Chapter 1

Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, the rain poured down in torrents, pounding against the glass with a heavy, muffled rhythm.

Jolin Eaton stood at the counter, serving up the last plate of her carefully crafted beef Wellington. In the center of the table, seven red candles burned quietly, their flickering light dancing across her silk red dress.

Today was their seventh wedding anniversary.

She'd been busy since dawn, picking out the freshest ingredients from the pier herself and spending five hours nonstop in the kitchen.

The crisp sound of the lock turning rang out from the entryway. Jolin smiled as she took off her apron and went to meet him.

"Edward, you're back," she said.

Edward Sampson pushed the door open, a gust of cold air following him in. He didn't even change into his slipper, nor did he spare a glance at the flickering candlelight on the table.

He tossed his briefcase onto the sofa, pulled a stack of papers from inside his suit jacket, and slammed them down on the table.

A loud smack echoed.

The papers brushed against the delicate white porcelain plate, their edges smeared with deep red sauce, like a jagged wound.

"Take a look. Sign it when you're done," Edward said, his voice cold as ice, with a hint of impatience and frustration.

Jolin's smile froze. She lowered her head, and her eyes landed on the top page.

It wasn't a gift for their anniversary. It was a prenatal checkup report.

The name on the report was Ivy Knowles.

The report said, "12 weeks pregnant."

Underneath the report were several crystal-clear photos. In them, a man wore a tender, lingering smile as he protectively wrapped his arm around a young woman's waist, guiding her into the OB-GYN clinic.

That man was Edward, the husband Jolin had been married to for seven years.

And the woman was the secretary Edward had brought into the company half a year ago.

"Ivy's pregnant. She's carrying my child," Edward said, ripping off his tie. He marched over to the liquor cabinet, poured himself a strong whiskey, and knocked it back in one go.

Jolin felt her fingertips go numb. She slowly sat down, running her fingers over the cold report. Even she was surprised at how calm she sounded. "So what?"

"So, we're getting a divorce," Edward said, turning around and staring at her through the haze of whiskey. "Jolin, I've treated you well these past seven years.

"The villa is yours, and I'll give you another 1.5 million dollars. Just be content. Ivy can't wait anymore, and I won't let my kid be born without a proper name."

*****

Jolin looked up, meeting Edward's gaze. Those eyes were icy and filled with indifference.

Once, those eyes burned with passion. Seven years ago, when the Sampson Group was facing disaster, she worked around the clock, shorting their rivals and masterfully manipulating stock prices from the shadows, pulling the Sampson family back from ruin.

To repay Edward for saving her life back then, she willingly set aside her own ambitions, stepping back to become a devoted wife, quietly cooking and tending to the home.

"1.5 million dollars?" Jolin let out a bitter laugh, her voice echoing through the empty dining room. "Edward, in these seven years, the Sampson Group's value has skyrocketed twentyfold. The bags and cars you've splurged on Ivy probably cost more than 1.5 million dollars, right?"

Edward looked like he'd been stabbed in his pride. He slammed his glass down, the glass crashing against the marble, echoing harshly.

"You actually dare bring up money?" Edward strode over, towering above her, his eyes full of disgust. "What else have you done these past seven years besides blowing through my cash? All you do is play house, eat dessert, and go shopping.

"You really think you can keep the Sampson Group running by flapping your lips? I'm the one out there, busting my ass, burning the midnight oil to keep this empire alive!"

Edward leaned in close, his tone laced with humiliation. "Jolin, without the Sampson family, you wouldn't even be able to afford a meal. Take what you can get and quit. If you keep pushing, you'll end up with nothing. You won't even have a place to cry your eyes out."

Jolin stared at the face she used to know so well. Now it felt like she was looking at a total stranger. Whatever warmth she had left for him vanished completely.

It turned out he really believed the Sampson Group got to where it was today because he worked himself to the bone.

Edward forgot about all those late nights, when Jolin would sneak into his study after he was asleep, patching up his mess of business proposals on the computer.

He forgot about those make-or-break acquisitions when she was the one connecting the dots behind the scenes, helping him sidestep every financial landmine.

"Edward, do you really believe the Sampson Group's success is all your doing?" Jolin asked quietly.

"What else? You think it was your steak that made it happen?" Edward scoffed, pointing at the now-cold beef on the table. "Jolin, get real. You've been out of the game for seven years. Besides your pretty face and playing house, what else do you even have?"

Jolin lowered her gaze, hiding the cold glint that flashed in her eyes.

She reached out, her fingertips brushing over the signature line on the divorce papers.

"Fine. As you wish," she said.

She picked up the pen, her signature bold and decisive, without a trace of hesitation.

Edward watched her sign her name without a hint of hesitation. For a brief moment, an odd sense of emptiness crept into his chest. But it was quickly swept away by the rush of finally being able to move on with Ivy.

"Ten o'clock tomorrow morning at the city hall," Edward said, snatching up the divorce papers and striding toward the door without so much as a glance back. "I'll be with Ivy tonight. You figure things out for yourself."

The front door slammed shut behind him.

Jolin sat alone in the lingering glow of candlelight, picked up the knife beside her, and slowly sliced into the cold steak.

Bright red juices seeped out, as if she were performing a solemn funeral rite.

She pulled out her phone and dialed a number she hadn't used in years.

The moment the call connected, a man's deep voice came through, thick with barely contained excitement. "J, you finally called me back."

"Dylan," Jolin said, her voice eerily calm as she stared out at the storm clouds rolling outside. "Unfreeze those secret accounts for me. And also, pick out a dress for tomorrow's gala."

"You're coming back?" Dylan Moore's voice dropped, a hint of gravity in his tone.

"No," Jolin replied, a faint, almost imperceptible smile tugging at her lips. "I'm going hunting."