Chapter 1

When the grandmother of my ex-husband, Victor Brooks, realized that, no matter how mesmerizing I looked, Victor was still hopelessly obsessed with my sister, she apologized.

She transferred me 6 billion dollars and shipped me off overseas to study.

I spent three years sampling everything abroad had to offer, living wild and free.

Three years later, I came back with a kid in tow.

To my surprise, I ran into Victor again at a party just days after I got back.

Everyone at the party started gossiping. "Is she back to patch things up with Victor? Didn't expect she'd show up with his kid."

Victor sat across from me, silent, but I could see his eyes were rimmed with red.

I shook my head and showed off the diamond ring on my finger, saying to everyone, "Sorry to disappoint, but this ring wasn't from him."

*****

Victor Brooks was the prodigy everyone admired since he was a kid.

But I was the only one who ever saw him, at seventeen, standing under the shade of a tree.

He quietly reached out, his fingers brushing against my sister, Layla's shadow.

However, when I turned twenty, the Brooks family picked ordinary me to be Victor's bride in an arranged marriage.

Layla, devastated, left the country.

For the first time ever, Victor broke all the rules. On our wedding day, he followed her overseas.

Five years later, he showed up again, bringing the pregnant Layla back.

Maybe out of guilt, Victor invited me to dinner.

After we ate, he politely asked how life had been and if I was seeing anyone.

I shook my head.

His phone rang, the noise covering my reply. "I don't have a boyfriend. I'm married."

He picked up his phone to answer.

Outside the floor-to-ceiling window, my three-year-old son Connor waved at me with a big grin, his little backpack bouncing as he ran.

We'd just finished eating barbecue.

On Victor Brooks' phone, a voice came through.

The cloying voice on the other end was unmistakably , Layla Gray's. She sounded spoiled and demanding, just like I remembered.

Her voice rose, just loud enough for me to catch. "I'm right outside. Come out already."

Victor's grip tightened on his phone until his knuckles turned pale. He shot me an awkward look, a flicker of guilt in his eyes.

I looked away, out the window. My son, Connor Hughes, was outside, waving a sticker at me. His cheeks were flushed with excitement.

Outside the restaurant, the leaves had already turned golden. The evening breeze sent the yellow leaves fluttering down, scattering everywhere.

Victor's voice was gentle, probably trying to soothe Layla and explain things.

I stood up. I pointed outside to let him know I needed to leave.

Victor lifted his gaze to meet mine. Then he looked out the window at Connor, his eyes clouded with confusion.

I walked out of the restaurant.

Connor came running and crashed right into my arms. He excitedly showed me the sticker he'd won at kindergarten.

I reached up and gently patted his head. "You're awesome, Connor," I said.

Behind me, Victor's voice sounded even more surprised. "Aria, you became a preschool teacher?"

I held onto Connor's hand and said quietly, "This is my son."

Behind me, a woman snorted with laughter.

I turned and saw Layla practically glued to Victor's side.

Layla was always the one who got everything she wanted. Even after five years, she hadn't changed a bit, still loud and full of life. Except now, she was pregnant.

Layla clung to Victor's arm like she owned him, chin up and staring me down.

She said, "Aria, even if you're still mad that Victor ditched you for me back then, you don't have to go as far as lying about having a kid this big, you know."

Connor clenched his fists, scowling at Layla. "I'm Mom's real kid," he said, voice full of indignation. "Mom and Dad got married, and then I was born."

Layla covered her mouth, her shoulders shaking with laughter.

Victor's expression stayed calm, just like always.

After a long pause, he finally spoke. "Aria, you've really changed since five years ago," he said.

He meant that the quiet, obedient Aria from back then would never have come up with a story about having a three-year-old son.

The nanny pulled up in the car.

Without another word, I took Connor's hand and got in, leaving without looking back.

On the way home, Connor suddenly asked, "Mom, is that man your friend?"

I pulled him onto my lap and shook my head. "Not really."

He looked up at me, curiosity shining in his eyes. "Then why do you keep his photo in your book, Mom?" he asked.

A cool breeze slipped in through the crack in the window. I froze for a second.

I thought I'd thrown everything away five years ago. But there was just too much stuff about Victor back then. No matter how carefully I cleaned up, something always slipped through the cracks.

Connor went on, "But Mom, the guy in the photo wore blue and white, and he's holding a huge trophy. He looks way younger than that man."

Bits and pieces of that photo came back to me. My mind wandered back to those days.

Victor was a total prodigy. Anyone who ever met him said so.

He snagged a gold medal in piano when he was just seven, and by eleven, he'd already won the national middle school track and field championship.

By thirteen, he was already in university, majoring in quantum chemistry.

At sixteen, he led his team to discover a new type of nanostructure and won a 300-thousand-dollar international prize.

He had no weak spots.

But this genius, who always seemed untouchable, was once with me on a mountaintop years ago.

He crouched down in front of me and gently offered me a candy.

Then he gave me a piggyback ride, carrying me down from the top of the mountain.

My life had never been great.