On our fifth wedding anniversary, I spent all day setting up the perfect surprise, only to find my husband in the rose garden, kissing my best friend.

Overnight, they became the most well-matched power couple in the criminal underworld.

I quietly packed everything up and texted him to ask for a divorce.

But he just gave me a cold stare and demanded, "What new game is this, Tiffany?"

I sent the divorce papers to his email and moved out of our apartment overnight.

Three years later, he appeared out of nowhere as the new chairman of my company, demanding I personally restore his family's legendary painting.

My colleagues were buzzing, whispering about how the new chairman was young, rich, and single.

I sneered, "He's divorced."

"How do you know for sure?"

Because I'm the ex-wife he betrayed.

I submitted my resignation, but he blocked my office door, looking exhausted. "You can't leave."

"Why?"

"It's not what you think—"

The memory flashed through my mind, and pure rage coiled in my gut.

"Cassian, why weren't you this domineering back then?"

I spat the words at him and spun away.

————————

1

The second I stepped out of the conference room, my colleagues descended on me like vultures.

"Tiffany, do you know the new chairman?"

I shook my head.

"Wow, Tiffany, that Mr. Valeriano is so young. I heard he's a big shot from Chicago, and he's single, too."

A flurry of excited chatter erupted from the office gossips, and the noise was a dull roar in my ears.

"That's enough," I snapped. "He's divorced."

Ignoring their shocked expressions, I grabbed my bag, ready to head home.

"How do you know for sure?" a young intern asked, trailing after me.

A cold laugh escaped me. Of course, I knew. I was the ex-wife he betrayed.

I didn't answer, striding straight to the elevator.

I had told myself a thousand times that the past couldn't hurt me anymore. But seeing my ex-husband—now my new boss—made my heart give a traitorous lurch.

I was married to Cassian Valeriano for five years.

On our fifth wedding anniversary, I had meticulously planned a surprise, intending to celebrate with him.

But instead, in the rose garden of his family's estate, he was kissing Palmer Gallo—my best friend.

Overnight, they became the perfect power couple in the Chicago underworld.

All the talk of power unions and family alliances, the sound of their triumphant laughter... it was a world away as I silently cleaned up the celebration I’d prepared, alone in our empty apartment.

When Cassian left home that morning, he had promised we would have a proper celebration.

So this was his idea of a celebration.

I stared at the surveillance footage of them wrapped in each other's arms, bile rising in my throat.

I couldn't even remember the last time he had touched me.

I used to think he was just too busy with family affairs, but now I understood. The woman he wanted was never me.

Fine. He could have his wish.

I sent him a text, and his voice came back through a voice message, as cold and sharp as ever: "What is it?"

I wanted to scream at him, but the words were lodged in my throat, no matter how many times I tried to force them out.

"Where are you?"

"In a meeting," he answered without hesitation, even though I could clearly hear Palmer's bright laughter in the background.

A self-mocking laugh escaped me. Why was I humiliating myself when I already knew the answer?

"Cassian, let's get a divorce."

A beat of silence, then, his voice tight with anger, "What new game is this, Tiffany?"

"I'll send the divorce papers to your email."

After that, I deleted the conversation.

I started clearing out my personal belongings from the apartment, preparing to flee Chicago.

The things I planned to toss included a matching pair of antique cufflinks, photos of us restoring famous paintings together, and the expensive set of restoration tools he had given me.

And there, tucked away in a folder of my old sketches, was the design for the mark I’d once treasured—the one tattooed over his heart.

He had never tried to prove his love for me. I had even picked out our wedding rings myself.

No matter how hard I tried, he was unwilling to give me even a sliver of his heart. A marriage this one-sided was always going to burn out.

Our relationship was just like the wedding photo on the wall—it should have come down years ago.

I went to an apartment my parents had left me. That night, I slept more soundly than I had in years.

At dawn, my phone jolted me from my sleep.

