"If we unilaterally terminate, we might have to absorb some of the losses," my assistant said.

"All of it. I don't care about the losses," I insisted.

"Got it, Mr. Anders. I'll review the contract details right away. The whole process will take about a week."

A week.

That was fine. It would give me just enough time to make the divorce settlement as airtight as possible.

I had given her countless chances.

What Claire and I had started as a calculated business merger. A marriage of convenience between two wealthy families.

But three years together changes things. I'm not made of stone. I actually grew to love her.

So when Noah became a problem, I made my feelings very clear.

She promised me she would handle it. She swore it would never affect our marriage.

Those words were still ringing in my ears.

She was the one who threw this marriage away.

So don't blame me for playing dirty.

…

The lawyer hadn't even finished drafting the divorce agreement when my parents started blowing up my phone.

My mom didn't even say hello. Just launched right in.

"Ethan! Why didn't you tell us you had a medical problem? And why haven't you seen a doctor about it?"

I frowned, completely lost. "Mom, I'm fine. I work out all the time. You see my annual physical every year."

"That's not what I'm talking about!" Her voice was frantic. "I'm talking about the problem. The man problem.

"Are you misunderstanding something with Claire? She's a young woman who was humiliated on her wedding night. Instead of comforting her, you terminate all contracts with her company?"

Word after ridiculous word hit me like a truck. I couldn't even connect what she was saying to myself.

Then she sent a photo to my WhatsApp.

It was a medical report. Severe erectile dysfunction. And it had my name on it.

Claire had posted this in our extended family group chat first thing in the morning.

In the chat, she was crying, saying I wouldn't let her touch me, that I was constantly accusing her of cheating on me.

My parents were falling all over themselves apologizing to her. They sent her several large cash gifts to calm her down.

[Claire, don't be too hard on Ethan. He's just under a lot of pressure.]

[This is our fault. We didn't raise him right. You shouldn't have to deal with this.]

Then the aunts and uncles chimed in.

[Yeah, Claire, Ethan has always been stubborn. Just be patient with him.]

[Ethan, go see a doctor. Don't wait. These things are treatable if you catch them early.]

A few of my younger cousins jumped in with laughing emojis and jokes.

[So what's the deal, Ethan? How bad is it?]

[Don't worry, Claire. I know a great doctor. He specializes in this kind of thing.]

I was gripping my phone so hard my hands were shaking. Rage flooded my head. My vision went black at the edges.

Claire had the nerve to play the victim. To flip the whole story around.

I immediately opened our private chat.

[Claire. Is this really the game you want to play?]

A few seconds later—no private reply—she tagged me in the family group chat.

[I'm sorry, everyone. Please don't blame Ethan. He already yelled at me.]

[That report isn't real. I made it up. I lied.]

[Ethan doesn't have any problems. He's perfect. This is all my fault.]

And the more she "clarified," the more everyone believed her.

[Claire, you're too kind! You're still defending him after everything?]

[Ethan! Look at what you've done to her. Apologize. Now.]

Reading all those twisted versions of the truth, I felt sick to my stomach.

Then her private message popped up.

[Restore the funding and the business partnership. Immediately.]

[Otherwise, I don't mind sending that medical report to every media outlet in the city.]

Claire: [I think a news story about 'Anders Group Heir Suffers from Both Physical and Mental Disorders' would be a lot more interesting than the Bishop Group's funding crisis, don't you?]

I stared at Claire's message. My heart felt like it had been dunked in ice water.

Me: [That's fraud. It's slander.]

Claire: [Exactly.]

There was something reckless in her reply. A nothing-left-to-lose kind of boldness.

Claire: [You pushed me to this. I bought gifts today. I was going to come home and talk to you. Try to make things right.]

Claire: [But you know what you did? You cut off my money, Ethan. If I'm going down, I'm taking you with me.]

Claire: [We were always just a business arrangement. So why are you demanding loyalty from me?]

Suddenly, the woman on the other end of that screen felt like a stranger. A terrifying one.

Three years ago, when our two families first agreed to the merger, she said, "Ethan, an arranged marriage is miserable enough. I don't want our marriage to be full of affairs, secret love children, and constant fighting.

"We have to be loyal to each other. At least on the surface. We keep it clean. I don't want to be anyone's laughingstock."

She was the one who wanted a "clean" marriage. She was the one who swore there would never be any betrayal.

And now she was the one asking me why I expected loyalty.

Unbelievable.

Me: [Fine. I'll restore the funding to the Bishop Group.]

Claire: [That's more like it.]

What a smug reply.

Claire: [Oh, and one more thing. You need to apologize to Noah.]

My temple throbbed. [For what?]

Claire: [You were awful to him at the hospital. You scared him. You need to apologize in person. Properly.]

I sneered.

Me: [No.]

And Claire went right back to threatening me.

Claire: [Ethan, I'm warning you. Don't make me do something you'll regret.]

It was almost funny.

The only thing I regretted was agreeing to this marriage three years ago.

