Chapter 1: The Woman He Loves
The first time my husband said my name with emotion was the night I caught him with another woman.
I stood frozen in the dimly lit hallway of the hotel, my fingers trembling as the door to room 809 slowly closed in front of me. I had followed him here on a foolish hope—hope that for once, Adrian Blackwood was hiding something good from me.
I was wrong.
Inside the room, his voice drifted through the thin door, soft and intimate. A voice I had never heard in our three years of marriage.
"I missed you," he said quietly.
My chest tightened. Adrian never said things like that. Not to me.
A woman laughed softly. "You're married, Adrian."
"I know," he replied without hesitation. "But she isn't you."
The words felt like a knife driven straight into my heart.
I pressed my palm against the wall to steady myself, my breathing shallow. Three years. Three years of pretending not to notice his cold stares, his late nights, his indifference. I told myself it was just his personality. That billionaires were built differently. That love would come later.
But love had always been here.
Just never for me.
"I love you," Adrian said.
I closed my eyes as tears burned behind my lids. He had never said those words to me. Not once. Not on our wedding day. Not on anniversaries. Not even in moments when I begged silently for him to see me.
I was Lena Carter—his lawful wife, bound to him by a contract signed by our families. A marriage built on business, reputation, and convenience. I was the woman he married to replace the one he truly wanted.
And tonight confirmed it.
The door opened suddenly. I turned away just in time, my heels clicking softly as I walked toward the elevator. I refused to let him see me like this—broken, foolish, unwanted.
The elevator doors closed, and that was when my tears finally fell.
By the time I reached home, my decision was made.
I walked into the cold, luxurious mansion that had never felt like a home and headed straight for the study. My hands were steady as I pulled out the contract we had signed three years ago.
Clause seventeen stared back at me.
Either party may request a divorce after three years.
Today marked exactly three years.
The sound of the front door opening echoed through the house. Heavy footsteps followed.
"Lena?" Adrian's voice called out.
I folded the contract calmly and turned to face him.
"I want a divorce," I said.
His eyes darkened instantly.
"What did you just say?"
And for the first time since I met him, Adrian Blackwood looked afraid.