Chapter 1
I knew my "clinically asexual" husband was obsessed with his young apprentice the night I caught him touching himself to her photo.
When her reckless surgical stunt left my mother paralyzed, I gave him a ruthless ultimatum: put her in prison, or I file for divorce.
He handed over the evidence, and for three years, he played the perfect, devoted husband.
Until tonight. I sneaked into his elite medical gala to surprise him with my pregnancy, only to stop dead in my tracks.
Standing on the lit podium, proudly holding a trophy, was the woman who was supposed to be rotting in a prison cell.
...
"These past three years, the unwavering support of Dr. Caspian Thorne has been my guiding light. Without him, I wouldn't be standing here today," Seren's voice echoed through the speakers.
Off into the wings, Caspian stood looking up at her. He couldn't even bother to mask the raw, blazing pride on his face.
I stood frozen in the shadows, catching the hushed murmurs of the hospital board members' wives beside me.
"Remember when Caspian shielded her? His own mother-in-law was left a vegetable on the table, and he didn't even suspend Seren's license."
"Right? And with his private backing, she's been sweeping every medical accolade on the West Coast. Truly the industry's power couple."
Their words were a physical blow.
The husband who had sworn to exact justice for my family had instead been cultivating Seren's career, sheltering her from the storm.
Numb, I followed Caspian's retreating figure as he slipped into a secluded VIP alcove with Seren after her speech.
She threw herself into his chest, looking up at him with manufactured tears.
"Everyone is still whispering about what happened three years ago. Do you blame me?"
Caspian's hand, the same hand that had slipped a diamond onto my finger, reached up to stroke her hair with sickening tenderness.
"Don't be foolish. That incident wasn't your fault. With my backing, no one in this city will ever touch you."
He wiped her tear with his thumb. "That trivial issue means nothing compared to your happiness. I'm right here."
My chest caved in.
Because of my mother's irreversible paralysis, I had spiraled into a grueling three-year clinical depression.
I had lived on a cocktail of prescription sedatives just to breathe.
When the pain became too much and I overdosed, it was Caspian who held my hair back as I violently purged the pills, whispering those exact words to me.
"Don't be afraid. I'm right here."
To hear those sacred, comforting words bestowed upon the architect of my mother's destruction was an absurdity so sharp it felt like a hallucination.
Before I could tear aside the curtain and demand the truth, Seren's voice dropped to a sultry whisper.
She reached into her clutch and slid a square foil packet straight into the breast pocket of Caspian's jacket.
"To celebrate tonight," she purred, her cheeks flushed.
"I'll give you five rounds. I promise I won't beg you to stop."
Caspian's Adam's apple bobbed heavily.
A dark, ravenous lust flashed in his eyes—an expression I hadn't seen in the eight barren years of our marriage, a marriage where he had frequently locked me out of the master suite under the guise of his "medical condition."
The tremor in my hands betrayed me. My phone slipped from my grip, shattering the secluded silence as it clattered against the floor.
Caspian snapped his head toward the noise.
The moment his gaze locked onto mine, a violent jolt of panic crossed his features.
But in the very next second, his primal instinct took over: he took a half-step forward, physically shielding Seren from me.
"I'll have a driver take you home," Caspian said, not to me, but into the space between us.
He didn't explain. He didn't apologize. He merely brushed past my shoulder, escorting Seren away from the impending fallout.
The physical impact sent me stumbling. I hit the wall of the corridor, barely managing to keep myself upright as a sudden, brutal cramping seized my lower abdomen, pulling at the newly formed life inside me.
On the floor, my phone screen lit up, displaying the unread text I had sent him just an hour ago:
[I have a surprise for you tonight. Are you ready?]
He hadn't even opened it.
Gasping through the abdominal pain, I picked up the device and dialed his private number. I just wanted to hear it from his mouth. I wanted the excuse, the lie, anything.
He declined the call on the first ring.
I dialed again. It went straight to voicemail. His phone was off.
The last shreds of my eight-year illusion dissolved into the sterile air of the medical center.
My hands finally stopped shaking. I pulled up a new contact and pressed call.
"It's Liora," I said, my voice shockingly hollow as my legal counsel picked up.
"Draft the divorce papers."