Back then, Claire only became the heir to the Bishop Group because of our engagement. She was incompetent and made terrible decisions. Without my help these past three years, she would have been pushed out long ago.

Now it was time to put her back where she belonged.

The Bishop family had an older son—Claire's half-brother, Julian Bishop. The first wife's child. He'd lost an eye in an accident years ago, so the family tossed him aside and left him to rot in a subsidiary company.

I thought Julian and I might have something to talk about.

It didn't take long to reach him through my connections. We set a time and place to meet.

I was just about to walk out the door when—

Whoosh.

A bucket of something foul hit me right in the face. Reeking, disgusting liquid burned my eyes. I gagged.

"You sick bastard!" a man's voice shouted. "You call yourself a doctor? Rich piece of trash with no morals!"

"Get him!" someone else yelled. "This is for every patient you've screwed over!"

Before I even understood what was happening, a fist slammed into my face. Then more fists. More boots. They came at me from every direction.

I tried to explain. Tried to fight back. But there were too many of them.

Then—a crack. A blinding flash of pain from my leg. I heard the snap of bone.

But they didn't stop.

…

When I opened my eyes again, I was lying in a hospital bed.

My leg was wrapped in a thick cast, hoisted up in the air.

Lying there under the harsh fluorescent lights, I finally understood what the paint and the beating had been about.

Number one on trending: a video about me.

The thumbnail was taken from the ER that night—our wedding night.

The video had been carefully edited. Spliced. Twisted.

The grainy footage showed only my face clearly. I was edited to look cold and aggressive. And they'd dubbed over it with new dialogue—none of it true.

The voiceover made it sound like I had personally refused to treat a patient just because I was in a bad mood.

The headline was even more lurid: [Rich Family Drama? Heartless Doctor Lets Dying Patient Suffer!]

The article went into graphic detail about how I supposedly used my powerful family connections to coast through medical school—to get a degree that most people have to sweat blood for. It said I've always been arrogant, and that this time, I let "personal grudges" get in the way of saving a life.

The comments section tore me apart.

[This kind of garbage gets to be a doctor? No wonder doctor-patient relations are so toxic.]

[The Anders Group heir, right? Got it. I'll make sure neither my dog nor I ever buys anything from his company.]

[Someone doxx him. Drag him out into the light. Make sure he never shows his face in public again.]

My company's website had already been overrun by angry mobs. Stock prices were falling. People were calling for a boycott of every single product the Anders Group had ever made.

I felt frozen. Hollowed out.

I never imagined Claire would go this far for Noah. That she would destroy me so completely.

Then my phone screen lit up.

A private message from Claire.

Claire: [Apologize yet? All you have to do is say sorry to Noah. Be nice about it. And I'll help clear your name.]

I stared at the words, thinking about every single thing I had given to this relationship. Every sacrifice. Every moment I had believed in her.

I didn't answer.

Another message popped up.

Claire: [Come on, Ethan. Don't be so dramatic.]

Claire: [Here's the deal. Mondays, Wednesdays, Fridays with you. Tuesdays, Thursdays, Saturdays with him. Sundays are yours too, okay?]

Claire: [At the end of the day, I really do love you. Just think about it.]

I let out a low, bitter laugh.

Me: [Fuck off.]

Three years. That's how long I'd wasted loving someone who was never worth it.

Now every word she typed made me sick.

…

Because I missed our meeting, Julian Bishop came to me instead.

His eyes swept over my leg, suspended in its cast. He clicked his tongue.

"Claire really did a number on you, didn't she? Then again, no surprise there. She's rotten to the core."

He pulled up a chair and set a fruit basket to the side.

"So. What did you want to talk about? You didn't drag me all the way here just to show me how pathetic you look, right?"

I reached under my pillow, pulled out the tablet I'd prepared, unlocked it, and tossed it to him.

"A deal."

"Help me tear Claire down. Get her removed as heir to the Bishop Group. And I want her to suffer."

Julian raised an eyebrow and looked down at the screen.

On it was every piece of evidence I had gathered. Claire had used her position to set up shell companies overseas and quietly siphoned off millions. Every falsified entry on the financial statements was highlighted in red—clear, undeniable.

The total amount: over 500 million dollars.

I had planned to talk to her about it after the wedding. I was even going to help cover the shortfall.

Now? Now it was evidence.

Julian's eyes grew brighter the more he read.

"Nice. So what's the play? Leak all this now?"

I was about to answer when a notification popped up on my phone.

[Smart Home Alert: Front door opened. Someone has entered.]

The live feed loaded.

There, in the entryway, was Claire. Her arm was wrapped around Noah's. She was pulling him inside.

Noah kicked the door shut. Then he shoved Claire against it and kissed her—hungry, desperate.

Clothes started coming off.

That was my house. Our house. Our wedding home.

Every piece of furniture. Every detail. I had chosen every single thing myself.

And now it was their playground.

I watched the two tangled figures on the screen. Then I looked at Julian and smiled—a smile that didn't mean anything good.

"No," I said. "Now I have something else I need you to do."