Chapter 1

Verda was a total neat freak. She hated being touched.

In the three years we'd been married, we never once shared a bed. I respected her boundaries and never laid a finger on her.

Then I found out she'd been cheating on me—with her first love.

When they were together, Verda pleaded, "Martin, please, stop. I swear that idiot Arnold never laid a hand on me."

I just took a drag on my cigarette and kept quiet. Calmly, I saved the footage from the security camera. I was finally free.

Later, she sat there crying over and over, scrolling through our old messages. Meanwhile, I was trying out new positions with my new girlfriend—over and over.

*****

It was our wedding anniversary. I'd set up a romantic dinner—candles, wine, the whole thing. But it turned into a nightmare for me.

We'd been married three years. I always thought I treated Verda well. It never crossed my mind that she'd cheat on me.

But that night, everything changed the moment she answered that phone call.

"Hello? What? Martin, don't worry. I'll be right there!" Verda's face went pale. Her voice trembled as she tightened her grip around the phone.

Martin was her first love. I never liked to talk about him.

"What's wrong? Who's hurt?" I set down my fork and knife, a strange worry gnawing at me.

"It was Martin. He cut his hand while cooking. I'm going to check on him," she said quickly, avoiding my eyes.

She grabbed her purse and bolted out of the restaurant, leaving me sitting there with the dinner we hadn't even touched.

My chest felt heavy as I watched her rush out.

Martin cut his hand while cooking, huh? That excuse was paper-thin.

Confusion twisted in my gut. I felt like I couldn't breathe.

I grabbed my coat and hurried outside.

I caught sight of her getting into a taxi and quickly flagged down another one to follow from a distance.

As the city lights slid past the window, my mind went back over the last three years.

Verda and I had grown up together. When I was a kid, I got separated from my parents, and her mom, Tamara, took me in.

I stayed with them until high school, when my real parents finally found me.

Later, like something out of a drama, Verda fell for a bad boy—Martin. But Tamara hated him.

With no other choice, Martin eventually took some cash from Tamara and left the country.

After that, Verda and I got married because both our families pushed for it—it made business between them easier.

I always figured she just wasn't ready for a marriage arranged like that, so I gave her space. For the first year, I didn't even touch her.

But after a year, nothing changed.

I swallowed my pride and told her I wanted us to be together. But every time I brought it up, she'd get upset.

One day, she handed me a doctor's report. "The doctor says I have trauma that makes me afraid of men. I can't sleep with you."

I gave in. But that "illness" dragged on for three years.

I took her to the doctors, bought her medicine, and tried to make her feel safe. But whenever the subject came up, she'd snap, "Is sex all you think about?"

The taxi stopped in front of an apartment building.

I watched her run inside, my chest growing heavier.

I knew this place. Martin lived here.

Taking a slow breath, I followed her in.

The dim light in the elevator cast shadows on my face. My heart kept sinking.

When I stepped out, I saw his door slightly open. Voices drifted out—soft, affectionate.

Inside, clothes were scattered across the floor.

Blood rushed to my head. My hand gripped the doorknob, then fell away.

I told myself I'd give her one last chance. I'd wait until she came out and explained herself.

So I sat there in the living room, forcing myself to listen.

"Don't lie to me again. You scared me." Verda's voice was gentle, softer than I'd ever heard it.

"I just didn't want you with him," Martin said, sounding smug.

"Oh, please. I told him I'm a neat freak. He won't touch me."

"I know. I just don't want him to. You're mine," Martin said, his breathing growing heavier.

"Yes, I'm yours. Only yours—" Verda's voice was sweet.

She liked how possessive he was and cupped his face in her hands. "I had to marry Arnold. But I gave you my first time. And every time after that will only be with you.

"For three years, I never let him touch me. To make him give up, I even told him I was sick."

Martin pulled her into his arms, clearly touched.

I clenched my fists until my nails dug into my palms, but I didn't feel a thing.

My stomach churned. It was disgusting.

The marriage I'd guarded for three years meant nothing to her.

Everything I'd done was just a joke to her.

My vision blurred, and my legs felt weak.

Sure, in most arranged marriages, people would never fall in love. They would just live their own lives.

But I thought we might be different—we'd grown up together, after all.

In three years, we'd never really kissed, let alone gone further.

Every time I tried to get close, she'd look at me with fear and shove me away.

Still, I felt sorry for her and stayed faithful. I didn't go to other women and even went to therapy with her.

But she could sleep with Martin without a second thought.

With me, she wouldn't even let me hold her hand unless she was wearing gloves.