Chapter 1
Our social circle knew us well: Edward and Olivia Hawthorne, the "perpetually divorcing" couple. Yes, we had been divorced eight times.
This latest remarriage, I reined in my sharp tongue; he seemingly settled his restless heart.
We became, to all appearances, the reformed pair—a testament to second chances, held up as the new model of reconciliation among our peers.
The night of my birthday party, the house hummed with congratulatory warmth.
Edward slipped away for a phone call, returning with a distracted air.
"An urgent matter, Olivia. I must go." He offered a quick kiss on my cheek before disappearing into the night.
I shrugged it off, losing myself once more in champagne and conversation.
The revelry was broken by a notification. Jonathan Royce, my arch-rival, had sent a gift: a crystal-clear photo. Edward, at the airport terminal, was holding a young woman close.
The music and laughter around me distorted into meaningless noise as I absorbed every detail.
Coolly, I called him. "Will I see you tonight, sweetheart?" My voice was smooth silk.
Edward paused for a moment before replying, "Things are a bit messy right now. Don't wait up."
As soon as I hung up, I ordered someone to look into that woman immediately.
*****
The clock read three in the morning. I stood by the window, Grace Maxwell's profile glowing on the tablet in my hands.
Every one of Edward's old lovers looked just like her.
One by one, I lit cigarettes, the ember burning down in rhythm with my thoughts.
The first time we divorced, it was because he handed a deal to our rival. I slapped him right across the face.
The second time, he got drunk and called me by another woman's name. I set our house on fire.
By the ninth trip to City Hall to remarry, even he had paused on the steps. "Olivia, are we utterly insane?" Edward had said, a weary smile on his lips.
I laughed so hard, tears streamed down my face.
*****
Dawn was bleeding into the sky when he finally returned, the scent of another woman's perfume clinging to his coat.
He frowned, plucking the cigarette from my fingers. "You started again? What about trying for a family?"
I looked up at him, memories emerging.
A year ago, after my parents died in a plane crash, Edward was the one who found me, held me close, and said, "Don't be afraid. I'm here."
From then on, I kept my temper in check, and Edward became more committed.
Now, for Grace Maxwell, his heart had wandered again.
The word divorce rose to my throat, but I swallowed it back.
"Edward, are you going to cheat on me again?" I asked.
He paused, then moved to embrace me from behind. "Don't be ridiculous. Who's been filling your head with nonsense?"
His evasion was answer enough.
I pulled away. "I'm going to the office."
After my parents' death, Sterling Enterprises became my responsibility.
That morning, I dismissed two incompetent directors, my tone icy.
By five, buried in paperwork, I called Edward.
"Remember, dinner at the Hawthorne Estate tonight. Don't forget," I said.
"Okay," he replied.
*****
I arrived at the Hawthorne Estate right on time. But Edward was late.
As his father, Ryan Hawthorne's expression darkened, I sweetly dialed Edward's number.
However, a woman's voice answered, "Hello, Mr. Hawthorne is occupied. I'm his secretary. May I assist you?"
Stunned, I realized he actually let Grace handle his calls.
He never let me near his phone, always claiming it held sensitive corporate data.
So it wasn't that no one was allowed near his phone. I just wasn't the exception.
I pretended to accidentally hit the speaker button.
Edward's voice echoed from the speaker, water running in the background.
"Grace, the showerhead's all set. Just toss the old one," he said.
He said her name like it was the most natural thing in the world.
The living room fell into a deathly silence.
Ryan slammed his coffee cup onto the saucer in anger.
I lowered my head, my shoulders trembling slightly. When I looked up, my eyes were perfectly teary.
"Dad, Mom... if the person Edward truly wants has returned, I should step aside. I'll have my lawyer draft the divorce papers."
"Nonsense!" Edward's mother, Ashley Hawthorne, cut in sharply, rising to take my hands in hers. "You are Edward's wife, now and always. As for that shameless woman and our foolish son, we will handle this."
That night, Ryan meted out ten sharp lashes to Edward, then condemned him to stand rigid in the study corner until dawn—immobile, unsupported, and relentlessly awake.
The next day, Ashley personally visited my office and laid a contract worth 60 million on my desk.
She sighed, "This is from the family, Olivia. For your... distress."
I accepted them with a gentle smile. "We're family, Mom. There's no need for this."
Satisfied, Ashley left.
But I gripped the contracts tightly, the edges digging into my palm.