On Valentine's Day, the Harbor City tabloids ran a front-page spread on the crown prince himself.

Rising Supermodel Tests Stamina — 13 vs. 15, Edwards Narrowly Loses to His Buddy

The photos showed a hotel room in shambles, littered with the evidence of twenty-eight used condoms. Split evenly between Bertram Edwards and his friend. The next morning, someone had counted. Bertram's tally: thirteen.

The day after the story broke, the rising supermodel posted coyly on social media:

"It's only because he felt bad for me last night — said I looked too tired, so he conceded. Otherwise? He wasn't even close to done."

I knew Bertram had always been competitive.

Back when a mainland tycoon offered a billion dollars to buy both my paintings and me, Bertram flew into a rage and dropped ten billion to take me — along with every last asset that tycoon owned — back to Harbor City.

That was how the city got its favorite metaphor: the "billion-dollar bride." Proof, supposedly, of how much the Edwards family valued their new wife.

Bertram had even played along with the tabloid circus this time, commenting: "What can I say? Once you marry her, you've got to take care of her. At my pace, I'd wreck her. Better to eat my fill elsewhere before heading home."

And just like that, the whole city understood. No wonder I'd never gotten pregnant. The crown prince had brought me home as nothing more than a trophy wife.

The same day the story dropped, the supermodel posted a photo of a pregnancy test — two pink lines, clear as day.

"One shot was all it took with Mr. Edwards."

Now all of Harbor City was laughing, betting the billion-dollar bride was crying her eyes out.

I didn't want to disappoint them. So I went to the supermodel's comment section and posted my baby's one-month photo.

"Sorry for the late reply — I've been on maternity rest. My boyfriend doesn't like me spending too much time on my phone."

……

Before I posted that, Bertram hadn't come home in two months.

Harbor City wasn't that big, when you thought about it. East side to west side, no traffic, two hours tops.

The truth was simple: he just didn't want to come back.

At first, I couldn't get used to it. A three-story mansion all to myself. The emptiness was suffocating.

The tabloids loved it, of course. "Billion-Dollar Bride Alone in Her Wedding Home" — each headline more pitiful than the last.

Every once in a while, Bertram would swing by to offer a line or two of explanation. He'd sit on the sofa, a freshly lit cigarette pinched between his fingers.

"Cheryl Henson, after all these years, you still haven't figured out how to be a proper wife to a man like me?"

"Do I need to teach you myself?"

He lifted his gaze to meet mine, his expression unreadable. "You're a smart woman, Cheryl."

That was him giving me a hint.

He'd never been one to waste words. He said just enough and left the rest for you to figure out.

And after all these years of reading between his lines, I finally understood what kind of wife he'd wanted all along.

Pretty. Polished. Graceful. Gentle.

And above all else — strong enough, forgiving enough, to look the other way while he kept every woman he wanted on the side.

So now, because of my comment, he'd finally remembered he had a home to come back to.

He sat on the sofa, unhurried, and lit a cigarette.

"Cheryl, I always thought you were the obedient one. What's this? Picking up tricks from those other women, trying to start something with me?"

"Delete the comment. It's a bad look."

From the day I'd chosen to be with him, I really had been the obedient one. No tears, no tantrums, no fighting, no demanding. And somehow, that was exactly how I'd ended up as Mrs. Edwards.

So he didn't believe my comment. He assumed I was throwing a tantrum to get his attention.

The crown prince of Harbor City, after all, had more than enough confidence for that.

I reached over and snuffed out his cigarette. "The secondhand smoke clings to me. It's bad for my baby."

He went still. Then he slammed the lighter down on the marble coffee table with a sharp crack. "Are you done? Is this fun for you?"

"Forget whether I believe it. You probably don't even believe it yourself."

"What did the doctor say after the avalanche? Have you already forgotten?"

I lowered my head in silence. I hadn't forgotten.

It had been a brush with death. Bertram and I had gone skiing in Switzerland over the holidays when an avalanche hit. We were buried beneath the snow for three days and three nights.

During those three days, he held me tight against his chest. He stripped off his own clothes to keep me warm. Every scrap of food went to me.

He'd said, "Cheryl, if I don't make it out of here, I want you to remember me for the rest of your life. Don't you dare find another man."

By some miracle, the rescue team found us.

But after we got back, the doctor told me that the prolonged exposure to freezing temperatures had most likely left me unable to conceive.

"Go get changed. I'll take you out tonight, clear your head."

His voice softened. He stood and crossed the room, blocking my path. "Come on, Cheryl. I'll move back in tonight."

He leaned close to my ear and murmured, "Your period just ended, didn't it?"

Then he kissed my forehead and walked out.

He didn't know that after giving birth, periods don't come back right away.

The moment the door clicked shut, my phone rang.

On the other end, I could hear the baby crying.

The man on the line chuckled softly. "He's saying he misses his mommy."

"When will the divorce be finalized? If he won't agree, I can step in and handle it."

I turned him down. "That won't be necessary. Soon. The lawyer says a week at most."

If he got involved, it would cause another citywide scandal.

I refused to go to the party with Bertram.

He left with a flash of anger in his eyes. "Cheryl, you're getting more and more disobedient. Suit yourself."

But that evening, while packing my things, I realized the identity documents were with Bertram. I had no choice but to go find him.

Inside the private room.

"Haven't you gotten bored yet, Mr. Edwards? Cheryl Henson is just some nobody from the sticks. Don't tell me you actually caught feelings."

I was about to push the door open.

Bertram's voice carried through. "Bored? Of course I'm bored. Why do you think I keep swapping them out, one after another?"