I picked it up and saw several missed calls from Cassian.

The moment I answered, his sharp, impatient voice cut through the line: "What the hell are you up to now? The apartment is empty. Didn't we agree to celebrate our anniversary? I even had a gift ready. Where are you?"

The sharp edge of his voice only fueled my resentment. I hung up and tossed the phone aside.

I was used to it—when I was working overtime on an urgent restoration, on my birthday, on every day I needed him most, a single phone call from Palmer would make him vanish.

Then he would return the next day with some expensive gift, questioning me indignantly as if I were the one being unreasonable.

If I gave him the cold shoulder, he would soften his stance just enough to win me back.

It was always the same dance. The smallest crumb of kindness from him, and I’d swallow my pride, content to be the shadow revolving around his sun.

But this time, I was truly tired.

...

That evening, after work, I saw him waiting for me at the entrance of the auction house.

He had changed into a dark gray suit, his tall, imposing figure particularly striking against the twilight sky. A few female colleagues walking by couldn't help but steal glances at him, whispering among themselves.

In the past, I would have rushed to his side, my stomach coiling with jealousy whenever another woman’s gaze lingered on him a second too long.

He had a natural magnetism that drew people in. I was always afraid someone would steal him away. Looking back, my fear wasn't wrong; I was just guarding against the wrong person.

Now, looking at him, I felt nothing.

I walked straight ahead, intending to go home, but his voice cut through the air.

"Tiffany. Nico's hosting a dinner tonight. You're with me."

To my own surprise, I agreed. Maybe I was just hungrier than I thought.

During the drive, I kept catching the faint scent of perfume on him.

It was gardenia, Palmer's favorite.

"When did you start wearing perfume?" I asked suddenly.

He paused for a moment, then answered, "I don't."

I said nothing more. If he was telling the truth, it was all the more ironic. It was as if they were so intimate their scents had mingled, a mark of their closeness.

We were silent for the rest of the drive until we arrived at the restaurant.

The moment Nico Russo spotted Cassian, his face split into a wide grin. "Cassian, you finally made it."

But when his gaze landed on me, the smile died on his lips. "What is she—"

He didn't finish, but I knew exactly what he wanted to say.

Inside the private room, all of Nico's friends turned to stare. Their smiles tightened, their eyes turning cold.

Nico's family was very close to Palmer's.

From the day Cassian brought me to meet them and announced we were together, Nico had never liked me.

He felt I wasn't good enough for Cassian—that a restorer, an outsider with no ties to their world, was a liability to the heir of the Valeriano family.

In the past, to avoid embarrassing Cassian, I always went out of my way to get along with him.

I always greeted him with a smile and deliberately tried to please him, but it never worked.

I used to wonder what I was doing wrong. Now, I understood it had nothing to do with me. They had long since decided that Palmer was the only one worthy of Cassian.

So I stopped playing the part.

I walked to the farthest corner, sat down, and opened my file folder.

"Ms. Sterling, over here," Nico called out.

He led me to an even more distant spot, then turned and arranged for Cassian to sit next to Palmer.

I knew he was doing it on purpose.

Palmer was wearing a champagne-colored gown. The moment Cassian sat down beside her, a brilliant smile bloomed on her face.

The two of them quickly began discussing the ownership of a certain piece of land. As they talked, they unconsciously leaned closer and closer, their voices dropping lower until their shoulders were almost touching.

Watching them talk so happily, I suddenly remembered when we first met. Back then, I used to discuss the history of artworks with him just like that.

In those days, he would listen patiently to every discovery I shared and would be happy for every one of my delicate restorations as if it were his own achievement.

Now, the light in his eyes belonged to someone else.

I stood up to leave, but Cassian suddenly called out from behind me, "Tiffany, we haven't finished dinner."

I scoffed. "You and Miss Gallo seem to be having a wonderful time, Mr. Valeriano. I wouldn't want to break up the party."

With that, I turned and left.