By the time she got home, it was already late at night. Sol Kelly went inside, curled up on the couch, and cried quietly as the past came rushing back.

The Sandy Bay house had been Zamir Peterson’s first big purchase, bought with the profits from his first business venture. He’d bought it two years ago and put it in her name. Zamir had once told her he was grateful she’d stood by him through thick and thin, promising that one day he’d shower her with everything life had to offer—a token of his success.

He’d even ignored her protests and transferred half his company shares into her name. Once, under a sky full of stars, he’d sworn eternal loyalty to her.

But love is fickle. Eventually, it changed. He strayed, breaking every promise he’d made.

She didn’t sleep a wink that night. Sol didn’t move until the first light of dawn began to streak across the sky. Then she pulled herself together and started packing.

She went through all of Zamir’s things one by one and hauled them off to a storage room. She changed the bed sheets and pillowcases, erasing every trace of him, before finally crashing into a deep sleep.

She didn’t know how long she’d slept, but she sensed someone approaching. Warm breath ghosted over her ear.

“Sol, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have let my ego get the best of me yesterday. I said stupid things and upset you,” came his voice, soaked in an overly sweet cologne that made her stomach turn.

Startled, she opened her eyes and shoved him away. Her gaze landed on the telltale love bites peeking out from his collar—and she immediately doubled over, gagging.

He was blatantly cheating, and he hadn’t even bothered to clean up before coming back.

She couldn’t tell if he was utterly shameless or just convinced she’d never actually leave him.

Zamir’s face froze for a moment, then softened into fake concern. “Are you feeling unwell? Should I take you to see a doctor?”

“Ugh—” Another wave of nausea hit her.

Zamir’s expression darkened, his lips pressing into a thin line. “I’ve fired Carly Perkins. No one will come between us again.”

“Is that so?” Sol lifted her eyes, sarcasm dripping from her voice. “And you don’t regret it?”

“She was just an irrelevant assistant. What’s there to regret?” Zamir pulled out a tissue and gently wiped the corner of her mouth, his tone coaxing. “Honey, don’t be mad, okay?”

Sol didn’t budge. A dry, mocking laugh slipped out. “I’m not your wife, Zamir. Stop calling me that.”

“By next week, you will be.”

“If I remember correctly, weren’t you the one who suggested calling off the wedding?”

Zamir frowned, his lips pressing into a straight line, his tone helpless. “I said that in anger. You told me if I apologized, you’d forgive me once.”

“Oh, you remember that, do you? I also remember you swearing you’d never betray me—swearing you’d rot in hell if you ever stepped out on me.”

Maybe when Zamir made those promises, he truly loved her, envisioning a lifetime together. But over time, that love soured.

Guilt flickered in his eyes. He couldn’t meet hers—until his phone rang, saving him from the confrontation.

He breathed a small sigh of relief, glanced at his phone, then stood. “I have a meeting at the company this afternoon. I’ll come back later and cook for you.”

With that, he left, his footsteps hurried—almost like he was fleeing.

A bitter smile twisted Sol’s lips, disdain brimming in her eyes.

...

That afternoon, she contacted a real estate agent and put the property on the market. Then she drove to the company.

For three years, she had occasionally brought Zamir lunch. The people there knew her—and knew the wedding was imminent. It had been three months since her last visit.

She took the elevator up, moving with an easy familiarity.

The hallway leading to the CEO’s office was carpeted, her high heels making no sound on the plush surface.

Her hand reached for the doorknob when she heard the soft, kittenish moans of a girl mingling with the rough breathing of a man.

Sol’s fingers froze, the color draining from her face.

Her eyes stung painfully, but no tears came.

Same lies. Utter shamelessness.

She pulled out her phone, activated the recording function, and gently pushed the door open a crack. Inside, the two were so engrossed in their passionate encounter they didn’t notice her presence at the door.

As Carly’s head tilted back, her eyes suddenly locked onto the phone’s camera, and she screamed. The shock sent Zamir, who had been lost in the moment, into immediate panic.

“Zamir, someone’s filming us!”

She hurriedly grabbed her clothes to cover herself, retreating into Zamir’s arms.

“Who?” Zamir’s gaze turned sharp, his face menacing as his eyes followed hers to the door.

The door swung open, and Sol stepped inside, pocketing her phone.

“Sorry to interrupt your little party.”

“Sol...” Zamir’s expression shifted drastically, anger swiftly replacing shock. “What are you doing here?”

