Chapter 1

After countless attempts to seduce my seemingly saintly husband, and still failing to consummate our marriage, I finally dialed my brother's number.

"Alex, I'm divorcing him."

Three seconds of silence stretched on the line before Alexander's low voice came through.

"I told you, Scarlett. That saint, Julian – you'd never pull him down from his pedestal."

I laughed, tears stinging my eyes. "You're right. I was foolish to even try."

"Come to Paris, Scarlett," Alex said, his tone light.

"Plenty of great guys here, way better than Julian. If he can't appreciate my sweet, amazing sister, then let him spend the rest of his life alone with his precious ideals."

"Yeah. After I sort out the paperwork," I whispered.

After hanging up, I took a deep breath. As I passed Julian's private study at the end of the hall, I suddenly heard a muffled, suppressed gasp from inside.

The door wasn't fully closed. A sliver of light peeked through the crack, and I couldn't help but peer inside, my heart pounding.

In the soft glow of candles and the faint scent of cedar, Julian was kneeling on the floor.

His simple white shirt was half-open, and prayer beads were wrapped around his wrist.

But his body was gently swaying, moving rhythmically. Beneath him was a lifelike doll.

The doll's face was clearly visible in the flickering candlelight: delicate, almond-shaped eyes, full,

rosebud lips, and a distinct beauty mark, like a single tear, beneath her left eye.

I bit down hard on my lower lip until I tasted blood.

This was the third time I’d secretly witnessed it!

The first time, I’d stormed out. The second, I’d spent the entire night wide awake. But tonight, I felt nothing but numb.

How utterly laughable. It wasn't that he was devoid of desire; it was just that his desires had never, ever involved me.

I leaned against the cold wall, suddenly recalling the first time I ever saw Julian Thorne.

I was twenty that year. My brother, Liam, took me to an exclusive private club for a charity gala, eager to introduce me to his best friend.

That day, Julian stood out. He wore an impeccably tailored ivory suit with a subtly structured collar, a polished onyx pin at the neckline.

On his wrist, a string of meditation beads. Amidst a room full of flashy playboys, indulging in every vice imaginable, Julian sat alone, a simple, steaming cup of herbal tea before him.

He lowered his gaze, pouring the tea with long, elegant fingers. As the water cascaded and steam curled, he lifted his eyes and looked straight at me.

In that moment, my heart skipped more than a few beats.

Liam noticed my captivated stare and chuckled, lightly tapping my forehead.

"Don't even think about it, little sis. You can like anyone else, but not him. Every other heir in our circle lives a life of pure indulgence, but Julian? He grew up in a monastery, practicing devout meditation. He’s completely untouched by any earthly desire or passion."

I didn’t believe it. I’d always been a wild child, refusing to believe anyone could be truly free of want.

So, I started to chase him, using every trick in the book to provoke him.

I’d deliberately sit on his lap while he was chanting, only for him to effortlessly lift me off with one hand and set me aside.

I once spiked his tea, but after taking a sip, he simply said, "Next time, don't add so many goji berries. It makes it too potent."

The most outrageous time, I snuck into his private meditation room while he was on a spiritual retreat, wearing nothing but his oversized white shirt, and sprawled out on his bed.

When Julian pushed the door open, I deliberately dangled my legs over the side of the bed, swinging them playfully.

He just turned and walked away. The next day, a box of brand-new shirts arrived. "These are for you. Stop stealing mine."

Liam couldn't stand it anymore. "Seriously, have some self-respect!"

I retorted, utterly unapologetic, "I'm doing a public service! Such a gorgeous man being a recluse? What a waste!"

I pursued him for four years, pulling out all the stops, but I couldn't get a rise out of him. Not even a flicker of emotion.

I was starting to lose hope, but then, late on my birthday, Julian called. "Come downstairs."

I ran down in my pajamas, finding him standing in the snow, snowflakes dusting his shoulders.

"Let's get married," he said.

No ring, no confession, just those four words.

But I was ecstatic. I threw myself into his arms. "You finally fell for me, didn't you?"

Julian didn't hug me back. He just gave a soft "Hmm."

Thinking back now, how perfunctory that "Hmm" was.

Two years into our marriage, we still hadn’t consummated it.

No matter how I tried to seduce him, he would always turn away at the last moment and retreat to his meditation room alone.

