Chapter 1

My wife's ex ran over a mob boss's young girlfriend.

He called her, begging for his life. In cold blood, my wife tricked me into becoming the mob's hostage so she could trade me for him.

"Babe, just stay here for three days. Once I get the cash together, I'll come get you."

During those three days, I lost my eye, had my legs shattered, and endured unspeakable torture and humiliation.

Meanwhile, she took her ex on a cross-country trip just to help him clear his head.

It wasn't until day five that she finally showed up. With misty eyes, she asked where I wanted to go for our next honeymoon getaway.

By then, my mind had snapped. I could only rock back and forth, whispering one word: divorce.

She broke down in tears, begging me to go back to the way I was.

Inside an abandoned warehouse, my wife, Cynthia, shoved me into the hands of several towering, muscular men.

Then, turning toward the bald leader, she said, "Blake, I'm trading my husband as collateral. Let Julian go."

"Please, let him walk."

Rough hands slammed me into the cold floor. Despair and misery pooled behind my eyes.

Just two days ago, Cynthia and I had been on our honeymoon.

Then Julian—her first love, the man she never quite got over—called. He'd been drunk driving and crashed into a powerful syndicate boss's girlfriend.

The boss issued an ultimatum: cough up an astronomical medical settlement, or get beaten to death. Cynthia had stepped outside to take the rest of that call; I hadn't heard what was said.

And today, under the guise of continuing our romantic getaway, she lured me out here.

All just to use me as a hostage to swap for Julian.

A bitter sting rose in my throat.

Cynthia, do you even have a heart?

"Blake, please treat him gently," she pleaded. "Just three days. Give me three days, and I'll bring the thirty million dollars to buy him back."

Hearing this, the bald man grabbed a fistful of my hair, jerked my head up, and examined me with a sneer.

"Is this really your husband? You didn't just grab some random bum off the street to fool me, did you?"

"Got any proof?"

Cynthia bit her lip and pulled our marriage certificate from her purse.

"City clerk's seal, right there. Do you believe me now?"

Blake took the document, matched my bruised face to the photograph, and let out a harsh laugh.

"Well, that's a first. Trading your own husband for a pretty boy. Remember this, lady: three days. Not a minute more. If you're late, you can pick up his corpse."

I saw the disgust, pity, and mockery dripping from his gaze, and buried my face against the dusty concrete.

I always knew Cynthia carried a torch for Julian.

They had spent three passionate years together, nearly making it down the aisle.

Still, I never imagined that our ten-year relationship counted for so little. In her heart, I didn't hold a candle to him.

A moment later, a battered, blood-soaked Julian was tossed beside me.

"Julian! Are you okay?!"

Right in front of my face, Cynthia threw herself over him.

Julian raised trembling hands, shaking so hard he couldn't form words.

Cynthia's eyes turned red instantly. "You're safe now, Julian. I'm taking you straight to the ER. It's okay."

Relief flickered in Julian's eyes.

Then he looked down at me. His gaze was venomous, mocking, and tinged with twisted anticipation.

He couldn't wait to see me broken in his place.

Watching Cynthia pour genuine, tender concern over him shattered what little was left of my soul.

I wanted to scream at her. I wanted to ask what I was to her.

A convenient replacement? A disposable shield?

Maybe the raw fury in my eyes was too loud to ignore, because she pressed her lips together and finally looked down at me.

Her eyes darted away, though her voice tried to sound firm.

"Babe, just three days. Wait for me here for three days, okay?"

Julian's butchered body was right there, yet she showed not an ounce of fear or worry for what would happen to me.

How utterly pathetic.

Her bloodstained hand reached down, trying to caress my cheek.

I jerked my head away, avoiding her touch. "I'm not your husband."

Her expression froze, tears welling in her eyes.

"Babe, I know you're mad."

"Just treat these three days like a bad dream. When it's over, we'll go right back to our honeymoon. Anywhere you want to go, anything you want me to do—I promise."

Hearing that, the last trace of hope within me died.

She wasn't naive. She knew exactly what I was about to endure.

She just decided her ex was worth more than me.

I clenched my fists until my nails dug into my palms, my chest aching with sharp, suffocating pain.

Fine. In three days, I'm divorcing her.

We're done forever.