Chapter 1

I signed the divorce papers Grant Fleming handed me at the birthday party he threw for his first love. The champagne tower caught the hazy light and threw it back in soft glints, lighting up his cold, familiar profile.

He slid the agreement I had already prepared across the table and said, "Sign."

I smiled and signed my name without a pause. For three years, we had played the part of a loving couple in a contract marriage.

Together, we had taken over half the business world. Now the contract was up, and he wanted his real love back. I was ready to go.

But just as I finished signing and was about to leave, the woman he claimed to love so deeply walked up to me.

She leaned in and whispered so only I could hear, "Grace, thank you. Thank you for giving him back to me and to my unborn child."

She rested a hand on her belly and smiled softly, but there was a flicker of fear in her eyes when she looked at Grant.

*****

The air conditioning in the hall blasted cold air across my bare back. It felt like something icy sliding up my spine.

I stared at the two signed copies on the table. I gripped them so hard that my fingertips turned white, my nails digging into my palms until a dull, grounding pain spread through me.

Across from me, Grant held a wine glass between his long fingers. The dark red liquid curved along the glass as he slowly swirled it.

He didn't look at me. His gaze drifted past me, landing on Isabella Silva, who stood surrounded by people nearby.

"Grace, this is what you wanted," he said quietly, as if he were discussing a minor deal.

My throat tightened, dry and rough. Even breathing felt harsh.

I grabbed the stack of papers, and the sharp edge cut my fingertip. A drop of bright red blood seeped into the white page, staining it in a way that felt almost obscene.

I stood up. The sound of my heels hitting the floor cut through the music, sharp and sudden.

I raised my hand and flung the papers straight at his flawless, almost unreal face. The pages scattered in the air like a pale funeral.

"Grant, I hope you and your first love stay happy forever." I leaned in close to his ear. My stomach twisted hard, and I clenched my teeth. "And I hope it all ends with you."

Everything around us froze. The chatter, laughter, and clinking of glasses all faded away.

I saw his calm expression crack. His eyes narrowed, and his fingers tightened around the glass until his knuckles turned white.

Isabella lifted her skirt and hurried over, looking frightened, but there was something smug in her panic.

She shielded her still-flat stomach without thinking, then used that soft, trembling voice only I could hear to show off her victory again.

I didn't look at her. I didn't look at Grant. I turned and walked away. My back stayed straight. Each step felt like I was crushing what little pride I had left under my heel.

I pushed open the heavy doors of the hall, and the metallic taste of blood burst across my tongue.

Outside, the air was cold. I pulled my shawl tighter around myself and let out a quiet, self-mocking smile as a memory from three years ago rose up.

Back then, the Wilkinson family had been trapped in a credit crisis. My gambling-addict father had staked everything on me.

Grant, my business rival of two years, showed up in my office with a perfectly drafted marriage contract. He looked calm and controlled, like a hunter who already knew the outcome.

"Grace, this is a three-year marriage contract. I'll help you solve the Wilkinson family's problems, and in return, you'll help me manage the old guys at Fleming Group," he said.

He sat on my black leather sofa and tapped his fingers against the table in a steady, suffocating rhythm.

I remembered what I had done. I'd thrown a cup of scalding coffee at his feet and watched him frown at the stain spreading across the floor.

I asked, "Grant, are you out of your mind? We were sending each other legal notices over that land project just last month."

"Business is business, and to us, personal matters are business." He pulled the contract from his jacket and slid it toward me. "After we get married, we stay out of each other's way.

"We'll play the perfect couple for three years. When it ends, you take your shares and walk away. I get stability. You know how to calculate the value."

That was the only thing we had in common. We were both rational, detached, and driven by profit.

So we signed. The sound of pen on paper was painfully loud in that sealed office.

I looked at my name next to his sharp, unrestrained signature. I felt no joy, only pressure, as if something invisible had its hand around my throat.

For the next three years, we were perfect partners. In front of the cameras, he draped his coat over my shoulders. At parties, I kept opportunistic women away from him.

At home, we lived on separate floors of the villa, divided by a long hallway. We were like polite neighbors who just happened to share a house.