"How else could I have lasted five years?"

I froze.

This was the fourth year of my marriage to Bertram. By my count, we were one week shy of five.

Laughter and agreement rippled through the room. All of them were Bertram's usual crowd.

"Cheryl Henson? She's nothing but a little toy Mr. Edwards picked up on a whim."

"'The nation's purest beauty'? Please. She was entertainment. And she actually believed she was the Edwards family's young wife?"

"If Mr. Edwards hadn't bet me he could bag this so-called purest beauty and keep her playing the dutiful Mrs. Edwards for five whole years, would she ever have had the chance to sit at the same table as us?"

A woman's flirtatious giggle cut through, followed by a chorus of jeers.

"Come on, Mr. Edwards. You're the one who took Rachel's virginity. The least you can do is treat her right."

"Thirteen rounds tonight might not be enough, huh?"

The woman's voice turned syrupy and coy. "Oh, stop it..."

I pushed the door open. The room went dead silent.

The woman perched on Bertram's lap was Rachel Keane, the rising supermodel.

She was squirming on top of him, her skirt hiked so high it barely covered anything.

Every pair of eyes turned to me. Not one held surprise. Only contempt. Only scorn.

I walked straight toward Bertram. I looked at the woman draped over him.

"Sorry to interrupt the fun."

"I just need your car keys. I left something behind."

Rachel didn't so much as flinch.

Bertram had one arm wrapped around her waist and the other resting on her bare thigh, his fingertips tracing lazy circles against her skin.

He looked up at me. "Still that good temper of yours. You said you weren't coming, but you couldn't help yourself, could you?"

"Couldn't even come up with a decent excuse. That desperate to take me home?"

He tossed the keys at me. "Fine. Since you've swallowed your pride, I'll give you one more chance..."

I smiled faintly and asked, "What home do we even have left?"

That caught him off guard. He blinked, momentarily speechless.

I didn't give him a chance to recover. I turned and walked away.

All this time, I'd believed the spectacle he'd made when he married me meant he truly loved me. I'd fallen deeper and deeper, until I couldn't imagine a world without him.

And in the end, I was nothing but a bet he'd made on a whim.

Bertram's expression darkened with anger. "Pick your battles, Cheryl. This isn't the place."

My feet didn't stop.

I needed to get to the courthouse and file for divorce.

Behind me, one of his friends called out, "Bertram, she's an orphan from the mainland. No family, no connections, and certainly not here in Harbor City. Where's she going to go without you?"

Bertram's voice was unhurried, almost lazy. "Exactly. She's got nowhere to go. By tomorrow morning, she'll come crawling back to beg."

He sounded so sure of himself.

I paused. Turned around. "Bertram, do you really think I have nowhere to go?"

He let out a cold laugh. "What are you putting on this brave face for? Where would you even get the nerve?"

"You might've had a little fame back on the mainland when you were young, but that was five years ago. You're a married woman now. How exactly do you plan to sell that innocent sweetheart image of yours? By painting with your crippled hand?"

My jaw clenched so hard my teeth ached.

Laughter erupted around the room.

Rachel stood up on her own, grabbed a glass of wine, and sauntered toward me.

"I've heard Mrs. Edwards was quite the prodigy in her younger days. Such a shame about the car accident, though. Lost a finger saving Mr. Edwards." She tilted her head, her voice dripping with manufactured sympathy. "I truly envy the love you two share."

She extended the glass until it nearly touched my lips. "Mrs. Edwards, since we're both here to keep Mr. Edwards company, we might as well call it fate. Do me the honor. Have a drink. Let's be friends."

I swung my hand and knocked the glass away before it could reach my mouth. "You're the other woman. On what planet would we be friends?"

The glass hit the floor and shattered into a hundred pieces.

Rachel's face twisted. She spun around to Bertram, teeth clenched. "Mr. Edwards, did you see that?"

Bertram waved her over. "She's just putting on airs. Come here. I'll drink with you."

Rachel smiled and turned back, but as she passed me, she rammed her shoulder hard into mine.

I wasn't braced for it. The impact sent me stumbling, and I crashed to the floor.

The back of my hand landed squarely on the scattered shards of glass.

White-hot pain shot straight through my bones.

Someone nearby sneered, "Well, there goes the other hand. She really won't be painting anymore."

"Shut your mouth!"

Before I could say a word, Bertram's voice cracked through the room like a whip. He was on his feet in an instant, striding toward me.

The private lounge went dead silent. No one dared to breathe too loudly.

Everyone in Harbor City knew the same thing: when Bertram Edwards lost his temper, half the city felt the tremor.

He crouched down and scooped me into his arms. His gaze fell on my palm, torn and bloody from the glass.

"You're okay. I'm taking you to the hospital."

I turned my face away from his touch and said nothing.

The people in the lounge exchanged uneasy glances. Not a single one opened their mouth.

Bertram set me in the passenger seat. "Just hold on a little longer. We'll be there soon."

I leaned back against the headrest. My eyes drifted to the center console, where the edge of my identity documents peeked out from the storage compartment.

While Bertram's attention was fixed on the road, I slipped the documents out and tucked them into my pocket.

After my hand was bandaged and we were home, I texted my lawyer and told him to come pick up the documents.

"I have the identity papers. Push the divorce through. I need it done within a week."

Bertram didn't stay the night. As he left, I caught the glow of his phone screen. An incoming call from some rising young starlet.

I didn't give it a second thought. The next morning, I got up and started packing.

I hadn't expected Bertram to come back so early.