I spent a million dollars on plastic surgery for a disfigured actor, molding him into the spitting image of my husband, Julian Sterling, before signing him to a contract to be my companion.

I thought Julian wouldn't care.

After all, during our seven-year marriage, I collapsed from overwork in my office while he was vacationing in Europe.

The day my mother passed away, he was at a charity gala, basking in the adoration of the media.

When I had a skiing accident and was rushed to the emergency room, the doctors warned my life was in danger. His only response was to have his assistant send a black card with a terse message: "It's fine as long as she's not dead."

He was a Wall Street tycoon who could move markets with a flick of his wrist, and he was notoriously cold and heartless.

Just when I had resigned myself to playing the part of the dutiful wife, a tweet sent the internet into a frenzy.

Julian—a man so obsessed with his career he saw women as mere distractions—had abruptly canceled a press conference for half his corporation's projects. The reason? To jet off around the world with an influencer named Chloe, someone he’d just met.

So I ran. I vanished from his world completely.

Just as I was beginning to find solace in the gentle affection of Julian's stand-in, the door to my apartment was kicked open. Black-suited bodyguards instantly sealed every exit.

Julian, his bespoke suit cutting a sharp figure under the glaring lights, strode toward me. With bloodshot eyes, he ripped me from the other man's arms.

"Elara, have you had enough of this nonsense?"

————————

1

"So, this is your new toy?" Julian’s voice was dangerously low.

"This face," he snarled, turning to the actor. "Only Chloe deserves to look like me."

Julian stared at the face identical to his own, then used a shard of glass to carve deep gashes into the man's face—a mirror of his own—slashing until the bone was visible.

"Elara, you've truly outdone yourself."

Behind him, Chloe murmured, "Julian, it's no use ruining him. She'll just find another one."

Julian turned to me, a terrifying viciousness in his eyes I had never seen before.

"What are you trying to do—"

Before I could finish, a blinding pain shot through me.

He seized a marble ornament and brought it crashing down, shattering the bones in my hand.

"A lesson, Elara," Julian said, his voice frigid.

Without a backward glance, he took Chloe by the hand and left.

I looked down at the blood streaming down my wrist.

My hand. The very foundation of my career.

Now, it had been destroyed by his own hand.

As I walked out of the hospital, I saw Julian gently helping Chloe out of the OB/GYN clinic.

She was pregnant.

Seven years ago, on our wedding night, I had asked him, "Julian, when should we have a baby?"

Without looking up from his documents, he had replied, "I don't like children."

It turned out he didn't dislike children; he just disliked having them with me.

When Chloe saw me, she gave a faint tug on Julian's sleeve, tears instantly welling in her eyes.

"Julian, she's scaring me… I feel faint."

"Elara."

He looked at me, his eyes like chips of ice. "So, kneel and apologize to Chloe."

I was stunned.

"Didn't you hear me?"

His voice grew colder. "Kneel. Apologize for what you did."

His shout echoed down the street, drawing a crowd of curious and pitying onlookers.

As their gazes bore down on me, a wave of profound exhaustion washed over me.

Fine. I'll kneel.

I slowly sank to my knees, my injured hand hanging limply at my side, the fresh gauze already seeping with blood.

"I'm sorry," I said, my voice mechanical.

Chloe rushed over, feigning concern as she offered a hand. But as she leaned in, she dug the point of her stiletto into my injured hand.

"Elara, what are you doing? Get up, quickly."

"Enough!"

I shoved her away, instinctively protecting my hand.

Chloe stumbled backward and fell, a crimson stain spreading from beneath her skirt.

"Chloe!"

Julian lunged forward, scooped Chloe into his arms and raced toward the clinic, his hands trembling.

His voice was hoarse, filled with a panic I had never heard before. "Chloe, you'll be okay."

From start to finish, he never once glanced in my direction.

The first time I miscarried, I called him over thirty times. He never answered.

The second time, I was alone at the hospital, signing my own surgical consent form. When the nurse asked where my family was, I told her he was busy.

The third time, the fourth, the fifth…

Every single time, I was alone.

It wasn't that he was heartless—just heartless to me.

I pushed myself to my feet, my legs weak.

Blood still seeped from my bandaged hand, which throbbed with a dull, persistent pain.

My career was over.

I turned and walked away. No one noticed.

It was late when I returned home.

I opened a drawer in the study and pulled out the divorce papers I had prepared long ago.

I had kept this divorce agreement for seven years. It was finally time to use it.

Perhaps marrying him, driven by that flicker of foolish affection, had been a mistake from the start.

