Chapter 1

My husband, Edward Shaw, came to me one night with a request that shattered whatever faith I had left in our marriage. His first love, Clara, was dying, and to fulfill her "final wish", he wanted us to get a fake divorce. "When Clara's gone, we'll get married again," he said with calm certainty, as if it were nothing more than a temporary arrangement. It hit me then—six years of marriage, eight years of love, and none of it mattered once she got that diagnosis.

When he came back later, full of regret and begging me to start over, I was already standing beside another man, my hand in his, smiling as if none of it had ever hurt. "Sorry," I said softly, "I'm already married."

Lucas Riley—the most powerful man in Briston's elite circle—glanced at him with cool indifference. "She is the daughter of the Grant family," he said, his tone calm and cutting. "And you think you deserve a second chance, Mr. Shaw?"

*****

"Clara's sick. The doctors say she might not make it another three months."

Edward sat on the couch, his voice calm and businesslike, as if he were giving a status report instead of talking about someone dying. I stared at the untouched cup of black coffee between his fingers, saying nothing.

"Her last wish," he continued, "is to live with me for a while." He paused for a beat before adding, "It's only for a few months. Once she's gone, we'll remarry."

Clara Summers—Edward's first love, the one who slipped away thirteen years ago. Now she was back, armed with a cancer diagnosis and a tragic glow.

He said she had no one left—never married, no family, not even a caretaker.

But with just one request, she managed to make him forget I even existed.

"So, you're saying you want a divorce?" I asked.

He nodded, like it was the most reasonable thing in the world. It shattered the image I'd held of him for years.

It all felt absurd, but it was happening.

We'd been married for five years. Together, we'd built a small studio into a household name in interior design—a company worth three hundred million dollars a year.

Everyone said I was lucky, that I'd married a man on the rise.

No one knew that back in Briston, I came from one of the most powerful families in the country—the Grant family.

My father, Brandon Grant, was the chairman of Grant Holdings. My mother, Eleanor, ran the National Arts Foundation. And I used to be their only acknowledged heir.

Six years ago, I gave all that up to marry Edward—a man with no name, no background, and nothing but dreams. The Grant family cut ties with me completely. Edward still had no idea I was born a Grant.

Back then, I poured all my savings into starting a business with him. We lived in a basement, borrowed money to stay afloat, and spent countless nights sketching designs. I was there every step of the way—from nothing, until he became the CEO of Shaw Group.

And now, just because she was dying, he wanted a divorce. "Just for a few months," he said. But even a fake divorce felt like a slap in the face.

I gave a bitter laugh. "Six years, Edward. Six years of sticking by you through everything—sharing every win, every sleepless night, every setback. I traded my whole youth for what I thought was our future. And now you're telling me that none of it means a thing compared to one glance from your precious first love? That all my work, all my loyalty, isn't worth as much as a single fake hospital note from her?" In that moment, I felt something inside me go completely cold.

Edward hesitated, guilt flickering across his face. "Vivian, don't get so worked up. Try to understand her. She's all alone and dying. Her last wish is simple. I don't want to upset you, but she was once very special to me. Can't you see that?"

So everything I'd done—everything I'd given—was now just a matter of "understanding"?

"You make it sound so easy," I said, gripping my bag to keep my hands from shaking. "You never once thought about how I'd feel. Do you even realize what I've done for you?"

"Vivian, I—" Edward began, but his voice trailed off as he turned toward Clara. His expression softened instantly, the guilt replaced by that gentle warmth he'd once saved for me.

Clara sat quietly beside him, her pale face tilted down as she let out a weak cough. The fragile act almost made you forget the sharpness hidden behind those doe eyes. She blinked slowly and said in a soft, trembling voice, "Vivian, please don't blame Eddie. I know I don't have much time left. I just want to spend what little I have with him. Don't worry. We won't cross any lines. I only see him as a friend."

What a saint. Or so she wanted to look.

I shot to my feet, my disappointment twisting into something sharper. "Do you two honestly think this is normal?" My voice dropped cold. "If it's all that simple, then go ahead. Divorce me and live with her."

Edward froze, confusion flashing in his eyes. "Vivian, are you angry right now? You should have some compassion for Clara's situation."

"You think I don't have compassion?" I gave a short, bitter laugh. "I just agreed, didn't I? If you're so determined to live with her, go ahead." I turned and walked toward the stairs, my voice steady but final. "I'll sign the divorce papers. But as for remarrying, don't count on it."