Chapter 1

The night my husband Andrew Quinn heard his first love Monica Lane got divorced, he booked a flight out of the country.

Our housekeeper Linda secretly sent me his flight number.

I glanced at it and couldn't help but laugh.

What a coincidence—we were on the same flight.

*****‍

Before takeoff, I scrolled through my phone, trying to get sleepy.

Linda sent me several messages, which was unusual for her.

When I opened them, Andrew's flight info popped up first.

I sighed and replied: [Linda, that's his privacy.]

I never really tracked Andrew's whereabouts. What I cared about was the household allowance that hit my account every month like clockwork.

Linda replied: [Ms. Evans! Look closely—Mr. Quinn is flying to Verdantia!]

I pushed my sunglasses up and checked the flight info again.

We really were on the same flight. Awkward.

I peeked at his seat number.

Even big-shot CEOs fly economy sometimes, apparently.

I'd only found out a few days ago that Andrew's first love, Monica, had divorced.

I figured he'd finish his work before rushing to her side.

But he couldn't wait.

Just like I couldn't wait to get to Verdantia myself.

Maybe that was the kind of connection married couples shared.

After a grueling flight, we finally landed.

Everyone scrambled for their luggage.

I traveled light—just a small handbag.

I'd shipped most of my things to Verdantia two weeks earlier and had someone set up my apartment ahead of time.

To avoid running into Andrew, I slipped through the VIP lane.

I checked the time—earlier than expected.

I threw on my sunglasses and settled onto a bench in the arrivals lounge, waiting for my ride.

Soon, an airport shuttle arrived. People lined up in orderly fashion, loading their luggage onto the bus.

In the crowd, I spotted a familiar figure.

Andrew was in a sharp suit, collar undone, sweat beading on his forehead as he hauled two massive suitcases.

Back home, I'd received a bunch of packages I assumed were care packages from friends.

When I opened them, some were health supplements, but most were baby supplies—food, clothes, toys.

Andrew said his friend must've sent them to the wrong address.

But now I realized there was no mix-up—he was preparing to play daddy to someone else's kid.

Even knowing my husband was running off to his first love, I wasn't angry.

Obviously, I'd never loved him.

For Andrew, our three-year marriage was a nightmare—nothing but a business arrangement.

For me, it was simply the fastest, most effective way to save my family's company.

A marriage on paper. Anyone who'd pass up such an easy solution would be an idiot.

He was my meal ticket—my golden goose.

Four years ago, I was in Verdantia working on my master's in painting when my parents called.

They launched into an explanation about the company's situation, throwing around business terms I couldn't understand.

I rubbed my forehead. "Alright, can you just tell me something I can actually follow?"

Anyway, our family business was drowning in debt, and without a solution, we'd have to liquidate everything.

My parents rarely discussed company matters with me—they knew I didn't care.

I could guess what they wanted.

They said I could marry Andrew Quinn. After a moment's thought, I agreed.

I put my studies on hold, then flew home.

Once back, my parents briefed me on the Quinn family.

Andrew's father died young. With sharp instincts, ruthless tactics, and major help from his mother Margaret Quinn, Andrew had propelled the Quinns into the upper ranks of the business world.

But to old-money families, the Quinns were just nouveau riche—a flash in the pan that wouldn't last.

That was why they rarely got invited to elite events, and most associations wouldn't even consider them.

If the Quinns wanted to expand their empire, what they really needed was the right connections.

My parents knew exactly what both families wanted—we needed cash, they needed connections.

The catch? Andrew was completely obsessed with Monica, his one true love. He'd even sworn never to marry anyone else.

Even after she married and moved overseas, he stayed single, never dating anyone—all for her.

So approaching Andrew directly about the marriage was hopeless.

Our only option was his mother, Margaret.