Chapter 1

"Ms. Jacquet, your liver cancer is only in the middle stages now. If you're willing to actively undergo treatment, there's still a chance of survival. Are you sure you won't try?" The doctor's voice crackled with a note of regret on the other end of the line.

"No. It'll hurt," Arden Jacquet said softly. "After I die, I want my heart donated to someone in need. If it's convenient for you, please help me arrange it."

"Are you not going to discuss this with your family?"

Family?

Arden sneered inwardly. If they knew, they would probably applaud and even wish she would die sooner. "No. They'll support me in this."

"Alright. On behalf of the recipient, thank you."

Arden slowly rose after ending the call.

"What's this about a donation?" A voice rang out from the doorway. It belonged to her husband, Graham Hale.

Arden's eyes flickered. She said, "It's nothing. I'm thinking of donating clothes to impoverished kids."

He didn't press. He just said casually, "You can simply have the assistants handle something as minor as that. Have you changed into your wedding gown?"

She glanced in the mirror. A custom-made, expensive gown from Filendia fit her perfectly, countless melee diamonds set into the hem like a sky full of stars.

It shimmered brilliantly under the lights, enough to fulfill anyone's fantasies of marriage.

She pushed the door open and stepped out, drawing a soft gasp from Graham, who was waiting outside. "Ary, you look gorgeous today."

His eyes even became red-rimmed as he spoke. He reached out to take her hand, but a flicker of panic crossed his face when he saw how coolly she was treating him.

"Ary, are you still mad at me?" Graham hurriedly explained, "It was my fault at the event—that actress found an opening and stumbled into my arms. But I've already had her blacklisted from the entertainment industry."

He looked at her carefully. "You can hit me or yell at me. Just don't ignore me…"

His humbled attitude and tone made the store clerks watching burn with envy.

"Mr. Hale treats Mrs. Hale so well."

"Totally. It's just not the blacklisting—I heard that he's been really disciplined since getting together with Mrs. Hale. He's practically drawn a literal line around himself to keep women away from him at events."

"I also heard someone drugged him and tried to fall into bed with him once. He kicked her out on the spot and cut his own arm to stay sharp and power through it."

"Oh, my God. If only I had a husband like that."

"Right? They registered their marriage earlier but never held the wedding, and Mr. Hale has always felt like he owed Mrs. Hale. That's why he brought her here to try on wedding gowns. He also promised her the most lavish wedding ever."

The store clerks' whispered chatter drifted into Arden's ears, making her lips curl in mockery.

Graham really did treat her well. Throughout their years together, he'd done nearly everything to perfection. He'd kept away from other women and avoided any place of indulgence. He filled his days with work and going home to be with her.

Once, she'd casually mentioned late at night that she was craving ravioli. He'd crossed half of Berdona in the dead of winter to get them. When he returned, his whole body was frozen, but the ravioli was still hot.

Just recently, while he was away on a business trip, Arden had slipped and twisted her ankle. When Graham found out, he'd been wracked with guilt. He'd kneeled by her bed and promised that wherever he went, he would rush back to her or take her with him.

During her recovery, he'd worked from home and done whatever she needed. He'd become her second pair of legs.

He'd loved her… at least until she'd overheard that conversation.

"Gram, when are you going to divorce her?"

Near midnight, Hale Corporation was empty, save for the soft glow from the CEO's office. In that cold, late-night light, Graham's voice was frosty and hard. "Irene's wedding to Cedric Whitman is in two months. If I divorce Arden now, she'll definitely cling to Cedric.

"After all, if she hadn't refused to give up her engagement to him back then, I wouldn't have gotten someone to assault her in the first place."

He'd tossed the words out so casually, but they made Arden feel like a bomb had detonated in her head.

Inside the office, the conversation continued. "You really went all in for Irene, huh? You found a beggar to ruin Arden's reputation, then sacrificed yourself to marry used goods. Why doesn't Irene seem to appreciate that?"

"This was all my choice. It has nothing to do with her."

Arden stood there stiffly, feeling like she'd been struck by lightning. She nearly dropped the medical report in her hands. She'd just learned that day that she had mid-stage liver cancer. In her panic, she'd instinctively gone to Graham for help.

She'd never expected such a surprise.

"Ary, do you like this gown?" Graham's voice yanked Arden back to reality.

"It's fine," she replied coolly.

Graham nodded. He told the store clerks to record the measurements and make detailed alterations later. After the fitting, he suggested taking Arden for a meal.

"A new place serving Herondian cuisine opened on Jervonia Avenue. I'll take you to try it out," he said.

Arden didn't refuse. However, on the way there, Graham glanced at his phone and suddenly frowned. "Ary, something came up at the company. I have to handle it right away. Can you get off here? I'll have the driver pick you up."

He looked at her guiltily. "I'm sorry for doing this again. I'll accept whatever punishment later, okay?"

Arden pulled her hand from his and said softly, "It's fine. Work is more important."

She opened the door and stepped out. Before she'd even found her balance, the car shot off, whipping up a gust of wind that lashed her face.

She stood dazedly at the curb for a moment before remembering she had a hospital checkup scheduled that day. She hailed a cab and headed over.

On the way, she checked her Instagram. Sure enough, she saw a fresh story from Irene. "My knight will always drop everything for me."

In the photo, she sat in the passenger seat that Graham had once said belonged to Arden alone. Her left foot was deliberately propped on his thigh, her ankle held in his hand. It looked particularly slender and delicate by contrast.

Whether by accident or intention, the tip of her shoe seemed to angle ever so slightly toward his groin.

The contrast of her skin against his pants made the atmosphere seem nauseatingly suggestive.