I used to think he just needed time, having practiced self-denial for so long.

Then, three days ago, unwilling to give up, I followed him into his meditation room. What I witnessed shattered me: he wasn't devoid of desire at all. It was just that the object of his desire wasn't me.

He loved his adopted sister, Hazel—the girl his family had taken in when she was a child.

His devout practices, his prayer beads, even marrying *me* – it was all just a desperate attempt to suppress his forbidden desires for his adopted sister!

In that moment, I utterly gave up.

Inside the meditation room, Julian finally paused.

"Hazel…" He leaned down and kissed the neck of a doll, his voice raw, almost guttural. "Brother loves you…"

The words were whispered so softly, yet it was like a rusty needle, piercing straight into my already shattered heart.

My tears finally fell. I turned and walked away, not looking back.

The next morning, when I woke up, Julian was already dressed and ready to leave.

He wore a custom-tailored black suit, making his tall, lean figure appear even more commanding.

His meditation beads were still wrapped around his wrist, as if the man who’d lost control last night had been nothing but a hallucination.

Just as he was about to step out of the villa, I called out to him. "Wait!"

"I have a meeting today," he said, without even turning his head, his voice like polished ice. "Don't bother me."

Those words were a blunt saw, slowly, agonizingly, slicing through my last shred of hope.

In his eyes, I was always just a persistent nuisance.

A bitter laugh escaped me. "You misunderstand. I just need the keys to your Maybach. You can take another car from the garage; I prefer driving this one."

Julian finally looked at me directly, his tone still cool and detached. "Going somewhere important today?"

I nodded. "Yes."

He pressed on. "What for?"

I reached into his suit pocket, pulled out the keys, and smiled faintly. "To do something… that will make you happy."

To leave you forever.

I didn't say that last part aloud. I simply turned and drove straight to the German consulate.

The application process for German permanent residency wasn't complicated, especially with my family background.

My family’s business had all moved overseas years ago. My parents and Liam had relocated their entire lives abroad, leaving just me behind, all for Julian.

Now, I was leaving too.

"The process should take about a week," the clerk said with a smile.

I nodded, took the receipt, and walked out of the consulate.

It was finally coming to an end.

Julian Thorne, the man I’d pursued for six years, the serene, almost ascetic heir I thought I could pull down from his pedestal, ultimately wasn't mine.

I had given up so much for him: I ate vegetarian with him, adopted an ascetic lifestyle, even dulled my own fiery personality.

All just to get a little closer to him. But in the end, I couldn’t even touch the deepest, most guarded desire of his heart.

I looked down at the receipt in my hand, a faint smile on my lips, but my heart ached with a bitter sadness.

"Forget it, Julian. If you don't love me, plenty of others will."

That evening, I arranged to meet my girlfriends at a nightclub.

I hadn't been to a place like this since marrying Julian.

Tonight, I wore a black spaghetti-strap dress, the skirt swaying gently with my steps, revealing my long legs. My eyes held a flicker of the boldness I’d long suppressed.

"Quinn, what's gotten into you?" My bestie, Chloe, grabbed my arm, her eyes wide with surprise

. "Ever since you fell for that stoic heir, you’ve been glued to him, swearing off places like this."

I smiled, took a sip of my drink, my eyes a little hazy. "Forget him. Tonight, I'm going all out."

I turned and walked onto the dance floor, moving to the rhythm, my body feeling utterly liberated and reckless.

My gaze swept over the male dancers, and a smirk played on my lips as I lightly brushed my hand across one of their abs, eliciting a low chuckle.

"Quinn, are you insane?"

Chloe chased after me, grabbing my hand.

"You're touching all these dancers, grinding on the floor. Aren't you afraid Julian will see you and get mad?"

"He's not here."

"No, wait…"

Chloe hesitated, then leaned close to my ear.

"Who said he isn't? I’ve been trying to tell you, Julian’s in the VIP booth in the back, and he’s been watching you for ages!"

My fingertips froze. I slowly raised my eyes.

Through the hazy lights, I spotted him instantly.

Julian Thorne, in his black suit, was a stark contrast to the surrounding chaos. He sat in a corner booth, long fingers resting on the rim of a glass, his gaze fixed intently on me. I had no idea how long he’d been watching. Just then, the music abruptly stopped.

