Chapter 1

For the ninth time, Julian admitted he'd slept with his business partner, Camille Duval—and once again blamed it on work.

I didn't scream. I didn't demand to know how a man with near-clinical germaphobia could keep crawling into another woman's bed.

I stopped demanding location-stamped selfies every thirty minutes.

I even quietly removed the GPS tracker from his car.

When he saw I wasn't making a scene, he pulled me close, voice soft.

"Elena, I swear on everything I've built — there won't be a next time."

At Thanksgiving dinner, watching him play the doting husband, my mother took my hand across the table.

"Men like Julian have complicated lives. Business trips, late nights, people throwing themselves at them..."

"But he comes home to you. He takes care of you. You're still his wife."

My father nodded along.

"Your mother's right. And you two should really think about trying for another baby."

Julian said nothing. He just smiled and draped his arm around my shoulder.

My five-year-old nephew Oliver chewed on his fork and blinked.

"But Uncle Julian already has a baby."

The laughter at the table died instantly.

Before Julian could speak, Oliver went on in his piping little voice.

"Last time Uncle Julian took me to Miss Camille's house, Grandma and Grandpa were there too."

"He was holding that baby and smiling so, so much."

"He said he finally had a son."

...

Elena's POV

Julian grabbed my hand under the table, certain I'd do what I always did — throw things, flip my plate, hurl whatever was in reach at his head.

But this time, I didn't even lift my eyes.

My parents leapt to their feet and ushered Oliver out of the room.

"Kids say the darndest things — he's just making stuff up."

Then I caught my mother shooting Julian a look.

Julian cleared his throat and took my hand.

"Elena, that's Camille's child."

"Camille was having a small gathering for the baby. She asked me to be his godfather, and I agreed. That's all."

He said it with conviction, but his palm was slick with sweat.

"Kids can't tell the difference. It's perfectly normal for them to get confused. Don't read into it."

I picked up a piece of turkey with my fork and put it in my mouth. I looked at him. Perfectly calm.

Julian visibly faltered.

He'd probably rehearsed his lines in advance, ready for the barrage of questions he expected.

But all I said was: "The food was bland today. Let's use a different caterer next time."

The hand holding mine clenched.

"Elena, you're not going to ask me anything?"

What was there to ask?

His excuses were always the same.

I was sick of hearing them.

The first time he admitted to sleeping with Camille, I thought he was joking.

It wasn't until I walked in on them in bed together that I lost my mind and lunged at them.

In the chaos, Julian shoved me away.

My forehead struck the corner of a table, and blood poured down my face.

He didn't even glance at me. He just stood there shielding Camille behind him.

The look he gave me — like I was something he wanted to destroy.

Then it happened again. And again.

I finally learned to choke it all down — every last drop of humiliation and disgust.

And every time, as long as I accepted it quietly —

He would make it up to me with jewelry, property, shares in the company.

I once mistook these for guilt he couldn't help feeling.

It wasn't until later that I understood.

The guilt was for me. The love was for Camille.

Sleeping with Camille under the guise of business was nothing but his excuse to betray me, time after time.

And his germaphobia? Just a rule that only ever applied to me.

Camille had given birth a few months ago. I already knew.

But I'd been clinging to one pathetic hope — that maybe the child wasn't Julian's.

Just then, his phone rang. The caller ID read: Camille.

He declined it twice, but it kept buzzing.

Julian frowned, then turned away to answer.

Camille's broken sobbing came through from the other end.

"Julian, the baby won't stop crying..."

"Can you come be with us? Please?"

After he hung up, Julian barely hesitated. He grabbed his jacket and headed for the door.

"Julian." I watched his back and called out to him, my voice steady. "Do you know what today is?"

His footsteps stopped dead.

"It's the anniversary of Ethan's death."

In our second year of marriage, we'd had a child.

But he died not long after he was born.

During that time, I nearly didn't survive.

It was Julian who pulled me back from the edge, again and again.

To stay by my side, he even moved all his work home.

No matter who mocked him for going soft, he only ever said,"Without Elena, my life has no meaning."

Coming back to himself, Julian was silent for only two seconds before pressing down the door handle.

"Elena, Ethan's been gone for years now. Let him rest in peace."

And with that, he walked out without looking back.

The moment the door closed, a single tear rolled from the corner of my eye.

My phone screen blurred through my tears.

I opened my contacts and found a number I'd been in touch with recently.

It's confirmed. Arrange to have Ethan's ashes relocated to Sweden as soon as possible.