Chapter 1

Because of a stupid joke with his friends, Oliver Cooke pretended to be broke and dated me for three years.

I only found out who he really was when my only relative was dying of cancer.

I went to him and asked if he could lend me some money. He did not even hesitate. He just laughed at me and made a few cruel jokes.

When I had nowhere else to go, I agreed to let a man named Milo Poole take care of me in exchange for money.

A few years later, Milo went bankrupt.

I had no choice but to start over again. When I showed up for an interview at a new company, I ran straight into Oliver.

His eyes swept over me, taking in my old, worn-out suit.

Then he let out a short laugh. "I heard your rich boyfriend went broke," he said, his voice dripping with mockery. "So what now? Are you here to find yourself a new target?"

I gave him a small, polite smile. "This is just a normal job interview, Mr. Cooke. If you have nothing else to say, I should go. My husband is waiting for me at home."

I stepped to the side, trying to walk past him.

Before I could get away, he grabbed my shoulder and shoved me back against the hallway wall.

His grip tightened. His face flushed red, and his jaw clenched hard. "Your husband?"

*****

My back pressed against the cold wall, a dull ache spreading through my spine.

The whole thing felt absurd.

Just minutes earlier, the interviewer had been warm and professional. He took my résumé, gave me a polite nod, and said, "Mr. Poole, you can head home. We'll be in touch once we have a decision."

I knew exactly what that meant. It was a soft, courteous rejection.

I was almost thirty now. Finding a job was getting harder every year. I wasn't even that upset about it anymore.

But the moment I stepped out of the office, I saw the one person I never expected to see again.

It was Oliver, my ex.

He looked different—sharper, more put together—but the expression in his eyes had not changed at all.

There was the same cold arrogance and quiet cruelty I remembered. He was exactly the way I remembered him from the last time we met.

This was not even his family's company.

Maybe that memory had just been too vivid, or maybe I did not want Milo getting the wrong idea. I had deliberately stayed away from anything connected to the Cooke Group so that I would not run into Oliver.

I guess he hadn't expected to see me either.

But the surprise in his eyes flickered and quickly gave way to a scrutinizing, almost curious expression.

His gaze moved slowly over me, from my collar down to my sleeves, taking everything in. That was when I became painfully aware of how worn my suit looked.

He gave a low, amused laugh. "I heard your sugar daddy lost everything. Looking for someone new to pay your bills?"

I had expected this.

Milo's bankruptcy had been all over the news in Oliver's circle.

As Milo's partner, I was just another piece of gossip to them. Maybe a joke.

Years ago, I would have snapped back. I would have demanded to know why they thought they had the right to treat people like that.

Back then, I actually did.

At that time, I thought Oliver was just another guy like me—broke, working hard, and trying to survive.

I thought he was the love of my life.

I met him in college while juggling part-time jobs just to get by.

He wore cheap clothes, but he was so good-looking that it was hard not to notice him.

We met at a small coffee shop. It was brief, nothing special at first. Then he started coming around more often. He pursued me as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Like me, he didn't come from a wealthy family and was always stressed about money. But I admired how hard he worked.

We moved into a tiny, run-down apartment together. We lived there for a year during school and stayed another two years after we graduated.

I really believed we were building a future.

I had even started saving for a place of our own.

And then everything fell apart. My mother and stepfather died in a car accident.

My seventeen-year-old half-sister, Verda, survived. But not long after, the doctors told us she had cancer.

Her aunt took her in, but she was not Verda's real mother. Once the money my parents left behind ran out, the hospital bills became my responsibility.

I never told Oliver. He was already working himself to exhaustion. I did not want to add to his burden.

So I picked up more jobs without telling him.

One of those jobs led me straight to the truth.

I was working the night shift as a waiter at an upscale club.

By then, I was running on fumes. I had lost ten pounds from overwork.