Three years into our marriage, Rylan Shaw brings another woman home.

"Maeve, you should learn from the younger ladies. Stop acting like a block of wood all the time."

With a calm resolve, I shatter our wedding photo and hand him the divorce papers I've long prepared. "Let's get divorced, Rylan. I'll step aside for her," I declare.

His friends insist that without him, I'll starve on the streets. Rylan believes the same.

"Once she's suffered enough out there, she'll realize how lucky she was to be Mrs. Shaw."

But a week passes, then a month—and I never return.

That's when Rylan begins to grow uneasy. Panic and restless nights consume him.

One evening, drunk and desperate, he pounds on the door of my new apartment.

"Maeve, if it's money you want, I'll give it all to you…"

The door swings open to reveal an unfamiliar man—bare-chested, pajama pants hanging low, fresh scratches streaking his abdomen.

Jonah Archer arches a brow, dissatisfaction flickering in his eyes as he asks, "Mr. Shaw, what madness brings you to my wife's door in the middle of the night?"

At a private club atop Auriel Peak, Rylan Shaw always reserved the most luxurious and discreet penthouse suite for himself, year-round.

I slipped off my coat and draped it over my arm. Steadying myself, I pushed open the intricately carved double doors and caught sight of him immediately.

His silver gray shirt hung half-unbuttoned, his tie long gone. A young woman perched on his lap, feeding him peeled grapes.

He brushed her aside with a languid hand, though his expression betrayed amusement at the game.

"Oh! Mrs. Shaw's here!"

"Come on in, Mrs. Shaw!" someone called, rising to their feet when they noticed me.

The young woman flinched, trying to slip off his lap, but Rylan held her firmly in place. "Stay here."

She shot me a nervous glance, her face paling as she realized she was trapped.

Rylan smiled lazily. "Who exactly are you calling Mrs. Shaw? She's right here, sitting on my lap."

The room fell into a stunned silence; everyone was suddenly rendered mute and unsure how to proceed.

"Rylan," I said softly, but he closed his eyes, dismissing me.

As the silence stretched on, someone tried to smooth things over. "Uh, come in and take a seat. Rylan's had too much to drink. He's probably not sober."

"No need. I just have something to say before I leave." I drew a deep breath and stepped forward.

Rylan finally opened his eyes, his gaze cold and detached. "Here for money again? How much this time? A hundred thousand? Two hundred? Or maybe a million?"

The room plunged into silence.

For a moment, I wanted to turn and walk away, but my last shred of dignity held me still.

I lowered my gaze and stared at my feet. My throat tightened, and my voice came out raw. "Martin's not doing well. He was just rushed to the ICU, and they need 300,000 dollars."

Rylan clicked his tongue, casting the others a look that said, "I told you so." His fingers toyed idly with the young woman's hair.

"How many times have I given you 300,000 dollars since we married, Maeve? Have you ever once made me happy? Money isn't the issue. But you should at least make it feel worthwhile, don't you think?"

Humiliation burned hot in my chest. Fighting back tears, I lifted my head to meet his eyes. "What do you want me to do?"

He arched a brow, smiling faintly. "You already know how this works. You dressed up so nicely just to beg me for money. Don't pretend you don't understand the trade."

His dark eyes gleamed with chilling cruelty. "How are you any different from them? At least they don't pretend to be virtuous."

Tears spilled over, and I fled the room in a panic.

"That was a little harsh, Rylan."

"Yeah, man. She was crying. I almost felt bad for her."

"What? Are you feeling sorry for her now?" Rylan's tone dropped low.

"Honestly, she's not that bad. She's pretty, quiet, and does everything right."

"I could even cover the 300,000 dollars for her if you want."

"Hey! Rylan, what are you doing? Don't kill someone over this—"

The sound of a bottle shattering and men shouting faded behind me as I ran.

By the time I stumbled into the elevator, my strength gave out. I leaned heavily against the wall before the tears came fast and uncontrollably.

We'd been married three years. I'd long known Rylan had women everywhere. He'd never been pleased about fulfilling the Shaw-Keller family's marriage arrangement in the first place.

Before the wedding, the woman he truly loved—Sloane Miller—had died in a diving accident. He believed it was my fault, or at least the Keller family's doing, so he'd hated me ever since.

After the wedding, he vanished without a trace. Three months later, he returned with another woman in his arms.

Over the next two years, I lost count of how many girlfriends he cycled through. Almost all of them resembled Sloane in some way. But this was the first time he brought home the young woman from earlier—Nora Vance.

That night, when I returned from the hospital, the housekeepers gave me strange looks. It wasn't until I went upstairs and opened the bedroom door that I saw Rylan sprawled across our marital bed.

Nora sat beside him, dutifully feeding him water.

When she saw me, she nearly jumped up in panic. "Mrs. Shaw! Mr. Shaw is drunk—"

I stood in the doorway and waved her off. "Take care of him."

"That wouldn't do. You're his wife, so you should be the one—"

"It's fine. He likes you. He'll be happier if you're the one looking after him." I smiled and turned to leave.

"Maeve!" Rylan suddenly called, stopping me.

