Ch 1

The sound of a flower vase shattering into countless pieces across the wooden floor marked the final collapse of Clara's dignity that night.

"Don't touch me, Clara! Look at yourself! I can't even get turned on by looking at you anymore. What did you expect? That I'd make love to a wall?!"

Julian violently shoved Clara's hand away, sending her stumbling onto the edge of the bed. The red lace nightgown she had bought with the last remnants of her courage now felt like nothing more than a pitiful costume.

Without sparing even a single glance at his wife, who knelt there struggling to hold back her tears, Julian snatched his car keys from the vanity table, grabbed his suit jacket, and strode out of their bedroom. The thunderous slam of the front door, followed by the roar of his car speeding away, announced that he was gone—leaving Clara alone in suffocating emptiness.

Inside his car, Julian gripped the steering wheel, his jaw clenched tight. Months of growing resentment had made him unable to bear living under the same roof as Clara. He craved fresh air, freedom, and the excitement that had long vanished from their marriage.

He had only one destination that night: an exclusive nightclub in the heart of the city.

The pounding bass echoed through his chest as Julian entered the club's VIP lounge. Yet it wasn't the alcohol or the beautiful women dancing on the floor that caught his attention. It was the woman in the figure-hugging black dress seated quietly at the corner of the bar.

Vivian.

His first love from college, who had recently become his personal secretary.

"You're late, Julian," Vivian teased with a faint smile as she sipped her drink while Julian took the seat beside her.

"I needed somewhere to escape," Julian replied in a low voice. His eyes lingered on Vivian's crimson lips without blinking.

Within minutes, whatever remained of his moral restraint dissolved into nothing. Julian slipped an arm around Vivian's waist, pulling her close before capturing her lips in a desperate, passionate kiss. She returned it without the slightest hesitation.

---

The next morning, the rising sun brought no warmth to Clara.

Her eyes were swollen from crying, and the ache in her chest had yet to fade. Still, she decided to give in. Perhaps she had expected too much. Perhaps if she apologized for the argument and showed Julian a little more care, he would soften toward her again.

With trembling hands, Clara prepared Julian's favorite lunch, dressed in a modest outfit, and drove to his office.

The executive floor was unusually quiet when she arrived. She smiled faintly at the empty secretary's desk before turning the doorknob to Julian's office without knocking, hoping to surprise him.

Instead, it was her own world that shattered.

On top of the grand mahogany desk, Julian had his new secretary sitting on his lap. Their clothes were disheveled as they kissed each other with a passion Julian hadn't shown Clara in years. The woman's playful laughter and Julian's heated breaths tore through Clara's heart.

The lunchbox slipped from her hands, crashing onto the floor with a loud bang.

Julian froze.

His eyes widened in shock as he looked toward the doorway and saw Clara standing there, pale as a ghost, tears already streaming down her face.

Unable to utter a single word, Clara turned and ran.

She ignored Julian calling after her as she raced down the hallway, out of the building, and into the busy street. Her vision blurred through endless tears. The cool afternoon wind and the blaring horns of passing cars never reached her ringing ears.

Screeeeech!

The piercing sound of brakes brought Clara to a halt in the middle of the crosswalk.

A luxurious black sedan stopped only inches from her.

Her entire body trembled as the shock overwhelmed her, and she collapsed onto the asphalt.

The rear door of the sedan opened.

A tall, broad-shouldered man stepped out, dressed in an impeccably tailored designer suit. His measured footsteps echoed across the pavement as he approached the trembling woman.

He knelt before Clara.

His strong, cool fingers gently lifted her chin, brushing away the tears on her cheeks before forcing her to meet his gaze.

"You're crying over that worthless man, Clara?"

His voice was deep, calm, and laced with a dangerous possessiveness.

Clara stared into those dark, familiar eyes from a lifetime ago.

"D-Damon...?" she whispered, her voice trembling.

A faint smile curved Damon’s lips—a smile that was both chilling and filled with unwavering devotion.

"You said yes all those years ago, Clara," Damon murmured close to her ear.

"That means you're mine. And I will never let you cry over another man again."