I heard one of Julian’s friends tease,

"Julian, Quinn’s been dancing like that for ages, touching other men. If that were my wife, I'd have lost my damn mind. How can you just sit there?"

Julian’s expression remained unchanged.

He simply took a calm sip of his tea, his voice cool and clear. "She knows her limits. She won't do anything inappropriate."

His words were like a poisoned needle, piercing the softest part of my heart.

Knows her limits?

Was he so confident in my love that he believed I’d never do anything with another man? Or… did he simply not care at all?

Perhaps it was both.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk, your level of detachment, I truly bow down. I'm starting to wonder if anything in this world can even stir your emotions…"

Mid-sentence, his friend’s voice suddenly rose. "Hey, Julian, where are you going?"

I instinctively looked up, only to see Julian abruptly stand, his gaze locked on the other side of the dance floor. His usually indifferent eyes held a rare flicker of jealousy.

I followed his line of sight—

Sure enough, there was Hazel, in a white dress, standing at the edge of the dance floor, exchanging contact information with a man.

Julian strode over, grabbing Hazel’s wrist, his voice chillingly cold.

"Who allowed you to come to a place like this? And who gave you permission to give your number to another man!"

Hazel flinched, then her eyes welled up.

"Why can’t I be here? And why can’t I give my number to someone else? Julian, you said you wouldn't control me anymore, so what I do is none of your business!"

Julian’s knuckles whitened, his voice dropping ominously. "Who said I wouldn't control you?"

"You do! You ignore me all the time and refuse to see me! Julian, you used to be so good to me.

Why did everything suddenly change?" Hazel’s voice was laced with tears.

Hearing that, Julian’s throat bobbed, his voice tight with suppressed emotion. "That’s because…"

I stood nearby, my heart clenching painfully.

I knew. Julian couldn't say it.

How could he?

How could he say that Julian Thorne loved her, which was why he avoided her?

How could he say that the moment he saw her, he’d lose all control?

How could he say that he loved her so much that he wouldn't consummate his two-year marriage, instead having a lifelike doll custom-made in her image to ease his longing?

I gave a self-deprecating laugh, turning to leave, but then I heard Hazel cry out, "Julian, can we go back to how it was? I want my old brother back, the one who only had eyes for me!"

Julian’s voice was low and hoarse. "Brother is married now, I can't revolve around you alone."

"So, if your wife just disappeared, we could go back to how we were?"

Hazel suddenly looked up, a hint of madness in her eyes.

I was just picking up my purse to go when I saw Hazel grab a wine bottle from a table and rush towards me.

*Bang!*

The bottle smashed against my head, the sound of glass shattering exploding in my ears. Warm liquid trickled down my temple.

"Quinn!" Chloe’s scream rang out beside me.

I staggered backward, only to see Hazel raise a second bottle.

"Die!"

The second blow was even harder.

This time, I completely lost consciousness, collapsing into a pool of blood, with only the chaotic screams echoing in my ears.

I woke up to pain.

The smell of antiseptic stung my nostrils, and the fluorescent lights above burned my eyes. I instinctively tried to raise my hand to shield them, but the IV needle on my hand moved, making me hiss in pain.

"You're finally awake." The nurse, who was changing my dressing, breathed a sigh of relief when she saw my eyes open. "Who had such a deep grudge against you? Two bottles to the head, thirty-something stitches."

I unconsciously touched my bandaged head, my voice hoarse. "Who brought me here?"

"Oh, your bestie? She stayed all night, but her company had an emergency, so she had to leave suddenly. She asked me to tell you that she hired a private nurse to look after you."

I froze.

So, even being brought to the hospital wasn't Julian.

Where was he, then?

I reached for my phone. The moment my finger touched the screen, a SnapChat story popped up—

Hazel: *My brother can still cheer me up so easily.*

The accompanying video showed Hazel extending her hand, pouting playfully, "See, I cut my index finger smashing the bottle."

The camera shifted to Julian, half-kneeling before her, his long fingers carefully applying a band-aid to her fingertip.

Then he lowered his head, giving her finger a soft, suppressed kiss, his voice low and husky. "There, now it won't hurt."

I stared at the screen, and suddenly it felt as if the wound on my head had been ripped open again, and a bottle of rubbing alcohol poured directly in. My fingertips tingled with pain.

I took a deep breath and dialed 91