Chapter 1

The bet is insane, even for my husband, Leonard Carter. He and his biggest rival each find 100 lovers. After the breakup, the women rate them. The loser grants the winner any one wish.

Leonard showers them with extravagant gifts, making him a media sensation and me a city-wide punchline.

Things come to a head on our wedding anniversary. He brings his 100th conquest, a woman named Sylvia Winters, as his date.

When Sylvia loses a stupid party game, her "punishment" is a night with an elderly waiter.

She collapses into his arms, sobbing.

Leonard, ever the hero, turns to me with a distant gaze.

"I'll give you thirty million dollars," he announces. "To take her place."

The air thickens with stifled laughter.

"Pimping out his own wife on their anniversary. Classy."

"Didn't you hear? That's how he met her. Grace Jensen was a high-end call girl. He was her first client, a john who fell in love."

"So it's not a punishment for her. She's just going back to her roots."

Leonard silences the crowd with a single look.

"Her score decides the bet," he tells me, as if explaining something to a child. I can't let her be unhappy. Besides, when I win, we win. It reflects well on you, too."

When I don't move, he pulls out a rusted nail from his pocket.

"Grace," he whispers, his voice dropping. "You haven't forgotten the promise you owe me, have you?"

My hand clenches into a fist, my nails drawing blood. I take the check with a blood-smeared hand and walk into the room without looking back.

The next time I see him, I hand him a divorce agreement.

His face lights up. "You're a mind reader! Sylvia's condition for a perfect 10 is for us to split!"

Then he pats my arm. "Don't you worry. It's just a fake divorce. You'll always be my wife."

He may only have one wife. But I won't only have one husband.

*****

As Leonard Carter was about to sign the papers, his assistant, Bob White, rushed in, freezing for a beat when he saw me standing there.

Leonard set his pen down, nodding for Bob to speak freely.

Bob pulled up a video on his tablet, a clip from last night's party, featuring the chorus of mocking whispers about me.

"Mr. Carter," Bob began, "this video has gone viral. Every major news outlet is running with the story that Mrs. Carter is a prostitute."

He swallowed hard. "Our stock took a nosedive at the opening bell. Should we have the legal team intervene?"

Leonard just frowned. "No need."

"Sylvie's young, a little possessive," he explained, as if discussing the weather. "She'd freak out if she saw me defending another woman.

"Let the stock dip. It'll be a fun little game for her."

My heart felt like it was being sawed in two with a dull blade. The man who swore he would love me forever was now calling me "another woman" to appease his fling.

I reached for the divorce papers on the desk, but he caught my wrist in a flash.

It wasn't a question but a statement of fact. "You're angry."

I was too tired to fight. I just shook my head.

He took that as an invitation, pulling me into an embrace, his nose brushing against mine in a gesture that once meant everything. "Gracie," he murmured, "don't listen to them. You're my wife. I know the truth. That's all that matters."

He then casually scribbled a check for thirty million dollars and pushed it toward me.

"Gracie," he said, his tone shifting, "Sylvie wants a wedding."

He smiled, "You know how they say the best part of getting married is the planning? And you were always so sad we never had a proper ceremony.

"She's being very generous, agreeing to let you plan the whole thing.

"Don't hold back on the budget. All I want is for Sylvie to be happy."

I nodded, the stinging in my nose threatening to turn into tears.

Years ago, desperate to save my mother, I had thrown myself in front of his car on a busy street.

Leonard, a man famously immune to women, had taken one look at me and been utterly captivated.

After wild sex, he looked at me as if I were a priceless treasure. The sight of a single crimson stain on the pristine white sheets had sealed my fate.

He told me I belonged to him, and only him, forever.

We fell in love in a blur and got married in a flash, but Leonard refused to rush the wedding. It had to be perfect.

Then the pandemic hit. Our wedding was put on hold. Three years passed.

In those three years, he took lover after lover, lavishing them with parties and ceremonies, yet our own wedding was never mentioned again.

And now, just like that, he was giving it away to someone else.

I glanced down and saw a text from Ethan Shaw pop up on my phone.

I composed myself, pushing down the wave of memories, and nodded at Leonard.

He was ecstatic, grabbing me and spinning me in a circle. "I knew it! My wife is the most understanding woman in the world."

He beamed. "You have no idea how much the guys in my circle envy me."

I knew all too well.

When his first mistress had shown up at our door, I had lost my mind. I had screamed and became a person I didn't recognize.

I stalked him from one private club to the next like a madwoman, only to be thrown out every single time.

The night he threw a lavish birthday party for her, I stood outside in the freezing rain, clutching a small knife, waiting.

He finally emerged in the dead of night. His expression was bored as he coolly instructed his driver to take me home.

"Gracie, you're the one who awakened this lust in me," he said. "You can't blame me for not being able to control it."

He looked down his nose at me. "You married up. It's time you learned the rules of this world."

His voice turned to ice. "So stop making these scenes. It's unbecoming."

I didn't hear him. In a desperate act, I dragged the blade across my wrist.

Scarlet beads of blood bloomed on my skin, immediately washed clean by the relentless downpour.

He stepped out of the car then, shielded by a large black umbrella. His eyes were icy.

He slowly pulled out a nail.

"Remember, Gracie?" he said softly. "Three nails. Three wishes."

I stared at it, a broken laugh bubbling up past the tears.

That year, I was on a business trip when the earthquake hit. I was buried in the rubble, lost in the suffocating darkness.

Leonard had defied all warnings, flying into the epicenter and digging through the debris with his bare hands. An aftershock sent a concrete pillar crashing down, shattering his leg, but he never stopped.

After a full day and night, he pulled me from the earth.

To walk again, they had to put three long nails in his leg.

I wept, telling him he was a fool.

He just smiled, "To be scarred for the one you love is the ultimate romance."

As a tribute, I had three identical nails made. "Three nails for three wishes," I told him. "My romance, back to you."

The romantic promise I had made at twenty-three had become the bullet that pierced my heart at twenty-six.

"First wish," he said in the rain. "Accept my bet with Ethan. Play the part of a decent wife."

He glanced at my bleeding wrist. "Now, be a good girl and go to the hospital. You don't want to be late for Dr. Maxwell, do you?"

The veiled threat in his voice was unmistakable. My stomach churned with such profound despair that I nearly vomited.

I clamped a hand over the wound and took a step.

In that storm, where I could no longer tell the rain from my tears, I walked away from my love for Leonard.

From then on, I became his fixer, managing his parade of mistresses, selling my dignity for a high price.

Luxury came pouring in.

After each affair inevitably hit the papers, he would buy my silence with an exorbitant sum.

Above all, he handled the one thing I couldn't: arranging my mother's annual appointment for her critical surgery with the world's best neurosurgeon, Sean Maxwell.

I became the talk of the town, a cautionary tale whispered at dinner parties.

But honestly, I couldn't care less.

Tomorrow, my mother would have her final surgery. And once she did, I would finally have everything I needed to take her and walk away from this life forever.