Chapter 1

For three years, my husband bought me chicken wings from the same shop.

He loved them extra spicy, while I always got mine with sour cream and onion.

One day, he had to work late, and I suddenly had a craving. So, I went to the shop myself.

As usual, I said, "One with sour cream and onion, please."

The owner gave me a strange look. "Sweetie, we don't have that here."

I pointed at the slightly green chicken wings on the grill. "Those ones."

The owner suddenly realized what I meant and waved his hand. "Oh, you mean those ones? Those are the day-old leftovers from our buy-five-get-one-free deal.

"They've been sitting around long enough to change color. We don't sell them separately."

Then, as if he'd suddenly remembered something, he added, "Come to think of it, there used to be a young couple who came in all the time asking for those.

"They said they were taking them home to feed their dog.

You have a dog too?"

*****

The warm summer evening breeze drifted by, but I felt cold all over.

To Charles, I meant less to him than his golden retriever.

His dog ate imported dog food, while I'd been eating leftover scraps for three years.

And I actually believed that was his way of showing love.

He couldn't stand the sour cream and onion flavor, but rain or shine, he'd always bring them for me.

Looking back, I was a total joke.

Barely holding back my disgust, I asked the owner, "Was the guy tall and skinny, and the girl—"

Before I could finish, the owner jumped in. "Yeah, the guy was really good-looking, had a faint scar right above his eyebrow.

"He always pulled up in a black Porsche.

"The girl was always in a lavender dress.

"Every time they showed up, they'd grab five spicy chicken wings, and pick up one of those green ones, saying it was for the stray dogs in the neighborhood.

"Young people these days are so thoughtful."

I couldn't help but laugh bitterly.

That faint scar on Charles's eyebrow? He got it back when I was kidnapped by human traffickers.

He earned that scar trying to rescue me.

I'd been married to Charles for five years.

Back when he was starting out, I used the 1.5 million dollars my parents gave me as wedding gift to keep his business afloat.

Once the business got on track, he got busier and started coming home late.

Three years ago, he brought me chicken wings for the first time.

He said, "Rachel, I know you love these, so I picked them up for you.

"The spicy ones are incredible, but since you can't handle spicy food, I got them to make the sour cream and onion flavor for you."

I was so touched at that time.

No matter how busy he was, he still thought of me.

He remembered my sensitive stomach and my favorite flavor.

I ate those chicken wings for three years.

For three years, my stomach was always hurting, and I kept getting diarrhea.

I thought I was born with a sensitive stomach.

Every time, Charles would nervously pour a glass of water for me, feed me medicine, and pull me into his arms.

"Seeing you suffer hurts me even more," he'd say.

I used to think I was dragging him down.

But now, I realize I was the biggest joke of all.

When I got home, the maid, Ellen Davis, was cleaning up.

She paused when she saw the paper bag in my hand.

"Mrs. Jackson, why did you go out to buy it yourself?" she asked. "Didn't Mr. Jackson say he'd bring it home?"

I set the paper bag on the dining table and opened it.

A spicy smell instantly filled the air.

I turned to Ellen.

"Ellen, can you smell this? What do you think it is?" I asked.

Ellen leaned in and took a sniff. "Wow, it smells really nice and spicy."

I nodded and asked, "Have you ever smelled the leftover chicken wings I ate? What do they smell like?"

Ellen hesitated, looking a little uneasy.

She'd been with our family for almost ten years.

She'd seen me go from a clueless girl to someone who could manage the whole household on her own.

She muttered under her breath, "Mrs. Jackson, it kind of smells a bit off."

I let out a bitter laugh.

It seemed everyone else had found out except me.

And I was the fool who was still grateful to Charles.

I sat at the dining table, waiting quietly.

All the little details from the past three years started flashing through my mind.

Every week, Charles came home late twice, always saying it was because of work dinners or meetings.

He always had a faint scent of perfume on him when he walked in.

It wasn't mine, and it wasn't his usual woody cologne either.

I asked Charles about it once, and he said, "It was from the client's girlfriend. She was right next to me, couldn't help it."

I believed him.

Every month, there were always a few days when I'd suddenly come down with some random stomach flu.

I'd be throwing up, running to the bathroom, and feeling completely drained.

Charles would take time off work to look after me, making sure I had water and medicine, fussing over me more than anyone else.

He'd say, "Rachel, you're so fragile, you really need to take care of yourself.

"Don't worry about the company. I've got it covered."

I was moved.

I even thought that since my health was so bad, I needed him more than anyone.

I really believed I'd married the best man in the world.

Now that I think about it, all of this was a setup from the very beginning.