My phone suddenly rang.

The caller ID was Julian.

"Get to the hospital. Now."

His voice was frigid. He hung up before I could refuse.

I clutched the phone, hesitating for a moment before grabbing the divorce papers and heading out.

Perfect. I'll have him sign them.

The hospital corridor was harshly lit. When Julian saw me, his gaze was glacial. "The baby's gone. She's hemorrhaging."

"You did this, Elara. Are you satisfied?"

"I didn't—"

"You pushed her!"

He cut me off, his voice low and simmering with fury. "Everyone saw you."

"Now, go donate blood."

I bit my lip. "I will. But you have to sign something first."

I pulled the divorce papers from my bag and handed them to him.

Julian snatched the document, flipped to the last page without a glance, and picked up a pen.

"Is this about your father's failing company again?" he sneered.

I said nothing.

He thought it was another project proposal, just like all the other times over the last seven years.

Every time my father's company was in trouble, I had to beg him.

He always helped, but never for my sake. It was to maintain his own reputation as my husband.

He was convinced I had only married him for money, a loveless arrangement to satisfy our families.

But he never knew. He didn't know that one piece of candy he'd given me in college when my blood sugar crashed had been enough to warm my entire world.

He scrawled his name with a flamboyant flourish, then tossed the document at me. "Satisfied? Now go give blood."

I caught the papers and carefully tucked them into my bag.

The moment the needle pierced my vein, I closed my eyes.

Crimson blood flowed through the transparent tube. One bag, two bags…

The world began to swim, a loud buzz roaring in my ears.

The nurse's voice seemed to come from far away.

Then, everything went black.

When I awoke from the coma, a week had passed.

The glaring fluorescent lights made me squeeze my eyes shut.

"Elara, do you have any idea what you've done?"

"You're pregnant! And you're putting yourself through this? Are you trying to get yourself killed?"

The words from my studio partner detonated in my mind.

I stared at him, dazed, the meaning not quite sinking in.

My partner sighed. "You've had too many miscarriages. Your uterine wall is dangerously thin."

"If you lose this one, you might never be able to conceive again."

Never again.

The words were a dull knife, twisting in my heart with every echo.

I looked down at my flat stomach. There was a tiny life inside me—my child with Julian.

But he would never care.

Tears slid silently down my temples as I lay on the hospital bed.

This child had come at the worst possible time.

My phone rang. Julian.

"We're out," he said flatly. "Go buy some."

I froze, not understanding.

"Condoms."

He added impatiently, "You've always been the one to buy them. Now we're out."

A cold fist clenched around my heart.

"I don't want to go," I said, biting my lip.

Julian sneered. "Have you forgotten the contract you just had me sign?"

"Your father's company is being propped up entirely by my projects."

"If I pull out, he'll be bankrupt by morning."

My hands clenched, nails digging into my palms.

He always knew exactly how to control me.

"I'll go," I said, ignoring my partner's protests as I left the hospital.

When I returned to the penthouse that was once my home, I heard the unmistakable sounds of intimacy from the master bedroom.

The door was ajar. Chloe's hair was a tangled mess, her face flushed.

Julian was leaning against the headboard, his gaze lazy as it fell on me.

"You're here."

I placed the condoms by the door and turned to leave, but a wave of nausea washed over me.

My stomach churned, and I rushed to the bathroom, vomiting until it was empty.

A flash of malice crossed Chloe's eyes. She turned to Julian, her voice a wounded purr. "Could it be that Elara's sick because she finds us disgusting?"

"She wouldn't dare. Kneel," Julian commanded coldly.

Not wanting to prolong it, I slowly knelt by the bed, my head bowed to avoid their gaze.

Julian's voice came from above. "You'll kneel right there. And you'll watch."

What followed was a nightmare of intimate sounds.

I knelt, forced to listen to their labored breaths and the rustle of the sheets.

Every sound was a fresh shard of glass in my heart.

I don't know how much time passed before the room fell quiet.

"Elara, get some tissues and clean us up."

I stood, my legs so numb I nearly collapsed.

When I returned with the tissues, the sight of the messy bed sent another wave of nausea through me.

"Hurry up. Chloe is waiting."

I mechanically handed over the tissues, then cleaned up the used items on the floor.

Every movement felt like being flayed alive.

"Alright. You can go."

Julian waved me away like an annoying fly.

I turned and left. The moment the door clicked shut, the tears finally fell.

In that instant, the last fragile thread of love I held for him finally snapped, leaving only cold ash in its place.

Julian, I swear, from this day forward, I will never love you again.