Chapter 1

On the seventh day after being kidnapped, I was finally rescued.

When I got home, I saw Brandon and his little assistant making a homemade cake together, completely wrapped up in each other.

I thought he actually remembered our seventh wedding anniversary.

Then I stepped closer. Piped onto the frosting were the assistant's name and the words "Happy 19th Birthday".

Brandon instinctively shielded Chloe behind him and looked at me with open suspicion.

"What? The fake kidnapping stunt didn't work, so now you're trying a new routine?"

A bitter smile touched my lips. I honestly didn't know what to say.

I was the one who threw myself in front of him. I took the hit to save Brandon, and I endured seven days of sheer hell for it.

And he thought I was just throwing a tantrum.

In the past, I would have lost my mind. I would have thrown Chloe out onto the street and screamed at Brandon, asking him if he even had a heart.

Now?

I just walked away in silence to clean the crusted blood and open wounds all over my body.

When I stepped out of the bathroom, Brandon was cleaning up the mess from the cake and wiping away every trace Chloe had left behind.

Seeing me approach, he reached up and cupped my face.

He clipped a delicate silver hairpin into my bangs.

"Stop acting out. You're not twenty anymore. Why can't you be sensible like Chloe for once?"

He was trying to make peace, but his tone carried that same old, dismissive impatience.

"While you were busy hiring actors to stage a scene, Chloe landed me a massive contract. Baking a cake with her was just a reward for her birthday..."

"Oh."

My voice was flat.

Brandon stopped mid-excuse. He stared at me, thoroughly confused. "You're not going to yell?"

Normally, I would have.

Every time Chloe posted suggestive photos of them together on Ins, I would show up like a frantic madwoman, making a complete scene.

It always ended the same way: I cried myself sick at home, while Brandon avoided me for days in total disgust.

Then he'd toss me some random apology gift, and I would pathetically cling to him like a lifeline, desperate to hold on.

"She's a young girl having a birthday. It makes sense to look out for her."

I tossed the line out like a polite stranger.

I opened the media console, rummaging around for my painkillers.

I remembered having an entire box stashed here. Ever since my miscarriage, I suffered from severe chronic pelvic pain that flared up enough to make me wish I was dead.

"Where are my pills?"

I looked over at Brandon.

He turned his head away, a brief flash of panic crossing his features. "They probably ran out. Don't panic, I'll go pick some up right now."

Chloe's latest Ins post instantly flashed through my mind.

The photo was set in a luxury boutique. She was holding a box of tampons and an exquisite gift box, smiling sweetly for the camera. Her caption had burned right into my eyes:

"Big thanks to the sweet guy who not only remembers my birthday, but even keeps track of that time of the month."

Meanwhile, Brandon didn't even remember the day we got married.

"Don't bother. I'll get them myself."

I stopped him before he could rush out the door, throwing a light jacket over my shoulders.

I needed to pick up some antibiotics for my cuts, too.

Whatever crossed his mind made Brandon snap. He suddenly grabbed my arm. "Who are you giving that attitude to? Do you really have to push my absolute last button before you're satisfied?"

It took me a solid moment to realize what he meant.

He thought my calm detachment was just me giving him the cold shoulder.

I looked at him, completely baffled. "Haven't you always said I'm crazy? Isn't it better if I'm quiet?"

I hadn't always been crazy.

Before the miscarriage, Brandon was wonderful to me.

During the loss, though, severe hemorrhaging did permanent damage. I was told I could never carry a child again. After that, anxiety and paranoia completely consumed me.

Instead of standing by me, Brandon started pulling away. He began keeping other women close, which only drove my mental state off a cliff.

I couldn't even tell you who knocked down the first domino anymore.

All I knew was that every shred of love I ever had for him had collapsed into ash. Nothing was left.

"I won't lose control of my emotions anymore. I won't embarrass you ever again."

I leaned down to slip on my sneakers. Suddenly, Brandon wrapped his arms around me from behind.

He pressed his chest firmly against my back. Right against my raw, open cuts, I could feel his heavy, ragged breathing.

"Come on, please. Let's not fight. What if something happens to you wandering out in the middle of the night? We already lost our baby... You have to stay safe."

"Just wait here for me, okay? I'll get your medicine."

I didn't answer him. I remained frozen half-bent over, clenching my teeth so hard my jaw shook.

His weight pressing against my injuries hurt so bad I could barely pull air into my lungs.

Then Brandon's ringtone pierced the air. Chloe's soft, whimpering voice drifted through the speaker: "Brandon, a bunch of giant roaches just crawled out from under my bed... I'm so scared..."

Brandon ended the call, and his hands moved double-time to lace up his boots.

He didn't spare me a single glance.

He only remembered I was there right as he pushed the front door open. "The pharmacy down the block might be closed. I might be a little late coming back—"

Mid-sentence, he caught sight of me and froze in horror. "What is wrong with you? It's just your usual flare-up, why are you sweating like that?"

I couldn't hold myself up any longer. Several of my deep gashes had ripped open again.

I dragged my words out, practically begging him. "Please take me to the ER. The injuries the kidnappers left are way worse than I thought."

"Kidnappers?"

Brandon let out a cold, mocking scoff.

"Serena, really? You're still using that pathetic excuse to test my patience?"

He slammed the door behind him and didn't come back all night.

I passed out cold from the sheer agony.

When I finally came to, it was the dead of dawn.

Gritting my teeth, dragging myself like a bleeding snail, I crawled inch by agonizing inch out to the curb.

I hailed a cab and took myself to the emergency room.

The next afternoon, he called to demand why I wasn't at home.

I knew the drill. He was hungover again, his stomach was burning, and he wanted me to make him a warm bowl of soup.