Chapter 1

In our fourth year of marriage, Julian Thompson's young executive assistant launched their relationship on Instagram with a cozy photo.

The caption read: [Here's to the rest of our lives together.]

I tapped the heart icon. Instantly, the post was deleted.

Barely a minute later, Julian called. I could hear him tenderly comforting his sobbing assistant before he pivoted to screaming at me, calling me petty and completely unreasonable.

Once he hung up, both of their WhatsApp profile pictures updated to that exact same sweet, couple photo.

The old me would have stormed into Julian's corporate headquarters, flipped desks, and caused an absolute scene until they deleted every trace of those pictures.

But this time, I was just so unbelievably exhausted.

*****

Unlike all the times before, I didn't shed a single tear.

I calmly began packing my bags. There wasn't much that actually belonged to me in this house anyway; even my wardrobe consisted of the same few outfits on rotation.

It was almost laughable. Julian was the CEO of a Fortune 500 company, yet as his wife, I lived a life worse than a live-in housekeeper.

Julian was a textbook chauvinist.

Under his controlling thumb, I had resigned from a highly promising management track just to stay home, scrubbing floors without a drop of makeup on.

I had to sync my entire life to his corporate schedule, waking up at dawn to make him breakfast or dragging myself out of bed at two in the morning to blend him a hangover smoothie when he stumbled in from networking events.

I used to love him so deeply that I naively believed that if I just sacrificed enough, he would inevitably love me back.

Now, I realized just how incredibly wrong I was.

I sat in the living room with my suitcase beside me, staring blankly at our massive wedding portrait. Today was our fourth wedding anniversary.

And yet, Julian was out there carrying on an illicit affair with his assistant, Kate Chase, indulging her as she staked her claim on my husband for the whole world to see.

After making one final call to my divorce attorney, I stood up to leave. Just then, the front door swung open. Julian stumbled in, reeking of alcohol. A glaring smudge of red lipstick was smeared across his suit lapel.

I knew Kate had left it there on purpose.

I would be lying if I said it didn't sting. Julian and I had dated for five years and been married for four. I couldn't just erase nine years of history without a second thought.

Seeing me in the living room, Julian kicked off his designer oxfords and collapsed onto the sofa beside me, completely oblivious to my packed suitcase.

The suffocating stench of another woman's perfume clinging to him made my stomach churn.

"Honey, my head is killing me from all that scotch," he mumbled. "Can you make me a glass of water?"

In the past, the second I heard his key in the lock, I would have already been in the kitchen prepping it. He wouldn't have even needed to ask.

The seconds ticked by, and I remained glued to the sofa, completely unmoving.

He lazily patted my thigh and reached over to grab my hand. "Are you still mad about that phone call earlier?

"Come on, don't be angry. It was my fault. Look, I already changed my profile picture back to normal. You know how stressful things are at the office. I just lost my temper for a second."

Listening to his dismissive excuse made my heart sink to the floor.

"And what are people supposed to think when Kate posts something like that?" I asked quietly. "You are a married man. Have you ever possessed even an ounce of respect for me?"

The moment I brought up Kate's name, whatever little patience Julian had instantly evaporated.

"Samantha Sanders, can you be the bigger person for once? How many times do I have to tell you? Kate is just my assistant. We have a strictly professional relationship. Why are you so obsessed with her? Do you really have zero trust in me?"

I stared at him in sheer disbelief, utterly astounded by his audacity.

Whatever trust I once had for him, he had personally dismantled piece by piece.

Ever since Kate was hired, his late-night overtime sessions had suspiciously skyrocketed.

There was even that night I was shivering with a high fever, and Kate had called him, crying that she was terrified of a thunderstorm. He had walked right out the door to keep her company.

I stood up, gripped the handle of my suitcase, and walked toward the front door. Without turning back, I delivered the words smoothly and calmly.

"Julian, we are getting a divorce. I'll have my lawyer draft the papers and send them directly to your office in a few days."