Chapter 1

To teach me a lesson, he brought someone in to show me in person.

Between ragged breaths, he lifted his eyes to me and said, "See that? That's how you keep me."

A sharp pain screamed through my head, and the medical report in my hand slipped to the floor.

My eyes burning red, I couldn't help asking, "Why?"

Michael Sterling said flatly, "I know what happened to you left you traumatized, but you can't refuse to work through even this much for me."

For a moment, my brain seemed starved of oxygen, and my breathing rasped like a broken bellows.

Michael Sterling gently wiped away my tears.

He said, "I'm sick of you lying there silent every time we sleep together, like a dead fish. Next time, I want to see what you've learned, Eva. Don't disappoint me again."

It took me three tries to finally pick up the report from the floor.

The doctor had clearly said my severe depression was almost under control.

But Michael, there wouldn't be a next time.

This time, I was saying goodbye.

I hadn't even made it out before his secretary, Luna Shaw, called after me. "Eva, I didn't bring a bra. Can I borrow one of yours?

Her voice was soft and sugary, like it had been dipped in honey.

Before I could answer, Michael said lightly, "Eva, go buy her a new set. Same size as yours."

When he saw the disbelief in my eyes, he added, "She did teach you something, after all. Consider her your teacher."

A bitter smile froze on my lips as I asked, "Michael, do you even remember what day it is today?"

He rolled the wedding band on his finger, his expression barely rippling. "Our fifth wedding anniversary.

"I've already prepared your surprise. I'll fly to Ivernia with you."

He paused, his gaze sweeping over Luna beside him, docile as a cat.

He continued, "As for her... you can stop worrying. I don't have feelings for her. The one I love most is still you."

My head throbbed so hard I had to brace myself against the wall.

I couldn't stay here another second.

The moment I turned, Luna's sweet voice rang out again. "Eva, I want the red one. Mr. Sterling said I look best in red.

She was nothing like me.

She was bold and bright, even her hair a vivid, cheerful pink.

The first time I saw her, I noticed it right away: she had the kind of innocence I had never possessed.

She would toss whatever she didn't want to eat into Michael's lunchbox, whine that her stomach hurt when her period came, and complain that heels hurt her feet until he carried her back to the office.

Michael would delay the entire group's morning meeting because she was late, bow his head before the board after she blew a three-hundred-thousand-dollar contract, and drive across half the city just to buy her a limited-edition hair clip.

I had made scenes before.

I had spent every last shred of pride and strength I had.

But Michael would only tap his fingers on the desk and look at me with those dark, heavy eyes.

He said coldly, "Eva, remember who you are. What kind of look is it for Mrs. Sterling to bicker with a little secretary?"

He wanted me poised and proper in public, yet at night he wanted me wild and shameless.

He pinned me beneath him, his breath scorching, ordering me again and again to say his name.

Cold sweat soaked the sheets. Those three syllables stuck in my throat.

My mouth hung open, yet not a sound escaped me. I trembled all over in panic, tears streaming down uncontrollably.

Back then, he would panic and pull me into his arms, kissing away my tears, his voice trembling with pain. "It wasn't your fault, Evie. It wasn't..."

Fifteen years ago, that pitch-black alley after school didn't just violate my body.

It stripped away every bit of my innocence.

Michael, his hands bloody, smashed open that door to hell and dragged me back into the world of the living.

When the rumors were tearing me apart, my father roared, "Why were you wearing a dress?"

And my mother snapped, "Why didn't you stay home that day?"

I felt like trash with nowhere to go.

It was Michael, hidden inside a bulky mascot suit, who quietly walked me home every day when I didn't even dare lift my head.

In that endless darkness, he had once been the only light willing to shine for me.

I couldn't imagine what I would have left if I lost that light.

Later, he stopped kissing away my tears.

He would only prop himself up, light a cigarette in the dark, and speak in a voice colder than the smoke. "Eva, there's nothing wrong with you.

"You're just stiff as a board. Total mood killer."

That sentence haunted me for three whole years.

Half my severe depression was his doing.

After he caught me hiding sleeping pills a few times, Michael started accompanying me to every follow-up appointment, afraid I'd do something rash.

This time, I went alone.

Flipping through my file, the psychiatrist James Rivers joked, "Mrs. Sterling, why are you here by yourself today? Where's that ever-attentive model husband of yours?"

I lowered my head and scrolled through my phone.

There was nothing there.

Michael hadn't sent a single text or made a single call in three days.

Then, with one swipe, I landed on Luna's social feed, location-tagged in Ivernia.

It was a neat nine-photo grid, backed by mountains wrapped in mist.

The girl in the pictures was all bright laughter.

In the corner of the last photo, a long-fingered hand was tugging her coat tighter around her.

The platinum cufflink at the wrist matched one I knew all too well.

The consultation room was deathly quiet.

I looked up at the doctor, my voice barely above a whisper. "My husband is cheating on me."