Chapter 1

Ever since I remarried Vincent, I had cured myself of jealousy.

I stopped being paranoid. I never crept out of bed in the middle of the night to check his phone anymore.

Even when he brought random girls up to our second-floor home theater on a whim, I would thoughtfully tell the housekeeper to send up dessert and red wine.

Everyone assumed I had sold my soul for his fortune, that I was just a pampered trophy wife with clipped wings, completely helpless without him.

Later, when I was seven months pregnant, Vincent ordered me to brave a raging snowstorm just to deliver clothes to an Instagram model. I agreed with a compliant smile.

Yet, seeing how calm I was, he grabbed my chin in a sudden burst of rage.

"Why aren't you jealous? Don't you love me anymore?"

Instead of throwing a fit, I met his gaze steadily.

"Didn't you say that to be your wife, I had to stop being so jealous?"

"Doesn't loving you mean giving you your freedom?"

"I gave you what you wanted. Why aren't you happy?"

At two in the morning, the winter wind howled outside.

Groggy, I picked up my buzzing phone, saw the missed call, and dialed right back.

Vincent answered. His voice sounded hoarse and low.

"Asleep?"

"Chloe wants to wear your designer kimono to soak in the hot spring. Bring it over now."

I answered mildly, "Okay."

There was a brief pause on the line before he hung up.

I sighed and struggled to sit up.

Hearing me move, Martha hurried into the bedroom and helped me out of bed.

"Ma'am, was that Mr. Hayes calling again?"

As my pregnancy progressed, even basic movement had become an ordeal.

The heavier my belly grew, the more inventive Vincent became with his demands.

One day, his executive assistant looked pale, so he made me brew soup and drive it to her. Another time, some starlet needed jewelry for a gala, so he demanded I bring my emerald necklace so she could look important.

At first, I had been so hurt and furious that I spent sleepless nights sobbing into my pillow until dawn.

Over time, numbness set in.

Eventually, even when Vincent told me to wash his mistress’s feet, I just forced a smile, held my pregnant belly, and slowly crouched down.

Martha looked at me with deep concern. "Ma'am, let me go instead. You’re heavily pregnant and the blizzard is terrible. I’m scared something will happen to you..."

I smiled bitterly. "Martha, don't you get it? He wants me to do it. If you go, he'll fire you on the spot."

"You're the only person left in this house who still talks to me."

I got up, put on an overcoat, and wrapped a scarf around my neck.

The chauffeur was already waiting by the curb. I took the garment bag and slid into the back seat.

The cold draft stung my face.

My hands were swollen from the pregnancy, making my diamond wedding band uncomfortably tight.

I looked down and tried to pull it off, but no matter how hard I yanked, it wouldn't budge.

Vincent had taken his ring off a long time ago.

After we remarried, he claimed wearing it drew too much attention and upset his side chicks, so he simply tossed it into a random drawer.

The car crawled through the snow for half an hour. The roads were slick, and the driver didn't dare speed.

Vincent's call came through again, sharp with irritation. "Why aren't you here yet?"

"Almost there," I murmured, watching the pitch-black night outside the window.

My mind drifted back years ago. Right after I graduated from college, Vincent was flying all over the country closing an acquisition.

To surprise me on graduation day, he showed up running a fever of a hundred and four, clutching a huge bouquet of sunflowers—my favorite.

He had looked completely worn out, but the moment he laid eyes on me, his fatigue vanished.

"Sweetheart, no matter how far apart we are, I’ll always come to you."

"It's just a little bug. Don't worry about me."

Back then, his love was fierce and unmistakable. But once he had me, he grew bored.

And now, I was bored, too.