Chapter 2

I put my phone on the coffee table and changed the channel with the remote.

A variety show was playing on TV. A few celebrities were laughing loudly onstage.

I leaned back against the couch and suddenly found the scene absurd.

I was sitting in this two-thousand-square-foot house, guarding a marriage that existed in name only, waiting for a man who would never keep me in his heart to come home.

And he was with his first love.

Openly.

Righteously.

Because when we first got married, he had already made himself very clear. If it were not for you, we would not have ended up like this.

What he meant was that I had broken him and Rosalie apart.

That I had inserted myself between them and forced them to separate.

That I had used my family's influence and that lawsuit to force his name onto a marriage certificate with mine.

But what was the truth?

The truth was that my father's company had a broken cash flow and urgently needed capital.

And his company was caught in a troublesome lawsuit that needed my family's connections to settle.

The elders from both families sat down for one meal and decided on this marriage.

No one asked if I wanted to marry him.

No one asked if he was willing to marry me.

But in everyone's eyes, it was a fair trade.

He provided money. My family provided connections. We each got what we needed.

Only Rosalie became the sacrifice in that transaction.

He probably believed I stole her place.

That I turned her from the legitimate girlfriend into the first love who had to hide in the shadows.

So he gave all his guilt to Rosalie and left all his coldness for me.

On our wedding night, he drank a lot and was helped into the bedroom.

I took off his coat and loosened his tie. He grabbed my wrist, his grip frighteningly strong.

"Natalie Ramsey."

He called my full name, his voice hoarse.

"You know exactly what this marriage is. I don't love you, and I never will. If you're smart, you'll behave and be Mrs. Whitmore in name only. Don't expect me to touch you."

Then he let go of me and stumbled into the guest room.

From then on, we slept in separate rooms.

He slept in the guest room. I slept in the primary bedroom.

It suddenly occurred to me that in these three years, he had only entered the primary bedroom twice.

The first time was our wedding night, when he said those words.

The second time was last year, when I had a fever of 103 degrees and was barely conscious.

Mrs. Lane called him. He came home two hours later, stood at the bedroom door, glanced at me, and told Mrs. Lane to take me to the hospital.

Then he left again.

He said Rosalie had an important party and he had to attend.

He did not come home for the rest of the night.

When I woke up at seven the next morning, I glanced at my phone.

There were no messages.

After washing up, I went downstairs. Mrs. Lane was already preparing breakfast.

Seeing me come down alone, she opened her mouth as if she wanted to say something, but in the end, she only asked, "Ma'am, what would you like for breakfast?"

"Plain oatmeal is fine."

I sat down at the dining table, and my phone screen lit up.

It was a message from him.

"Rosalie drank too much last night, so I stayed with her and took care of her. I have a meeting this morning and won't be back."

I put down my phone and took a sip of oatmeal.

"Mrs. Lane, please buy a few more cardboard boxes for me over the next few days."

She froze. "Ma'am, are you moving?"

"Yes. In a few days."

She opened her mouth as if she wanted to ask something, but when she saw my expression, she swallowed the words back down.

She had worked in this house for three years.

She had seen everything.

She understood everything.

"All right, ma'am."