Carly shrank back the moment she saw Sol, nestling deeper into Zamir’s embrace. “Sol, you always show up unexpectedly... Zamir and I were just offering each other comfort. In his heart, he only loves you.”

Sol smirked coldly. “Zamir, we need to talk.”

“Fine. You leave,” Zamir instructed Carly, knowing further denial was pointless after being caught red-handed.

Ten minutes later, Carly exited first.

Meeting Sol’s steely gaze, she flinched, her neck drawing in fearfully. “Sol, Zamir wants to see you now.”

“That anonymous text last night—was it you?”

Carly’s face paled slightly, her eyes evasive. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“A mistress with no ambition is a rare thing. You’re young, but you’re already aiming high.”

She had nurtured Zamir’s career, only to watch someone else reap the rewards.

“I heard three years ago you were almost assaulted. Left you with some psychological scars?” Carly’s lips curled in contempt. “I don’t mind taking care of Zamir’s needs for you.”

Sol’s heart plummeted. Zamir had shared even her most painful memories with another woman.

She gripped her purse so hard her nails bit into her palm.

Carly stared at her, hoping for a breakdown.

But Sol didn’t give her one. Instead, she let out a faint laugh—and thanked Carly.

“Thank you.”

Thank you for opening her eyes to Zamir’s true nature before the wedding—and for killing whatever lingering attachment she’d had left.

...

Back in the office, Zamir had dressed again and now sat stiffly in his swivel chair, every inch the polished CEO.

“What do you want to discuss?” His voice was hoarse with irritation, his gaze sharp with resentment.

Sol sat across from him, her eyes empty.

“The house and car are mine. I can sell the company shares back to you at market price. And because you saved my life, I’ll give you one last shred of dignity.”

Zamir froze, then let out a disbelieving laugh. “Sol, everything you have came from me. I made a mistake—the kind every man makes—and you’re giving me a death sentence?”

His self-righteousness, his sheer entitlement—it was foreign to her.

Maybe that was the flaw baked into men like him: even when caught, they refused to admit they’d done anything wrong.

“Three years, and you still don’t know me. I’m Sol Kelly. I don’t turn a blind eye, and I don’t settle.”

Zamir’s face darkened, his cold gaze cutting into hers. “Are you serious?”

Sol Kelly's lips twisted into a sardonic smile, her face giving nothing away. “Do you actually think I'm joking?”

“The invitations are out, and the wedding is next week. You're really gonna break up with me over something this small?” Zamir Peterson's expression was taut, barely containing his frustration. To him, Sol's refusal was just a tactic—a lover's bluff, a strategic retreat to push him into chasing her. They'd been together three years. No way she'd actually leave now.

Sol let out a dry laugh. “Breaking up means you get a free pass to fool around with Carly. No ‘old woman’ like me weighing you down—you can chase all the younger, hotter women you want.”

She'd heard the whispers at the club.

So she was still pissed.

“You're the one who won't let me touch you. Ask anyone—what couple goes three years without sex? Sol, I'm a normal man, not some celibate monk.”

The implication was clear: she was the problem. Not even a real woman.

Three years ago, she'd barely escaped an assault. It left her terrified of men getting too close. It took six months into their relationship before she could hold hands, hug, or kiss Zamir without her body locking up. But whenever things went further, she'd flash back to that dark alley—to those vile hands grabbing her.

For years, she'd quietly gone to therapy. She'd made so much progress. She'd planned to give herself to him on their wedding night and finally tell him the truth. Now? It felt pointless.

Sol's eyes glittered with hurt. “So you turned the worst thing that ever happened to me into gossip for Carly?”

Panic flashed across Zamir's face. He scrambled for an excuse. “I was drunk that night. I was just venting... I didn't mean for it to slip.”

He did have feelings for her—at least he told himself he did—but over time, he'd grown tired. Every time things got heated, her trauma got in the way. With no outlet for his frustration, Carly appeared: young, lively, looking at him like he was everything, deliberately tempting him. He didn't resist. He cheated. Afterward, guilt and shame ate at him, but the affair kept pulling him back. He couldn't break free.

“Blaming everyone but yourself for not being able to control yourself—that's a real convenient excuse for cheating,” Sol said coldly. “If you'd had the guts to break up with me to my face, I might've at least respected you as a man.”

Zamir's frustration boiled over. “Sol, I've supported you all these years. The company is mine. I built it. Are you really gonna walk away with half my assets because we're breaking up? Isn't that greedy?”

Sol's gaze didn't waver. “I'm just claiming what's mine.”

