Chapter 1

In the fifth year of our marriage, my husband, Zachary Hayes, decided to cut a piece of skin from his own thigh to save his first love's mother.

He summoned me to the hospital, forcing me to sign the surgery consent form.

"For the past five years, I've given you the status of Mrs. Hayes. Now, it's time for you to be of use."

I signed the paper and walked away without looking back.

After all, the limited-edition handbag he gave me was just something his first love didn't want. And when he spent Christmas Eve with me, the only person on his mind was her.

Five years of devotion ended up being nothing but a joke.

I was done fighting, and I was done waiting.

Only thirty days remained until our divorce.

Zachary, I'm returning you to the one who got away! As for me, I will take off this apron and reclaim my dream of painting.

Chloe Evans POV

In our fifth year of marriage, all it took was a single word from Zachary Hayes's first love for him to decide to strip a patch of skin from his own thigh.

He summoned me to the hospital for one purpose only: to use my status as his wife to sign the Family Consent Form for Living Donor Skin Grafting.

When I rushed over, I was still holding the thermos of soup I had woken up before dawn to brew for him.

Only to run right into Zachary holding a tearful, pitiable Rachel Vance in his arms.

A depth of tenderness I had never seen before swirled in his eyes.

"Sign it."

A document was thrust before my face.

Zachary stood in front of me, his voice as chilling as ice:

"Rachel's mother suffered severe burns and urgently needs a living donor graft."

"My indicators happen to be an exact match. Hospital policy requires the spouse's signature to proceed with the surgery."

My fingers gripped the thin sheet of paper so tightly that they nearly tore through it.

"You're going to carve out your own flesh to save her mother?" My voice trembled. "Zachary, harvesting skin from your thigh leaves massive scarring, not to mention a severe risk of infection. Have you lost your mind?"

"I called you here to sign, not to critique my decisions." Zachary's brow furrowed abruptly, a flash of volatile irritation surfacing in his gaze.

"I told you on day one of our marriage that Rachel is the only one in my heart. For the past five years, I've given you the honor of being Mrs. Hayes. Today, it's time for you to be of use."

Time for me to be of use.

A sudden laugh escaped me, though inside, there was only bitter ache.

So being his wife served no greater purpose than this—not to share a life together,

but to sign my name as his guarantor when he risked life and limb for another woman.

Five years ago, we entered an arranged marriage. Carrying an unspoken crush from my girlhood, I married into the Hayes family.

Yet on our wedding night, all that awaited me was a cold Secret Marriage Agreement.

[The groom's heart belongs elsewhere. Upon the completion of five years, this agreement shall automatically expire.]

That was the year Rachel Vance went abroad. Zachary spent night after night drowning himself in alcohol at private lounges.

He pinned me to the bed, treating me as a stand-in, possessing me with rough indifference.

Gasping another woman's name against my ear.

He had a delicate stomach, so over those five years, I always rose before dawn to prepare his remedies and meals, never once feeling tired.

Five years of devotion had made Zachary bring back expensive jewelry for me from business trips.

On stormy nights, he would hold me tight from behind, kissing me and whispering that I had worked hard.

I once naively believed that even a stone could be warmed by my touch.

Until six months ago, when Rachel Vance returned to the country.

Only then did I truly understand that some hearts in this world are iron that can never be thawed.

When Rachel Vance had a fever, he could abandon a multi-billion-dollar project and fly back overnight.

With just a casual remark from Rachel Vance saying she wanted to see the sea, he left me stranded at home, delirious with a high fever and vomiting from exhaustion, just so he could escort his first love to an island to watch the sunrise.

And now, he didn't even bat an eye at carving out a piece of his own flesh.

"Zachary, please don't force Ms. Evans..." Rachel Vance whimpered in his arms, her eyes rimmed red as she tugged feebly at his cuff, tears spilling over. "It's all my fault for being so useless. If this upsets Ms. Evans, I'd rather let my mother die."

"Don't talk nonsense." Zachary lowered his head to wipe the tears from Rachel Vance's cheek. "I told you, as long as I'm here, no one will ever make you suffer."

I watched the scene unfold in silence.

In that singular moment, every ounce of grievance, heartbreak, and resentment from the past five years was like a stack of burnt-out firewood—collapsing in a sudden, silent roar into ash.

Heartbreak, it turned out, came with no sound at all.

I threw no tantrums, caused no scene; I couldn't even shed a single tear.

"Give me the pen," I said, my voice so flat and calm it sounded foreign even to me.

Zachary paused slightly, seemingly surprised that I, usually so meek and humble, would agree so readily.

Without the slightest hesitation, I steadily penned my name on the spouse line.

Every letter I wrote felt like a resounding slap across the face of the pathetic fool I had been.

After signing the final stroke, I handed the consent form back to the nurse, and in the same motion, tossed the thermos into the nearby trash can.

The scalding broth splashed out, splattering all over the floor.

Zachary's expression shifted slightly. He cast a cold glance at me, then turned and walked toward the operating room.

A second before the heavy doors slid shut, standing under the sterile white fluorescent lights, I suddenly looked up and called his name:

"Zachary."

The man halted in his tracks, turning his aloof, aristocratic profile toward me, his eyes brimming with haughty warning.

I looked at him steadily, the corners of my lips curving into the faintest hint of a smile:

"I wish you two eternal happiness."

Then, the doors of the operating room clicked shut behind him, cutting off everything from view.

On the corridor wall, the red "In Surgery" light snapped on.

I pulled out my phone, and the screen lit up with a message sent five minutes earlier by Attorney Stewart:

[Ms. Evans, the legal contract termination procedures for the five-year term are fully prepared. There are only thirty days left until the complete expiration of the contract.]

I locked the screen and turned to walk into the shadows at the end of the long hallway.

Zachary, thirty days from now, we will be nothing to each other.