Chapter 1

My wife drugged me for the forty-ninth time and sent a woman to my bed.

I clenched my jaw until my teeth creaked, slicing my palm open with a shard of glass. The sharp, stinging pain anchored my last shred of clarity. I drove the woman out of the room.

For two hours, I submerged myself in ice water that bit into my bones, shivering until the drug's fire finally burned out.

Trembling, I climbed out of the bathtub. Dressed with mechanical precision. Smoothed every wrinkle. Headed to the KTV.

Inside the private suite, Daisy Gilbert lounged in the arms of a young host, a low, amused laugh escaping her lips.

"Looks like the honey trap failed again." She swirled her drink. "What is your type, anyway? I'll pick someone prettier next time."

I ignored the mockery hanging thick in the air. Walked over. Placed a single sheet of paper on the table.

"I agree to the divorce. You don't need to bother with the games anymore."

The silence that followed was absolute.

You could have heard a pin drop.

Daisy stood up abruptly, a flicker of genuine shock cracking her icy composure.

I forced a smile.

I had waited for her forty-nine times.

On the fiftieth, I was finally willing to accept defeat.

1.

Walking out of the Civil Affairs Bureau, Daisy and I officially entered the divorce cooling-off period.

She slid into her waiting sports car, sneered, and tossed her wedding ring out the window. It clattered onto the pavement like trash.

"You should have agreed sooner." Her voice dripped with disdain. "You wasted so much of my time."

The engine roared. The car vanished into traffic.

Bile rose in my throat. I crouched down, picked up the ring, wiped off the dust, and tucked it into my breast pocket.

Close to my heart.

Years ago, I had sold my only valuable guitar—my lifeline—to buy this. Custom-ordered this pair of plain bands and a bouquet of roses.

Daisy, heiress of the Gilbert Group, was used to dazzling gems and six-figure jewelry. But when she saw the simple ring I pulled out that day, her eyes had reddened. She listened intently to my stumbling, heartfelt confession, then smiled and offered her hand.

I naively thought we would grow old together.

But time changes everything.

When I returned to the villa, my belongings sat packed in boxes, thrown onto the driveway.

Daisy stood in the doorway, her fingers interlaced with Luke Swanson's.

"Luke is moving in." She issued the eviction order with the casual cruelty of a monarch. "You don't need to come back."

Luke smirked. Wrapped an arm around Daisy's waist. Pulled her flush against him—a declaration of sovereignty—and kissed her.

Even though I knew Daisy's heart had long since turned to stone where I was concerned, the sight still felt like a serrated blade twisting in my chest.

Luke released a flushed Daisy and looked at me, his expression provocative.

"Director Harding, thank you for introducing me to Daisy. When you get down to it, you owe all this to James."

Daisy's face instantly darkened at the mention of that name. Disgust flooded her gaze as she looked at me.

"He has wronged James his entire life."

My hands curled into fists at my sides, knuckles white.

But the fight drained out of me just as quickly.

I loosened my grip. Powerless.

Before I could speak, the heavy front door slammed shut in my face.

A self-deprecating laugh escaped my lips. Under the vast, darkening sky, I picked up my luggage and hailed a taxi to a hotel.

Once settled in the sterile room, my phone lit up with notifications.

**[Famous Director and Wife Spotted at Civil Affairs Bureau—Divorce Imminent?]**

**[Female CEO and Popular Actor: Late Night Hotel Visits Spark Rumors]**

I turned off the screen and collapsed onto the bed, exhaustion crushing me.

As a well-known film director, I had never cared about an actor's background. Luke Swanson had the looks. He was willing to grind. After playing the supporting male lead in my latest film, he had skyrocketed from obscurity to stardom.

The crew had held a celebration banquet. That was where he met Daisy.

The atmosphere between them shifted instantly—ambiguous, charged, dangerous.

When I angrily confronted Daisy later, she only laughed, indifferent to my pain.

"If it wasn't Luke Swanson, it would be someone else."

Her eyes grew distant. "Besides, he looks a bit like James."

Then the venom returned. "You murderer—what right do you have to question me?"

I trembled then.

Silenced by the weight of a sin she would never let me forget.