Chapter 1

When Julian Sterling woke from his coma after a car accident, he had completely forgotten five years of our marriage.

The only name he remembered was his first love, Evelyn Brooks.

Convinced I had trapped him into marriage while taking advantage of his amnesia, he drafted a humiliating "Wife Probation Scorecard" to force me out.

At an exclusive autumn dinner party, Evelyn cut her lip while eating king crab. Julian's face instantly darkened.

"You can't even prep seafood without causing an accident? Minus ten points."

Evelyn softened her voice, clinging to his arm. "Julian, please, just take off one point. Clara has worked so hard over the years. If you take ten, she'll be down to negative ninety-nine points."

Julian sneered, smashing his crystal wine glass right at my feet.

"If she hadn't shamelessly clung to me, you would already be my wife. A woman like her doesn't deserve the Sterling name."

Shattered glass flew everywhere, slicing directly across the burn scar on my ankle—the permanent mark left from the day I dragged him out of a roaring fire.

In that second, I realized how absurd it was to try to wake a man who was pretending to be asleep.

I wiped the blood from my skin, slipped off my wedding band, and tossed it into his lap.

"Keep your last point, Julian. And as for my investment in your gallery? Consider it gone."

The ring bounced onto the hardwood floor. Julian froze for a second.

Then, recovering his cool detachment, he pulled out a linen napkin and gently dabbed the blood from the corner of Evelyn's mouth.

"Threatening to pull your funds, Clara? How cheap. It only proves how petty you are. Tying marriage to money... don't you find that pathetic?"

Pathetic?

That seed money came from auctioning off my late mother's only heirlooms just so his gallery could launch. Back then, he had held me in his arms, weeping through the night, swearing he owed me his entire life.

A sharp sting shot up my leg. Shards of glass were lodged deep in the old burn scar, and dark blood dripped down my heel.

Julian's gaze flicked toward my ankle. His brow furrowed in disgust, as if he had just looked at something filthy.

Years ago, if I got so much as a blister from new heels, he would panic and promise he would never let me get hurt again.

"Butler," he said, turning away. "Take her to get patched up."

He picked up the scorecard on the table and scribbled across it with a fountain pen.

"Minus two points. Reason: emotional instability, aggressive conduct, and lacking the grace required of a Sterling wife."

Evelyn let tears spill down her cheeks. "Julian, it's my fault... I upset her."

Julian stroked her hair, his tone melting into pure warmth. "It's not on you. Her character is flawed. She's fighting for a status she never belonged to."

He didn't spare me another glance.

When the butler stepped forward to guide me, I shoved his hand away and limped toward the front doors on my own.

The old injury had left me with a faint limp, and every step pulled fiercely at the fresh cut.

The cold autumn rain soaked through my clothes.

I pulled out my phone and froze the joint account created exclusively for his gallery.

I had barely reached the corner of the avenue when my phone buzzed.

It was St. Jude's Hospital.

"Ms. Vance, your grandmother suffered sudden cardiac arrest. She needs immediate transfer to the top-tier ICU, but family authorization is required—"

My hand trembled. "I'm coming right now."

"Ms. Vance, the legal healthcare proxy was transferred to your husband's name. Your personal authorization was revoked."

My heart dropped into a bottomless pit.

The day after his amnesia took hold, Julian had revoked my emergency medical proxy under the pretext of preventing unauthorized asset transfers.

Standing in the pouring rain, I dialed his private number.

It rang endlessly before he finally picked up.

"What? Stepped outside and realized you need to learn some composure?"

His patronizing voice came through the speaker, accompanied by Evelyn's soft, playful giggles in the background.

"Julian, Grandma is in critical condition. I need your signature."

He sighed coldly. "Clara, stop weaponizing an elderly woman's health to milk sympathy."

"I'm not lying—"

"Enough," he cut me off. "Spend tonight reflecting on your behavior."

The line went dead.

Rain mixed with blood, pooling under my feet.