Chapter 1

In Victoria Hayes’s eyes, I wasn’t her husband. I was a distressed asset waiting to be dealt with.

When I was sick and asked for help, she snapped:

“That’s a minor issue you should handle yourself. There’s no need to report it to me.”

When I broke down in tears, she reprimanded me:

“Losing control of your emotions exposes the weaknesses in our alliance. I’ll have my PR team teach you emotional management.”

Even the emergency call I made after my car accident was cut short:

“Nothing involving you warrants interrupting a deal worth hundreds of millions.”

I spent seven days fighting for my life in the ICU.

But on my first day home, I found Victoria bending down beside another young man, gently coaxing him to take his medicine.

She opened her mouth, trying to explain.

I gave a bitter smile and handed her the papers I’d prepared long ago.

My tone sounded remarkably like hers:

“Ms. Hayes, a comprehensive evaluation of our marriage project has revealed an unacceptably low return on investment. I am formally terminating our partnership.”

“These are the divorce papers. Please sign.”

Victoria stood, glanced at the papers, and made no move to take them.

“Where have you been for the past two months?”

“Scott said he couldn’t reach you by phone or text. Next time you disappear, remember to notify me!”

Not a word of concern. The moment she opened her mouth, she launched into another accusation without asking what had happened.

Honestly, after all these years,

this was the first time looking at Victoria’s face filled me with irritation.

Since she wouldn’t take the papers, I didn’t insist.

I set them on the coffee table.

“Ms. Hayes, if you have no objections, just sign.”

I lowered my gaze to the young man sitting in a wheelchair beside her.

I was too weak to summon the anger to question her. I walked around him and headed upstairs to rest.

Maybe my calm reaction was too unusual.

For once, Victoria actually offered an explanation.

“He’s a friend’s younger brother. His family asked me to look after him. I brought him here because it’s more convenient. I explained it in a text. You must not have read it… What happened to your hand?”

At her sudden change of subject, I followed her gaze.

Without the divorce papers covering it, my right hand was exposed beneath the lights.

Thin and pale, with gauze wrapped around my wrist and bruises on the back of my hand where the IV lines had been inserted.

“Are you sick?”

Apparently, she thought she’d found the reason for my behavior. She addressed me by my full name.

It didn’t sound like concern. It sounded like a boss reprimanding an employee.

“Owen Bennett, don’t make emotional decisions when you’re sick. Take those papers back.”

I was used to it.

My steps paused, but I didn’t even turn around. I went straight upstairs.

I didn’t make it far enough to close the bedroom door. My body was so weak that I had to brace against the wall before slowly sinking to the floor, dizzy beyond belief.

From downstairs, Ethan Reed’s frail voice drifted up to me.

“Victoria, is Owen angry with me?”

“Maybe… you should take me home. Living alone will be a little inconvenient, but I can manage.”

Victoria bent down and coaxed him:

“Of course he isn’t. Stay here and relax. That’s just how he is. He’ll get over it in a couple of days.”

“Here, take your medicine. The water’s just the right temperature.”

“It won’t taste bitter. I have candy ready.”

Victoria’s voice was quiet, filled with a gentleness I had never received from her.

I could even picture her expression—the tenderness and attention I had begged for a thousand times.

She was giving it freely to another man.

Nausea surged through my stomach. I clamped a hand over my mouth and retched, but nothing came up. Only bitter bile burned my throat.

Victoria, so you weren’t cold by nature.

You just didn’t love me.

I wanted to laugh at my own stupidity and innocence.

Even after nearly dying, I’d still harbored one pathetic shred of hope for this marriage.

Downstairs, Victoria’s gentle, cruel voice continued to drift up. Every word rubbed salt into my open wounds.

Bzz. Bzz. Bzz.

At some point, my phone had fallen to the floor. I couldn’t focus on the caller ID, but I answered with a shaking hand.

A woman’s lazy, seductive voice came through, laced with amusement:

“You barely text me now that you’re married. What’s this? Looking for an affair?”

I coughed twice, my voice weak.

“Sure. Though it wouldn’t be an affair. I’m getting divorced.”

“Name your price. I’ll be your sugar daddy.”