Chapter 1
To Eleanor Shaw, her marriage to Ryan Grant was like a glass of lukewarm water left standing far too long.
It never chilled the throat, nor burned with heat. Safe enough to drink, yet utterly tasteless and hollow.
Three years had slipped by in this lifeless routine. At twenty-four, she'd walked down the aisle and become the envy of everyone in their circle.
As the sole heir to the Grant family fortune and the youngest vice president of Grant Corporation, Ryan cut an imposing figure at six feet two inches tall.
He was sharp-featured, aloof, and undeniably handsome, turning heads everywhere he went.
Against all social expectations, he'd chosen Eleanor: a humble high school art teacher with working-class parents, far from the elite pedigree everyone assumed a Grant spouse would have.
On her wedding day, standing before the mirror in a custom bridal gown, Eleanor smiled to herself, eyes soft with naive hope, wondering if her own fairy tale had finally begun.
Looking back now, all she could do was let out a bitter laugh.
Fairy tales never bothered to write the quiet emptiness of life after the wedding vows.
Friday arrived, and for once, Ryan mentioned heading home early. Eleanor stopped by the grocery store to pick up fresh oxtail, set on simmering his favorite classic borscht.
Warm aromas of ripe tomato and slow-braised beef wrapped around the kitchen as she stirred the pot, mentally bracing herself to broach the same awkward topic yet again.
Earlier today, Ryan's mother, Ashley Grant, had called once more, her tone sweet on the surface but sharp with hidden pressure.
"Eleanor, three years married and still no little one on the way? I hate to nag, but look at Mrs. Williams. Her son just welcomed his second baby..."
Beneath the polite pleasantries lay unspoken judgment, plain and unmissable.
Eleanor had undergone a full round of fertility screenings at the clinic, every result coming back perfectly healthy. Ryan had also completed his own medical workup, with no physical issues detected on his end.
The doctor told them plainly that both were in perfect health; it was simply a matter of chance, a minor genetic compatibility quirk that only patience could resolve.
"Just give it more time." That was always Ryan's standard line, spoken in a flat tone as indifferent as commenting on the day's weather.
She turned the stove down to a gentle simmer and reached for her phone, ready to text Ryan and ask his ETA. Her fingers froze mid-motion.
*****
A new post popped up on her social media feed, shared by Ryan's personal assistant, Amelia Carter.
The photo was snapped inside a private dining room at an upscale downtown restaurant. Amelia's caption read: [Mr. Grant always looks out for Ms. Lane. Total gentleman!]
Seated at the head of the table, Ryan slid a plate of food toward the woman beside him. Eleanor recognized her instantly. It was Olivia Lane, Grant Corporation's newly hired marketing director.
A polished overseas graduate, striking and career-driven, she commanded attention like a red carpet star at every corporate gala.
This was far from the first time Eleanor had stumbled across such suggestive moments.
At the previous month's corporate gala, she'd watched Olivia walk in on Ryan's arm, chatting and laughing easily with him.
When other guests wondered why Eleanor hadn't joined them, Ryan brushed it off casually. "She's never liked crowded formal events," he said, stating it as an obvious fact with no regard for her feelings.
Eleanor had stood frozen by the venue entrance that night, holding a container of soup she'd specially brought for him.
She'd turned and left.
The borscht bubbled softly on the stovetop. Eleanor stared at the photo for a long stretch, then set her phone aside slowly, picking up the spoon to stir the broth on autopilot.
Tomatoes had melted completely into a rich, deep broth. She took a small sip; the seasoning was flawless, salt and sweetness balanced perfectly.
Even so, a heavy lack of appetite washed over her out of nowhere.
Ryan didn't return home until half past ten that night.
Eleanor sat alone on the living room sofa, the television playing an old film she paid no attention to whatsoever. The borscht sat covered on the dining table, the side dishes reheated over and over as she waited hour after lonely hour.
"You're still up?" Ryan paused mid-shoe change, clearly caught off guard to find her waiting for him.
Eleanor lifted her gaze to study the man she'd shared a home with for three years. His tailored suit remained crisp, faint liquor clinging to his clothes, layered with another unfamiliar scent. It was a sweet, feminine perfume, nothing like her own.
"I waited up for you," she said, her voice surprisingly calm and steady.
Ryan crossed to the far end of the sofa and sat down, loosening his tie with a tired sigh. "Last-minute business dinner popped up. My phone died, so I couldn't shoot you a text."
"I see." Eleanor hummed quietly, choosing not to mention the social media post at all.
Silence settled between them at once, thick and uncomfortable.
They no longer felt like husband and wife; they were merely two roommates sharing the same living space.
"Ryan, your mom called again today. She's asking about us having kids." Eleanor broke the quiet.
Ryan rubbed his temples, irritation seeping into his tone. "I already told you, we'll wait a while longer."
"Wait for what exactly?" Eleanor turned to face him directly. "We've already waited three whole years."
"Eleanor, the company's swamped with ongoing projects right now, I—" Ryan began.
Eleanor cut him off, her voice trembling with held-back emotion. "You always hide behind work. Three years ago, you said we'd settle in first after the wedding.
"Two years ago, it was a heavy project workload. Last year, it was—" She drew in a shaky breath. "Do you even want to start a family with me?"
A heavy hush hung over the living room for several long seconds.
Something flickered across Ryan's eyes, gone so fast she couldn't decipher it. "What's gotten into you tonight, Eleanor?"
A bitter laugh welled up inside her. What could she possibly say? That she'd watched him dote on another woman over dinner? That she'd caught a strange woman's perfume on his clothes again?
That he'd promised an early night home, leaving her sitting alone like a fool for four hours?
"Nothing." She stood and headed for the bedroom. "The soup's in the kitchen if you're hungry. Heat it up yourself."
As she reached the bedroom doorway, Ryan called her name from behind, "Eleanor."
She stopped in her tracks but refused to turn around.
"There's a company-sponsored wellness checkup next week. Come with me," Ryan said.
Eleanor closed her eyes briefly, weariness weighing heavily on her chest. Another round of tests. They'd gone through countless screenings over three years, every result confirming perfect health. Yet a child never came.
"Fine," she replied, stepping into the bedroom and closing the door softly behind her.
Ryan slept in the study that night.