Chapter 1

I forgot how I left the hospital and made it home. By the time my newlywed husband, Hugo Reid, returned, the house was already a complete mess.

I had smashed our wedding photo on the floor, sending shards of glass everywhere. I had torn down all the bright red wedding decorations on the walls and even wrecked the wedding bed.

Hugo stood in the entryway and silently finished smoking a cigarette. Then, he walked over and checked my hands. "Are you hurt?"

I yanked my hand away. I could no longer hold back the anger pressing against my chest. With bloodshot eyes, I demanded, "Why?"

Hugo arched his brow. "Why did I marry you?"

He paused as though he was actually contemplating it for a moment before breaking into a smile. "You're careful, calm, and willing to give up your career for me. You're wife material, unlike Freda; she's a spoiled, carefree princess. I can't even rely on her for basic housework."

Noticing the tears in my eyes, he stepped forward and pulled me into his arms. "Come on now. Didn't I tell you it was over between her and me? At most, we'll just raise our son together."

I broke free from his hold and bellowed, "Why are you doing this to me? Why did you marry me when you already had a child with her?"

Hugo was the man I had been in love with for many years, and Freda Foster was my best friend. Both of them had played me like a fool.

Clutching my chest, I was crushed by the truth until I could barely breathe.

Hugo didn't answer. He simply looked at me as if I had lost my mind.

After a long while, he snapped, "That's enough. Freda's still waiting for me to make her some chicken soup."

I was rooted to the spot, watching him busy himself in the kitchen. He lit the stove, chopped the ingredients, and skimmed the foam from the soup.

We had been together for three years, yet he had never once cooked for me. I had always thought he didn't know how.

Turns out, he did. He had just never done it for me.

All of a sudden, I remembered something Freda had once told me. To help her fix her habit of being a picky eater, her ex-boyfriend—a privileged scion who had never even stepped foot in a kitchen—spent every single day there researching and perfecting gourmet dishes for her. One time, he even managed to blow up his family's kitchen.

I had imagined that scene before, and now, everything in front of me overlapped with the details Freda had mentioned.

All of the moments I had deliberately ignored came flooding back. When we were in the car, Freda always handed Hugo his sunglasses before I could. When we ate together, Freda would blurt out, "He doesn't eat scallions."

When Freda fell, Hugo always caught her before I did. When Fred fell ill, Hugo abandoned an entire conference room of people and rushed to the hospital.

At some point, tears blurred my vision. My voice was hoarse as I forced out, "Let's get a divorce, Hugo."