Chapter 1

I have a secret: whenever my skin touches someone else's, I can see the person they love the most.

Three years ago, Anderson proposed to me to secure his family inheritance.

The moment he slid the diamond ring onto my finger, I saw myself in his heart, wearing a wedding dress.

I thought it was a mutual redemption.

Until three years later, at a charity gala, we stood with our fingers intertwined under the spotlights.

But this time, I didn't see myself.

I saw a young girl in a faded white dress. In a cramped apartment, Anderson had her pinned against the wall, kissing her desperately while her eyes welled with tears.

It turns out love doesn't just fade. It transfers.

When he left me dying on a cold operating table for that girl, I let him go completely.

Later, that arrogant man knelt in the pouring rain, begging me to touch him just one more time.

But I only found him disgusting.

The annual high-society charity gala in New York was blindingly bright with camera flashes.

As the wife of Anderson Sinclair, the head of the Sinclair Group, I held his arm. We walked the red carpet, bathed in the adoration of the city's media.

"Mr. and Mrs. Sinclair, could you step closer and hold hands, please?" a reporter we knew called out with a smile.

Anderson turned his head. A perfect, gentle warmth flickered in his deep, icy eyes.

He reached out and wrapped his long, elegant fingers tightly around my palm.

The moment our skin met, my heart skipped a beat.

I have a secret that no one knows.

Whenever I touch someone's skin, I can see the person they love deepest in their heart.

Three years ago, in this man’s palm, I saw myself.

That was what gave me the courage to entrust my life to him.

Full of anticipation, I closed my eyes, letting the sensation from my fingertips transmit his inner world into my brain.

But in the next second, my blood turned to ice.

The image in my mind wasn't me in a haute couture gown.

It was a young girl with a ponytail, wearing a faded white dress.

In a cramped, dimly lit apartment, Anderson was pinning her against a peeling wall, kissing her with wild, greedy desperation. Her eyes were red.

She responded clumsily, her hands gripping his expensive, custom-made shirt.

That was a side of him I had never seen—a raw, possessive, uncontrollable passion.

Buzz—

The phone inside Anderson’s suit jacket suddenly vibrated.

He let go of my hand almost instinctively.

The warmth left my palm, and the cold draft rushed between my fingers.

He pulled out his phone. As the screen lit up, I caught a glimpse of a text message before he could hide it on Snapchat.

“Mr. Sinclair, it’s pouring rain. The dorm gates are locked. I’m alone on the street, and I’m so scared…”

Sender: Vivian.

Anderson stared at the screen. A rare, uncontrollable flash of panic and heartache crossed his face, a face that usually never showed emotion.

"I'm sorry," he said, turning to me. His voice was low but filled with undeniable urgency.

"There’s an emergency with our European branch. The board directors are waiting for my decision. I have to leave right now."

He didn't wait for my reply, nor did he even drape his coat over my shoulders. He turned and strode down the red carpet.

The camera flashes went wild, freezing me there, completely alone in front of the massive backdrop.

I watched his retreating back and forced a smile that felt more painful than crying.

Three years of devotion. It turns out the deepest love in someone's heart really can transfer to someone else.