"I'll sit in the back."

On the way to the restaurant, Madeline gave me a puzzled look. "Why? You always sit up front."

Because I couldn't stand to sit in the passenger seat where her little lover had been countless times. The thought of them in this car, together, made me want to tear everything apart.

But all I said was, "Just want to watch the city lights."

Madeline thought nothing of it.

When she took my arm as we walked into the hotel, all eyes were on us, a mixture of envy and fear. In their world, a man like me marrying Madeline Windemere, getting the family's protection without having to earn his keep, was the ultimate prize. They had no idea what it cost.

Several of the family's Capos came over to greet us. Madeline clung to my arm, whispering in my ear and kissing my cheek every so often. The Capos showered us with compliments about our love. Madeline beamed, and I played my part, smiling right alongside her.

Dinner went smoothly, at least on the surface. Madeline talked about family business, occasionally asking for my opinion. I played the role of the perfect husband: intelligent, involved, but never overstepping.

At 8:20, Madeline checked her watch. "Darling, I need to step out for a bit. A partner is downstairs, have to discuss some business. I'll be back in half an hour."

"Of course," I smiled. "I'll be here."

A few minutes later, I excused myself to the restroom, stepped out of the hall, and called her. She answered on the third ring.

"Hey, baby. What's up?" Madeline's voice sounded a little rushed.

"I think I've had too much to drink," I slurred, faking it. "When are you coming back?"

"Soon, just give me… fifteen more minutes," her voice was muffled, like she was trying to hold something back.

Then I heard it.

A man's low, teasing laugh. And the soft, metallic jingle of something—jingle, jingle—like the little bells on a piece of lingerie or a sex toy.

"Madeline? Where are you?" I kept my voice laced with concern.

"In… in the office," she answered, breathing heavily. "The partner just arrived."

"Mmm… Madeline…" A man's moan echoed in the background.

My hand tightened around the phone, my knuckles turning white. It was Ryan's voice. No doubt about it.

"Baby, you sound strange," I said, deliberately dragging out the call. "You sure everything's okay?"

"Of course… ah…" Madeline was trying to control her voice, but I could hear exactly what she was doing. "This partner is just a little… difficult."

"Oh yes, Madeline… you're so good…" Ryan's voice drifted through, muffled. He clearly had no idea she was on the phone.

Jingle, jingle. The damn bells were getting faster.

I hit the record button, calmly documenting everything. A trained mercenary knows the value of intel.

"Madeline? Madeline?" I called out, faking urgency.

"What? Oh, sorry baby," she came back on the line, breathless. "The signal's bad. I'm coming up right now."

"Okay. I love you," I said in my gentlest voice.

"I love you too."

The lie rolled off her tongue so easily, so practiced.

I hung up, saved the recording, and walked back to the table as if nothing had happened.

Forty minutes later, Madeline returned to the restaurant. Her hair was a bit messy and her dress was wrinkled, but she wore a satisfied smile.

"Sorry to keep you waiting, baby," she said, sitting down beside me. "That partner was a real handful."

I turned to her and gave her a perfect smile. "It's fine. I know how important business is."

She reached out and took my hand. "You're the best husband in the world."

Just then, my phone vibrated.

"Passport and ticket confirmed. Departure in five days. All set."

I quickly locked the screen, but Madeline had caught a glimpse of the words.

"Passport?" she asked, looking at me with suspicion. "William, are you going somewhere?"

I let out a small laugh, as if she'd asked a stupid question. "It's my friend Aaron. He wants to go to Europe, but his passport's expired. He was asking me how to renew it. You know him, he's useless with that kind of stuff."

My tone was light, natural, with no hint of a lie.

Madeline's expression immediately softened. She even looked a little embarrassed. "Sorry, baby. For a second, I thought you were planning on leaving me."

The men at the nearby tables who overheard her shot me looks of pure envy. See how devoted she is?

I hid a cold sneer behind my wine glass. To the outside world, we were still the perfect, enviable couple.

The gala wound down around ten-thirty.

When we were the last two left in the restaurant, Madeline came to my side, her arms wrapping around me. "Tonight was perfect."

As she moved closer, a mixed scent hit me—cigar smoke, expensive whiskey, and… that damn cheap, woody cologne.

Ryan's scent.

She hadn't even bothered to cover it up. Or maybe she hadn't even noticed it was still on her.

A violent wave of disgust churned in my stomach.

I shoved her away, clapping a hand over my mouth as I bolted for the restroom.

"William? Baby?" Madeline's worried voice followed me.

I knelt before the toilet, retching violently. My stomach was empty, but the bitter bile and uncontrollable rage kept coming.

"What is it? Are you allergic to the seafood?" Madeline knelt beside me, trying to help me up. "Or was it the wine?"

Her scent washed over me again, and I heaved.

"Don't… Don't touch me!" I pushed her hand away, my body trembling.

