Everyone froze as if turned into ice, not daring to make a sound. They would never dare mock me in front of Cary.

I knew Cary-he could humiliate me, but that didn't mean anyone could, not even his mother. I summed it up as a chauvinistic, perverse possessiveness.

Cary was tall; even in a suit his presence made the air hard to breathe. He filled the space like a beast. Rick's face had gone the color of the dead.

"Cary, I was drunk. It was just a joke-" the man stammered.

"Cary? I don't remember knowing you," Cary's voice vibrated from his chest, and Rick immediately dropped to his knees.

"Mr. Grant, I apologize. I was stupid, pathetic; how dare I humiliate your wife." Rick begged.

"Apologize to my wife, not to me," Cary said coldly.

"Mrs. Grant, I'm sorry. Will you forgive me?" Rick looked at me; the wound on his head needed attention. I didn't press him further.

"Just go," I said.

But Cary grabbed Rick's collar again. "Listen. This is the last warning. From today on, I don't want to see your face in this city. Do you understand?"

Rick nodded frantically and stumbled backward until he almost ran out.

Seeing Rick like that, nobody else was in the mood to party; everyone was frightened and left. Portia gripped my arm-she knew about my separation from Cary and that it couldn't be made public for another thirty days. She couldn't just drag me out.

"Do you want to go?" she asked, looking at me.

I nodded and then turned to Cary. "Thank you. I'll go home now," I said gratefully. Cary was an asshole, that I knew, but he also helped when needed. If I hadn't fallen in love with him, this would have been the perfect ending.

"What are you doing here?" Cary grabbed me, then glanced at my outfit. "Why are you dressed like this?"

Dressed like this? I looked down-just a tight dress, shoulders and arms exposed. The only excessive thing was the way my curves showed, like a second skin. Portia had even teased that it wasn't proper club attire.

"I don't recall signing a curfew agreement," I said sarcastically. "Everyone else in this club is more revealing than I am."

"You're my wife. You shouldn't be at a club," Cary said coldly.

"Newsflash-we have an agreement. I'm your secret wife; no one knows me except your high-society friends," I shot back.

Cary tightened his grip on my wrist. I frowned at him. Suddenly I didn't want to give in. I knew if I told him, "Okay, I was wrong," he would let me go, and I'd get my payout faster.

That thought left a hollow in me. I hated that feeling. "Or do you want to make me publicly your wife?" I ground out.

The flame in Cary's eyes could have burned me to ashes.

"Cary, what's going on? My brother is waiting for you." A gentle female voice suddenly cut through the tension.

The woman came over and slipped her arm through Cary's. Her gaze paused on my face with a hint of puzzlement.

"She's nobody important-just my secretary. I saw her being bothered and came to help," Cary said, releasing me.

I felt Portia's look could kill. I met her eyes. I suddenly didn't want to be an invisible wife anymore.

I collapsed into Cary's arms. "Boss, I'm dizzy. Can you take me to the hospital?"

I saw the warning in Cary's eyes, but boldly shoved that woman aside. I recognized her-not a gold digger, but Vanessa, the sister of the lead on a major project our company had recently partnered with.

She was an important client.

I buried my face in Cary's chest. "Really-I need emergency care."

I figured Cary would push me away the next second, but unexpectedly he pushed Vanessa aside and held me instead. "Tell your brother I need to take my secretary to the hospital."

"What?! No! Cary?!" Vanessa shrieked. "You know how important this cooperation is!"

But Cary ignored her and led me into the elevator. His heart pounded fast; I didn't know what he intended.

I was frightened; I rarely angered him. As soon as we were in the elevator I struggled to get down.

Cary slammed me against the elevator wall in anger. "Listen, I know you're still sulking about the office incident. I can allow it-let's call it a little kink between us."

He bit my ear as he spoke. I didn't dare move; I curled my body as small as possible. Then, suddenly, Cary pushed my skirt up.

"Are you crazy? There's surveillance!" I screamed and grabbed his large hand. Although I knew Cary would handle the surveillance, public exposure still terrified me.

"You're the crazy one. You stalk me and then come here to catch me in the act," he sneered.

What? I was just here to indulge with Portia. How was I to know he would bring his new mistress here? I shouted, "I didn't! Why would I do that? I don't love you."

The air went suddenly silent. Cary's gaze turned ice-cold, different from his earlier fury-like my words had wounded his pride.

I don't love him-wasn't that what he wanted?