Without her behind-the-scenes work, did he really think he could've risen so fast? Did he actually see himself as some business genius? Some golden boy?

“What do you mean, ‘what's mine’? Those shares were meant for Mrs. Peterson.”

In other words, if she refused to be his wife, everything he'd given her would be forfeited. Sol had weathered every hardship with him, and now she was supposed to swallow her pride and accept his betrayal?

When she didn't answer, Zamir grew bolder. “Sol, I can live without being intimate with you, but you need to accept Carly being in the picture. Isn't all of us living happily together better than anything else?”

For all his good looks, his delusional logic was almost laughable.

“Zamir, you disgust me! How could I ever have loved someone so shameless?”

The contempt in her glare cut through him like a blade. Zamir's temper snapped. He grabbed her chin. “Don't look at me like that. You're no angel yourself. The fact that I'm still willing to spoil you and marry you means you should be grateful.”

“Got a taste of the high life and suddenly forgot where you came from?”

The air between them turned suffocating. Sol struggled against his grip, her elegant face flushing red as she fought for air, her eyes locked on his with icy contempt.

Realizing what he'd done, Zamir let go and stepped back. “Sol, I didn't mean it. You provoked me with your words...”

Even now, he was shifting the blame onto her.

He never failed to disappoint.

Sol staggered back, catching herself on the desk, gasping for air.

“I love you too much. I can't stand the thought of losing you...”

Regret flickered across his face as he reached for her, but Sol recoiled like a cornered cat.

“Stay away from me!”

Zamir froze.

“From this moment on, we're done. We're nothing to each other. What's mine stays mine. And if you try anything, I'll expose your little affair with Carly.”

After she left, Sol made a call.

“Cut all support for Windward Tech.”

Then she contacted a real estate agent and dropped the price of the house for a quick sale.

By that afternoon, someone had toured the place and signed the contract.

Sol packed up her things, shipped them to her family home in New York, and tossed all of Zamir's stuff into the trash.

She didn't feel a single pang of nostalgia as she drove away.

That night, she checked into a five-star hotel in Manchester.

Later, Zamir came home to a dark house. His usually soft features hardened into a frown.

Before, no matter how late it was, Sol would always come out to greet him the second she heard his car.

Now, the lock code had been changed.

His gaze landed on the overflowing trash can outside, and his expression soured.

He immediately called Sol. “You threw out my stuff. What does that mean?”

Sol stood by the hotel's floor-to-ceiling window, sipping her coffee, taking in the neon-lit cityscape. She felt liberated. Free.

“Trash belongs in the bin.”

She ended the call and blocked his number.

She was done with Zamir's betrayal, but memories of the past three years still left her hollow. She could already picture her father mocking her setbacks the moment she returned.

A tipsy haze settled over her. She powered down her phone and drifted into a deep sleep.

...

At a bar, Zamir sat alone, knocking back one strong drink after another, his expression unreadable. Even the blaring music couldn't cut through the chaos in his head.

His friends hovered nearby, too nervous to approach him, so they called Carly to calm him down.

Carly hurried over, slid up beside him, and wrapped her arms around his neck. “Zamir, Sol's just acting out. Once she's out there struggling, she'll realize how good she had it with you.”

Zamir finished another shot, his demeanor frosty. “You're right. I'll wait for her to fail and come crawling back.”

He dialed a number and gave orders.

“Cancel my secondary card and empty Sol Kelly's bank accounts.”

No money, no options. Let's see how long that pride of hers lasts.

Then he looked at Carly, gripped her chin, and kissed her fiercely.

Carly whimpered softly, melting against him, matching his hunger.

“Zamir, I adore you...”

For two days, Sol Kelly holed up in her hotel room, never once stepping outside. All she did was work the phones, chasing down any potential buyer for her shares of Windward Tech. On the third day, the front desk called up: her bill was due. That was when she noticed her account had gone bone-dry—Zamir Peterson had cut her off from their joint bank account.

Pissed, Sol unblocked Zamir's number and called him.

“Zamir, what gives you the right to mess with my money?”

She didn't even have to guess. She'd used his computer once to log into online banking—and hadn't bothered to hide it.

“Sol, every cent you have comes from me. You want to break up? Fine. But you're not walking away with a dime of what's mine.”

A disbelieving laugh slipped out. “Zamir, you're not half as powerful as you think you are.”

She hung up and blocked him again. On the other end, Zamir's face went dark with fury. His grip on the phone tightened until his knuckles turned white. His assistant edged into the room like he already regretted it.

