Chapter 1

My billionaire husband had a bizarre obsession with mystery boxes.

Whenever he gave out gifts, he always prepared two boxes and made me pick one first.

Yet every single time, I ended up with the short end of the stick.

On my birthday, I drew a chore coupon: deep cleaning the entire mansion myself.

On Valentine’s Day, I got a cheap plastic rose that looked like it came from a dollar store clearance bin.

Even on our wedding anniversary, my box contained an eviction notice disguised as a penalty—ordering me to pack up and spend a month in a run-down studio apartment to "reflect on my attitude."

Meanwhile, his precious ex, Chloe, always got the jackpot: haute couture jewelry, massive bouquets of nine hundred and ninety-nine roses, and unlimited black cards.

I used to scream, cry, and beg him to let me stay home.

He would only cut me off with cold annoyance:

"You're the one with terrible luck. Stop blaming everyone else."

Until the night of the charity gala. Once again, he brought out two mystery boxes.

He made Chloe and me open them right in front of the entire high-society crowd.

Chloe unwrapped a deed to a luxury penthouse in downtown Manhattan, titled exclusively under her name.

Inside my box was a cheap maid's uniform.

Instantly, hushed murmurs and mocking whispers rippled through the ballroom.

A wave of sheer exhaustion washed over me.

I didn't yell. I didn't cry. I calmly folded the nylon uniform, looked around the room, and offered a faint smile:

"A maid's outfit suits me much better than prime real estate anyway. So please, Mr. Hayes, do me a favor and stop bothering me from now on."

If all I was to him was an on-call maid and a warm body for his bed,

I was done playing along.

……

Ignoring the stares, I turned and headed for the exit.

Julian Hayes clearly realized the contrast between the two boxes was humiliating, yet he still chased after me, his face twisted in annoyance.

"Serena, I sent you to that rental for two weeks so you’d learn some humility. Why are you still acting so childish?"

"Serena, can you go five minutes without embarrassing me?"

"I embarrassed you?" I clutched the maid's uniform, staring at him with dead eyes. "When you packed this into a box, did you care for a second about embarrassing me?"

Chloe appeared behind him, twirling the brass key to the penthouse between her manicured fingers.

"Julian, did I upset Serena?"

She looked at me with wide, innocent doe eyes.

"Maybe I should give the penthouse to Serena instead. Really, I can stay anywhere."

"No need. That place is right next to the medical center. It’s perfect for your recovery," Julian cut in firmly.

"Still, Serena’s living in that awful, tiny apartment... I just feel so guilty," Chloe sighed, playing the delicate saint to perfection.

Julian’s tone hardened.

"She chose to throw a tantrum and move out. She brought it on herself."

I didn't care enough to argue. I pulled out my phone to call an Uber, but Julian grabbed my wrist in a vice-like grip and shoved me into the back seat of his car.

"Get in. I’m driving you back."

Before I could refuse, the door slammed shut.

Through the tinted window, I caught a fleeting glimpse of pure venom in Chloe’s eyes as she slipped into the passenger seat.

I looked away. I was too tired to care.

Sitting in the back, a high-pitched, piercing ring suddenly tore through my right ear.

The voices of Julian and Chloe chatting up front quickly turned muffled and disjointed.

"Serena, are you feeling okay?"

Chloe turned around, her expression dripping with fake concern.

I watched her lips move. It took several agonizing seconds for my left ear to piece together the syllables.

"I'm fine. The apartment suits you. Don't worry about it."

Julian glanced at me through the rearview mirror, his furrowed brow slightly relaxing.

"Good to see you're finally learning some sense, Serena."

He took my silence and surrender as defeat, assuming I had finally buckled under reality.

I didn't bother correcting him. I just looked down at the maid's uniform in my lap.

His mystery gift.

His final verdict on our three-year marriage.

Half an hour later, the Maybach pulled up beneath the crumbling walk-up I was renting on the sketchy edge of town.

The street was filthy and dimly lit, the asphalt so potholed that the car's undercarriage nearly scraped the ground.

Chloe pinched her nose in theatrical disgust.

"Julian, it’s so dirty here... How could Serena stand living in a place like this?"

A cold laugh escaped my throat. Wasn't I here specifically to make room for her?

Unwilling to watch their love fest any longer, I cradled the uniform and headed toward the building.

"Wait in the car. I’ll walk her up," Julian said, jogging after me.

"Aren't you staying with me tonight?" Chloe whimpered, tugging at the edge of his tailored suit jacket.

"It's late, and this neighborhood is dangerous. I’ll be right back down."

Julian patted her hand, his tone softening with a warmth he had never once offered me.

The stairwell had no lights. Neighbors’ junk and foul-smelling trash bags cluttered every step.

Julian walked ahead of me, using his phone’s flashlight to guide the path.

He always did this—slapping me across the face, then offering a piece of candy.

The old me would have been moved to tears by such a small, reflexive gesture of protection.

Now, all I felt was profound numbness.

On the fourth floor, I pulled out my key and unlocked the rusted metal door.

The studio was barely two hundred square feet. A cheap mattress, a flimsy wardrobe, not even a proper dining table.

Julian lingered by the doorway. Taking in the squalor, his scowl deepened.

"How long are you going to keep up this drama? Pack your things tomorrow and move back to the estate."

I dropped the maid's uniform onto the bed and turned around.

"No need. It's fine here."

He sneered and stepped inside.

"Know when to quit, Serena. I only knocked you down a peg tonight to remind you of your place."

"Chloe is sick. I bought that penthouse for her health. As my wife, do you really lack this much grace?"

Staring at his righteous, condescending face, I almost laughed.

"I'm not mad. The penthouse was always meant for her."

Julian blinked, visibly caught off guard by my compliance.

He searched my face, scanning for traces of bitterness, jealousy, or hurt.

He found nothing.

"Glad you finally realize that."

Loosening his tie, his tone relaxed a fraction.

"I had my assistant order you some late-night takeout. Eat something and get some sleep. I'll send the driver for you in the morning."

With that, he turned and walked out.

The second the door clicked shut, the ringing in my right ear stopped dead.

I pressed my finger firmly into my left ear.

The entire world plunged into absolute, impenetrable silence.

Whatever. I was leaving soon anyway.