Chapter 1

Julian Thorne's first love was back.

He not only settled her in the most secluded mansion in the hills overlooking New York,

but he also played the piano for her. That very piano he had sworn he would never touch again.

As he indulged her, letting her drink from his personal mug, I suddenly understood.

He wasn't born cold-hearted. He just wasn't warm to me.

Today was our fifth wedding anniversary.

I had canceled all my appointments and spent the day cooking all his favorite dishes.

At eight that evening, Julian called. His voice was as distant and cool as ever. "There's an urgent merger and acquisition deal at the office. I won't be home tonight. You should get some sleep."

He had chronic stomach issues, relying on medication to manage it.

I poured the warm soup, which I had kept simmering on the stove, into an insulated container and drove to Thorne Corp.

The lights in his executive office were off.

The assistant on duty saw me, his eyes darting away, stammering, unable to offer any coherent explanation.

I didn't press him. I turned and went downstairs, pulling up Julian's car's GPS location.

The red dot was stationary at a hillside estate outside New York.

It was one of Julian's private properties, one I'd never even visited.

The night wind was chilly. It took half an hour of driving winding roads to reach the destination.

The villa's front gate was ajar, spilling warm yellow light.

I pushed the door open, walked through the entryway, and the scene in the living room hit me, completely unprepared.

In front of the massive floor-to-ceiling windows stood a black Steinway grand piano.

Julian sat on the piano bench, his long fingers dancing across the black and white keys, producing a light, gentle melody.

I froze.

His right hand had been injured, once making it difficult even to hold a pen.

I'd spent a full year seeking out top doctors, massaging his hand with warm towels every night, painstakingly helping him with physical therapy.

He recovered, but afterwards, he refused to touch the piano again.

"Audrey," he'd said, "my hand hurts. I won't play anymore."

My heart ached for him, so I had the piano at home moved out and never brought it up again.

But now, his hand didn't seem to hurt at all.

Because the woman sitting beside him was watching him, a radiant smile on her face.

Serena Bell wore a silk slip dress, leaning lazily against the edge of the piano.

She casually picked up a glass of water from the piano and took a sip.

It was Julian's mug.

He was an extreme germaphobe, with territorial instincts that bordered on obsessive.

At home, if I accidentally used his cutlery, he would toss it directly into the trash.

Yet at this moment, not only was he not angry, but he stopped playing, naturally lifted his hand, and gently wiped the water from Serena's lip with his thumb.

"Drink slowly. No one is going to snatch it from you."

His voice was incredibly soft, filled with a level of indulgence and affection I had never heard directed at me.

The scene was blinding, stinging my eyes.

Julian and I had been married for five years.

He was always polite, distant, and restrained with me.

I thought he was just that kind of person, like a block of ice that couldn't be melted.

I believed that with enough patience, I could eventually warm him.

Now it seemed the ice had long melted, but it had turned into water in someone else's mug.

I took a deep breath, raised my hand, and knocked twice on the open doorframe.

"Excuse me."

The piano music stopped abruptly.

The two people near the sofa turned to look at me simultaneously.

Serena gasped, flinching back like a startled fawn.

Julian's face instantly darkened.

He instinctively stood up, shielding Serena behind him.

That protective posture, so practiced, sent a chill through me.

"How did you find this place?" He frowned, his tone full of accusation and displeasure.

I walked in, carrying the insulated container, and placed it on the coffee table.

"I came to bring you your stomach medicine. But it seems, Mr. Thorne, your appetite is doing quite well right now; you don't need this."

Julian's gaze swept over the container, a flicker of discomfort in his eyes, but it quickly returned to cold rigidity.

"Company matters finished early. Serena just got back to the country and is a bit unstable emotionally. I came to check on her."

"Emotionally unstable?" I tugged at the corner of my mouth, my gaze moving past him to Serena. "Does it require drinking from the same mug to cure? Which hospital prescribes that kind of remedy? I'd love to learn."

Serena bit her lower lip, her eyes instantly welling up.

"Audrey, please don't misunderstand. I was just thirsty and didn't realize I grabbed the wrong mug. There's nothing going on between Julian and me; it's completely innocent."

Her aggrieved, innocent act made me look like an irrational shrew.

I let out a cold laugh. "Completely innocent? A man and a woman, alone in a secluded villa late at night, playing piano and sharing drinks? You call that innocent? Ms. Bell, your definition of 'innocent' seems a little too flexible."

"Audrey Hayes!" Julian cut me off sharply. "Watch your tone. Serena has severe depression and can't handle stress."

"She can't handle stress, but I can?"

I met Julian's eyes, asking each word distinctly. "Today is our fifth wedding anniversary. You lied to me, saying you were working late at the office, only to be here playing therapist for her?"

Julian was silent for two seconds, then softened his tone slightly. "It's just an anniversary. We can celebrate later. Go home first; don't make a scene here."

A scene?

In his eyes, my coming to find my husband was "making a scene."

I looked at the piano, and suddenly felt an overwhelming sense of absurdity.

"Your hand wasn't able to play the piano anymore, was it?"

Julian's body stiffened, his fingers at his side curling slightly.

"Understood." I nodded, then swept the insulated container directly into the nearby trash can.

With a dull thud, the soup spilled all over the floor.

"It wasn't that you couldn't play; it's that you didn't want to play for me. Julian Thorne, you disgust me."

With that, I turned and walked away.

Julian strode after me, grabbing my wrist.

His grip was strong, squeezing my bones painfully.

"What's wrong with you?" he growled, suppressing his anger.

I violently shook off his hand, stepping back in disgust.

"Don't touch me. You're dirty."