Chapter 2

Summer's POV

When the rose thorn pierced my finger, a bright bead of blood surfaced instantly, vivid red against pale skin, impossible to ignore.

I didn't give it much thought. I grabbed a paper towel, pressed it down, and kept working on the enormous floral arch in front of me.

Today was the ten-year anniversary gala for Gordon Capital.

As New York's largest investment firm, the celebration was nothing short of lavish.

I was a florist here, the one in charge of all the floral arrangements for tonight's event.

I also had a secret identity: the wife of Ethan Gordon, CEO of Gordon Capital.

Three years of marriage. Five years of knowing each other.

I stared at the lush red roses in front of me and felt my mind drift.

For five years, I had spun like a top that never got to stop, always orbiting Ethan.

Ethan had severe haphephobia. How severe?

He wore gloves whenever he went outside. If anyone touched even the hem of his clothing, he'd strip it off on the spot and throw it away.

Three years of marriage. Three years of sleeping in separate rooms.

No hugs. No kisses. Certainly nothing more.

I had tried not to believe it once. I tried approaching him. I got two weeks of silent treatment in return, plus the sight of him washing his hands until they were raw and peeling.

After that, I stopped trying.

As long as I could be near him, I told myself a platonic marriage was still something. Still enough.

He was cool, untouchable, like a god on a pedestal. And gods were never meant to be stained by ordinary things.

"Summer, did the exclusive bouquet for the top-floor executive suite get sent up yet?"

My assistant Mia came jogging over.

I snapped back to the present and wiped the blood from my fingertip.

"I'll take it up myself."

It was a bouquet of bellflowers I'd put together specifically for Ethan. The meaning of bellflowers: hopeless love. And eternal love.

I wanted to give him a surprise on this special day.

I took the private elevator to the top floor. The hallway was perfectly quiet.

Ethan didn't like crowds. His floor was always off-limits.

I carried the flowers to the slightly open door of the executive suite.

I was about to knock when a sound through the gap froze my hand in midair.

"Ethan, I'm scared."

The woman's voice was soft, thick with tears.

My heart clenched.

I peered through the gap. In front of the floor-to-ceiling windows, Ethan, who always kept everyone at arm's length, who would frown if someone even breathed too close, was holding a woman tightly against his chest.

She was wearing a white dress, slender and fragile, her whole body buried in him.

And Ethan wasn't wearing his gloves.

His long, lean fingers moved slowly through her hair, stroking it over and over again with a gentleness I had never once seen from him.

His chin rested on top of her head. His voice was low and soft in a way I didn't recognize.

"Don't be afraid, Wendy. I'm here. As long as I'm here, no one can touch you."

Wendy Shaw.

Something detonated inside my head. Like a bomb going off and leaving nothing behind.

Wendy Shaw was Ethan's first love.

The girl he had supposedly loved to his bones, and who had left him behind to study abroad.

I had always known that name. But I thought she was the past.

Turns out the untouchable god could come down from his pedestal after all. His haphephobia was selective.

He was allergic to the entire world. But not to Wendy.

I stood outside that door as the blood slowly drained from every part of me. Like something vital was being pulled out all at once.

The bellflowers in my arms turned impossibly heavy. I could barely breathe under the weight of them.

It hit me then. Every version of myself over the past five years had been a complete joke.

I'd folded in every sharp edge I had, terrified of touching him, terrified of annoying him.

I'd kept the house spotless every single day. I'd been afraid to even breathe too loudly around him.

I had told myself he was just a block of ice that hadn't thawed yet.

But right now, that block of ice was melting, pouring itself out for someone else.

The bellflowers fell from my hands. Petals spread across the floor.

The small sound was enough.

Ethan raised his head. His sharp gaze cut straight to the doorway.

The instant he recognized me, every drop of warmth left his eyes. What filled them instead was ice and suspicion.

He instinctively moved Wendy behind him, like I was something dangerous.

"Who let you up here?"

Ethan's voice was cold enough to cut.

I watched that protective gesture. My heart felt like an invisible hand had reached in and crushed it. The pain was so complete I could almost taste blood.

I opened my mouth. Nothing came out. My throat was too dry.

Wendy peered out from behind him, eyes red-rimmed, like a startled doe.

"Ethan, who is she...?"

"The florist."

He cut her off without a second's hesitation, his cold gaze fixed on me.

"Drop off the flowers and get out. From now on, no one steps onto this floor without my permission."

The florist.

I pulled the corners of my mouth up. I was trying to smile. Instead, tears fell first.

Three years of marriage, and in his mouth, I was just the flower delivery girl.

"Okay."

I heard my own voice, dry and hollow, echo down the hallway.

I didn't pick up the flowers. I didn't look at either of them again. I turned and walked toward the elevator, one step at a time.

Every step felt like walking on the edge of a blade.

When the elevator doors closed, I finally gave out. I pressed my back against the cold metal wall and slid to the floor.

So that's how it is. No love means no love.

No psychological condition. No haphephobia. The only reason was simple: I wasn't her.