Chapter 1

I found the apartment where my husband kept his mistress.

I had to see the woman who'd stolen his heart.

Julian and I had built everything from nothing-from a shoebox apartment to this sprawling estate. We worked until our bones ached. I went gray before my time.

Even after Leo was born, I didn't settle into the easy life of a society wife. I kept pushing, kept working.

I always believed I held my life in my own hands.

I rang the doorbell.

The door opened.

The girl standing there beamed a perfect smile.

"You must be Julian's mother. How lovely to meet you."

Even during million-dollar contract talks, I never let a slip of emotion show.

But hearing her call me "Mrs. Thorne” made me flinch.

We weren't even divorced, and she was already greeting her future mother-in-law?

I spoke on impulse.

"Hello."

"Please come in, Mrs. Thorne. My name is Ivy Dawson."

The moment I stepped inside, a large map drew my eye. Delicate red threads crisscrossed it, linking photos of them kissing, marking every place they'd been together.

It was nearly covered.

She noticed me looking and smiled.

"This is our adventure map. He takes me somewhere new every month."

So Julian had been cheating far longer than I'd known.

She reached over, gently taking my coat to hang in the closet nearby.

The tea she offered was perfectly warm.

My eyes moved through the apartment-a penthouse downtown, two hundred square meters, finished to the highest standard. This place had to be worth over five million.

"Did he buy this for you?"

Ivy's cheeks colored faintly. "Yes."

"Julian said it was a gift. To thank me."

In ten years of marriage, he had never celebrated a single holiday with me. Even after we became wealthy, he never bought me anything of real value.

My birthday was just a cake and a simple "Happy Birthday."

I always thought love just matured into a comfortable companionship, that quiet stability was the real deal.

Turns out, love doesn't transform; it just transfers to someone else.

Seeing my silence, she looked a little flustered. After a few hesitations, she finally spoke.

"Mrs. Thorne, Julian and I are truly in love. Could you... could you agree to let me marry him?"

I thought I wouldn't feel anything.

But my heart gave a sharp pang, and I instinctively asked.

"How did you two get together?"

Ivy gushed, her eyes sparkling. Finally, I understood. That year, when I had a persistent high fever, and we were already millionaires, he still rushed off to meet a client for a mere $10,000 order.

Turns out, it was just because she'd texted, "I miss you."

"Oh, Mrs. Thorne, you wouldn't believe it. The moment Julian saw me, he said his world lit up."

"Julian is so amazing! Last time, he even helped my dad's company solve a tricky tech problem. He said it had stumped their whole industry for ages, but he just looked at it and fixed it!"

"So, Mrs. Thorne, do you agree?"

She gazed at me expectantly.

I asked, with a knowing smirk.

"And do you know he has a wife?"

Ivy's face fell, and she bit her lip.

"Julian said he doesn't love her at all. He said she's just a business partner, with no real feelings between them."

"He said that woman is older than his aunt, completely boring, acts like a man, and her skin is disgustingly rough."

I unconsciously rubbed the calluses on my palms, scars from lifting heavy sacks of soybeans during our startup days.

Every night, he used to apply thick hand cream, massaging my hands again and again.

He even called me the greatest contributor to our family's success.

"But I guess a woman like that wouldn't really appeal to any man."

"They're going to divorce anyway, so I don't mind. As long as he truly loves me, that's all that matters."

The hand holding my teacup paused mid-air, trembling slightly.

We met through friends and fell in love at first sight. Julian told his friends I was the woman of his dreams.

He had vowed not to marry me until he made his fortune. We started a small artisanal café and bakery together, barely sleeping through those years. I worked until my hair went gray ahead of time, my face etched with tired lines that aged me beyond my years.

Once, drunk, he wept, knelt down, and held me, apologizing over and over.

So that he wouldn't feel guilty, even when I had no time for myself, I made sure to dye my roots.

My heart rose and fell, then settled into a strange calm.

I had seen enough. Compared enough.

It wasn't that she was so remarkable-it was that he was different now.

If he insisted there was no feeling left between us, then I would make sure that feeling was gone for good.