Chapter 1

The window in the master bedroom was slightly ajar. The patter of rain mingled with the sounds from the bed. Under the warm yellow glow of the bedside lamp, the man's profile was handsome yet cold, his gaze carrying a hunger that seemed poised to devour the woman in his arms. Yasmin Whitmore's stunning face was flushed a mesmerizing shade of red. "Caleb…" He held her tightly, as if she were a treasure. The tenderness in his embrace sparked an absurd hope in Yasmin. Could he, even slightly, feel something for her? A phone rang, shattering the passionate atmosphere. From the corner of her eye, Yasmin saw the caller ID and tensed. Veronica Whitmore! Caleb answered. Whatever was said on the other end extinguished his passion. He instantly reverted to his usual calm demeanor. "I'll be right there," he said.

Watching him dress swiftly, Yasmin blurted, "You're leaving?" She wanted him to stay. "Yeah." Caleb grabbed his phone and left without another glance. Summoned at will, discarded just as easily. Lying there, exposed, Yasmin felt like nothing more than a prostitute. The realization was a painful, humiliating stab to her heart. She pulled the silk blanket higher. Her voice, soft and hoarse, yet laced with defiance, whispered, "Caleb, you're just going to leave like this? Aren't you afraid Veronica might notice my scent and get jealous?"

Caleb paused at the door. Turning, he saw Yasmin's gaze linger on him. Under the lamplight, his chiseled features exuded indifference and authority. The man engaged in passionate moments ago felt like a stranger. Yasmin held his stare, her delicate face teasing and provocative, her slight smile dripping with mockery.

"Yasmin, Veronica's hand injury is acting up again. Years ago, multiple tendons and nerves in her palm were severed. She almost lost the use of her hand," Caleb said, his tone cold and detached. "You were the one who did that to her."

Beneath the covers, Yasmin's fingers clenched as her lashes trembled. The forced smile faded. "Caleb, you're not a doctor. What can you even do? And don't you think it's inappropriate for your sister-in-law to call you in the middle of the night and pull you away from your own wife's bed?"

Caleb turned, closing the distance in a few strides. Bending, he grasped her chin, his thumb lightly brushing her skin. "Yasmin, if you still want me, I'll make it up to you when I get back. Don't make a fuss, alright?"

"I think you're filthy!" Yasmin slapped his hand away, disgusted. Instead of anger, Caleb's lips curled slightly in amusement.

"Caleb!" Yasmin took a deep breath, gambling. "What if I say I want you to stay tonight and—"

He cut her off. "Yasmin, you don't have that right."

Her lashes trembled as she lifted her chin, meeting his icy gaze. "I'm your wife! Doesn't that give me the right?"

Caleb chuckled, as if she'd made a ridiculous joke. The polite mask slipped away. "Yasmin, do you need me to remind you how you became my wife in the first place?"

The lingering scent of Caleb suffocated Yasmin. Her heart ached with a dull, persistent pain. An hour later, she saw Veronica's latest Twitter post: "Being accompanied by someone who loves you even during the smallest pains—nothing is more precious than this." A photo was attached—a man's silhouette, tall and commanding, his broad shoulders and narrow waist irresistibly alluring. Though his face was unseen, Yasmin recognized him instantly. Her husband, Caleb. A dull ache settled in her heart, yet she found the irony amusing. Three years ago, she was set up to spend a night with Caleb. When the Grant family elders found out, they forced him to marry her to save face. She had eagerly agreed, desperate to escape the Whitmores. Why eagerly? Because Caleb was the man she had secretly loved for years.

The next afternoon, Caleb returned, exhaustion etched onto his sharp features. Yasmin lounged on the couch, flipping through documents. She wore a silk nightgown, the delicate straps revealing smooth, fair skin adorned with faint red marks. Her bare feet rested against the cool gray floor. Caleb was about to tell her to put on shoes when she looked up. He was the perfect embodiment of elite power—strikingly handsome and tall, a man of rigid discipline and noble lineage… the man every Dunville socialite longed to marry.

"Back so soon? So, Veronica's injury wasn't that serious, was it?" Yasmin hugged her knees, her chin resting on them.

Caleb didn't respond. He clearly had no intention of discussing Veronica.

"Caleb," her voice was soft yet clear, her bright eyes pure. "Do you love me, even just a little?"

Surprise flickered in his gaze, quickly masked by indifference. "What kind of question is that?" His tone implied foolishness.

Yasmin spread her hands, feigning casualness. "I knew it. You don't love me." He had never loved her. "Caleb, let's get a divorce." Three years of marriage hadn't changed his feelings. Why should she force it? His hand had just brushed her cold foot. Hearing her words, he froze. His warmth instantly turned to ice, the air growing colder. He lifted his gaze, his eyes dark as a stormy night, his voice even colder. "What did you just say?"

The sheer pressure of his presence made Yasmin instinctively pull back her foot. Before she could, his grip tightened around her delicate ankle. His warmth against her icy skin made her ears burn. She forced a scowl. "Let go."

Caleb didn't move, his grip tightening. "Yasmin, be a good wife and stop causing trouble."

Causing trouble? She almost laughed. If she truly wanted trouble, she would have fought last night to keep him. She wouldn't have given Veronica the chance to flaunt her victory. Without hesitation, Yasmin pulled out the prepared divorce papers and handed them to him. "Let's divorce. I'm done."