Chapter 1
When I won first place in the race, my husband, Edward Grant, wasn't on the podium to celebrate with me.
My agent, Wendy, told me he was at someone's concert.
She shoved a video in front of me. "Look, his eyes are practically popping out."
Edward was sitting in the audience, and his gaze locked onto the woman playing the piano on stage.
There was a tenderness in his eyes that I'd never seen before.
I looked down and called Edward.
He hung up almost instantly, and right after, I got a text from him: [I'm busy.]
The first time I asked him to come to watch my race, he also told me he was busy.
In the past five years, I'd raced almost a thousand times, big or small. No matter my birthday or our anniversary, he never showed up. The excuse was always the same: he was busy.
Even my friends joked that Edward Grant, the richest guy in Huautor, had time that was worth more than gold.
Even though he was always so busy, he somehow found three whole hours to sit through someone else's concert.
But when it came to me, he barely took three seconds to shoot me a short reply.
I held my tears back.
Then I left a comment under the video, seriously asking, [Can someone tell me why Edward is so obsessed with her concert?]
The comments immediately gave me answers.
[They were the most famous golden couple in the Huautor social scene. If Sophia hadn't gone overseas for further studies, she'd be Mrs. Grant by now.]
[Even though they broke up, Mr. Grant never misses one of Sophia's concerts, no matter how packed his schedule is.]
[Yes. He showed up at both the Landicra and Panga concerts, and even went on stage to hand her flowers himself. Did you see the bracelet Ms. Moore always wears? Mr. Grant totally splurged on it at an auction.]
In just a few minutes, the replies had already hit over a thousand.
Every single one was full of regret that these former lovers didn't end up together.
In their eyes, I, the legitimate Ms. Grant, was just the outsider in their story.
They said Edward would take Sophia up to the hilltop to set off fireworks and whisk her off abroad for a concert just because of one word from her.
His beloved car had Sophia's name splashed across it, and he even had "Love Sophia" tattooed on the back of his wrist.
But that wasn't the man I knew. The man I married was always busy and always polite. Even in bed, it was all routine for him.
Someone added: [Sophia may not have ended up with Edward, but she'll always have his heart.]
As soon as that comment dropped, it racked up thousands of likes in no time.
Even I couldn't help but tap the like button myself, my hand shaking as I did.
I couldn't stop imagining what kind of expression Edward had on his face when he did all those things for Sophia.
It definitely wasn't that icy, detached look he always reserved for me.
My nose tingled, a sharp ache spreading as I tried to hold back my emotions.
Wendy noticed how pale I looked and seemed about to say something, but I just waved her off.
I turned away, took a shaky breath, and tried to steady myself.
Forcing a smile, I asked her, "The last competition of the year is in three days, right?"
She hesitated and then nodded.
Hanging onto a sliver of hope, I asked, not ready to give up, "Did Edward say he'd show up?"
Wendy avoided my eyes, saying nothing.
She didn't say anything, but I got the message loud and clear.
I nodded, turned, and slid into my Lamborghini.
I slammed the door shut, shifted into gear, and floored the gas. The engine roared as I sped off.
It felt like a red-hot iron was pressing down on my chest. It was suffocating, aching, and I could barely breathe.
As soon as I stepped into the theater lobby, I ran right into Edward, who was just pushing the door open. When he saw me, his expression turned cold.
"What are you doing here?" he asked.
No explanation and guilt. All he gave me was just a direct, instinctive question.
Edward's eyes were icy and sharp, piercing right through me and making my skin prickle.
Before I could say a word, he shot me a look, then strode over, yanked me outside, and practically shoved me into the car.
"Home," he ordered the driver.
The atmosphere in the car was stifling, heavy enough to make it hard to breathe.
I met his gaze, unflinching. "You get to go to her concert, so why am I not allowed?"