Suddenly the elevator dinged and the doors opened again. Cary blocked me; I looked down and saw a pair of well-made black leather shoes, black suit pants wrapping long straight legs, big hands hanging beside pockets. Cary nodded politely at him. "I have to go ahead."

Clearly a big shot-someone of equal standing.

I kept my head down and followed Cary out. I didn't dare linger, but I still felt the man's contemptuous gaze, as if I were nothing but a cheap whore.

I was indeed-no man would humiliate his wife in an elevator.

Once inside Cary's car, the driver discreetly raised the partition. I folded myself up as small as possible, as far from Cary the bastard as I could.

The quiet was broken only by my breathing. I refused to speak.

Cary suddenly sighed. "I'm going to discuss the project. You storming into the club and making a scene doesn't help-you look especially foolish, ugly, like a shrew, don't you think?"

I wanted to retort, but I thought of the divorce pending. No need to explain. "Anything else?" I asked, wanting to know what other insults he had lined up.

"If you want to stay with me long-term, stop these unnecessary suspicions. I don't have time to care for your emotions," Cary said, frowning.

"Okay. Anything else?" I continued to play obedient.

Cary lunged forward, grabbed my chin, and said coldly, "Hyacinth, do you know how unbearable you look right now?"

It felt like a bullet to the heart. Tears almost spilled. I clamped my palms together hard. A tiny smile curved my mouth. "You know, there's a way to make you not find me unbearable."

"What?!" Cary's dangerous eyes narrowed again.

"Divorce me." I looked up and met his gaze.

"Divorce me." Her words hit me like a bullet.

I'd never felt this kind of panic. I was a man with assets worth tens of billions-I could do anything. If I wanted something, I could get it.

But at that moment I went through shock first, then anger, and finally an almost unbelievable sense of loss. Even if I lost a few billion in contracts, it wouldn't faze me.

Hyacinth's eyes were swollen and red; she stared at me stubbornly like a wounded little rabbit.

It was the first time I'd seen her like that. We'd been married three years; she'd never thrown a tantrum. She had dutifully upheld our agreement-no kisses, only sex-but I had to admit our sex was the best I'd ever had. I wanted to taste her soft lips, but every time I restrained myself. A kiss meant love, and damn it, I didn't want love. I needed the marriage to help me get the CEO position.

International convention: a married man was more trustworthy to investors. A single man looked risky-desire, scandals, emotion could sink him at a key moment. They wanted a man who appeared stable, who could hold an empire together, not a ticking gambler liable to explode.

Of course I wanted to make my mother explode. She wanted a decent wife; my life had been controlled by her, and I was her masterpiece. I wasn't saying I hated her. I just wanted, when I had the means to strike back, to announce something to her. For now she only needed to sit quietly at a few charity dinners.

I loved my mother, but I needed room to breathe. The thought of living in the same space as the wife she'd picked for me made me want to pull the trigger on my throat.

I'd only gone to the hospital that day to see an investor, and in a quiet corner there I'd seen a desperate college student-Hyacinth. The first time I saw her I knew she would be my wife.

Her eyes were stubborn; her slyness made me realize she wasn't an emotional fool. She knew how to tell reality from dreams.

I stepped forward and offered her my proposal.

She didn't panic-she simply scrutinized me, making sure I was serious. I figured she needed time to think, so I left her my business card.

But she spoke up. "Sir, can you pay the hospital bill now?"

Her words hit me like a bullet. She was young; she ought to have expectations about love and marriage. But she accepted.

I remember smiling the biggest smile I'd ever shown. "Of course-if you agree to my terms."

She waited for me to continue, as if nothing I might say mattered; all she cared about was whether her mother's medical bills would be paid on time.

"I'm not spending money for a partner, but for a trophy wife. You will attend necessary events, remain silent and graceful; the rest of the time you are my secretary, unknown to the public. You may not reveal our marriage, question my private life, be jealous, nor indulge in any form of love-no declarations, no fantasies of fidelity, not even a kiss. A kiss implies emotion, and emotion is not part of this agreement. You'll get money, a house, cars, security-but always remember you are the quiet prop in my marriage game. If you fall in love, you breach the contract, and everything goes to zero."

She didn't hesitate. She agreed immediately.

We made love on our wedding day. I admit it was the best sex I've ever had-I didn't want other women. I tried other women, but when they approached I only felt boredom. They were soulless shells, thinking only how to get more from my wallet.

But I refused to break my rules-I was certain it was Hyacinth's body that obsessed me. I was her first man; I trained her to fit my needs. That was why I wanted her.

