Chapter 2

Dusk Bar.

The air was thick with alcohol and hormones. Men and women swayed on the dance floor, bodies bathed in a pulse of light and bass.

Threading through the crowd, I spotted Sophie at once—poured into a red dress that hugged every curve. She perched at the bar, a lazy, provocative smile on her lips, eyes shifting between languor and sharpness.

“Jenna, over here!” Sophie waved me over, excited.

“Look at all the eye candy. Tell me who you like and I’ll deliver him to you,” she teased, waggling her brows.

“Sophie!”

“Fine, fine, I’m kidding. I just don’t get it—there are a million good men out there. Why cling to Sean? What’s so great about him—”

“Washroom,” I cut her off. “Back in a sec.”

The place was too dim; I lost my bearings and wandered down the wrong hallway.

Passing a half-closed private room, I heard a voice I knew too well. The door wasn’t latched.

Through the crack, I saw Mia perched on his lap, arms looped around his neck.

Egged on by the friends around them, Sean pinched her chin and leaned in to kiss her.

Sean didn’t see me but Mia did. She lifted her head and shot me a small, taunting smile.

“Sean, when are you divorcing Jenna?” someone asked—a voice I recognized as Luke Adams, one of Sean’s closest friends. “You can’t keep Mia like this. Don’t tell me you’ve really fallen for your wife.”

“No way,” Sean sneered. “I never liked her. If she didn’t own the Skyview Group, I wouldn’t have married her.”

“Back then, every time I saw her acting superior, I hated it. Who wanted her pathetic charity? What I wanted was to tear up her pride and make her kneel and beg for me.”

I froze. My heart felt like it had taken a bullet. I couldn’t move.

“Damn, you’re so bad,” Luke laughed. “Aren’t you afraid she’ll find out?”

“Relax. I’ve had her wrapped around my finger for five years,” Sean said, a cold smile in his voice.

My mind blanked. Five years of love. Three years of marriage. A joke—every bit of it.

My chest felt crushed, my eyes burning as I stared at Sean, searching for anything—any sign that this wasn’t who he really was.

So, what does this five-year love matter? And what does this three-year marriage mean? All I found was contempt.

My chest felt as if it were being squeezed until it was about to explode, and my eyes gradually turned red.

I fixed my eyes on Sean, trying to glean some clue from his gaze.

But his eyes were filled with disdain for me.

I didn’t go in. I turned away, face blank, and walked out like nothing had happened.

On the street, cars streamed past. In my head, the first day I met Sean kept replaying.

In college, he’d been a kid on financial aid. But his eyes burned with a stubborn fire. He worked like a man possessed. He was top of the class, proud, unbending. That grit was what drew me in.

I chased him, did everything for him, spent money on him.

At first, he rejected me, kept me at arm’s length. Then one day he changed—accepted my kindness, struck up conversations, tutored me after class.

He smiled softly, flicked my forehead with mock indulgence, and ran toward me when he spotted me on campus.

Later, he confessed his love to me at the school anniversary party.

I was too happy to sleep for three days.

I thought I was special to him. I thought he was mine.

Then we married, Sean granted my every request, spoke gently, smiled gently, patted my head gently.

He once held me and whispered, “Jenna, I’m so lucky I met you. I’ll be good to you for the rest of my life.”

I thought I’d married happiness. I thought I was the luckiest woman alive.

But it was all a lie.

From the very moment his attitude changed, he’d been plotting his approach.

Sean Turner hated me.

Ice filled my veins. I shivered.

The dusk blurred. The hot evening wind turned suddenly cold. As if the sky understood me, rain came down in sheets.

It was September, but my world had turned to winter.