Chapter 1

The once proud Young Grant, the Heir everyone in the capital's elite circles had to fawn over, was now reduced to this sorry state.

And all of this, I owe to my wife, Charlotte Sinclair, the owner of Sinclair Holdings.

I didn't rush home to confront her about the 387 desperate calls for help she never answered, with all her billions, she couldn't even cough up three million dollars to save me.

I didn't even ask her if Michael Lane was really worth more to her than my life.

I became exactly what she wanted, quiet, obedient, no longer showing off, no longer making waves, no longer causing her any trouble.

Even in the hospital, when the doctor asked about my family, I calmly told him, "My parents are both dead. I have no family."

That night, someone I knew all too well, yet felt like a stranger now, showed up at the door of my hospital room.

She wore a custom Chanel suit, her makeup flawless down to the last detail. She was still the Queen of Sinclair Holdings, untouchable, always out of reach.

Charlotte's beautiful brows furrowed, her voice as cold and impatient as ever.

"Alex, why didn't you contact me when you were hospitalized?"

I didn't look up at her. I kept staring at the gray sky outside the window.

There was a bird out there, futilely banging against the glass, it reminded me of myself not long ago.

"I did," I said softly, my voice painfully hoarse.

This body had been tormented for too long, my vocal cords were damaged for good.

Charlotte's brows knitted even tighter, clearly annoyed by how indifferent and almost dismissive I was being.

"I never got your call," she said, pulling out her phone as if to prove something.

"It's okay." I replied and said nothing more.

I didn't scramble to explain myself like I used to, or anxiously watch her expression, scared of upsetting her.

Not even a flicker of happiness crossed my mind when she finally appeared.

My heart had already died back in that tiny, rust-scented room of despair, with every one of those 387 calls cut off by a busy tone.

What stood here now was nothing more than an empty shell named Alex Grant.

Charlotte seemed caught off guard by my simple reply. She stood there, and the atmosphere in the room grew tense.

She's probably thinking I'm pulling some kind of push-and-pull trick again.

After all, in her eyes, I'm a pathetic person that can't live without her.

"Alex," she finally spoke again, her tone sharp and scrutinizing, "what exactly do you want? Even being dramatic has its limits."

I slowly turned my head, finally looking her straight in the eye.

She was stunning, like an ice sculpture, not a trace of warmth or humanity in her beauty.

But it was this very ice that, when I was desperate for warmth, couldn't even spare me a single hint of it.

"Ms. Sinclair," I said, "you've got it wrong."

Her eyes widened a bit.

Ms. Sinclair.

Three years married, and this was the first time I'd ever addressed her so formally.

Back then, I was always following her around, calling her "Charlotte" with affection or teasing her by calling her "Honey" when it was just the two of us.

"Did you just call me that?" Her voice went cold.

"You're my boss, aren't you?" I tried to force a smile, but couldn't even pull off a decent one.

I added, "The marriage contract makes it clear. I'm the Sinclair family's live-in son-in-law. In exchange, I have to play the part of 'Ms. Sinclair's husband.' Honestly, we're basically in a business arrangement."

Charlotte was completely thrown by my words. For the first time ever, her usual icy expression cracked, and she actually looked stunned.

"Alex, have you lost your mind?" she asked.

"No," I said calmly, meeting her eyes. "I've finally figured things out. I used to be reckless, always making trouble for you, Ms. Sinclair. That won't happen again."

As I spoke, I picked up a sheet of paper from the nightstand and held it out to her.

I said, "This is my SIM card, it's been deactivated. If you need anything regarding business, contact my lawyer. His details are listed below."

Charlotte didn't take it. She stared at me, like she was trying to recognize a stranger.

"A lawyer? Alex, when did you get yourself a lawyer?" she asked.

See? She doesn't even know I studied law in college.

That's right. Why would the boss of a billion-dollar empire care what her accessory majored in?

I didn't bother answering her. I placed the paper on the nightstand. "The doctor says I can leave tomorrow. I'll be out of your villa, so you won't have to deal with me or your friend anymore."

I made sure to pause on the word "friend."

Her gaze wavered for a split second.

She knew who I meant.

Michael Lane, her old flame, the childhood crush she never got over.

The very first day I was kidnapped, she was the one who hung up my very first call.

Because she had to rush off to Paris to handle some so-called "minor issue" at Michael's company.

There was a knock at the door, and the doctor came in to check on me.

The doctor said, "You're recovering well, but you need to be careful. Three fingers on your right hand were crushed.

"Though they've been repaired, you probably won't be able to hold anything heavy anymore. When it rains, they'll ache fiercely."

As the doctor talked, he scribbled notes in his record book.

Charlotte's gaze instantly landed on my right hand, wrapped in thick bandages.

Her face turned as pale as paper in that instant.

I didn't even react to what the doctor said. Instead, I asked politely, "Doctor, are the discharge procedures done?"

"All set. You can leave whenever you want." the doctor replied.

"Thanks." I said.

I yanked the IV needle from my hand, didn't even look at Charlotte. She was still frozen there, and headed straight for the door.

As I walked past, her hand shot out and clamped onto my arm.

Her grip was tight, like she thought I might bolt at any second.

"Alex, what's wrong with you? Why won't you tell me?" For the first time, I caught a hint of panic in her voice.

I stopped, turned my head, and gave her a look so unfamiliar, it was as if she were a stranger to me.

I asked, "Tell you what?" My voice barely above a whisper. "Should I tell you I called you 387 times?"