I continued dating many women, merely to convince Hyacinth I was still the playboy, unchanged. But after marrying her, I didn't sleep with any other woman.

How could I ever fall in love with a woman? The universe would have to explode for that to happen. But divorce? Why would she do that?

I opened the car door and took her into my arms. She wouldn't cooperate. "Portia's clinic address? I think it's ripe to develop into a slaughterhouse," I threatened.

She wanted to kill me; a satisfied smile crept into me. I used to hate that her little kitten claws had come out, but now I found her adorable.

My cock twitched in my trousers as I strode toward our bedroom.

I threw the door open and pinned her against it, biting her lips. God-her lips were unbelievably soft, her taste better than I imagined.

Her lips stayed tightly closed. My hand slid into her underwear; my fingers found her sensitive spot. With a gentle press she couldn't help but moan.

"Ah." she cried out.

I seized the chance and drove my tongue deep, tasting every corner of her mouth. When her tongue tried to retreat I chased it, playing in her mouth. I tasted her saliva and, damn it, swallowed it.

She forgot to breathe. I moved my lips to her earlobe and breathed hot air into her ear; she shivered, her body going pliant, small hands clinging to my arm. "Cary, don't." she protested, but now it was almost an invitation.

"You sure?" I asked, looking into her eyes full of desire. I smiled as I undid her bra. Her nipples were already hard; with one hand I pinned her wrist to the door. My other hand seized her left nipple and took it into my mouth. I began to suck, pulling out, then traced it with my tongue.

"Cary! Don't do this! I can't take it!" Hyacinth pleaded.

"What do you want me to do?" I stopped and asked softly.

Her eyes were dreamy, struggling yet wanting. She bit her lower lip; her voice trembled, "Cary.don't stop."

My Adam's apple bobbed. My palm moved slowly toward her most sensitive place. She threw her head back, fingertips digging into my arm as she breathed rapidly: "Just.hurry."

I smiled-so familiar with her body, every touch elicited her deepest response. She arched, almost offering herself to me.

In the next second I scooped her up and strode to the bedroom, laying her on the bed. Her arms wound around my neck, urging softly, "Now-don't make me wait."

I stopped holding back, leaned down, and drove into her amidst her burning cries.

I exhausted her, bringing her to climax three times. When I'd seen her in that black strapless dress at the club, I'd wanted to tear it off. Hyacinth rarely dressed to show her curves-she was my secretary, usually in a white shirt and a loose black skirt. Why was she so uncharacteristic now?

It must've been that office incident that had gone too far-I'd never humiliated her to her face.

I knew I had to soothe this little rabbit. She collapsed into my arms, exhausted. I stroked her cheek and murmured, "This weekend we'll go out to sea for two days-just the two of us."

I glanced at the calendar.

Still twenty-seven days to go.

The weekend getaway trip wasn't happening.

After that night, Cary had flown out to Los Angeles, supposedly on business.

I'd barely got any sleep. He'd been insatiable in bed, and I hated how physically-almost biologically-I couldn't resist his touch.

Maybe that was part of why he thought I was his thing, so easily controlled; why he believed that when I'd blurted out the word 'divorce', it was just an outburst, something said without thinking. Not to be taken seriously.

'That's because he's the only man you've ever been with,' Portia said over the phone. 'You need to break his spell. You need new experiences.'

'By experiences, I assume you mean another man.'

'Men. Plural,' Portia emphasised.

'I'm not about to sleep around just to find out whether I'm only attracted to Cary,' I said.

'You can, and you will.' She sounded utterly confident.

Portia was usually right about most things. But was she right about this?

Could I really do it? Be with another man?

'You must,' Portia insisted. 'You have to leave that control freak, High C. The guy is seriously scary. That night, after he took you away from the club, I was convinced your body was going to turn up in the Thames.'

'He's not that scary,' I said half-heartedly.

Portia snorted. 'That's because you didn't see his eyes. I tried to block him when he hauled you away, but the way he looked at me. you can't see me now, but I've got goose bumps on my arms just thinking about it. I thought he was going to kill me right there and then.'

'You're exaggerating. Cary's too rational. He isn't going to give up his billions just to become a murderer on the run.'

Portia laughed. 'Can you be any more naïve? Laws don't apply to rich folks like him. With the right connections and money stuffed in the right pockets, he could literally get away with murder.'

She went on to list all the examples she knew of rich people getting away with it, though they were all from TV, not real life.

