On the night of our ninth wedding anniversary, my husband—Damian Grant, the man who ruled the mafia by day and once ruled my heart by night—did not bring me roses.
He gave the bouquet that should have been mine to Serena Lane, his personal assistant.
Beneath the chandelier where we once danced on our wedding night, he turned to me with that same cold charm he once used to whisper sweet nothings in my ear.
“She’s pregnant.” Finally, everything fell into place. “She’s a picky eater. From today onward, you’ll cook three meals a day for her. And no repeats.
“She’s sensitive and hates sleeping alone, so you’ll need to move your things into the guest room.”
The room fell silent.
I did not raise my voice, nor did I shed a single tear. I simply picked up my packed suitcase and walked to the door.
The butler tried to stop me, but Damian did not even blink.
“She’ll come back.” He lazily swirled the wine in his glass. “She’ll come back crying and begging within three days.”
Our guests burst out laughing.
They placed a million-dollar bet right in front of me.
They were betting on whether I would be back before the night was over, begging Damian to let me back in like a pathetic stray dog with my tail between my legs.
However, they did not know I had already received the family heirloom from my real father. I booked my flight to get far, far away from everyone I used to know.
This time, I really left.
…
Just as I reached the entrance of the villa, I heard Damian Grant’s voice behind me. It was deep and commanding, as always.
“Claire, leave the obsidian necklace behind.”
I froze.
That necklace was a keepsake from my grandmother.
It was a raw piece of volcanic stone, forged from fire, and had been brought all the way here from Arendale.
I had never taken it off before, not even on the day we got married, or on the night Damian held me tightly and whispered that he loved me for the first time.
He stepped closer. His tone was disturbingly casual.
“Serena’s pregnancy has been rough. Maybe the necklace will help lift her mood.”
For a moment, I thought he was joking.
However, the seriousness in his eyes told me he was not.
I clenched the obsidian in my fist. Its jagged edges dug into my palm, but the pain could not compare to what I felt inside.
When he saw the redness in my eyes, he looked away and let out a sigh.
“All right, Claire. Name your price. I’ll compensate you however I can.”
How much was a nine-year marriage full of humiliating and degradation worth?
I did not bother to do the math.
I remembered what happened the last time I refused to give my knee pads to Serena Lane at the ski resort.
Damian’s men had stripped off my coat and left me outside in subzero temperatures while Serena sipped hot cocoa by the fire.