“Mr. Peterson... Ms. Kelly sold the house two days ago. Thirty thousand under market value.”

Zamir's head snapped up. “That's impossible. Are you sure?”

The assistant nodded, barely breathing. “No mistake, sir. She's been staying at the Marriott.”

Zamir snatched up his car keys and stormed out, panic clawing through him in a way he wasn't used to. She'd sold their home. That meant she was serious. This wasn't some game of cat and mouse. She was done.

Down in the hotel lobby, Sol fixed her gaze on the man sitting across from her. “If you can't find a buyer, try Eagle Corporation. I'm sure they'd love a piece of Windward.”

“But Ms. Kelly, Eagle is Windward's biggest rival. If they get those shares, Zamir's in for hell.”

Sol smiled, calm as still water. “And why should that matter to me?”

Something in her expression told him not to push. He slid a card across the table. “The password is your birthday.”

With that card, she paid for four more nights at the hotel. On her way back to her room, the door to the neighboring suite swung open, and a tall man stepped out. Broad-shouldered, athletic, with dark eyes that held a cool, unreadable distance. Sol glanced at him on instinct. He gave her a polite nod. She returned it as they passed.

Not long after, a knock sounded at her door. She opened it—and found herself staring straight into Zamir's familiar face. Her expression iced over instantly.

“Mr. Peterson. What brings you here?”

He hated the formal address, especially with that cold, distant look on her face.

“Sol, why didn't you talk to me before selling our house?”

A hint of sarcasm curled her lips. “The house is in my name. Selling it was my call. And if you're looking for an answer, here it is: I don't want you, and I don't want the house.”

Zamir's throat went dry. “You're really willing to throw away three years?”

“You threw it away first.”

The calm in her voice gutted him. A desperate, sinking loss opened up inside his chest. For the first time, he was afraid he couldn't fix this.

“She means nothing to me. I love you. I always have. Once we're married, I'll cut her off. She won't be a problem.”

Sol's voice went ice-cold. “I don't recycle trash.”

Rage twisted Zamir's face. He grabbed her wrist, slammed her back against the wall, and crushed his mouth to hers. Sol went pale. She shoved at him, but he was stronger—too strong—and he held her there.

He tugged at her collar, his breath hot against her skin. “Sol, I know I was wrong. Forgive me. Let's just—”

Her fury turned to terror. She fought him with everything she had. “Get off me! Don't touch me!”

“Help! Help—” His hand clamped over her mouth, muffling the scream.

“Sweetheart, shh. I'm sorry. Don't yell. Please. I'll be gentle,” he whispered, as if force could ever be mistaken for love.

Panic swallowed her whole. The door began to swing shut, and fear sliced through Sol.

At the last second, a hand caught the door before it could close.

Adrian Lopez stepped in, pulled Sol out of Zamir's grip, and sent him sprawling to the floor. He glanced at the trembling woman, his voice low. “Are you okay?”

Sol nodded, still shaking. It was the man from earlier—the one who'd nodded to her in the hall. Fear had blinded her to everything else, including how exposed she was.

Adrian's dark eyes swept over her rumpled clothes, her torn collar. Without a word, he shrugged off his jacket and draped it over her shoulders. “Cover up.”

Heat rushed to Sol's face. She looked down, realized what she must look like, and quickly pulled the jacket tight around herself.

“Who the hell are you? This is between my wife and me. Stay out of it,” Zamir spat, scrambling to his feet, fury burning in his eyes.

Adrian didn't flinch. His voice dripped with contempt. “Your husband?”

Sol shook her head hard. “No. We're broken up. He was trying to force me.”

Adrian's expression turned to stone. He fixed Zamir with a stare cold enough to freeze fire. “So, an ex-boyfriend. Pathetic. Forcing yourself on a woman—what a disgrace. You waiting for the cops, or should I call them myself?”

Zamir burned with rage, but something about Adrian—the authority, the money, the danger—warned him not to push.

“Sol, please. Calm down. I'll come by again tomorrow.”

She watched Zamir retreat, then let out a shaky breath. Her nerves finally began to unwind.

“Thank you. Can I take you to dinner tomorrow?”

She needed to thank him somehow. His timing had been everything.

“Adrian Lopez.”

The name tugged at a memory she couldn't quite catch. Before she could grasp it, Adrian had already turned to leave. His parting shot drifted back over his shoulder.

“You sure have lousy taste in men.”

Sol was left speechless.