Chapter 1
This was my third year married to Nathan Miller.
In those three years, the phrase he'd said most was, "Deal with it yourself."
I thought he was cold by nature, but then I saw the way he looked at another woman.
Turned out he could smile, could be gentle, could even murmur her name in his sleep.
However, that someone wasn't me.
*****
My name was Lola Garcia, and I was twenty-eight.
The day I married Nathan, it was pouring rain.
Sitting in the wedding car, I couldn't help but wonder if the heavens were crying for me.
After all, I couldn't shed a single tear myself.
Before the wedding, my mom told me, "Lola, you're lucky to marry into the Miller family. They're way above your league. Don't be dramatic and don't stir up trouble. Just behave and live quietly."
I did as she said.
I'd always done what she said, ever since I was a kid.
The wedding was simple. Nathan's side had a handful of tables of relatives, but for me, it was just my mom and my stepdad.
Nathan stood in the hotel lobby, waiting for me. He was dressed in a sharp suit, his expression cold, like he was here for a meeting he couldn't skip.
I walked toward him in a rented wedding dress and heels that didn't fit.
He didn't even look at me.
The emcee said, "The groom may kiss the bride."
He leaned down and brushed his lips against my forehead. His lips were dry and cold, like a dried leaf skimming over my skin.
That was how my marriage began.
In three years of marriage, I doubt Nathan and I had said more than a thousand words to each other.
It wasn't silent treatment, and we never argued. We just... had nothing to talk about.
He'd leave at seven in the morning and come back around ten at night, sometimes even later.
When he got home, he'd shower, scroll through his phone, then turn off the lights and go to sleep.
I slept on the left side of the bed, he slept on the right, with about two feet between us... and an invisible wall.
I'd tried making conversation with him before.
"Busy day at work?" I asked.
"So-so," Nathan replied.
"Have you eaten dinner?"
"Yeah."
"I want to swap out the painting in the living room. What do you think—"
"Deal with it yourself."
Every sentence from him ended with a period.
Eventually, I stopped trying.
We were like strangers living under the same roof, sharing a bed, a fridge, and a washing machine.
He never touched the yogurt I bought in the fridge, and his shirts and my clothes never mixed in the wash. I got used to all that, too.
The lady from next door always said, "Your husband is tall, handsome, and a vice president at a big company. You really hit the jackpot."
I replied, "Yeah, I guess I did."
But people who were really lucky probably didn't lie awake at night, staring at the ceiling, listening to the person next to them breathe, and wondering if he ever liked me, even a tiny bit.
I first met Nathan when I was a sophomore in college.
I was working at a coffee shop, and he was a regular. He'd always order a black coffee, no sugar, no cream, and sit by the window, working on his laptop.
He was good-looking, the kind of good-looking that made one nervous to look at him.
One time, I was bringing him his coffee and accidentally spilled a little on the tray.
"Sorry," I said.
"It's fine," he replied, his voice deep and gentle, like the soft hum of a cello.
That was all it took for me to remember him.
Later, I found out he was five years older than me and worked at a company nearby.
Then I learned his last name was Miller, and he was the company's founder's son.
Once, I found a notebook at his usual spot, ran after him to give it back, and he glanced at me and said, "Thanks."
I remembered that look for a long time.
It wasn't gentle, it wasn't moved. He simply gave me a quiet, steady look.
It was like I was a passerby, just part of the scenery, someone not worth a second of his time.
But somehow, I fell for him anyway.
When my mom found out, she said, "Lola, he's out of your league."
She said it matter-of-factly, like she was stating the facts.
I'd known since I was little that I wasn't good enough for a lot of things. Not for a new backpack, not for a pretty dress, not for the easy, proud smiles other kids wore.
So I got used to it.
I got used to not being good enough, to never fighting for anything, to burying everything I wanted so deep inside that it eventually died out.
But my love for Nathan never died out.
He lingered in my heart for years, like some stubborn plant thriving in the shadows, growing bigger and bigger in the darkest corners.
Things got complicated after that.
I didn't want to get into the details, but in the end, the Miller family needed an arranged marriage, and I was the convenient choice.
Nathan's mom picked me. It was not because I was anything special, but because I was quiet, well-behaved, and wouldn't stir up any drama for their family.
She had dinner with my mom, and just like that, everything was decided.
No one ever asked if I wanted to get married.
No one ever cared if Nathan wanted this marriage, either.