Chapter 1

On Charles' birthday, Emma brought her pregnancy test, hoping to surprise him.

But instead, she found Charles with his arm around his long-lost flame, Lily Evans, his face full of disgust as he knocked her homemade cake to the floor. "Get rid of it," he snapped. "Lily can't stand the smell."

That night, Emma suffered a miscarriage in the pouring rain. But Charles forced her, right after losing her baby, to donate 400 cc of blood to Lily, claiming she was "anemic."

That was the straw that broke the camel's back. Emma signed the divorce papers and vanished into the rainy night.

When they met again, she was the pampered wife of Alexander Parker, the crown prince of the capital's elite. She was radiant, untouchable, and completely out of Charles' league.

Charles, who once treated her like dirt, now begged frantically in the rain, his eyes bloodshot as he said, "Emma, can we remarry? I'll give you my life."

Emma only sneered.

Behind her, Alexander slipped an arm around her waist and casually caught Charles' hand as he reached for me. "Mr. Reed, how dare you touch my wife right in front of me? Do you not want your hand anymore?"

*****

Emma watched the private lounge door swing open, instinctively hiding the pregnancy test behind her back.

Today was Charles' birthday. It was supposed to be the day I told him we were finally becoming a real family. But Charles didn't walk in alone.

Lily was clinging to his arm—the "little sister" who had supposedly been abroad for medical treatment, the woman who he had dreamed about for three years.

The air in the room turned to ice.

His friends, who had been cheering moments ago, now exchanged awkward glances. They looked back and forth between Lily and me, their eyes gleaming with the thrill of a brewing drama.

"Emma, this is..." someone muttered, trailing off.

Charles didn't even spare me a glance. He walked right past me, leading Lily straight to the head of the table.

He took his time unbuttoning his cufflinks, his tone casual as if he were merely commenting on the weather. "Lily just got back to the country. She's a bit shy, so I brought her along to get the lay of the land."

I watched Lily snuggle up to Charles' shoulder, her smile dazzling. A dull, stinging ache spread through my chest. Was she shy, or just marking her territory?

"Charles, is she Emma?" Lily blinked her big, innocent eyes, her gaze landing on the cake I'd carefully made. "Wow, Emma, you made this yourself? It's kinda... tacky, isn't it?"

I gripped the hem of my shirt until my knuckles turned white. That was Charles' favorite Black Forest cake. I'd spent a whole month learning how to make it.

Charles spared the cake a fleeting look and frowned with a flash of pure disdain. "Get rid of it."

Four simple words, and he had read me my death warrant. I looked up at him in disbelief. "Charles, it's your birthday. I spent three hours—"

"I said get rid of it. Did I stutter?" His voice turned ice-cold. Those eyes, which used to be so full of warmth, were now filled with nothing but frost. "Lily is allergic to chocolate. She can't even stand the smell."

I began, "But—"

"Emma, don't make me repeat myself." He cut me off and beckoned a waiter over. "Take this away. Bring Lily her favorite strawberry tart instead."

The waiter scrambled to remove my hard work. As he passed Lily, she let out a sudden gasp and lurched to the side. I couldn't tell if she was doing it on purpose or not.

The uncut cake slid off the tray with a sickening splat, landing right on me. Cream smeared over my eyes, messy and cold—just like my heart at this moment.

"Oh my goodness! Emma, I'm so sorry." Lily covered her mouth in panic, though a smug grin danced in her eyes.

Charles bolted upright, but his first instinct was to check on Lily's hand. "Are you hurt?"

The sheer worry and concern was something I hadn't seen once in the three years we'd been together.

I stood there, cake smeared all over me, looking like a ridiculous clown. A dull ache started in my stomach, and I instinctively reached for Charles' sleeve. "Charles, my stomach... it really hurts..."

"It hurts?" Charles turned around, his gaze cutting through me like a knife. "Emma, how long are you going to keep up this act? Lily barely brushed against you, and now you're playing the victim to get sympathy? Since when did you become so spiteful?"

Spiteful? For three years, I was the one who kept his home running. I was the one who went to every business dinner and drank until my stomach bled just to shield him. And now, all I got was "spiteful."

I said, "I'm not faking it, I really—"

"Get lost." Charles pointed toward the door, his patience at an end. "Stop making a scene and embarrassing yourself. Go wash that filth off before you even think about showing your face to me again."

A low ripple of snickering broke out around the room.

I looked at Charles, who I had loved for seven years, and finally saw the writing on the wall. Now that Lily was back, I was just a stain on the rug that needed to be scrubbed away.