Chapter 1

The day I married Lucas Sterling, every woman in town was crying. I'm not exaggerating - they were literally crying. His fan club even chartered ten buses and chased our wedding convoy around the city three times, waving banners that said, "Dr. Sterling, we'll wait for you forever!"

Sitting in the car and looking at the huge crowd outside, I thought, Worth it. Yeah, right. In our first year of marriage, I never even got to properly enjoy those abs of his.

Lucas Sterling, thirty-two, a senior cardiothoracic surgeon and the youngest doctoral advisor in the city. He looked like the cold, untouchable male lead straight out of some romance drama. Put him in a white coat with a scalpel in hand, and half the nurses in the hospital would line up to bring him breakfast every morning.

But what was he like at home? Lights out at ten, up at six, and a 5K run every morning without fail. Dinner was always bland chicken-breast salad with barely any oil or salt. His only weekend hobby was reading medical journals.

Our sex life? We'd been married eleven months and had been intimate a grand total of nine times. That was less than once a month, and every time felt like he was prepping for surgery: wash hands, sanitize, lay down a towel, put on gloves. Yes, even for that, he wore gloves.

I am not kidding. He always said, "Sterile habits are second nature to me." Back then, I could've strangled him.

The truth was, deep down, I was totally into the bossy, possessive type. I only watched alpha-CEO dramas, and if some short clip popped up saying possessive men were hot, I'd like it and save it. But somehow I ended up married to a bland living saint, and there was nothing I could do about it.

The fuse was lit last Friday. I worked late until nine, and when I got home, he was already in bed. He was lying on his side, blanket pulled up to his chest, his gold-rimmed glasses on the nightstand next to a glass of warm water and a melatonin tablet. That was his nightly routine.

I stood in the bedroom doorway and looked at his peaceful sleeping face, and suddenly the whole thing felt absurd. I was twenty-six, pretty, and in great shape. Before marriage, I thought I'd hit the jackpot. After marriage, I realized I'd basically married a living saint who'd sworn off earthly pleasures.

Guys who used to chase me could've lined up from my office all the way to the subway station.

"Lucas," I called. He didn't open his eyes, but his lashes twitched. He was faking it. "I know you're awake."

Only then did he open his eyes. His voice was rough with sleep. "What is it?"

"What do you think?" I sat down on the edge of the bed and stared at him. "How long has it been since we did anything?"

He paused, like he was doing the math. "Last Wednesday. Four days ago."

"You call that doing anything?" My voice shot up. "Five minutes. Including foreplay."

He was quiet for a second, then reached out and gently patted the back of my hand. "My surgery schedule's been packed lately. I'm pretty drained..."

"You're so drained, but you still go run a 5K every morning?"

"That's a different kind of tired..."

"Lucas," I cut in, "are you just not interested in me anymore?"

He finally sat up and looked at me seriously. "No."

"Then what is it?"

"I'm... scared I'll hurt you."

I was speechless. He'd been using that excuse for a year. The first time, I was touched. The second time, I thought he was sweet. The third time, I started getting suspicious. By now, all I felt was that he was brushing me off.

"Lucas, I'm not made of glass."

"I know..."

"No, you don't." I stood up and tugged at my silk nightgown. "Look at me. I'm perfectly fine. I'm not sick, I'm not hurt. Do you really have to treat me like I'm in the ICU every single time?"

He opened his mouth, then said nothing. Looking at that expression on his face, like he wanted to say something but couldn't, suddenly made the whole thing feel pointless.

"Forget it." I lay down with my back to him. "Go to sleep."

It stayed quiet behind me for a long time. Then I felt his hand settle lightly on my shoulder, warm and tentative. "Emma." I ignored him.