Chapter 1
The summer I turned eighteen, I gave myself to Julian Sterling to save him from a laced drink at a high‑society gala.
The marriage that was supposed to belong to my adoptive older sister became mine instead. Heartbroken by the betrayal, she packed her bags and vanished from the city without a trace.
Everyone in our social circle spat insults at me, branding me a shameless social climber who had stolen her sister's fiancé. Even my own parents cut me off completely and wrote me out of the family will.
But he married me in a massive, lavish estate wedding. He spoiled me rotten with designer gowns and diamonds, turning me into the envied trophy wife of every woman in the city.
Yet, in all the six years we were married, he never touched me again after that first night.
I constantly told myself his distance was just a lingering medical aftereffect from that toxic night, and I poured every bit of my energy into taking care of him and running his household flawlessly. No matter how I tried to entice him or dress up for him, he remained completely stone-cold.
That all changed today.
I stood outside his private office door, freezing as the sound of a woman's breathy moans grew louder and louder from inside.
"Julian, be gentle," she whimpered.
The raw, hungry lust thick in the man's voice that answered her was something I had never heard from him once in all our years together.
"Do you really think I would've ever even looked at that backwoods nobody, Clara, if I wasn't terrified that the laced drink would mess up your body and leave you infertile? How much longer do you expect me to hold back, Meredith?"
I slammed my hand over my mouth to bite back a scream, not daring to make a single peep, and before I knew it, hot tears were streaming down my face.
My fingers shook violently as I dialed my foster brother, who had just wrapped up a high‑profile military tour overseas.
I breathed into the phone, my voice cracking completely, "Gideon, I want to come home."
*****
I stumbled blindly down the staircase and crashed straight into a designer waste bin.
Glancing inside, I saw it. My carefully prepped breakfast for Julian, a gourmet omelet and artisanal toast made early that morning, sitting completely untouched. The lid wasn't even lifted off.
He had chronic digestive issues. For six straight years, I never let myself slack off for a single day, all just to make sure he got fresh, healthy, home‑cooked meals every single morning. But right then, that untouched food container sitting in the garbage spelled it out for me plain and clear. Every bit of love and effort I had poured into these years had been nothing but unrequited, one‑sided pining.
I ripped the diamond wedding ring I never took off my finger and tossed it straight into that same bin without a second thought.
That was when a voice rang out behind me, sharp and surprised, "Clara?"
Julian stepped in front of me, looking just as aloof and elegant as he always did. But the faint, dirty love bites marking his neck and the half‑smile still tugging at the corner of his mouth gave him away completely. Right at that moment, he was as blissfully content as a cat that had just gorged itself on cream.
Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted a shadow shifting behind the curtain. One look was all I needed to know. It was Meredith Hart. She was only wearing a plain T‑shirt, no heavy makeup, no fancy frills, and that was all it took to bring Julian to his knees. And all those nights I had spent dressing in silk lingerie, trying to seduce my own husband, each one felt like a stinging, ringing slap right across my face.
I once stripped naked and stood right in front of Julian, sobbing and begging him to tell me why he wouldn't touch me when we were married. Why, when our very first time together had been so wild and passionate?
He had already fully recovered, but he never cut me loose. That's how he let me fall for his lie and delude myself for all six years.
He just gave a cold, faint chuckle, his voice completely devoid of warmth, "Clara, put your clothes back on. I don't feel anything for you."
But with Meredith? Every last bit of his restraint and self‑control crumbled to dust.
He caught where my gaze was locked and shifted a step forward to block my view of the window.
"How long have you been here?" He leaned in close to my face. "Why are your eyes red?"
A thick wave of that signature designer perfume slammed into my nose, cloying and suffocating.
The day I was brought back to the Hart estate, I accidentally knocked over one of Meredith's perfume bottles. My own father made me stand in the corner for the entire night as punishment.
Ever since that day, the smell of that floral scent had been my quiet, unspoken trigger, something I couldn't stand to be around.
My brows furrowed instinctively before I could stop myself, and I jerked back a step. But Julian caught my hand, his voice still that same gentle, caring tone it always was around me.
"Clara, what's wrong? Tell me, I'll fix whatever it is."
I pulled a wobbly smile onto my face. "The wind bit at my eyes on the way over."
My eyes drifted to the silk tie Julian had on his lapel, and my voice came out thick and rough, raw with suppressed emotion, "I've never seen you wear a tie like that before."
Even from where I stood, it was obvious how poorly made it was. Once upon a time, I had hand‑stitched dozens of silk ties for Julian, too. I pricked my fingers so many times that my hands were covered in tiny scars.
He had always taken them from me cheerfully enough, but he never wore a single one.
Not once.
