Chapter 1

In the third year of my marriage to Lionel Hoffman, I was just twenty-one, while he was already thirty-five.

Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, the city was coming alive under a haze of golden lights. I stood in the kitchen, absentmindedly rubbing the edge of my apron, my gaze lingering on the candlelit dinner I'd arranged so carefully.

I'd spent three whole days just for this anniversary.

I'd gone all out—steak flown in from Jascana, his favorite Lafite red wine, and even scented candles specially bought from Asmouton.

I even wore the black dress he gave me last year, though honestly, it was a size too big and the straps just wouldn't stay on my shoulders.

My phone lit up—Lionel had messaged me. He said, [Got called into a meeting last minute. I'll be late.]

I took a shaky breath and bit my lip, sliding the steak—already reheated twice—back into the oven to keep it warm.

It wasn't the first time he was home late, and it wouldn't be the last.

By the time the clock hit ten, I finally heard the sound of keys turning—Lionel stepped inside, his suit impeccable, tie slightly loosened, carrying a faint trace of alcohol with him.

"Still up?" he said, giving the dining table a quick look and frowning ever so slightly. "I told you I might be late."

"It's our anniversary," I said, hurrying over to grab his briefcase and forcing a smile onto my face. "Should I reheat the steak for you, or do you want to take a shower first?"

He rubbed his temples, then casually fished a deep blue velvet box from his suit pocket and tossed it onto the couch. "Here. It's for you."

I popped open the box and found a diamond bracelet, glittering in the light. It matched the necklace he'd given me last year—definitely a set.

His secretary probably picked it out for him, just like before.

"Thank you, I really like it," I said softly, going up on my tiptoes to kiss his cheek. But before my lips could reach him, he was already turning away and heading straight to the bathroom.

"I'm going to shower first. Busy day at the office—I'm tired," he said.

Listening to the water running in the bathroom, I gingerly fastened the bracelet around my wrist and took a photo under the light. At least when I post this tomorrow on social media, everyone would envy me for having such a considerate, wealthy husband.

When the water shut off, I quickly pulled the steak out of the oven and plated it. Lionel walked out, towel-drying his hair. When he saw me still busy in the kitchen, he let out a sigh. "Don't bother with it. I already ate at the reception."

"Oh." I set down the fork, feeling a bit lost. "Well, would you like some wine? I specially picked it out for you—"

"Anne," he cut me off, "I've got an early meeting tomorrow. I just want to get some sleep."

I nodded in silence and began packing away the untouched dinner. Lionel settled onto the couch and flipped open his laptop, the pale glow of the screen highlighting his striking features.

At thirty-five, he was even more mature and charismatic than when we'd married three years ago—the faint lines at the corners of his eyes only added to the aura of authority he carried, like he was born to lead.

I quietly cleared the table and was about to head to the kitchen to wash the dishes when Lionel's phone started buzzing nonstop. It was sitting right there on the coffee table, the screen lighting up. I couldn't help but glance over.

It was a message from Shawn Sandoval. [Mr. Hoffman, how did the project meeting go tonight? But honestly, you seemed a bit distracted. Were you thinking about your young wife back home?]

Lionel's reply made my blood freeze. [Don't even mention her. Anne's only actually got her youth—nothing else. She's nowhere near as gorgeous or sophisticated as Lydia.]

My hand shook so hard that the plate nearly slipped from my grasp. I managed to steady it just in time, holding my breath. Somehow, I couldn't help but glance at the screen again.

Shawn replied: [Isn't it always like that—older guys with younger wives? At least having her with you makes you look good in front of everyone.]

Lionel: [Honestly, I'm starting to regret tying the knot. It would've cost way less to just keep a young girl. Now if I get divorced, it'll cost me a fortune.]

Suddenly, my vision blurred, and hot tears splashed onto the back of my hand. Only then did I realize I was crying. I hurriedly wiped them away and fled to the kitchen, turning on the faucet full blast so the rushing water could drown out the sound of my shattered breathing.

So that was all I was to him—a kept girl, nothing more. He regretted marrying me every single day. All this time, I thought our marriage was something to be proud of, but to him, it was just a cold calculation of pros and cons.

The water washed away the exquisite sauce from the plate, just like it washed away all my foolish dreams. I looked up at my reflection in the kitchen window—pale face, red, swollen eyes, and my thin shoulders lost in the baggy pajamas. At twenty-one, I looked like a lost child.

Right then, it all suddenly made sense to me.

I dried my hands, crept into the study, and booted up the computer. My fingers flew across the keys as I typed "adult university enrollment requirements."

If Lionel only ever loved my youth, what would I have left when it was gone? It was about time I started planning for my own future.

Outside, the city lights sparkled on, but deep inside, the part of me that used to hope had gone dark, never to be rekindled.