Chapter 1

The morning after I married Howard Rivers, he posted a photo with Charlotte Quinn. They stood close together, smiling as if nothing had changed. Beneath the picture, he wrote a line that drew all the attention he wanted.

[A childhood love. Do you envy us?]

I looked at it for a moment. Then I tapped the heart. The post disappeared almost at once.

My phone rang. Howard's voice came through sharp and cold. I could hear Charlotte beside him, crying into his shoulder. In front of his whole family, he called me unreasonable. He said I was difficult, that I had no sense of humor, that I ruined a harmless joke.

I listened without interrupting. Then I ended the call. A few minutes later, their profiles changed. Matching photos. Matching backgrounds. The two of them pressed close together, as if they belonged to the same world and always had.

There was a time when I would have run to him. I would have stood in front of them and demanded an explanation. I would have cried and refused to leave until he gave me one.

But this time, I felt nothing like that. I was tired.

*****

The last glass shattered against the floor. I stood there, looking at the mess. And for the first time in a long while, I felt at ease.

My phone kept buzzing. It rattled against the table again and again, stubborn and loud. I did not need to check to know who it was. Howard never ran out of things to say when he was blaming me.

The noise grated on my nerves.

I picked up the phone and threw it down into the broken glass. The screen flickered. Then it went dark, cracked beyond repair.

It was a brand new iPhone 15 Pro Max. I had bought it not long ago. Before, I would have felt the loss at once. I would have told myself it was too expensive to waste.

Now, I did not care at all.

The wife of the president of Rivers Group, and still counting the cost of a phone.

It sounded ridiculous when I thought about it.

But Howard had always believed the same thing. In his eyes, I came from nothing. That was all I would ever be. Someone who did not deserve fine things.

Charlotte never softened her words either. She had once looked me up and down with a faint smile and said, "Do you really think a designer dress can turn you into a Quinn?"

Her gaze had lingered, cool and certain. "You were raised in the countryside for over ten years. You grew up in a place like that. No matter what you wear, you will never have what I have."

I stepped forward without thinking. The glass shifted under my feet with a faint crunch. At first, I felt nothing. Then the pain came. I stopped and looked down. Only then did I realize I was barefoot.

Thin shards had cut into my skin. Blood spread across the floor in small, uneven prints. And the first thought that crossed my mind was not the pain.

If Howard saw this, he would be angry again. He would say I was making a scene. He would tell me to stop acting like the world revolved around me. He might even say I would be better off dead.

The lock at the door beeped. A second later, the lights came on. Howard stepped inside and froze as he took in the mess.

His expression tightened at once.

"Olivia, what are you doing now?"

His voice carried that familiar impatience. "We have been married for two days. Can you not behave yourself?"

He said it so easily. He knew it had only been two days, and yet he had rushed off to be with my sister without a second thought.

I felt the truth of it, but it did not stir anything in me this time. I did not cry. I did not ask him why.

I only said, in a calm voice, "I am sorry. The power went out earlier, and I made a mess by accident. I will clean it up."

I lowered myself to the floor and began picking up the broken pieces.

Howard watched me for a moment. His frown eased, just a little. Then he noticed the blood. His tone shifted, almost awkward. "Let the maid handle it later."

I did not stop. My hands kept moving, slow and steady. He added, as if to explain himself, "Charlotte just came out of surgery. She is not in a stable mood right now. You should not take it to heart. You are her sister, so you should be more understanding."

Understanding. I turned the word over in my mind, as if I had never heard it before. Then I looked up at him, standing there in the light, and tried to understand what it was supposed to mean.

He must have taken my silence for surrender. He stepped closer and reached for my hand, as if he were offering comfort.

"Olivia," he said, softening his voice, "I know you had a hard childhood. You went through a lot. But if it were not for Charlotte, you would still be stuck in that poor, forgotten place. You should be grateful to her, not jealous like this."

A laugh slipped out before I could stop it.

"You think I should be grateful to Charlotte?" I looked at him, and there was something almost amused in my eyes.

"What exactly should I thank her for? For taking the life that was meant to be mine, or for taking my bone marrow?"