn had stomach pain. I took her to the hospital.She doesn't like noise, so I shut my phone off."

He paused, his voice lowering. "I'm sorry."

"It's fine," I said. "I didn't expect you to come anyway. Just do what you need to do."

My tone was too calm as I said this. So calm there wasn't a ripple of emotion.

Ethan looked at me and suddenly grabbed my wrist.

His hand was very hot, and his grip was strong. I frowned.

"Why aren't you angry?" Ethan stared at me, confusion in his eyes, along with a trace of unease he didn't want to admit.

I found it amusing. "Why would I be angry? You gave your reason, I understand it. Nothing to be angry about."

"Vivian..."

"I'm tired. I want to go home." I pulled my hand back and walked around him toward the car door.

Ethan stood there, watching my retreating figure.

We hadn't seen each other in seven days, and I had lost a lot of weight. My shirt hung loosely on my frame.

In the past, whenever he neglected me even a little, I would make a scene with red-rimmed eyes and ask him in an aggrieved voice, "Ethan, have you ever even cared about me?"

Back then he thought I was overreacting, that I was immature.

But now I didn't make scenes, didn't cry. I nodded and said "okay" to whatever he said. And yet he felt... panicked.

The car was very quiet.

The driver drove in front while I sat by the window in the back seat, watching the streetscape fly past in reverse.

I no longer acted like I used to, unable to stop myself from looking at him the moment I got in the car, my eyes full of only him. When we were alone I would search for topics to talk about, and even when he responded coldly, I could chatter on by myself for ages.

Now I just sat quietly, as if he wasn't there beside me at all.

Ethan finally couldn't hold back. "Are you still throwing a tantrum about what happened before?"

I turned to look at him, my eyes calm. "No, it's all in the past."

"Then why are you..."

"Ethan." I interrupted him. "What do you want from me? To cling to you every day like before? Or to be like this now, not fighting or making noise, giving you enough freedom?"

Ethan was stumped by the question.

Of course he wanted me not to fight or make noise, didn't want me always making scenes over Quinn. But when I really became like this, he felt... wrong.

Everything felt wrong.

"I just feel like you've changed," he said quietly.

I turned back to the window.

Changed?

Perhaps.

When you love someone versus when you don't, you're naturally two different people.