Chapter 1

Cameron Lee is a man of rigid boundaries. In Manhattan's elite circles, everyone knows his "no-touch" policy.

For five years, I was the only exception—the wife who held the keys to his world.

Until I didn't.

For the third time, our wedding anniversary comes up as an "incorrect password."

I have no choice but to call him. "Cameron, your tablet is acting up. You need to take it to the shop tomorrow."

A playful, high-pitched voice answers the line. "Mrs. Lee? Oh, I'm so sorry! I was playing games on the CEO's tablet in his office yesterday. I may accidentally changed the password to my birthday."

I freeze for seconds, then hang up.

When Cameron returns home that night, I toss the divorce papers onto the coffee table in front of him.

He rubs his temples, his face a mask of pure irritation. "Why are you being so petty with a young girl? She's inexperienced. What's your excuse for being so immature?"

I let out a cold laugh. "Then go spend your life with her and her 'inexperience.'"

Cameron leans down, picks up the papers, and tears them into shreds without even glancing at the terms. He drops the confetti into the trash, his gaze ice-cold. "Rebecca, you're becoming completely irrational."

"I'm done discussing this, Cameron Lee," I say, my eyes void of any warmth. "Our marriage was always a strategic merger. We have no emotional foundation. A clean break is the only way out for both of us."

My heart feels like it's being pierced by a thousand invisible needles.

It's true that we were a business alliance, but over five years of living together, I had unknowingly fallen for him.

But what does love matter now?

There's always a first time, and then a second. If I pretend nothing happened this time, what about the next? And the time after that? Am I supposed to spend the rest of my life swallowing my dignity?

Gracie Day's words today were a blatant act of war.

Everyone in Manhattan knows that Cameron Lee doesn't let women get close to him. He's obsessed with his boundaries and personal space.

When he was twenty, a maid's daughter thought she could play a game. She took advantage of his drunken state after a gala, loosened his tie, and tried to frame a scandal to secure her future. In the end, he had both her hands broken before throwing her out of the Lee estate. She was never heard from again.

Cameron has a severe "no-touch" policy. For years, I was the only exception. I was the only one allowed to touch his personal items—his tablet, his phone, his laptop. Even if I wanted to check his messages, he would just ruffle my hair with a tired but indulgent smile, telling me not to stay up too late.

Well, from today, that privilege expired.

The warning bells are screaming, and I need to cut my losses before I sink any deeper.

...

A suffocating silence stretches across the living room. We are in a deadlock.

He knows my temper. He knows I don't tolerate a single grain of sand in my eye. On our wedding night, I told him clearly: if he ever found someone else, I would step aside. No drama, no clinging.

Back then, he held me so tightly I thought he'd merge me into his own skin. He told me we were a perfect match, a pair made by fate. He said that even without "love," we could grow old together. He didn't mind my touch, and I didn't mind his.

Compared to the useless, cheating playboys of the Upper East Side, I preferred him as my husband.

For five years, we were the golden couple of the city. Every joint venture between the Lees and the Powells was a massive success.

Three months ago, on Cameron's birthday, I told him I wanted a baby.

He had stroked my tear-stained face, moved by the intensity of the moment. "Rebecca, are you sure?"

I had sobbed, wrapping my weak arms around his neck.

I still remember that second—the flash of light in his dark, narrow eyes. Before I drifted off from exhaustion, something warm and wet dropped onto my face.

Then, he pulled me into his broad, warm chest.

"Becca... thank you."