Chapter 1

After my eighth suicide attempt, my husband, Don Adrian Moretti, finally "came home."

He stopped going to the cocktail parties. He stopped showing up at nightclubs. He stopped bringing women back to the apartment.

Some people mocked him for it — said the Don of the Moretti family was being kept on a leash like a dog by a woman.

Adrian heard the talk. He just smiled.

His men whispered about me behind closed doors too. They said I was too controlling, that I wasn't fit to be the Don's wife.

Adrian would pull me close instead. "Claire, don't listen to them. We made it through worse times than this. If a few rumors are enough to break us now, then what was the point of me coming home?"

I believed him.

Until the day I came home early.

The master bedroom door was half open. Adrian lifted his head from a young girl's body and saw me standing there. He didn't panic. He just smiled — with something like regret.

"I didn't want to hurt you. I'd been hiding it so well, Claire. Why did you have to come back a day early?"

I looked at the mess on the bed and quietly poured myself a glass of water.

He pulled the girl into his arms, shielding her. "Lily isn't like you. She's the reason I decided to settle down. Either pretend you didn't see this, or I give her a title. Your choice. I'll go with whatever you decide."

In that moment, I finally understood.

I'd tried to kill myself eight times. Made enough of a scene that the whole world knew. Everyone believed Don Adrian Moretti had finally turned over a new leaf — for me.

But it was never for me.

I set the glass back on the table. "Either one is fine," I said quietly. "I'll step aside for her."

Adrian's hand stopped midair.

The cigarette was still between his lips. He tilted his head to look at me. "Either one is fine?"

He took the cigarette out and let out a short laugh. "Claire. Say that again."

My fingers were still wrapped around the glass. I didn't look at him. "Give Lily a title — fine. I'll pretend I didn't see anything — also fine. You choose."

I handed his own words right back to him.

Adrian stared at me for a few seconds, then suddenly pushed the girl out of his arms.

"Lily, step outside."

Lily bit her lip, tears welling in her eyes, and glanced at me timidly.

Adrian was never a patient man. When she didn't move, he frowned, but still kept his voice gentle. "Be good. This won't take long."

Only then did Lily leave, eyes rimmed red.

The door closed. It was just the two of us.

Adrian walked up to me and looked down at the glass in my hand. "You're really not angry?"

I raised my eyes. "Would you prefer it if I were?"

"Claire, you can be angry. But don't play games. I don't have the energy to guess what you're planning next."

I said nothing, eyes lowered.

He gripped my chin and tilted my face up toward his. "When you used to throw fits, I knew how to handle you. You'd slam your head against the wall — I'd hold you back. You'd slit your wrists — I'd grab the knife. You'd jump off a building — I'd pull you in. As long as you were reacting, I could deal with it. But now you're standing here saying 'either one is fine.' What am I supposed to do with you?"

I gently turned my head away. "Then don't worry about me. Do whatever you want. To the outside world, you're still the good husband. Behind closed doors, which room you sleep in, whose bed you share — that's your call."

The smile on his lips faded slightly. "And what about you? What's in it for you?"

I looked at him. "Whatever you want me to be, I'll be."

He blinked, caught off guard for just a moment.

"Good girl."

He reached out and brushed the hair behind my ear. "This is why you're the Mrs. Moretti I insisted on marrying. Since you really are fine with everything, then I'll set her up in the East District apartment. Out of your sight."

My face showed nothing. I turned to leave.

"But I have one condition," he said.

"You'll have dinner with me at least once a week. Just the two of us. I haven't forgotten the promises I made you. Claire — in this lifetime, Adrian Moretti will only ever have one wife."

I turned my face halfway toward him. "Don't you find it ridiculous, saying that right now?"

In his world, sharing one meal a week with me was the full extent of a husband's duty.

He laughed softly. "It is ridiculous. But I'm afraid you'll stop eating. The world has no shortage of women, but a man only has one wife. She still needs looking after."

So that was what "looking after" meant. One dinner.

I went into the guest room on the first floor. When I took out my phone, there was a text from half an hour ago:

"Ms. Claire, the information you requested has come back."

"Three properties and two companies under Adrian Moretti's name have been transferred without your knowledge. Recipient: Lily Vale. Date of transfer: three months ago."

Three months ago.

That was when I'd tried to kill myself for the eighth time.

I stared at the screen for a long while, then dialed a number.

"Mr. Hayes, that divorce plan I asked you about — no need to wait any longer."

Two seconds of silence on the other end. "Ms. Claire, are you certain? The asset division would be extremely unfavorable for you. Mr. Moretti's side—"

"It's fine."

I turned off the light and lay down in the dark.

"I'll give him what he wants."