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.

I didn't say a word.

Cary kept a calm face, but a visible hint of discomfort tightened the skin around his eyes.

His phone wouldn't stop buzzing. It went from calls to video chats and finally to a barrage of texts, one after another, bold and relentless on the screen.

'Aren't you going to answer that?' I said.

Cary finally reached for the phone, turned it off without checking the screen, and dropped it back onto the nightstand.

He touched my forehead. 'Still a bit warm. Go back to sleep. I'll stay here with you.'

I rolled over and shut my eyes.

An hour later, my breathing had evened out.

Cary picked up the phone again, switched it on, and stepped out onto the balcony. I heard his voice, low and hushed. 'You okay? Don't be scared, I'll be there soon.'

Then he came back inside, grabbed a jacket, and left.

I opened my eyes the second the door clicked shut.

I had never actually fallen asleep.

I wasn't even sure what I was clinging to anymore. Once a man's heart changes, it's like a fruit with a rotten core. It only gets worse from there.

At half four in the morning, Cary came back.

Seeing me still asleep, he let out a breath of relief. He felt my forehead; it was no longer feverish.

He headed into the bathroom.

A while later, he came out in a robe, climbed into bed, and wrapped his arm around my waist from behind.

Once he was asleep, I gently moved his hand off me and sat up. My gaze fell on him. Those features still looked so perfect. The lips, the defined jawline. and then my eyes fixed on the line of faint bite marks along his collarbone.

It felt like someone had stabbed me right in the chest.

My eyes darkened with disgust at the body that had been defiled by the touch of another woman.

In that moment, a crazy thought flashed through my mind. Maybe if I pressed a pillow over his face, it would all be over.

***

Cary found me in the kitchen.

I had an apron on and was setting out breakfast for two.

'Come and eat,' I said to him.

'Your fever just broke. You should've stayed in bed and rested.' Cary walked over and tried to check my forehead, but I subtly leaned away.

'It's just a cold. Nothing serious.' I undid the apron and sat down at the dining table.

Cary looked down at his empty hand, a bit thrown off.

'I need to talk to you about something,' I said.

'What is it?' he asked, taking a sip of juice.

'I want to quit my job.' My words caught Cary off guard. Before he could ask why, I smiled and explained, 'I've spent the past few years buried in work. I'm worn out. I figured it's time I try living the pampered life of a trophy wife.'

Cary narrowed his eyes at me, trying to figure out if I was being serious. 'You're not messing with me, are you?'

'Do I look like I'm joking? What, you think I'm some kind of masochist who doesn't know how to enjoy life?' I shot back.

He considered it for a beat, then nodded. 'Alright, you staying home is fine. It's time for us to try for a baby anyway.'

I just smiled instead of answering.

Yeah, right. You want me to stay trapped at home as your baby-making machine while you sneak off with your precious V each night? Dream on.

'Once I file my resignation, I'm going around Europe with Portia. It's been ages since I've taken a trip.'

'Won't she be too busy with work to travel with you?'

'Super busy. But I'm sure she'll make time for me,' I replied sweetly.

Cary was quiet for a moment, as if something had clicked in his head. 'A trip could be nice. I'll make the arrangements for you. You don't need to worry about a thing. Just relax and enjoy.'

I kept that easy smile on my face and said nothing.

Yeah, you handle the booking, and I'll handle never coming back.

With the bruise on my forehead still glaringly obvious, I took a few extra days of leave. I didn't want to go into the office looking all pitiful, especially right when I was quitting.

With more free time, I started slowly packing up. Clothes, shoes, bags, all the little personal things. Each day, I brought a bit more to my new place.

Today a box, tomorrow another. The once-full wardrobes were clearly thinning out. Anyone paying attention would have noticed.

But Cary was completely clueless.

I even burned our wedding photos right in the backyard, and the guy didn't look up once. He was too busy chuckling at whatever was on his phone and texting back like he was having the time of his life.

If he'd bothered to glance up for even one second.

I stood there, watching him through the glass.

Only when the lighter's flame began to sting my fingers did I finally let go.

The fire caught quickly, licking up the gasoline-doused photos. The image of our smiling faces, my joyful one and his eyes full of me, flickered in the flames. They twisted into something unrecognisable and then turned to dark ashes.

A sudden tightness in my chest made it hard to breathe. Watching the ashes disintegrate, my vision blurred with tears.

'What are you burning?' Cary finally realised something was up and came outside.

I tilted my head back, stuffing my emotions down hard.

'Nothing important,' I said calmly. I turned toward him, my eyes slightly red but my smile soft. 'Just some useless junk.'