Chapter 1

My husband, James Carter, was the top lawyer in the Capitavia, young, successful, and handsome enough to make every socialite in town swoon.

Yet, he married me, an orphan with an ordinary background and average looks.

Everyone said I, Emily Bennett, must have hit the jackpot in a previous life to land such a catch.

But only I knew the truth: we had been married for three years, and for three years, we had slept in separate rooms.

His heart belonged to a woman who went abroad, his first love. He married me to please his parents and fend off his relentless admirers.

We signed a contract. He'd give me a comfortable life. I'd play the obedient wife until the day his true love returned.

I thought we'd stay like this forever, polite strangers sharing a home.

Until that night, a rival drugged him. He stumbled through the door, eyes bloodshot, and collapsed in front of me. He grabbed my wrist, his voice hoarse. "Emily, help me."

The next morning, James stared at me, at the marks covering my body, in silence. For the first time, he lit a cigarette in my presence.

Through the haze of smoke, he finally spoke. "I'll take responsibility for what happened."

I thought that might be the turning point in our marriage. But weeks later, tightly clutching a positive pregnancy test in my hand, I spotted him on a street corner.

He was holding an umbrella over another woman, shielding her from the rain. The tender look in his eyes was a side of him I had never seen before.

I knew then. His first love had come home.

*****

"Mrs. Carter, you really are blessed. James is the most eligible bachelor in our circle. So many women would give anything to marry him," said a lady dripping in jewels, champagne in hand.

She smiled at me, but her eyes were full of open scrutiny and barely concealed contempt.

I forced a smile and didn't bother to respond.

I'd gotten used to scenes like this over the past three years.

As James's wife, I'd tagged along to countless business parties. Every time, all eyes were on me, not because I was anything special, but because my ordinary looks made his brilliance stand out even more.

I was an orphan, working an office job at a small company after college. My appearance was neat but easily overlooked in a crowd.

James, meanwhile, was the youngest partner at Capitavia's top law firm, the Carter family's only son, strikingly handsome and exceptionally talented. He was the ultimate prize for every socialite in town.

To everyone else, our marriage was the ultimate Cinderella story.

But what the fairy tales never told was that after Cinderella and the prince got married, they ended up sleeping in separate bedrooms.

Three years ago, James's parents came to me with a deal I couldn't turn down.

They wanted a daughter-in-law who was squeaky clean and mild-mannered, someone who could shut down the rumors and finally make James stop waiting for that girl to return from overseas.

And I needed money. My only family, my little brother, was gravely ill and needed a fortune for surgery.

So, James and I signed a contract.

I pretended to be his devoted wife, and in return, he paid for all my brother's medical expenses and promised me a life without worries.

The last line of our contract was clear: if James ever asked for a divorce, I wasn't allowed to object.

I knew that day would come as soon as the girl he'd always loved, Claire Morgan, came back to Capitavia.

"Ms. Bennett, you don't seem to be enjoying yourself at this kind of event," a teasing voice said near my ear.

I turned to see a man in a loud floral shirt, James's arch-nemesis, a partner at another law firm named Peter Johnson.

I replied coolly, "Is there something you need, Mr. Johnson?"

He swirled his drink, flashing a sly grin. "Nothing much, just curious. Mr. Carter hides a gorgeous wife like you at home, but out here, he acts all pure and innocent. Or are you two living separate lives?"

His comment was pretty bold, and the nearby socialites, who were clearly eavesdropping, let out a few quiet snickers.

My cheeks flushed, and I clutched my bag tighter.

Just as I was scrambling for a response, a hand pulled me close by the waist.

The familiar woody cologne drifted over, and James's cool voice cut through the tension. "Mr. Johnson, if you're so free, maybe you should worry about whether your cases will hit the mark next quarter."

James stood there, doing nothing, but his commanding presence made Peter's face go pale. He forced a smile and beat a hasty retreat.

"You okay?" James asked, glancing down at me with a slight frown.

I shook my head. "I'm fine."

His hand stayed on my waist, and even through the thin fabric of my dress, I could feel the warmth of his palm. I felt awkward. After three years, this was pretty much the most intimate we'd ever been.

"If you're tired, go wait for me in the lounge. I'll come find you when I'm done," he said, letting go of me.

His tone slipped back into that businesslike calm, as if he were just a manager looking after his staff.

He always kept up appearances for me in front of others, and that was part of our agreement. But I knew, behind that facade, there was nothing but an endless gulf between us.

By the time we got back to our villa, it was already the middle of the night.

As usual, I headed straight for the guest room.

"Emily," he called out suddenly.

I stopped in my tracks.

"My mom's coming over tomorrow. It wouldn't look good if she found out we're sleeping in separate rooms."

I understood. He wanted me in the master bedroom tonight. Even though the bed was massive, the idea of spending the night in the same room as James made my heart pound uncontrollably.

He seemed to notice my discomfort and added, "You take the bed. I'll sleep on the couch."

I let out a sigh of relief and nodded.

The master bedroom carried his scent, a cool, woody cologne mixed with a hint of tobacco. He had a habit of smoking, but never did it when I was around.

Lying in bed, I could hear him washing up in the bathroom. Soon, the sounds faded, and the lights went out.

In the darkness, I could feel him nearby. My breathing became careful, almost nervous, as if any sound might break the silence.

I didn't know how much time had passed. He must have thought I was asleep, because he turned over and let out a barely audible sigh.

On our wedding anniversary, he sent a gift through his secretary as usual, a diamond necklace worth a fortune, nestled in a velvet box, so beautiful it almost felt unreal.

The card had his bold, sweeping handwriting: [Happy third anniversary.]

There was no signature.

I knew this was another routine gesture, a perfunctory act to fulfill his role as my husband.

That night, for once, he actually came home for dinner. Sitting across from him at the table, before I knew it, I found myself asking, "James, have you ever loved me? Even just a little?"

He paused, his fork frozen mid-air.

He looked up, his eyes deep and impossible to read, like a bottomless well, showing nothing at all.

"Emily," he said, setting down his fork and looking at me seriously, "you know better than anyone how this all began. I'm grateful for everything you've done these three years, but I can't give you what you're looking for."

In that moment, it felt like my heart was caught in a vise, squeezed so tight I could barely breathe.

Deep down, I already knew the answer, but I couldn't give up hope. I needed to hear it straight from him before I could finally let go.

That night, I dreamed I was back in that moment three years ago, my little brother lying in a hospital bed, the doctor telling me if I couldn't come up with the surgery money, I'd have to start planning his funeral.

I stood in the hallway, crying so hard it felt like my whole world was falling apart.

That was when James's mother walked up to me, like a guardian angel.

When I woke up, my pillow was soaked with tears.

I touched my cold cheeks and let out a bitter laugh.

Emily, what right did you have to wish for love? You were after the money from the very start.

Just when I thought our days would keep drifting along in quiet routine, something happened that completely shattered the fragile balance between us.

He didn't come home until late that night, and the moment he walked in, the heavy smell of alcohol and an unfamiliar woman's perfume hit me.

My heart hit rock bottom.