Chapter 1

On the third year of my marriage to Sebastian Burton, his sweetheart returned.

She was no longer the girl she used to be—now a world-renowned dancer.

Along the Riverside Boulevard, drones filled the night sky like falling stars. The live broadcast showed her smiling softly at reporters.

"I came back to fulfill a promise," she said. "To the boy who once watched meteor showers with me when I was eighteen."

When asked who that boy was, she only smiled and said nothing.

But I saw him immediately—in the crowd.

That was my husband, Sebastian.

I took out my phone and called my divorce lawyer. "Draft the agreement. I only want what's legally mine. Make it quick."

They didn't know that I had been waiting for this day for a very long time.

*****

Just as I hung up, the doorbell rang.

I got up to open the door, and Sebastian's assistant was standing there.

He handed me a beautifully wrapped gift box. "Mrs. Burton, Mr. Burton asked me to bring this to you.

"He also wanted me to let you know there's something urgent at the office today, so he won't be able to come home tonight."

I took the box and gave him a quick thanks.

Then I added, "And please remind him, no matter how busy he gets, he should still take care of himself. If he suddenly drops dead, dying young is really not worth it."

The assistant forced a sheepish smile, muttered an excuse, and hurried out.

I opened the gift box.

Inside was a vintage Rivière necklace, its antique-cut diamonds sparkling under the light, forming a dazzling river of gems.

It was absolutely stunning.

Sebastian was always like that. He never forgot our wedding anniversary, and every year, on every holiday, he'd have someone send me a gift.

From antique vases and jewelry to one-of-a-kind pieces by artists, he had it all covered.

He was a master at keeping up appearances, never giving anyone a reason to complain.

But he never actually spent the anniversary with me. To him, the gifts were just another chore to check off his list.

Honestly, I felt bad for him. He clearly didn't want to do any of this, but he still had to rack his brain over these pointless gestures.

I was honestly tired for him, having to go through all that for no real reason.

Just as I set the gift box down on the table, my phone started ringing.

It was my mother, Barbara Harrell.

I let out a sigh and picked up.

She said, "Estrella, today's your anniversary with Sebastian. Don't let this chance slip by.

"I'm not trying to nag, but you've been married for three years and still no sign of a baby? You really need to step it up.

"With a guy like Sebastian, there are plenty of women flocking to him. You should have a little more sense of crisis, Estrella."

I was so fed up that I snapped, "He's dead. If you want him to have a kid with me, maybe burn some paper money for the King of Hell and ask him to send Sebastian back."

My Mom said, "There you go again, talking crazy. I'll come see you in a couple of days. I found another doctor, and he gave me a folk remedy. Once I've brewed the medicine, I'll bring it over for you."

It was like talking to a wall.

I was so frustrated that it felt like punching a pillow. No matter what I said, it just didn't get through. I hung up on her.

That was my mother, Barbara.

Growing up, I always felt like I wasn't really her daughter—more like a masterpiece she sculpted according to her flawless blueprint.

While other kids got to run wild after school, she'd pat my head and say, "Estrella, be a good girl. You're supposed to be a proper young lady, not one of those wild women. That's not elegant."

Elegance—that was the curse she put on me.

I craved street food.

She said, "Your place isn't at a street stall. You should be dining at a five-star restaurant."

Growing up, I could only touch the dish placed right in front of me. Before every meal, I had to smile and say "thank you," and after, I had to smile and say, "I'm finished, please enjoy your meal."

When I smiled, I had to keep it just right—just a slight curve at the corners of my mouth, never showing any teeth.

If I so much as slouched while doing my homework, the next day a professional posture coach would show up and put me through every kind of torture imaginable.

I want to study design.

She said, "Your hands aren't meant for sketching. They're supposed to play the violin and piano."

Because I was forced to learn so many things, I ended up being a jack of all trades, but never truly good at anything.

Barbara didn't care at all. She said, "Mastery is for people who need to make a living from it. You don't need that. These are just icebreakers for social occasions, not something you need to build your life on."

She always had her own brand of logic, and somehow, it all made perfect sense to her.