Chapter 2

I cried so hard I could barely breathe, stammering out repeated thanks. A pair of immaculate hands held out a crisply folded linen handkerchief, carrying a soft, warm cedar fragrance.

"If they ever harass you again, use my name," he said.

He stood tall and poised, his eyes clear as crystal, telling me his name was Julian Sterling.

*****

I sucked my bleeding fingertip into my mouth, covered it quickly with a band-aid, then trimmed the remaining thorns from the rose stems with meticulous care. I spritzed the blooms with fresh water and arranged them in a crystal vase.

Julian had strict, obsessive-compulsive traits. Early in our marriage, I'd arranged a bouquet of roses and set it on the dining table, hoping to surprise him when he woke up.

Before he left, he glanced at the flowers indifferently and frowned at once. "Don't waste your time on things like this. It's meaningless."

My bright excitement died instantly, drowned in cold disappointment.

Hurt but still gentle, I whispered a quiet protest, "Roses mean love, Julian."

I had always been quiet and reserved, unaccustomed to such bold, heartfelt words. My cheeks flushed bright red before I finished speaking, and I stared down at my hands, twisting the hem of my dress nervously.

When I lifted my head again, Julian had already slipped away without a word.

I told myself he'd disliked the missing dewdrops, the slightly curled petal edges, or the leftover thorns.

I grasped at every possible excuse to soothe myself, refusing to face the painful truth: my husband did not love me.

I repositioned the vase over and over, stepping back to the foyer to check the angle, adjusting it until it felt right.

Just then, my phone rang. I stared at the screen, taking several steadying breaths before answering.

"You took too long. Were you still in bed?" the man on the other end demanded.

"No, Dad, I was just tidying up the house. Sorry," I replied.

"Come over," he said.

His tone was sharp, with not an extra word to spare. I murmured a quiet "yes", and he hung up at once.

I changed quickly and hailed a taxi, which took me to a secluded suburban mansion, a grand, imposing estate at the end of a winding private drive.

I rang the doorbell, and the butler led me into a lavish, sprawling foyer. I stood stiff and nervous, too intimidated to lift my eyes.

"Stop cowering like that. It's utterly unbecoming." A middle-aged man with streaks of gray in his hair, dressed in a sharp silver suit, huffed from across the sofa.

His eyes were deep and unyielding, his facial structure nearly identical to Julian's.

"Good afternoon, Dad." I forced a timid, polite smile.

Julian's father, Vincent Sterling, did not acknowledge the greeting, flipping through the medical reports for Julian and me, the paper rustling.

"You and Julian possess one hundred percent pheromone compatibility. That is the sole reason I permitted you to marry into the Sterling family, regardless of your unsuitable background and appearance."

He lifted his gaze, fixing me with piercing, eagle-like eyes. "You have been married four years and have not conceived. Your medical results are flawless. Why is that?"

I bit my lip, speaking in a small, trembling voice. "I'm so sorry, Dad. Julian and I have both been incredibly busy—"

Vincent let out a cold, mocking scoff. "The Sterling family has no need for a woman who cannot hold her husband's affection. You have one year. Fail to conceive, and your marriage will be dissolved.

"The heiress of the Quinn Group shares eighty percent compatibility with Julian. She is a far more appropriate match."

With that, he waved a dismissive hand, ordering me to leave. Just like Julian, he did not grant me so much as a single glance of consideration.