"Is it the smoke on me?" Madeline frowned. "I'm sorry. I must have picked it up from my business partner."

That excuse was the final match on the gasoline.

I looked at her reflection in the mirror. She stood there, her face a perfect mask of innocent concern, as if she truly had no idea what she'd done.

"Business partner?" I sneered. "You and I both know what that was about."

Madeline froze, stunned. She had never seen me lose control like this. "William, what are you talking about?"

I realized I'd shown too much. Forcing myself to pull back, I said, "Nothing. Just an upset stomach."

The next morning, Madeline insisted on taking me to the hospital.

The doctor examined me. "Based on your symptoms, it looks like stress-induced gastritis. It's often caused by pressure or emotional distress. Has anything been stressing you out lately, Mr. Windemere?"

Madeline frowned. "No, not at all. We had a lovely evening yesterday."

"Well, perhaps it's seasonal," the doctor said, starting to write a prescription. "I'll give you something to settle your stomach."

Just then, Madeline's phone rang. She glanced at the screen, and a flicker of anxiety crossed her face. "Excuse me, this is important."

"Go ahead," I said flatly.

She stepped into the hallway, and I could hear her hushed voice. "What? Now? No, I'm at the doctor with my husband… Okay, I get it."

She came back, her face apologetic. "Baby, I am so sorry. One of my men is downstairs with an urgent document. I have to go sign for it. I'll be back in five minutes."

"Go," I said, feigning understanding.

Dr. Ricci continued his diagnosis, but I wasn't listening. I walked to the window, pretending to admire the view, but my eyes were locked on the street below.

A few minutes later, I saw her.

But she wasn't waiting by the entrance for any document.

She was hurrying across the street, heading straight for the building opposite the hospital—a private tattoo parlor.

As I watched her disappear inside, the anger was gone. All I felt was a cold, numb sense of release.

Just then, my phone buzzed.

A message from an unknown number.

[So sorry, but she won't be able to stay with you today. One call from me, and she came running.]

Another picture followed immediately.

It was a shot of Ryan's bare chest, a freshly inked—and still bleeding—Windemere family crest tattooed over his heart. Next to it, in fresh ink, was Madeline's name.

[Surprised? You know, when I told Madeline I'd give her anything, even my own flesh and blood, she was so moved she jumped on me right there. What a passionate little demon.]

[Oh, and she's a total demon with me. What about you? Is she reserved in bed? Hahaha, that's because you can't satisfy her!]

I leaned against the window, the world spinning around me. I thought giving up my life as a mercenary would buy me peace. What a fucking joke.

Maybe I should congratulate them.

Another message arrived.

[By the way, she's taking me to Vegas tomorrow. We're going to have a romantic little getaway.]

I turned off my phone. "Doctor," I said to Dr. Ricci, "I think I need to leave now."

"But your wife—"

"I'll tell her myself."

I went straight to my lawyer's office. I needed a divorce agreement.

"Regarding the division of assets, what are your terms?" Blackstone asked.

I knew the full extent of the Windemere family's power. I didn't want a fight over money. "I'll take the legally mandated 50% of our shared marital assets. Once I have the money, I want you to donate all of it."

Everything else, including the mansion I'd bought, I didn't want. All I wanted was my freedom.

Blackstone's face showed a flicker of surprise, but he simply nodded.

Two hours later, I walked out of his office holding the divorce papers. The Chicago sky was overcast, promising a storm.

My phone rang. It was Madeline.

"Baby, I'm so sorry. That business took longer than I expected. Where are you now?"

"Home," I lied.

"Okay, I'm on my way back. But…" Her voice became hesitant. "I might have to go to Vegas tomorrow for some urgent family business. It's… complicated. I might not be back until next week."

Her romantic getaway with Ryan.

"Okay," I replied, my voice so calm it surprised even me.

"You're not mad?" Madeline sounded surprised. "I know the timing is terrible, but it's family business. You understand."

"I understand."

"William," her voice suddenly softened. "I love you. You know that, right?"

I looked down at the divorce papers in my hand and asked the question one last time.

"Madeline," I said softly, "could you ever love someone else?"

"What?" She laughed. "Baby, what are you worried about? How could I ever love anyone else?"

"But if… just hypothetically, if something went wrong between us—"

"That's impossible," she cut me off, her tone shifting to a disturbing possessiveness. "William, listen to me. As long as you are my William, you can never leave me. You're my husband. My man. In this city, no one would dare touch you, and there’s nowhere you could run that I wouldn't find you."

A quiet voice in my head answered: Soon, my name won't be William. It'll be Noah.

"And what if I wanted to leave?"

She laughed softly. "Then I'd give you a three-day head start. And then I'd come find you. I told you, no matter where you run, I will always find you. You can never get away from me."

I hung up the phone and stood on the Chicago street, looking at the distant skyscrapers.

I didn't know if she could find me in three days.

I only knew that in three days, I would be free.