Chapter 1

The day Isaac Stewart betrayed me, I shattered our wedding photo.

After that, I dated five boy toys, each one better at pampering me than he ever was.

When the last one left, I stood in the doorway with the divorce papers, blocking his way.

"Had enough fun?" Isaac didn't even look up from his tablet. "Weren't those boys good enough at pampering you, Mrs. Stewart?"

He slowly adjusted his cufflinks, a mocking smile on his lips. "Too bad I don't have time to play along with your little act tonight."

I looked at Isaac in his immaculate suit, and suddenly, I couldn't help but find it laughable.

"Isaac," I slapped the divorce papers against the door. "This time, I'm serious."

In the mirror, we barely recognized ourselves anymore.

The motion sensor light in the entryway stayed on for three extra seconds before finally going out.

The air still lingered with the cheap citrus cologne from the boy who'd just left.

He was only twenty-two, his skin taut and flawless, not a single wrinkle at the corners of his eyes when he smiled. As he walked out, he brushed his cheek against mine, sticky and reluctant, complaining that I wouldn't let him spend the night.

I rubbed the spot hard with the back of my hand until it stung and turned red.

The click of the door lock echoed through the massive duplex, sharp and jarring, like a gunshot in the emptiness, but not enough to stir a single soul.

Only one floor lamp was on in the living room, casting a dim, yellowish glow, thick as fog, barely cutting through the darkness.

Isaac sat enveloped in that haze.

He wasn't even in casual clothes. His dark gray shirt was perfectly pressed, not a wrinkle out of place, the top button undone to reveal a sharp, pale collarbone. His tablet rested on his lap, fingers sliding across the screen, barely making a sound.

He didn't even bother to look up at me.

It was as if the boy who'd rushed out, shirt still untucked, was another cockroach scurrying by.

I stood in the shadows, my stomach twisting with bitterness. Over the past year, I'd cycled through five, from a personal trainer to an unknown guitarist, and I'd deliberately let their scent linger in every corner of this house.

But Isaac was like a man who'd lost his sense of smell.

I drew in a deep breath, the citrus cologne from someone else still hanging in the air, tangled with Isaac's usual crisp cedar scent, a nauseating blend that made my stomach turn.

"Isaac," I called out.

The faint sound of his fingers swiping across the screen paused, but only for a second.

He didn't answer. The blue light from the tablet reflected off his glasses, casting a cold, blank zone across his lenses. He seemed to be reviewing some crucial financial report, or maybe replying to an important message.

Being ignored like this was even more suffocating than if he'd slapped me. He'd acted like this a year ago, when I found that pearl earring under his passenger seat.

There was no explanation and no attempt to cover it up. He didn't even bother to make up a lousy excuse.

I walked over to the coffee table, my shadow falling across his tablet and blocking his view. "I want a divorce."

The words didn't echo as I imagined. Instead, they dropped into the silence like a pebble tossed into the ocean, instantly swallowed by the crushing quiet.

Isaac finally stirred.

He slowly locked the tablet. The black screen reflected my pale face with slightly smudged makeup.

"Mrs. Stewart," His voice was husky, careless, with a magnetic undertone, like a cello string gone damp. "Are you done making a scene?"

He didn't even bother to get up.

His eyes, hidden behind rimless glasses, narrowed slightly, not focusing on me, but drifting past my shoulder, lingering on the pair of men's sneakers still left by the entryway.

A faint curve tugged at his lips; it wasn't really a smile, more like a detached, condescending look.

His tone was unsettlingly calm with no anger, no jealousy, only a nonchalant ease, almost as if he were making small talk about whether the wine had been left open too long. "Those boys giving you trouble?

"So the ever-graceful Mrs. Stewart got upset by those boys, and now you're back to use me for entertainment?"

My nails pressed hard into my palm.

Amusement? A whole year of spiraling, three hundred sixty-five days of hating myself, waking up sick in the arms of strangers again and again, and in his eyes, it was nothing but amusement.

He reduced my revenge to nothing more than childish drama.

Isaac lifted his wrist and glanced at his Vacheron Constantin. The cold gleam off the watch face caught my eyes, sharp and almost painful.

"Too bad, I don't have time to play your little games tonight." He stood up, and his shadow instantly engulfed me.

At six foot two, he exuded an oppressive authority that seemed to shrink the room. He calmly adjusted the cufflink on his left wrist, the metal making a crisp, decisive click between his fingers.

Then he walked straight to the door, his long legs carrying him right past me, as if I wasn't even there.

It was like I was nothing more than a piece of furniture out of place.

"I've got something lined up," he tossed over his shoulder, his footsteps steady and unhurried.

In that instant, a rush of images flooded my mind.

The woman who owned that pearl earring, maybe the one whose perfume lingered after her, was waiting for him in some upscale club or hidden apartment.

All of them sat there, waiting for him to dispense that so-called righteous tenderness.

I didn't get it. I really couldn't wrap my head around it.

He was the one who betrayed our marriage, the one who tore up our vows, and yet he walks around like he's got all the moral high ground.

As if keeping a wife at home and a parade of lovers outside was how the world worked, and I was the only one out of line for fighting back.

I threw myself in his way, my back hitting the doorframe with a thud.

From behind me, I drew out the stack of divorce papers, like a rusty knife, wedged between us.

Isaac stopped. This time, his eyes finally met mine, really met mine.

We were less than four inches apart. In his eyes, I saw the ruined version of myself staring back with my hair disheveled, lipstick smeared, nothing but ashes in my gaze.

"Isaac," I said, my voice steady now. My heart was frozen solid. "I'm not here to cause drama."

I raised the divorce papers, the pages quivering slightly in the air. "We don't have to keep hurting each other."

The hallway lights were bright, casting a sharp shadow along the bridge of Isaac's nose.

He lowered his gaze, his eyes lingering on the corner of the papers. There, in bold, black letters, was the divorce agreement, like a death sentence.

But he didn't take the papers, and he didn't tear them up in anger.

He let out a soft laugh. It was so brief, barely more than a breath, gone before it could even land. "Hurting each other?"