Chapter 1
On the third year after I married Cedric Mason, I decided to divorce him.
He never touched me, and it felt like he never loved me either.
My mother tried to change my mind. She said, "He comes from a distinguished family and is a young diplomat. It's only natural he'd be emotionally reserved."
She was right. Cedric never had scandals. Maybe he simply didn't have those kinds of needs.
I decided to throw away my pride one last time and seduce him.
I changed into something daring and slipped into the study, a room that had always been off-limits to me. That was when I saw a different side of him.
His face was flushed. Veins stood out along his neck.
At the moment of climax, with his eyes closed, he whispered, "Susan…"
But my name was Willa Tucker. Susan was my sister.
*****
The cold wind outside pierced through my sheer nightgown, sending chills straight across my skin.
Even my bones felt frozen.
Cedric let out a stifled groan at his desk, then pulled out a wet wipe and meticulously wiped his fingers clean.
Once he finished, he returned to his usual cold and collected demeanor.
When he looked up and saw me, any trace of passion beneath his gold-rimmed glasses had already faded.
"This room is full of classified documents. Please leave," he said.
For three years of marriage, Cedric spoke to me with the same formality and distance as if we were at a diplomatic reception: polite, detached, without a hint of emotion.
I stood rooted to the spot. It was a while before I finally found my voice.
"Cedric, why did you marry me?" I asked.
That question had weighed down on my chest like a stone for three years straight.
Afraid of the truth, I kept convincing myself he simply wasn't into women, and that someday, even the coldest heart could be warmed by genuine love.
He didn't lift his head, his lips barely parting as he spoke.
"Our families are well-matched. My parents are pleased with you, and my status demands a dignified wife," Cedric replied.
So that was it.
Even after taking a deep breath, I couldn't keep the tremor out of my voice. "Let's divorce."
The Lamborghini's engine in the driveway drowned out my words.
Cedric couldn't take his eyes off the graceful figure stepping out of the car. It was my sister, Susan.
He didn't come back to himself until the sound of the car door closing echoed through the room.
"What did you say?" Cedric asked.
I gave a bitter shake of my head. "It's nothing. You should get some rest."
He picked up his cup and walked past me, reaching out to turn off the light.
Left alone in the darkness, the shame and hurt I'd been holding back finally crashed over me like a wave.
All those nights he spent in the study, claiming he was working, were because he was waiting for her to come home.
The coffee in his cup was still full. He only came downstairs to pretend he'd run into Susan by chance.
When did he start falling for Susan?
I was so blind, not seeing a single sign in three years.
After wrapping myself in a robe, I quietly made my way downstairs, careful not to make a sound.
The only light came from a dim corner of the kitchen. Cedric was leaning against the island, and to my surprise, his eyes were lit up with a smile I'd never seen before.
"Coffee is good for sobering up. If you want, I can make you a cup," Cedric offered.
"I'm not really a coffee person, but I'll give it a shot," Susan replied.
While Susan was looking down, Cedric almost reached out to touch her hair, but stopped himself in time.
She took a tentative sip from the cup he was holding, then grimaced.
"Ew. It's too bitter. Not my thing," she said.
"I've got some good coffee beans coming in. You should try it tomorrow," Cedric said.
After Susan went upstairs, Cedric gently pressed his lips to the rim of the cup where she'd taken a sip, closing his eyes as if he were kissing her.
It was so obvious when someone loved one, or not.
Once, I accidentally drank from his cup. The next day, I found it tossed in the trash.
With a blank face, he said, "Sorry, I don't like anyone touching my stuff."
When it came to Susan, he acted composed around others, but behind closed doors, he was completely obsessed.
With me, all he ever showed was coldness and neglect.
Silently, I went back to my room and pulled out the marriage certificate I once cherished from the drawer.
It looked like this would soon be swapped for a divorce certificate.
That night, I sent the documents and the prenuptial agreement to my lawyer friend.
She replied almost instantly, [Something's wrong with your marriage certificate. The seal doesn't look right.]
That made me think back to how rushed and sloppy the whole process of getting married was three years ago.
There was no wedding ceremony. He said he didn't like fuss or crowds.
There was no announcement, either. His position meant he couldn't show off.
We didn't even go to the city hall together. He simply took my ID documents, and later handed me the marriage certificate without saying a word.
Back then, I was so wrapped up in my own happiness that it never crossed my mind to question if the marriage certificate was real.
But maybe that was a blessing in disguise. With a fake marriage certificate, I could skip all the messy divorce paperwork.
I spent the whole night awake, packing up my things.
When I came downstairs the next morning, Cedric was sitting at the dining table, reading the newspaper.
His black shirt fit snugly around his slim waist, and the tailored sleeves showed off his toned arms.
Every gesture he made oozed an effortless, high-class vibe.
Should I even bother talking about divorce, since the marriage certificate was a sham to begin with?
Could I call it a breakup? But Cedric and I were never really together.
So, I said, "I think we both need to move out of the Tucker family's residence."