Chapter 1: The Cold Plate

He married me knowing I'd lost a baby once.

He just never asked whose it was before he decided he hated me for it.

I gave up my jewelry label the week we wed because he said a wife of his didn't need to work.

I learned to plate his dinner the second his car turned into the drive, still steaming, because cold food meant a night of that quiet, cutting voice.

He called me a money-burning liability in front of his mother and smiled while he did it.

His secretary whispered that she'd seen me laughing with another man, and my husband came home early to check whether I still wore his scent.

He kissed me until I stopped fighting, then punched the wall.

"Can you only smile for him?" he asked. "Did aborting his child make you that happy?"

So I told him the cruelest thing I owned.

"Yes. He's the only man I'd ever have a child for."

His hand landed before I finished the sentence.

I walked out and didn't come back for a day and a night.

I was still sitting alone at a bar when a voice from seven years ago took the empty seat beside me.

"Are you happy," Elias asked quietly, "married to the man you loved most?"

I couldn't answer.

"Does Damien know why you really lost the baby?"

I slowly shook my head.

Elias sighed before offering to take me away from everything, but I refused. No matter how broken that mansion made me feel, it was still legally my home.

When I returned the following night, I opened the bedroom door and found my husband standing half-undressed while his secretary pressed herself against his bare chest.

***

"Turn the heat up on the tray," Eleanor Ashford ordered from the dining room. "My son doesn't eat cold meat."

"I know," I answered, adjusting the warming tray for the third time.

The steak had already been reheated twice.

I glanced at the antique clock hanging above the kitchen doorway.

7:28 PM.

Damien always arrived at exactly seven-thirty. He was never late.

Being late with dinner, however, was something he never forgave.

He didn't scream.

He didn't throw things.

His disappointment was much worse.

He had a talent for making someone feel insignificant with only a handful of calm words.

"The chef called in sick," I explained while arranging the vegetables once again.

"Then perhaps you should have learned to cook before marrying into this family," Eleanor replied without sympathy.

"I'm doing my best."

"Your best has never impressed anyone."

I lowered my eyes and remained silent.

Arguing with Eleanor only prolonged the humiliation.

She believed silence meant obedience.

I let her believe it.

My fingers unconsciously rubbed the empty space on my left hand.

My emerald engagement ring was gone.

Not lost.

Confiscated.

Damien had locked it inside the family safe eight months ago because he said it looked too cheap beside the Ashford name.

The irony still made my chest ache.

I had designed that ring myself.

Every curve.

Every tiny emerald.

Every engraving hidden beneath the band.

It had been my masterpiece.

Now it sat locked away like the woman who created it.

Three hundred and fourteen days.

That was how long it had been since I designed my last piece of jewelry.

Three hundred and fourteen days since Verline Jewelry closed its doors.

The business I'd built from nothing had disappeared a week after my wedding.

"A wife of mine doesn't need a career," Damien had said while handing the transfer papers to his lawyer.

"Your place is beside me."

Back then, I mistook possession for love.

The sound of tires rolling across gravel echoed outside.

My heartbeat instinctively quickened.

"He's here," Eleanor announced with satisfaction.

I straightened my dress and tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear.

The front door opened.

Heavy footsteps echoed across the marble entrance hall.

Damien Ashford walked inside, removing his charcoal coat before handing it to the butler.

Tall.

Perfectly dressed.

Cold enough to freeze the entire room without saying a word.

His grey eyes landed on me immediately.

"There's my expensive liability," he said with a smile that never reached his eyes.

Eleanor laughed softly.

"She certainly knows how to spend money."

"Thankfully she's finally learning not to."

He loosened his tie while walking toward the dining table.

"Buy anything unnecessary today, Vivian? Another painting? More art supplies you'll never use?"

"No," I answered quietly.

"Good."

He didn't kiss me.

Didn't even brush against my shoulder.

"The accountant questioned why my wife still needs an allowance for drawing materials," he continued while sitting down. "I told him to remove it."

"I only wanted charcoal pencils," I whispered.

"You don't need them anymore."

Simple words.

Delivered casually.

Yet they cut deeper than shouting ever could.

I placed dinner before him.

"Where's your ring?" Eleanor suddenly asked.

"Damien put it away."

"Good," she replied. "That ugly green stone embarrassed this family."

"It wasn't ugly," I murmured before I could stop myself.

Damien looked up from his plate.

"It was unnecessary."

"I made it myself."

"Exactly."

Silence settled over the table.

I stood beside him, waiting in case he needed anything else.

"Wear the diamond necklace tomorrow," he added. "The investors' wives will be attending lunch."

"Yes."

"Smile."

"Yes."

"And don't talk too much."

"...Yes."

Sometimes I wondered whether I had become his wife or simply another employee following instructions.

"Two years," Eleanor suddenly said, swirling the wine inside her crystal glass.

"Still no heir."

I lowered my gaze.

"Mother..." Damien said lazily.

"Don't interrupt me."

She looked directly at my stomach.

"A mansion this large deserves children's laughter. Instead it has flower arrangements and expensive silence."

"Vivian manages the household," Damien replied.

"Managing servants isn't the same as giving birth."

Every word struck like a needle.

"Perhaps," Eleanor continued, "the rumors were true."

"What rumors?"

"That she damaged herself before marriage."

My breathing stopped for a second.

She didn't know.

She was guessing.

But even guesses hurt.

Damien calmly cut another piece of steak.

"Whether she did or didn't doesn't matter anymore," he said. "The result is the same."

I forced myself not to react.

He didn't know the truth.

He had never asked.

Three years ago...

Blood.

Hospital lights.

A doctor apologizing over and over.

I buried those memories alone.

Even now, they refused to leave me.

I reached forward and quietly cut the rest of Damien's steak into smaller pieces exactly the way he preferred.

Perfect squares.

Knife aligned.

Fork straight.

"Eat before it gets cold," I said.

His movements stopped.

He looked at me without expression.

"I'll decide when I eat."

"Of course."

"Pour the wine," Eleanor ordered.

I obeyed.

Red wine filled both crystal glasses.

"Enough," Damien said.

I immediately lowered the bottle.

"Anything else?"

"Peace and quiet."

"Understood."

I carried the empty serving tray back into the kitchen.

The swinging door remained slightly open.

I leaned against the counter, finally allowing myself one slow breath.

Colette, Damien's personal secretary, entered through the side hallway.

She wasn't supposed to be here tonight.

Curious, I glanced through the narrow opening.

She leaned close to Damien.

Far too close.

Her perfume reached even the kitchen.

"Mr. Ashford," she whispered.

"What is it?"

"I saw Madam this afternoon."

Damien's knife stopped moving.

"Go on."

"She was smiling."

"...With whom?"

"A man."

The dining room fell completely silent.

Even Eleanor looked interested.

Colette lowered her voice further.

"They looked... comfortable together."

Damien slowly placed his knife beside his plate.

His expression didn't change.

Somehow, that frightened me more than anger ever could.

He picked up his phone, locked the screen, and stood from his chair.

"Which man?"