Chapter 1

I have a bad temper. Every time Hugo Vance does something that upsets me, the word *divorce* flies out of my mouth.

And every time, on the last day of the divorce cooling-off period, he always bows his head and begs me to stay.

The first time, I complained that our villa wasn't grand enough. I casually mentioned divorce. He had me moved into Harbor Manor the next day.

The second time, someone posted about an eighty-million-dollar piece of jewelry. I threw a fit because he didn't buy me the same one. He rushed to contact an overseas auction house and put the exact same piece in my hands on time.

The third time, I said the fertility medicine was too bitter and I wanted a divorce again. He brewed the medicine himself and fed it to me, then worked around the clock without rest.

My friends all say I'm Hugo's one weakness. His one exception.

I thought his favoritism would always be my safety net.

Then his first love-Luna Lane came back to the country. He came home thirty minutes late. And I mentioned divorce once more.

Even my best friend tried to stop me. "Know when you can stop. Don’t be unreasonable."

I looked at the dark circles under Hugo's eyes. For once, I held back my temper.

I told myself this would be the last time I threatened divorce.

But this time, the last second of the divorce cooling-off period passed.

And Hugo still didn't come home.

The living-room light clicks on and he freezes when Hugo sees me sitting in the dark.

“Still up.” His voice is quiet.

“Waiting for you.” I’m calm.

He loosens his tie and walks past without a word toward the kitchen.

I stand and follow him. “Hugo.”

He’s pouring a glass of water with his back to me.

“This time, the cooling-off period,” I say, looking at his back, “is over.”

“Hm.” He takes a sip.

Just one “hm.”

Seven days of waiting for an explanation—anything, even a perfunctory “don’t be silly”—and nothing.

Anger flares inside me.

I turn around, grab the vase off the entryway table, and smash it to the floor.

*Crash—!*

It shatters across the floor.

He watches me, shock and anger in his eyes, but not the panicked rush he used to make to check if I’d hurt myself.

“What are you doing?” Hugo’s face hardens.

“Divorce.” I cover half my face and laugh, "Isn't this how it always goes? I break things. You clean up. I say divorce, you bow. Every single time.”

I step forward, my bare feet crunching on the broken porcelain. “Why aren’t you performing this time? Because the audience has changed? Your first love is back! Isn't she?”

“Is she waiting downstairs? Waiting for us to finish shouting so she can come upstairs and comfort you?” I press. “Hugo, tell me!”

“Enough!” He barks.

The doorbell rings the next second.

His brothers and my friends flood in as if on cue.

They take in the mess on the floor. The standoff between us. They wear the same expression: oh, not this again.

“Sia, calm down!” Cade Foster (His best friend) steps between us. “Hugo’s been under a lot lately, The company stuff—”

“Under a lot?” I cut him off, pointing at Hugo. “He has time to pick someone up from the airport, sit through a three-hour dinner, and come home half an hour late without so much as a word to me?”

“Sia!” A friend grabs my arm and hisses, “Don’t keep on… we all know you’re hurting, but this is embarrassing.”

“So what if that woman is back? You're still his wife.”

“Wife?” I fling her off. But tears are streaming down my face. “I’m like a child who throws a tantrum when she can’t get candy! And you—every one of you—”

I point at each of them.

“You all help him hold me down, telling me, ‘Be good, stop making a scene, candy tomorrow!’ But where’s the candy?!”

I turn to Hugo. My voice shreds. “Where’s my candy?!”

The candy that always comes after I threaten divorce.

Why isn’t it here this time?