Chapter 3

“Lucas!”

I couldn’t help yelling his name, trying to stop him before he went any further.

My discomfort and resistance must not have looked fake, because something like confusion flickered in his eyes.

But it was quickly replaced by irritation. “Ivy, a hug won’t kill you. Don’t throw a fit.”

I hated how dismissive he was, how cutting.

He was way too aggressive. I wanted to hit back—like, maybe literally punch him.

Somewhere deep in my memory, I seemed to remember that when I first found him and took care of him, he’d been sweet. Gentle.

Everything had changed.

“I’m your wife, right? I got hit by a car and you didn’t care. You looked straight past the wounds all over my body. The second you got home, you warned me to stay away from your first love. And now you’re saying I’m throwing a fit. Lucas, what gives you the right to treat me like this?”

The sudden demand threw him for a second. Then it lit his temper.

He grabbed my chin and forced me to look at him. His voice was ice. “Because you brought it on yourself.”

He was very strong. I couldn’t break free.

It hurt. But I didn’t give in.

I wanted to tell him: I’m done acting out. I’m not going to bother you two anymore. We can get divorced.

But his hand moved down, inch by inch, and closed hard around my throat. I couldn’t make a sound. I couldn’t breathe.

Until I really thought I was going to die.

Then Lucas let go, like he was doing me a great favor. He ruffled my hair, his voice as cold as ever:

“That’s your punishment for faking a suicide with that car accident. Don’t ever threaten me with that again. I’m not afraid of you dying.”

Faking a suicide? Punishment?

I lay there, limp, gulping air, the terror of almost dying making me gasp. Like an idiot, I couldn’t stop the tears from coming. But inside, I was ice cold.

In that moment, I knew for sure: Lucas Thorne was insane.

Even if it was just for my own basic physical safety, this marriage was ending.

When I woke up the next morning, he wasn’t beside me anymore.

I put on one of the new outfits I’d bought the day before and went downstairs—and there he was at the dining table, drinking coffee.

There was a basket of fresh-baked muffins on the table, still steaming.

A house that huge, and not a single member of staff.

I was debating whether to go out and find food when I heard him say, “Come here. Eat.”

Free food was free food.

I plopped down and took a huge bite—and something tasted so wrong I spat it right out, dignity be damned.

I couldn’t believe it.

What kind of maniac stuffs muffins full of chopped walnuts?

And wasn’t I allergic to nuts?

I broke the muffins open one by one. Every single one.

I frowned at him. “Why are they all walnut?”

He seemed to remember something, and a faint smile touched his face. “Chloe baked them herself. She brought them over first thing this morning. She picked out all the ingredients herself. What, you don’t like them?”

My appetite vanished. All I felt was a cold shiver.

Unbelievable. One of them wanted to strangle me, and the other one wanted to poison me.

“I’m not eating.”

I slammed my fork down on the table, and the sound bounced coldly around that enormous dining room. Lucas narrowed his eyes, his voice turning frigid. “Ivy, don’t push your luck.”

My temper shot straight up. “I said I’m not eating. Are you deaf?”

“You’re only refusing because Chloe brought them.”

His face was completely blank. “Insecurity makes people rude, and jealousy only makes you ugly. Ivy, that’s enough.”

Oh my God, this jerk!

You’re my husband, and you’re telling me I’m jealous of another woman?