PROLOGUE

Christmas morning found me not unwrapping presents under a tree, but trapped in a boardroom that smelled of stale coffee and high-stakes desperation.

The quarterly projections were on the screen, but my mind was drifting.

My phone buzzed against the mahogany table, a lifeline in the sea of corporate monotony.

It was Tristan.

My husband of convenience.

Or, as the tabloids liked to call him, the CEO of the Sterling-Vane Consortium.

"There's a limited edition Holiday Latte at that place you like," his message read. "Ordering one for you."

I glanced at the screen, suppressing a smirk.

Even on Christmas, even after I'd given him his "freedom" weeks ago, he was still checking in.

I needed to reply quickly before the VP of Finance noticed I wasn't paying attention to his pie charts.

My thumb glided hastily across the screen, utilizing the swipe-to-type feature I usually swore by.

I meant to type: "I'm screening."

As in, I'm in the middle of screening a presentation.

But in my haste, and perhaps due to the universe's twisted sense of humor, my thumb took a slightly different trajectory.

I hit send without double-checking.

The message bubble popped up, blue and innocent.

"I'm screwing."

Time seemed to freeze.

The air in the boardroom suddenly felt very thin.

I stared at the words, willing them to change, but they sat there, mocking me.

Screening. Screwing.

Damn autocorrect. Damn swipe typing.

On the other end, the typing indicator vanished.

Silence stretched for what felt like an eternity.

Then, three dots appeared.

His reply came through, short and sharp enough to cut glass.

"Shall I order two, then?"

On my mother's birthday, I couldn't reach my wife, no matter how many times I called.

Resigned, I took my mother to a popular sushi restaurant. The moment we stepped inside, a roar of cheers hit us like a wall. Men crowded the central counter, necks craning, eyes locked on something at the center of the room.

They weren't looking at sashimi.

They were devouring the woman beneath it.

Our relatives, who had joined us for the celebration, pushed through the crowd to see what the commotion was about. My uncle's voice cut through the noise—a furious bellow aimed directly at me.

"Chris! Get over here and drag your wife away!"

"This is absolutely depraved! She's corrupting public morals!"

My mother and I shoved our way forward. My heart stopped.

The "sleeping beauty" serving as the human platter was my wife.

Olivia Swanson.

My mother's face drained of color. She grabbed Olivia's arm and yanked her upright. "Olivia Swanson, have you no shame?"

I tore off my jacket and threw it over her exposed body. Instead of gratitude, a sharp slap cracked across my face.

"Damn it! Today is the grand opening of Spencer's restaurant, and you two came here specifically to cause trouble?" Her eyes blazed. "If Spencer's business suffers because of this, I'll kill you both when we get home!"

The shock was too much.

My mother's hand flew to her chest. Her eyes rolled back. She crumpled to the floor.

The crowd didn't help. They jeered, voices dripping with ridicule and mock sympathy.

Panic seized me. I fumbled for my phone, but Olivia slapped it out of my hand. It shattered against the floor tiles.

"It's not the auspicious hour yet! I won't allow that bad luck to cross the threshold!"

——

A red haze clouded my vision.

I swung my hand. The slap landed hard across her face.

"Are you blind? My mother just collapsed!" The words ripped from my throat. "You didn't say a word—you just ran over here to be a *Nyotaimori* model. This slap isn't just for me. It's for the disgrace you've brought upon your parents and ancestors!"

My voice shook. "And now, for the sake of Spencer Delgado's business, you're forbidding me from saving my mother? Olivia, if anything happens to her, I will bury you."

The relatives, unable to bear the shame, had already cursed us and fled.

I was alone.

I crouched down, hoisted my mother onto my back, and turned to leave. But Olivia barked an order, and the security guards formed a wall, blocking our path.

"I said wait! You can leave when the time is right. Are you deaf?" she shrieked. "It's just a fainting spell. She's not going to die."

She jabbed a trembling finger at me. "Spencer put his heart and soul into this shop. If you destroy his luck, you're a sinner!"

In her agitation, my jacket slipped from her shoulders. The circle of men leered, greedy glints appearing in their eyes.

"Tsk, tsk. Look at those curves. A masterpiece."

"No wonder that wimp doesn't dare hit her back. Must be having a blast in bed."

"Hahaha, didn't you see how fiercely she protects her first love? I bet they have a dirty little secret."

"Men's intuition, right? We know what's up."

The laughter grew deafening. My nails bit into my palms.

I never imagined Olivia would degrade herself like this for Spencer Delgado. Before today, she had been the picture of conservatism. She had never done anything to make me lose face.

"Get lost! Move!" I bellowed at the guards. "I want to see who dares to stop me!"

My gaze found my wife. Cold. Final.

"Olivia, since you love playing games, let's play to the end."

"What do you mean?"

"Divorce."

I spat the word out and refused to waste another breath. Adjusting my mother's weight on my back, I charged toward the exit.

"Don't let him leave!" Olivia screamed.

The guards closed in. I kicked the first man blocking me, but I was outnumbered. A heavy blow to my leg sent me crashing to the floor.

*Thud!*

My mother hit the ground beside me.

Agony sliced through my chest—not from the fall, but from the guilt. I had implicated her in this nightmare.

Her face was pale. Lifeless.

Terror gripped my throat. I screamed at Olivia.