Chapter 2

Ashley POV

I closed the thick textbook and rubbed the back of my aching neck.

"Ashley, your husband is in the news again." The seventeen-year-old boy opposite me twirled his pen, pushing his phone screen toward me. His eyes held undisguised pity and the bluntness typical of his age. "Who's that woman? She's making him forget his actual wife?"

My gaze fell on the screen.

It was a video secretly filmed by a reporter.

Late at night, in the VIP lounge of the international airport, Liam Vance, wearing the black coat I had ironed for him that morning, was holding a slender woman with red-rimmed eyes tightly in his arms.

Flashbulbs flashed non-stop. Liam, who usually hated cameras, didn't lose his temper. Instead, he pressed the woman's head into his chest with a large hand, shielding her face from all prying eyes.

It was a look of cherish and fervent devotion I had never seen in our three years of marriage.

The bold headline below the video was painfully clear: "Liam, heir to the prominent Vance Group, picking up his ex-girlfriend Serena Clarke late at night as she returns home after her divorce."

I stared at the screen for five full seconds until it went dark. Then, I forced a faint smile. "Adults' business is not for kids. You got half your grammar questions wrong today. I'll check your corrections tomorrow."

I calmly packed my canvas bag, pushed open the door, and walked out of the luxury mansion nestled in the hills.

As soon as I stepped outside, a cold wind wrapped in drizzle hit me. I shivered, pulling my trench coat tighter.

Today was my and Liam's third wedding anniversary.

For this day, I had canceled my two evening tutoring gigs, booked a table at his favorite French restaurant half a month in advance, and even bought a sexy silk nightgown.

But just three hours ago, Liam had sent me a cold message: "Something urgent came up at the office. I won't be back tonight."

Turns out, his urgent business was picking up Serena.

I didn't hail a cab. Instead, I opened my umbrella and walked for a long time in the rain.

Passing a cake shop that hadn't closed yet, I went in and bought a small strawberry mousse.

It was already eleven at night when I returned to our downtown penthouse apartment.

The house was pitch black, empty, and devoid of any warmth.

I didn't turn on the main lights, only a dim floor lamp. I placed the strawberry mousse on the dining table and lit a thin candle.

The candlelight flickered, illuminating my pale, thin face.

"Happy third anniversary, Ashley," I whispered to the empty air, then blew out the candle.

I didn't make a wish, because I knew my wish would never come true.

At two in the morning, the click of the fingerprint lock finally echoed from the front door.

Liam walked in, bringing with him a chill.

He was tall, broad-shouldered, and long-legged. His chiseled face showed clear exhaustion, but when he saw me sitting on the sofa, his brow immediately furrowed.

"Why aren't you asleep yet?" His voice was low, with a hint of annoyed displeasure at being disturbed.

I stood up and walked closer to him. As soon as I was near, a faint hint of orange blossom perfume drifted into my nostrils.

That was Serena's favorite scent. Back in college, Liam's clothes always smelled like that.

My chest felt like it had been stung by something sharp. I suppressed the nauseating acidity rising in my throat and asked softly, "Is the company matter settled?"

Liam's hand paused slightly as he took off his coat. His gaze flickered for a moment, but quickly returned to its usual aloof indifference. "Yeah, it's settled."

He was lying.

I looked at his stern face and suddenly found it a little funny. This man, who was decisive and ruthless in business and never bothered to lie, was now lying to me to protect another woman's reputation.

"Liam," I called out, stopping him as he was about to go shower. My voice was a little hoarse. "Do you remember what day it is today?"

Liam's steps halted. He turned to look at me, his impatience even more pronounced. "Ashley, I'm exhausted today. I don't have time for your guessing games. If you need money, just use your platinum card."

With that, he walked straight into the bathroom and slammed the door shut.

The sound of water running covered my suddenly heavy breathing.

I bit down hard on my lower lip until I tasted a hint of blood, then slowly released it.

I went to the study, pulled open the bottom drawer, and took out a locked journal.

I opened the first page, which had a table titled: "Liam Point Deduction Chart."

Full score was one hundred.

The first line read: "Day one of marriage, he got drunk and called out Serena's name. Minus ten points."

The second line read: "I had a high fever, he flew to Paris to buy Serena a limited-edition handbag. Minus ten points."

...

The densely packed handwriting recorded every heartbreak I'd suffered over the past three years.

I picked up the pen and wrote in the newest line: "On our third wedding anniversary, he went to the airport to pick up Serena, who'd returned home after her divorce, and lied to me about it. Minus ten points."

After writing that, I looked at the bottom line: "When I deduct 100 points, I'll file for divorce."

Now, only twenty points were left.

I closed the journal and locked it again. I returned to the bedroom. Liam had already showered and was lying in bed. He had his back to me, presenting a rigid back.

I lay down beside him, separated by a boundary that felt like it could never be crossed.

The next morning, I was woken by a shrill doorbell.

I got up to open the door, but when I saw who was standing outside, my blood ran cold.

Serena stood there in a pure white dress, her long hair flowing over her shoulders. She was dragging a huge suitcase and looked at me with red-rimmed eyes, like a frightened fawn.

And Liam, who had gotten dressed at some point, was standing behind me. He reached past me, took the suitcase from Serena's hand, and spoke in a tone I'd never heard before, so gentle.

"Why are you here so early? I told you to get some more sleep."