Chapter 1

We had been secretly married for three years when Andrew Sterling handed me a divorce agreement, all for the sake of his first love, Madeline Summers.

"She's not in good health and needs that beachfront villa to recover," he explained.

I smiled as if it didn't matter, signed the papers immediately, and left without another word. The very next day, I started working at the company that was Andrew's biggest business rival.

At a high-profile party, Andrew spotted me with my arm linked through one of the industry's top executives. He teased, "Charlotte, is this your new protector?"

With a calm demeanor, I gently pulled down the neckline of my dress to reveal the deep, jagged scar on my chest. "Mr. Sterling, the person who saved you from that burning building wasn't Madeline."

*****

The sound of the pen tip cutting through the paper was unexpectedly sharp and grating.

It was like nails scraping a chalkboard, or a scalpel cutting open flesh.

I stared at the bold, precise letters on the divorce papers, so neat they felt almost indifferent. But all I could think about was that the AC was way too cold. It was making the scar on my chest itch.

"Just sign it," Andrew said from across the table.

His voice was as deep and resonant as ever. I used to love the sound of it murmured against my skin, but now, it felt distorted and miles away, like listening through thick frosted glass.

He tapped his slender fingers on the mahogany table, a hint of impatience in the gesture.

"Madeline's back in the country. That beachfront villa is just what she needs to help her recover," he said.

That woman's name alone could make Andrew throw all his principles and reason out the window.

I tipped my head up, my gaze meeting his fathomless eyes.

I wasn't in them. Not even a single trace.

"That's my property from before we got married," I stated calmly, my voice a little rough, probably from waiting up for him last night and catching a chill. "And I designed it myself."

I spent three sleepless nights tweaking those blueprints, hit up every building supply store I could find, and personally picked out every tile, every light fixture, even that young Magnolia tree in the garden.

I always imagined that if we ever had a kid, I'd set up a swing beneath that Magnolia tree for them.

Andrew frowned, the contempt for me clear in the furrow of his brow. "Charlotte, don't be so petty."

He flicked a black card across the table. It spun through the air and landed with a dull thud right next to the divorce papers, just sitting there like it was mocking me, a total joke.

"There's enough money on that card for you to buy ten villas just like it. Madeline risked her life to save me in that fire and ended up with damaged lungs.

"She can't handle dust or noise. That villa by the sea has the clean air she needs. Consider this me settling a debt," Andrew said coolly.

Saving him? Damaged lungs? I sneered inwardly. The scar running across my chest suddenly throbbed so hard that the pain made my fingertips go numb and pale.

Three years ago, there was that fire in an abandoned warehouse, beams collapsing everywhere.

I risked everything to drag him out of the flames, burning wood crashed down on my back, and shards of glass cut deep into my chest.

I spent three days and nights in the ICU.

When I finally woke up, all I heard was that Madeline had caught a lung infection from inhaling smoke and was nestled weakly in Andrew's arms, basking in his tearful gratitude.

And me? I became the wicked opportunist, the woman who took advantage of the situation, holding an unacknowledged favor over his head to trap him in a marriage.

I never explained. It wasn't that I didn't want to. Andrew just wouldn't believe me.

When I first woke up, my throat was so damaged from the smoke that I couldn't even make a sound.

I tried to gesture, but he just gave me a cold, dismissive stare and said, "Charlotte, if it weren't for Madeline pleading for you, I never would've married a scheming woman like you."

I realized then. It was useless.

Explanations were just the cries of the powerless. When faced with prejudice, the truth was cheaper than a piece of trash.

"Alright." I picked up the pen without even a moment's hesitation and signed my name on the line.

The pen sliced through the paper with conviction. When the last stroke was done, I capped the pen with a crisp click.

"The villa goes to her. I don't want the money. From now on, we go our separate ways, no ties between us," I said.

I stood up and pushed the black card right back to him.

Andrew was caught off guard. He hadn't expected me to be this straightforward. For a moment, surprise flashed in his eyes, quickly replaced by a look of offended irritation.

"Charlotte, are you playing hard to get?" Andrew said.

He thought I was just acting out of spite. He figured I'd walk out that door, and within three days, I'd come crawling back to him, tears and all.

After all, for the past three years, I'd been acting like the dutiful, loving wife he wanted, always obedient, always putting him first.

I cooked for him, ironed his shirts, and swallowed his mood swings, silent treatment, and all the gossip and scandals that came with him.

Everyone figured I was nothing without Andrew.

I laughed, carefree and reckless, for the first time ever in front of him. But not a hint of it reached my eyes.

"Mr. Sterling, you're making this more complicated than it is. That villa just feels dirty to me now. I don't want it," I said coldly, then turned and walked out.

My heels struck the floor, each step echoing like I was crushing the last three years beneath my feet.

"Charlotte," Andrew shouted behind me, his voice laced with disbelief and fury. I never looked back.

I pushed open the heavy office door, and the sunlight outside hit my eyes, almost blinding. I raised my hand to block it. It was good; my new life was about to begin.