Chapter 1

Five years of marriage. James Linkletter treated me like a docile songbird in a gilded cage, letting him do whatever he wanted—even bringing different women back to our marital bed.

The eighth time I caught him cheating, right in our bed, I calmly draped a coat over the terrified girl and asked her to leave.

He just leaned back against the headboard, blowing smoke rings and mocking me. "Claire Sanchez, your composure is truly impressive."

What he didn't know was that every bit of my patience was me weaving an inescapable web around him.

I waited for him to catch something nasty from his reckless indulgence, for his reputation to be ruined, for him to see me as his only lifeline.

And then, at his most desperate moment, I pulled out the divorce papers.

"James, your company, your money, everything you own—it's all mine now," I said.

That was when he finally realized that the bird in the cage wasn't me. It was him.

*****

It was midnight on our fifth wedding anniversary. I pushed open the door to the master bedroom, expecting a candlelit dinner or at least a half-hearted gift.

Instead, I was greeted by chaos and a nauseating mix of scents—cloying unfamiliar perfume, alcohol, and the lingering chaos of desire that hung heavy in the air.

The expensive silk sheets were bunched up, like a wrecked abstract painting. A young girl was huddled in the corner of the bed, clutching the blanket tightly around herself, only her terrified, deer-like eyes peeking out.

She looked barely twenty, her face still carried traces of innocence, but now her cheeks burned with fear and embarrassment.

And my husband, James, lounged against the headboard, his toned upper body exposed. He looked completely unfazed, not even a flicker of surprise.

He picked up a cigarette from the nightstand, lit it, took a long drag, and blew out a slow stream of smoke. Smoke curled around his handsome yet indifferent face, blurring the cold amusement in his eyes.

It was the eighth time now.

I could recall each one vividly. Different women, same scene, same shame.

The first time, I was shaking all over, like someone had dumped a bucket of ice water on me. I completely lost it, rushing at him, but all I got was his cold blame.

The second time, I learned to keep quiet. I stood there, eyes red, like a sad statue. He acted like I was invisible, taking his time to get dressed.

By the third, fourth time... I started to go numb. The pain in my heart went from sharp and tearing to dull, and now I was completely empty.

Love, the thing that once meant everything to me, had been worn away by his betrayals, leaving nothing behind, not even ashes.

My heartbeat was steady—steadier than ever. I wasn't here to bust him. I was here to confirm things, to add another insignificant witness to the web I'd been weaving.

The girl trembled under the blanket, her eyes flicking between me and James, pleading for mercy.

I ignored James completely. My gaze fell on the girl's clothes scattered by the bed—a thin slip dress. Night was chilly. If she left in that, she'd freeze before she reached the back door.

I turned, took a cashmere coat from my wardrobe, walked over, and offered it to her. My movements were gentle, my voice calm, as if she were a guest who'd wandered into the wrong room.

"Here, put this on. Use the back door. Stay warm," I said.

The girl froze, staring at me in disbelief, like I was some kind of monster. Her hands shook as she took the coat, the soft, expensive fabric feeling like it weighed a ton in her grasp.

She threw it on haphazardly, scrambled off the bed, grabbed her clothes and bag, and bolted out of the room without daring to look back.

Her footsteps faded down the hallway.

It was just me and James left in the room, the air thick with lingering smoke.

He finally spoke, his voice dripping with lazy, condescending amusement.

"Claire, you really know how to keep up appearances as the main wife," James said, flicking ash from his cigarette, a mocking smile tugging at his lips. "I thought you'd go off like some jealous shrew—pull her hair, or maybe cry and beg me.

"But no, you actually gave her your coat. What, worried she'd catch a cold and mess up my mood next time?"

Every word out of his mouth aimed right at my old wounds. But those wounds had dried up ages ago. Now, all that was left was a cold, unfeeling scar.

I stared at him—the man I'd poured ten years of my life into. From broke college days to the tech mogul with a billion-dollar empire, I was there for every struggle.

Every startup document for Linkletter Group, every legal mess he avoided, all had my fingerprints on them.

I gave up my dream of being a top lawyer, handed him all the glory, and played the role of the pampered wife in the background—just so he could shine.

But he really believed I was nothing more than a caged bird, a canary that couldn't live without him.

"James," I said, my voice steady. "We've been married for five years."

He snorted, a mocking grin on his lips. "So what? You think this anniversary means I should treat you better?

"Claire, don't be so naive. I married you and gave you more money than you could ever spend. That's all you get. Don't go hoping for anything else."

He crushed out his cigarette, those eyes that once made my heart skip now cold and impatient. He was convinced I'd never walk away from the life he gave me, convinced I'd stay for my family's pride.

I didn't say another word. I stared at him, etching his arrogant face into my memory.

Then I turned and walked out of that sickening room, quietly closing the door behind me.

The moment the door clicked shut, it cut off his contemptuous gaze.

The hallway was dim, casting my shadow long across the floor. Leaning against the cold wall, I pulled out my phone and quickly typed a message to the contact labeled "Ethan Blake." [The fish is in the net. Prepare to pull the line.]

The glow from the screen illuminated my emotionless face.

James got it all wrong.

I never craved his love.

What I wanted was to take everything away from him.