Chapter 1

Ever since marrying Fred Hubbard, he'd cleaned up his act for me, cutting ties with all those other women in his life.

Everyone envied how I'd tamed him so well, with our seemingly perfect family.

That all changed on our ninth anniversary, when I accidentally glimpsed some messages in his group chat with his buddies.

[Fred, how was it with that junior in the Bentley yesterday? Not bad, eh?]

[I've done it with her everywhere you can think of—she's obsessed with me, can't get enough.]

Below that was an intimate photo of the two of them, with the group piling on cheers and wishes for them to last forever.

I stared at the screen, a dense wave of pain surging through my heart.

So all those happy times we'd shared were just a carefully scripted charade.

I sat there in a daze all night, waiting for Fred to finally drag himself home.

Spotting the anniversary cake in his hand, I let out a bitter laugh. "I know everything. Aren't you tired of keeping up the act?"

"What did you say? Divorce?"

A flicker of mockery flashed in Fred's deep eyes.

"I cleared my schedule today just to celebrate our anniversary with you. Don't piss me off."

Then, he took an exquisite watch out of the gift box and made to slip it onto my wrist. "Your anniversary gift."

The watch featured a unique dial and a strap that gleamed with a soft, warm luster.

But I recognized it instantly—this was the rare item Fred and his junior schoolmate had won together at a high-end auction.

In the past, I'd treasured every gift from Fred, even a wildflower he'd casually picked by the roadside, treating it like a priceless gem and tucking it away with the utmost care.

Now, though, I dodged his hand. "No need to put it on me. Just leave it there."

Fred furrowed his brow, holding back his irritation as he explained.

"This isn't like you at all. Are you sulking because I came home late? Dianne's cat went missing, and she was panicking all by herself. I spent hours helping her search for it, which is why I was delayed for our anniversary."

Dianne Pham was Fred's junior from school.

The one who'd shared all kinds of intimate moments with him.

I stared at him steadily, recalling the time our little dog got sick.

It had suddenly started vomiting and having diarrhea, and I'd been in a complete panic, unsure what to do.

Instinctively, I'd called him for help, but he'd snapped impatiently, "It's just a dog. Take it to the vet yourself. Don't bother me with every little thing—I'm in the middle of closing an important deal."

I'd choked back tears and rushed the dog to several animal clinics alone, staying by its side through the IV treatments and nursing it back to health over the next few days.

Now, here we were again with a pet emergency.

But this time, he'd chosen to blow off our anniversary just to help Dianne find her cat.

Fred narrowed his eyes. "Digging up old dirt now, are we? What, you blaming me for not babying you enough? Or for not handing over enough cash?

"You married me. You gave me a kid. You've got the wife title and the money—what does Dianne have? Why are you giving me this attitude?"

His words landed before I could even process them, and my heart twisted in pain.

I stared at him steadily.

I got it: his message was that since I'd locked down the role of his wife, I had no right to expect his love or care.

The moment the words left his mouth, Fred's face darkened, as if he realized he'd crossed a line. He softened his voice.

"Alright, go call Valeria over. We'll crack open a bottle of red wine and have a nice anniversary celebration."

With that, he expertly uncorked an expensive bottle of red and poured me a glass, holding it out.

After every fight with Fred, he'd always make some small gesture to patch things up, and I'd just need to take the olive branch and move on.

For ten years, that had been our unspoken routine.

But now, I was over it. I simply lifted my hand and pushed the glass away.

He must've thought I was reaching for it, because the wine sloshed out with a splash, spilling across the floor.

I froze for a moment.

Fred let out a cold snort, his eyes burning with barely restrained anger.

"Haven't you had enough? Nora, I've been dealing with your bad mood all night. If you don't want to celebrate this anniversary, fine—let's not.

"But here's a word of advice: know when to stop. I won't always have the patience to humor your tantrums."

With that, he spun on his heel and stormed out, slamming the door so hard the whole house shook.

I stood silently for a moment, then—as was my habit—dropped my gaze and knelt down, meticulously wiping up the red wine stain on the floor with paper towels, one spot at a time.