Chapter 1

Julian Thorne and I had been arch-nemeses since childhood. If he was second in exams, I made damn sure I was never first.

He started a company; I started one just to crush his into bankruptcy.

The day he hit rock bottom, I was uncorking a bottle of champagne, ready to celebrate.

Then his notoriously powerful grandmother showed up. She slapped a check for ten million dollars and a marriage contract onto my desk.

“Marry my grandson for one year, get him back on his feet. Do it, and I’ll give you another ninety million.”

I looked at the contract, then at the ruined Julian, and smiled.

The best way to torment him? Become his legal wife, and in his most desperate hour, utterly humiliate him with money.

I signed the papers. “Don’t worry, Grandma. I promise I’ll ‘transform’ him completely.”

The red marriage certificate from the courthouse felt searing hot in my hands.

I, Valerie Hayes, twenty-six years old, was married.

To my rival of twenty years, Julian Thorne.

Back in the “marital home” I’d prepared for him—a penthouse apartment overlooking the entire city—I tossed the two scarlet documents onto the console table by the entrance.

Julian followed me, silent.

The Julian I knew was always charismatic and full of vigor, the center of attention wherever he went. His custom-tailored suits had always accentuated his lean, powerful physique, and his gaze towards me was always a mix of challenge and utter contempt.

Now, he wore a faded, worn-out T-shirt and jeans with frayed knees. His head was bowed, as silent as a hollow statue.

I walked to the center of the living room and clapped my hands.

Chloe, my assistant, quickly led in two bodyguards, each carrying a huge black suitcase.

Click. The cases were opened.

Bundles of crisp, red bills, forming two small mountains on the expensive Persian rug, exuding that unique, intoxicating scent of freshly printed cash.

A full ten million dollars.

I walked towards the money in my high heels, nudging one of the stacks with my heel.

“Julian Thorne.”

I called his name.

His body tensed, and he slowly lifted his head to look at me. His eyes, once sharp as an eagle's, were now bloodshot, blazing with a storm of hatred and humiliation.

I loved that look.

“This is your price tag.” I pointed at the cash on the floor, giving him a dazzling smile. “The ten million Grandma gave me? I didn’t touch a single dollar. I had it all converted into cash and brought it here for you. Do you like it? Been a while since you’ve seen this much money, hasn’t it?”

His fists clenched at his sides, his jawline rigid.

“Valerie Hayes, what exactly do you want?”

“What do I want?” I walked up to him, extending my index finger to poke his chest. “From today on, you, Julian Thorne, will eat my food, live in my home, and spend my money. In return, you will obey my every command.”

I leaned in close, my lips brushing his ear, in a whisper meant only for him: “The first thing I want you to do is kneel. And then, slowly, bundle by bundle, place every last one of those bills into the safe.”

His breathing hitched, his chest rising and falling violently.

“You’re dreaming!” He ground out three words through clenched teeth.

“Oh?” I straightened up, glancing around the opulent apartment. “Nice place, isn’t it? Best location in the city. Your parents’ dingy, dilapidated apartment, I heard it even leaks when it rains. And that little secretary of yours, what was her name again? Oh, Izzy Dubois. Heard she was so desperate to scrape together cash for you, she even dipped into her mom’s surgery fund. Last I heard, she’s practically living at the hospital, sobbing her eyes out.”

With every word, Julian’s face grew paler.

“You wouldn’t dare touch them!”

“And why wouldn’t I?” I grinned wider. “Julian, what leverage do you possibly have to negotiate with me now? Kneel, or don’t kneel. Your choice. My patience, however, isn’t exactly boundless.”

The air became deathly still.

I could distinctly hear his ragged breathing and the soft crackle of his knuckles as he clenched his fists.

Time ticked by, second by agonizing second.

Just when I thought he would rather die than comply, his knees buckled, and he dropped heavily to the cold floor.

That dull thud was the sweetest symphony my ears had ever graced in over two decades.

He knelt there, his back remaining ramrod straight, like an unyielding oak.

But he knelt nonetheless.

He reached out and began to pick up the bundles of cash, one by one. His movements were slow, each stack lifted as if he were being flayed alive, piece by agonizing piece.

I gazed down at him, a feeling of unprecedented exhilaration coursing through me.

Julian Thorne, you’ve finally reached this point.

The game of tormenting you has only just begun.

I pulled out my phone and snapped a photo of his humiliated, bowed back.

Then, I casually strolled over to the liquor cabinet, poured myself a glass of red wine, and leaned back on the sofa, savoring this exquisite scene.

He finally placed all the money into the safe. The moment he closed the cabinet door, he stood up, his bloodshot eyes fixed on me.

“Now, are you satisfied?”

“Satisfied?” I swirled the red wine in my glass. “This is just the beginning. Go. Fill the master bathroom’s tub for me. I need a bath.”

He didn’t move.

“What’s wrong?” I raised an eyebrow. “Do I need to repeat myself?”

He closed his eyes, then reopened them. All emotion had vanished, replaced by a profound, empty numbness.

He turned and silently walked towards the bedroom.

I watched his retreating back, the smile on my lips growing wider.