Chapter 1

The day Charles Kingston's first love returned home, I handed him the divorce papers and said, "Our three-year contract is up. Miss Summers is back, so I'm stepping aside."

He scoffed, "At least you know your place, Evelyn."

Later, hand in hand with my new lover, I attended Charles's engagement party.

My new partner wrapped an arm around my waist and asked with a smile, "Mr. Kingston, are the celebration chocolates sweet?"

Charles stared fixedly at the diamond ring on my ring finger. It was the family crest ring his archenemy never took off.

He wrecked the entire venue, his eyes bloodshot as he demanded, "Evelyn, when did you meet him?"

I swirled my wineglass and chuckled softly. "The day you left me stranded on a highway in a blizzard for Vivian Summers."

When Charles took the call, irrepressible joy lit his face. Without avoiding me, he sat on the imported Italian sofa I had personally chosen for the living room, speaking to the caller with a tenderness I had never heard before.

In that gentle voice, he said, "Really? Vivian, let me know when your flight lands. I'll pick you up."

Vivian. Vivian Summers.

That name was like an ice-cold needle pricking the most vulnerable spot in my heart. The pain wasn't sharp, but it opened a tiny wound, allowing three years of accumulated cold to spread silently through my entire body.

I stood beside the island in the open-plan kitchen, holding a freshly cut fruit platter. My fingertips turned white where they pressed against the chilled porcelain rim.

Beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows lay a typical Northbridge winter dusk. Leaden clouds weighed heavily over the skyline, while the bitter wind sent dead leaves swirling through the garden.

The fire blazed and crackled in the hearth, but not a trace of its warmth seeped into my bones.

When Vivian left for Florence to chase her so-called artistic dream, Charles needed a suitable wife to placate his family and stabilize the stock price. For three years, I was the useful tool he took from the Wynn family's shelf and installed as Mrs. Kingston.

I reminded myself, 'A tool should be useful, quiet, and obedient. I had learned my role well.'

I remembered all his preferences, ironed every crease from his shirts, and played the elegant Mrs. Kingston at countless events whenever he needed a companion.

Even when he occasionally came home late at night smelling of another woman's perfume, I handed him a warm honey-lemon drink, then silently turned and returned to the guest room.

I reminded myself, 'There was a place in his heart I could never enter. A flawless, untouchable goddess named Vivian stood there. I was only the temporary caretaker of her shrine, and my term was three years.

'Now the goddess was returning. A servant like me was supposed to know when to leave.'

Charles ended the call, the curve of his smile not yet gone. But the instant he looked at me, that warmth vanished into his usual indifference. "I've got a dinner I can't get out of tonight. Don't wait for me."

As he spoke, he picked up the suit jacket draped over the back of the sofa, his brisk movements carrying the lightness of a man about to hurry off to some delightful rendezvous.

"Charles," I called after him.

He stopped and turned back, clearly annoyed.

I set down the fruit platter, dried my hands, walked to the living room side table, and pulled a document I'd prepared long ago from its bottom drawer. The document was thin, yet felt weighty in my hands. I approached him and held it out.

"What's this?" He glanced at the cover but didn't take it.

"The divorce agreement." I heard my own voice, utterly calm and still, like a frozen lake. "I've read it. The terms are clear. Take a look, and if everything's fine, sign it."