Chapter 1

My husband, Julian Sterling, is a genius painter, but he suffers from a severe emotional disorder.

Even when I fell down the stairs, pregnant, and pleaded for his help, he just asked indifferently, "Why are you always crying?"

I used to think this was just how geniuses were – unique and detached.

That was until I saw his studio, filled with nude portraits of another woman.

I confronted him in anger, but he remained cold, retorting, "She's my muse! A housewife like you wouldn't understand art!"

Finally, I agreed to his divorce request.

"Go live your life with your muse, then."

On the divorce papers, I asked for nothing else.

Only one thing: Julian had to continue paying my mother's medical bills.

After the divorce was finalized, Julian's expression remained as cold as ever.

"What will you do now?"

I knew it was just a polite formality, not genuine concern for my future.

Julian had always been heartless and emotionless towards me.

I gave a vague answer.

"Travel."

He didn't ask anything further.

Chloe Davis linked her arm through his, smiling at me.

"Thank you for setting Julian free."

I instinctively looked at Julian.

He suddenly spoke.

"Traveling costs money. I'll transfer some to you."

His tone was still flat, indifferent, as if he were speaking to a stranger.

I didn't get much money from this divorce.

Julian and I had signed a prenuptial agreement from the start, so I couldn't claim any of his assets.

Our elder son, Leo, had health issues and was a high-needs child.

I had quit my job years ago to focus entirely on caring for him.

So, this divorce meant I was practically walking away with next to nothing.

Chloe pursed her lips, cutting him off.

"Julian, Audrey must have her own savings. Aren't you looking down on her by saying that? Besides, our exhibition is about to open, and we need the money."

Julian turned to look at her, his gaze softening.

"You're right."

Chloe smiled at me.

"Audrey, where are you going to travel? Won't it be unsafe for you alone?"

Julian frowned. "What could possibly be unsafe?"

I was used to his nonchalant attitude.

Julian had an emotional disorder.

Over a decade ago, at his grandfather's funeral, Julian didn't shed a single tear.

Everyone called him a monster.

Fearing he might be upset, I covered his ears and tried to comfort him.

"Julian, they're not telling the truth. You just aren't good at expressing your feelings."

But Julian looked at me seriously and said,

"Why should I be sad? Everyone in this world has to leave one day, don't they?"

I was stunned.

A young me didn't understand why Julian would say something like that.

Later, Julian's condition worsened, to the point of self-harm—he didn't love anyone, including himself.

But only when he saw me did his condition seem to improve.

The Sterling family, desperate to save him, offered to cover my mother's medical bills if I married Julian.

Julian even pleaded with me with eyes like a wounded puppy.

"Audrey, you said you'd always stay with me, didn't you?"

I was moved by him.

We even had a period of relative affection.

During that brief time, I became pregnant with our elder son.

With our son's birth, my life gradually revolved around him.

Without realizing it, Julian and I drifted further apart.

Julian was the most renowned genius painter, with a large fan base.

Many fans, upon learning I was just a housewife, declared online that I wasn't worthy of him.

【How can a genius painter's wife be just a housewife?】

【Heard it was a marriage of convenience. The poor genius painter.】

I broke down crying, seeking his comfort.

But Julian looked at me with a strange expression.

"Why bother with them? You're really odd. And they're not wrong, you are a housewife."

Should I blame him?

Everyone told me Julian was just sick; he was simply incapable of love.

As his wife, I should be understanding.

Countless times after that, I used that excuse to console myself.

Our son's health was fragile. One moment of inattention, and he'd have a high fever that wouldn't break.

I couldn't sleep all night, watching over his bedside, even while carrying our second child.

Meanwhile, Julian, as his father, remained completely absorbed in his paintings.

I confronted him, distraught, asking why he didn't care about our child.

He looked up at me.

"I'm not a doctor."

In my overwhelming grief, I fell down the stairs.

A large pool of blood gushed out beneath me.

—I miscarried.