With one arm around Nora, he narrowed his eyes at me. "Why are you leaving? You should learn a thing or two from her about how to please your man. Don't just stand there like a block of wood. You don't even know how to open your mouth when we kiss—"

He didn't finish. The crash of a shattered photo frame cut him off. I'd smashed our wedding photo, now lying in pieces on the floor.

Expressionlessly, I looked up at him. "Is there anything else you'd like to say?"

He pushed Nora aside and slowly sat up. "Think carefully about what you're doing right now, Maeve."

I curved my lips into a small smile as I pulled out the divorce papers I'd prepared and handed them to him. "Sign it, Rylan. Let's get a divorce so I can step aside for her."

"Playing the part too far means you don't know when to stop," he hissed.

"Just let me know once you've signed." Without sparing him another glance, I turned and headed downstairs.

As I stepped through the front door, Rylan stood at the top of the stairs, his cold, condescending gaze fixed on me. "Walk away if you want, but don't think you can come back as easily."

I didn't look back or answer.

Dragging my suitcase behind me, I stepped out into the dark, heavy night.

…

Eventon's early winter was bitterly cold. I pulled my coat tighter, brought a small bottle of wine from a convenience store, and devoured a large burger at a street stall.

Almost all my money had been deposited into the hospital account. After scraping everything together, I had only 300 dollars left.

I needed to settle down at a cheap motel before freezing to death on the streets.

Just as I was searching for budget motels on my phone, a man's voice sounded beside me. "Mind if I share your table?"

I didn't look up. "Go ahead."

He sat beside me, and from the corner of my eye, I noticed the expensive fabric and fine cut of his coat.

Surprised, I glanced up at him, only to find him openly watching me.

I frowned, but Jonah Archer's stare only grew bolder.

"It's midnight, Ms. Keller. You're all dressed up and drinking alone. Aren't you worried someone might take an interest?"

"Eventon's pretty safe, so don't worry about it." I pocketed my phone, stood, and grabbed my suitcase, ready to leave.

He followed. "Where are you headed this late? The motels you were looking at are too cheap and unsafe. Shall I book you a proper hotel instead?"

I didn't respond and walked faster, pulling my suitcase along.

"Hey, careful! Watch the cars!"

When a car sped past, he yanked my wrist and dragged me closer to him.

I yanked my wrist free. "What are you doing?"

"Just trying to help a friend," Jonah replied.

I let out a short, bitter laugh. "Help me or sleep with me? I turned you down once, so now you want revenge?"

"Revenge? Is that really what you think of me?" The usual lazy amusement faded from his eyes.

"What else?" I snapped. A blast of cold wind hit my stomach, instantly doubling me over with a violent wave of retching.

Pain churned through my chest and gut. By the time it passed, I was so weak I could barely stand.

Jonah's hand was steady on my back, the other quickly procuring tissues for my mouth. He paid no mind to the bile that had splashed his pants and shoes.

Crouching on the ground, I burst into tears. "Why me? Why does everyone get to hurt me? None of you are up to any good…"

"Maeve," he said softly, his hand moving in slow circles along my back. "No one's trying to hurt you. I never wanted to. I just got back to Cealdan and heard what happened between you two. I couldn't stop worrying.

"I saw you leave the Shaw residence tonight and followed you. I just wanted to make sure you weren't hurting yourself while upset. That's all. If you don't want to see me, I can call one of your friends to pick you up…"

I curtly replied, "I don't have friends. Not anymore since my family fell apart."

Jonah was silent for a long moment. Then, he asked, "Should I call Rylan to pick you up?"

"We're divorced. I signed the papers and walked out with nothing," I said.

Swaying a little as I stood, I gave a small, hollow laugh and continued, "He's right, though. I spent plenty of his money over the past three years. We're even now."

"Do you still love him?" Jonah asked.

I froze, then shook my head. "No. Not anymore. I'm not that pathetic, Jonah."

"In that case, would you try loving me instead?"

My head snapped toward him, eyes wide. "Don't you hate me?"

Back then, when I rejected him, I'd been young and cruel with my words.

Jonah shook his head. He was no longer that impulsive, passionate boy. Time had tempered him into a steadier, sharper man, his calm composure almost outshining Rylan's.

"I thought about hating you," he admitted, "but I couldn't hold onto it."

He stepped closer. "Maeve, how about giving us a try?"

When I didn't answer, he smiled. "Even if it's just to get back at him, use me if you want."

That familiar lazy smile touched his eyes, portraying his words as a harmless jest. Still, the underlying warmth was so potent that meeting his gaze was impossible.

"Let's get you to the hotel. You don't look too well. You need rest," he said after a while.

He took my suitcase and offered his arm. "Hold on tight. Don't fall."

…

Only after I was settled—fresh from a warm shower, robed, and with my long hair patiently dried by him—did Jonah take his leave from the hotel.

Just as he reached the door, I called out, "Jonah."

He turned to look at me, and I rose on my toes, hooking his neck to pull him into a kiss.

The first time I kissed Rylan, he'd pushed me away, scowling that I was like a block of wood before walking out.

Now that I'd learned to kiss, it was with a man I'd never imagined.

The moment my lips parted, Jonah seized control. His large, warm hands found my waist, turning my body and pressing me firmly against the door.

His kiss, unrelenting and utterly consuming, washed over me, and tears slipped free from the corner of my eyes.

"Don't cry, Maeve."