Chapter 1

In the seven years I was married to Julian Vance, he kept ninety-nine mistresses on the side.

Everyone was waiting for him to demand a divorce. Even me.

Then, on our wedding anniversary, after standing me up once again, he sent me a draft of a divorce agreement.

I didn't cry. I didn't make a scene. I just opened the file and texted back: *Received.*

A week later, Julian walked into the house with his new little secretary on his arm.

The girl burst into tears right away, sobbing out an apology:

"I'm so sorry, Nora. I was just messing around. I took Mr. Vance's phone as a joke."

"He doesn't have your contact pinned, and you don't have a contact name, so I honestly didn't know that was your chat."

Julian comforted Chloe Bennett with soft, gentle murmurs for several minutes before finally glancing at me with cold indifference.

"She's just a kid having fun. You're an adult woman, Nora. Don't be petty."

"Don't worry. As long as you stay obedient, no one is going to take your place as Mrs. Vance."

Seeing his face—arrogant, making an announcement rather than having a conversation—I couldn't help but laugh out loud.

I already had my divorce lawyer lined up. I already booked a solo trip. All I needed was his signature to finalize the divorce and walk into my new, peaceful life.

And now you're telling me you don't want to divorce?

Chloe hid behind Julian's shoulder. Her tearful face was pinched with innocence, but her eyes flashed with sharp, mocking triumph.

Julian held her hand with an easy, practiced intimacy.

"Nora, Chloe is young and naive. You're way too old to be holding a grudge against her."

"She only sent that divorce agreement from my phone because she thought it was a prank."

"You know I've never actually thought about divorcing you."

Watching him shield another woman, my mind suddenly flashed back to a rainy night seven years ago.

Back then, he had knelt in the pouring, freezing rain. His entire body had been shaking violently, yet the hand holding the diamond ring was rock steady.

"Nora, marry me. I swear I'll make you the happiest woman alive."

He really did give me that unique, undivided love. For a little while.

Until later, when he began handing out pieces of that same love to the endless string of women parading through his life.

And me? Maybe I was just the very first bird he locked inside his cage.

"Julian, I received the divorce papers," I said, my voice completely flat. "Since it was sent, let's just sign it."

Julian's brows knit tightly together—the classic warning sign before he lost his temper.

Seven years of marriage had taught me every single twitch of his face.

"Nora Vance, since when did you become so unreasonable?"

"Chloe already apologized to you! What more do you want?"

What did I want?

I wanted the man who had drained my entire youth to give me back my freedom.

I wanted every single one of his little side pieces out of my life forever.

At thirty years old, I wanted to be Nora again, not Mrs. Vance.

But I knew none of those words would ever reach him.

In his mind, I had long become the embodiment of bitterness, pettiness, and lack of understanding.

Chloe chose that exact second to let out another trembling sob, her shoulders shaking like a fragile petal in the wind.

"Julian, it's all my fault. I shouldn't have touched your phone."

"Nora has every right to be angry with me."

Julian's voice instantly softened as he stroked her back gently.

"Don't cry. It has nothing to do with you."

Then he turned back to me, his gaze freezing over once more.

"Nora, apologize to Chloe, and we'll let this go."

A laugh caught in my throat.

How utterly ridiculous. His mistress sent me divorce papers using his phone, and in the end, *I* was the one expected to apologize.

When I married Julian, I was twenty-three.

He was an ambitious young entrepreneur, and I was the woman standing in his shadow.

Everyone claimed Julian built his empire with his bare hands. Only I knew that his very first seed money came from me, staying awake night after night drafting architectural designs until my hands bled.

Back then, we lived in a tiny studio apartment barely ten feet wide. Splitting a bowl of instant ramen felt like pure bliss.

He used to pull me close and say, "Nora, once I make it, I promise you'll live the best life."

Later, he did make it. He got filthy rich. But that "best life" became a solitary prison for me alone.

He spent his nights drowning in luxury, clubs, and parties, while I spent mine guarding an empty house.

From the first woman to the ninety-ninth, I tracked his mistresses like an exhausted accountant.

It wasn't that I hadn't fought back.

Three years ago, he brought an upcoming starlet home to spend the night.

The girl was in her early twenties, glowing and glamorous. She pointed right at my face and asked, "Who's this old lady?"

Julian had just laughed, wrapping an arm around her waist. "Just the housekeeper."

That was the exact moment something inside me shattered completely.

After that, I learned to keep my mouth shut and ask no questions. I learned to be the perfect, invisible Mrs. Vance.

Until last month, during my routine checkup, the doctor looked at me with a grim, heavy expression.

"Ms. Vance, your test results are very concerning."

"It's stomach cancer. Stage four."

What poetic irony. While he was out wining and dining his women, my stomach was rotting away inside an empty mansion.

The day I received the diagnosis, I sat alone on the hospital bench for hours.

Long enough to play back my short, miserable life from start to finish.

I called Julian. The phone rang for ages before he finally picked up.

In the background were the sounds of clinking wine glasses and women giggling softly.

"What is it? I'm in the middle of a business meeting."

His voice was laced with pure annoyance. I could easily picture the scowl on his face.

"Never mind."

I hung up, folded the medical report, and slipped it into my coat pocket.

Just like I was packing away the very last shred of hope I had left for him.