"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!

The rear of my car jolted violently.

The impact threw me forward, and my forehead slammed into the steering wheel with a sickening thud.

If it weren't for the seatbelt, I would've gone straight through the windshield.

A sharp pain exploded across my forehead.

I blinked-my vision filled with red.

Fumbling through the glove compartment, I grabbed a tissue, trying to wipe the blood dripping into my eyes.

A loud knock startled me-the window rattled under the pressure.

I almost jumped out of my skin.

A man stood outside in the rain.

Weakly, I hit the switch and rolled the window down.

He looked to be in his fifties, dressed in a chauffeur's uniform, his glasses speckled with raindrops. Holding a black umbrella, he wore a deeply apologetic expression.

"Miss, I'm terribly sorry. I couldn't brake in time. I'd like to discuss the damages, but my employer is in a rush. May I have your contact information? We'll take full responsibility for the repairs-I promise."

I started to shake my head, but the movement triggered another wave of pain and dizziness.

I got out of the car, dragging my feet to the rear bumper.

A noticeable dent from the Bentley was now stamped into my car.

I frowned, pulled out my phone, and took several photos.

"Miss-" the man tried again.

"No. I'm calling the police." I gritted my teeth.

I'd had enough today. I wasn't in the mood for conversations-calling the cops was the fastest way to shut this down.

He didn't argue. He simply returned to the Bentley. I saw him speaking to someone in the back seat-a man, though I could only make out his silhouette.

I touched my forehead. The rain struck harder now, aggravating the pain. I winced.

The call connected. "Hello? I'd like to report a traffic accident. My location is."

Back inside the car, I rummaged again-no first-aid kit, just dried-up wipes and old receipts.

I needed to find a clinic.

Behind me, the Bentley didn't budge. I kept my eyes on it, wary.

A few minutes later, a police cruiser arrived-alongside a sleek silver Maybach.

The Bentley's door opened.

The chauffeur stepped out first with an umbrella, then opened the back door.

A man emerged.

He was tall, sharply built, with chiseled features and the commanding presence of someone used to being obeyed.

His eyes were deep and unreadable from a distance, yet they missed nothing.

Even though I stood nearly five meters away, the moment he sensed my gaze, his head turned straight to me.

That face... I swore I'd seen it before.

But the throbbing in my skull made it impossible to focus.

He handed his suit jacket to the driver, murmured something, then walked toward the Maybach waiting at the curb.

Another chauffeur had already opened the door for him.

The first driver jogged toward me with the jacket.

"Miss, your shirt is soaked. Please, take this."

I looked down.

My white blouse had turned translucent, my bra completely visible.

My face burned with embarrassment as I quickly slipped the jacket on. "Thank you."

He offered a polite smile before heading off to speak with the police.

The Maybach pulled away silently, disappearing into the curtain of rain.

As it passed, I caught one last glimpse of that man's sculpted, flawless profile.

The jacket still held the warmth of his body. A faint, clean sandalwood scent clung to the fabric, chasing away the chill from my skin.

It was a minor accident.

The police issued a report on the spot. I signed it and exchanged contact information with the driver-his name was Roy.

He offered to take me to the hospital, but I declined.

Once I calmed down, I realized calling the police might've been an overreaction.

Roy had been fully willing to handle things peacefully.

"I'm sorry about earlier," I said. "I was in a bad mood. It wasn't your fault."

"Not at all," Roy replied with a warm smile.

"I'll have the jacket dry cleaned and send it back to you."

He looked like he wanted to say something but thought better of it and just nodded.

I drove myself to the nearest hospital.

While the doctor cleaned the wound on my forehead, the door suddenly slammed open.

Cary stormed in, looking like he was ready to punch someone.

The doctor jumped. "Sir? You can't just-"

"It's fine," I cut in. "He's my... boss."

The word husband almost slipped out.

Cary marched straight to the doctor. "How is she?"

"She's fine. Just a minor abrasion and some bruising."

The doctor wrapped up the bandaging and handed me a prescription.

I thanked him and stepped outside.

Cary followed like a shadow, rushed to pay the bill ahead of me, and snatched the medicine from the pharmacist-playing the role of the world's most attentive husband.

I said nothing.

Outside, I searched for my keys in my wallet, but Cary grabbed them from my hand.

"Hey!"

He threw an arm around my shoulders, guiding-no, shoving-me toward the parking lot.

He yanked the passenger door open and practically pushed me inside.

The door slammed shut, muting the outside world.

"You blocked my number," he snapped, glaring. "You drove through a downpour like a maniac and nearly got yourself killed. This is your revenge?!"

I stared at his infuriated, handsome face... and suddenly, I laughed.

My day had been heavy and awful, but his absurd logic cracked something open.

He seriously thought I risked my life just to guilt-trip him?

Wow. The ego on this guy.

"Relax. I'm not suicidal," I said, reaching out. "Now give me back my wallet."

He placed it out of reach. "Fine. I lied about the trip. But if I told you the truth, you'd just get jealous again."

"How considerate," I said flatly. "You figured it out-your mom invited me over to remind me, once again, that I'm not good enough for you. She's been running that same show for three years. If you really want to fix things, start with her."

"I've always been your trophy wife. I don't get jealous of your flings."

My head throbbed again. I'd talked too much.

Cary paused, then said, "I told you-Vanessa is just a friend. Our families go way back. My mom treats her like the daughter she never had."

"Well, congrats on the new family member." I pulled the jacket tighter around me. Suddenly, I felt cold.

"That's it?" Cary's voice lowered. "Can you swear you won't go off on my mom again?"

"I swear, as long as none of you throw the first punch," I shot back. "Yes, our marriage is contractual. But that contract doesn't say I have to take the blame for things I didn't do."

"Got it." Cary's voice softened. "I'll make sure what happened today won't happen again."

But I had no idea what exactly he meant.

That he wouldn't parade Vanessa in front of me?

That he'd tell Tanya to quit her childish games?

I didn't have the energy to ask. I just wanted to go home and collapse.

"Can you start the car for me?"

I moved slightly and brushed the collar-his scent hit me again, that warm sandalwood.

That's when Cary noticed the jacket.

Tailored. Expensive. Clearly not mine.

"Whose jacket is that?"

Seriously? That's what he was asking?

"You know what?" I snapped. "I gained a new family member today, too. The guy who gave me this jacket-he's my half-brother."

Cary's face darkened.

He yanked the jacket off me and threw it out the window.

"What the hell is wrong with you?!" I shouted, opening the door to retrieve it.

He grabbed my arm and yanked me back in. Then he leaned down-and kissed me.

I clenched my jaw, refusing to respond.

But he pried my lips open, his kiss fierce and unapologetically aggressive.

Only when he finally pulled away, panting, did he growl, "Don't play games with me. I told you-jealousy wasn't part of our deal."

I couldn't even be bothered to respond.

The jacket now lay in a puddle, drenched and ruined.

I'd promised to dry clean it before returning it.

Now what?

-

That night, I came down with a fever.

Cary stayed home.

He made soup, fed me, brought me blankets-he did all the things that made me momentarily believe he might still care.

But by midnight, my fever still hadn't broken.

I lay there, dizzy and miserable.

Cary's phone buzzed on the nightstand.

12:35 a.m.

The vibration was loud in the silence, almost unnerving.

The screen lit up. One letter: V.