Chapter 1

After three years of keeping our marriage a secret, I'd finally become the wife Damon Clayton was most satisfied with.

I never made a fuss about going public, never questioned him about the rumors.

Even when he slipped the diamond bracelet, the symbol of the lady of the house, onto his first love's wrist at a family dinner, I just smiled and helped them pose for the pictures.

But then Damon's eyes reddened with emotion. He snatched the camera from my hands and smashed it into pieces. "Kendall, can't you just lose your cool for once?"

*****

I crouched down to pick up the shattered glass.

As soon as my fingers touched them, my fingertip was instantly sliced open.

"Stop!" Damon shouted, his chest heaving with emotion.

I looked up at him.

"What a shame," I said, pulling out a tissue and slowly wiping the dust off the lens. "There were some photos from earlier in there. The composition was pretty good. That angle was really flattering for Ms. Hill."

Damon stared at me, his gaze so intense, it felt like he could eat me alive.

He grabbed my wrist, his grip so tight that the shards in my hand dug deeper into my skin.

"Kendall, do you even have a heart?" he growled, his words forced out between clenched teeth.

"When Mom gave that bracelet to Yolanda just now, what was going through your head? You were just there, serving wine? Do you even remember you're my wife?"

I looked at his furious face, and honestly, I just found it funny.

What was I thinking?

I was thinking that bracelet was nothing special, not nearly as valuable as the watch I snagged at Sotheby's last year.

I was thinking Yolanda's wrists were way too skinny to really pull off that kind of rich-lady vibe.

I was thinking when this whole show was going to be over so I could finally go home, take my meds, and get some sleep.

"Damon," I said, pulling my hand free. "Getting this worked up isn't good for you. You've got a board meeting at nine tomorrow, and the Hill family deal isn't signed yet. You need to keep your head in the game."

Damon froze.

He looked like he was waiting for me to break down, to lose it, maybe even throw those shards right back in his face.

But I didn't.

I even flashed him a smile. "Get in the car. The driver's been waiting forever. Ms. Hill is still watching. Let's not make her think we're fighting."

Damon's Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed.

He looked at me, the fury in his eyes slowly fading, replaced by a kind of panic I couldn't quite figure out.

"Kendall," he said, letting go of my hand, his voice rough. "Just say something. Even if it's yelling at me."

"Why would I yell at you?" I said, opening the car door and sliding inside, setting that pile of junk on my lap. "You did the right thing. That kind of event isn't the right time to announce us. Ms. Hill just got back; she needs the attention and the Clayton family's support. I understand."

Damon stood outside the car, the night breeze messing up his hair.

He stared at me through the window, as if he didn't know me at all.

"Drive," I told the driver.

The window rolled up, blocking Damon from seeing me. I glanced down at the shards in my hand—the bleeding had stopped, just a trace of dark red left behind.

Great.

This camera had been with me for five years—shot wars, ruins, and in the end, it died on the Clayton family's driveway.

It was a relief.

When I got back to the villa, Damon still wasn't home.

He was probably off taking Yolanda home.

I didn't bother asking. I just went straight to my room.

In the bathroom, I turned on the faucet and let cold water wash over the wound on my hand.

The sting snapped me back to reality for a moment.

The woman staring back at me in the mirror was pale, with faint bruises under her eyes. So this was the wife Damon liked best—quiet, sensible, did as she was told.

Suddenly, my phone buzzed.

I dried my hands and swiped open the screen.

It was an email.

The sender was Reuters' War Photography Department.