'Anyway, back to the main topic,' she said, finally getting back on track. 'You have to get away from Mr Rich, Powerful, and Possibly Homicidal CEO. He's no good for you.'

'Don't I know it,' I muttered.

'I think it's best if I don't come round to your house before the month is out. You know I can't control my mouth. I'm bound to let something slip if I see Scary Cary again, and that won't be good for you.'

She had a point. If Cary found out I'd deceived him into signing the divorce papers, he'd fly into such a rage, there'd be serious consequences to pay.

I hung up, tossed my phone onto the table, and took a tasteless bite of my sandwich.

Less than a month to go. I kept reminding myself of the number of days left, but could I really leave him for good by the end of it?

Could I ever truly escape Cary? His touch, his control, his impossible-to-evade presence?

The only thing Cary wanted from me might be my body.

Maybe to stop him coming after me, all I needed was to find him a new target to obsess over.

Vanessa Abrams' pretty face jumped to mind.

She had a great figure, not to mention she came from a good family, which made her a suitable match.

Maybe she was my way out.

After breakfast, I set about packing my things for the move to my new home.

As I was pulling my favourite romance novel from the bookshelf, my phone rang.

Tanya.

I thought our deal had concluded. What more could she want from me?

I answered. 'Good morning, Tanya.' As the woman about to write me the fattest cheque of my life, she deserved my politest tone.

'Come over to my house,' Tanya said, jumping straight to the point in her usual arrogant manner. 'I need you to sign something.'

'Is it necessary?' I'd already signed an NDA.

'I say it is.' She didn't bother telling me what I was supposed to sign.

'Okay, I'll come over this afternoon.'

'No. I expect you here at noon on the dot.'

'Okay.'

I got dressed and got in the car. Tanya lived on the Wentworth Estate. I'd have to put my foot down to make sure I got there before noon.

When I arrived, a liveried servant led me to the back garden.

I heard them before I saw them.

'Come on, Cary! Can't you let me win just once?'

'Rules are rules.'

'Vanessa's a guest, Cary. Can't you go easy on her? It's only a game.'

I turned the corner and caught Vanessa pouting as she gave Cary's arm a playful swat. They were seated at a round table with a chess set in the middle.

Standing off to the side, watching the match like a proud parent, was the arbiter, Tanya Grant.

The picture was perfectly harmonious-they were the truly noble family, unlike me, the "peasant wife."

Hearing footsteps, Tanya looked up. She wasn't surprised to see me; she even gave a meaningful smile, as if to say, "See? This is what Cary's wife is supposed to look like."

So there were never any documents to sign. She'd called me here just to humiliate me.

"What are you doing here?" Cary strode over quickly, frowning at me.

Vanessa looked at me like a victorious bitch.

I smiled sweetly and said, "Oh, I got a 'you've-won-a-prize' call saying there was a zoo mating show here. But look-I guess I've been duped." I turned to Tanya. "Tanya, what do you think?"

I saw Cary shoot a warning look at Tanya.

Tanya hurried over at once, flustered, and pulled me aside. "Hyacinth, you should go. I forgot-we have important guests at home."

I drew a deep breath and flashed her a sugary smile. "You said it was urgent; I haven't even had a sip of water. You don't mind getting me a glass of ice water, do you?"

Tanya froze for a beat, then said, "Of course. Help yourself."

Smiling, I nodded and filled a glass to the brim. She stood right beside me, staring like I was a criminal.

Carrying the water over, and under her gaze, I suddenly flung it into her face. Her sleek, immaculate chignon instantly looked as bedraggled as a wet mutt.

Sure enough, I heard her curse: "Bitch! How dare you?!"

"You need some ice water to clear your head," I sneered. While she was flustered, I bolted out. Otherwise, I really worried Cary might hack me to pieces on the spot.

I jumped into the car; the moment I started the engine, my phone rang.

I hit decline.

Cary called again. And again.

I blocked his number.

Jabbing at the screen, I texted Tanya: [I've changed my mind. The price is now fifteen billion. Not a cent less. Pay up or risk the Grant name being dragged through the mud.]

She'd wanted to humiliate me. She ought to be ready to pay the price.

The car shot down the winding driveway.

I kept driving blindly.

Somewhere along the way, the sun disappeared. Clouds gathered overhead, and soon raindrops splattered against my windshield.

My eyes tracked the pattering rain unconsciously, my mind a blank.

By the time I saw the splash of bright yellow, it was too late.

The motorcycle came out of nowhere, cutting across in front of me. My car almost rammed straight into its rear.

I slammed on the brakes.

Bam!