Chapter 1

I was once a world-renowned master chef.

Three years after marrying into my wife's wealthy family for love, I accidentally swatted a mosquito while cooking dinner.

My wife, Vivian, threw a massive fit, claiming I had destroyed her most precious collector's piece.

She demanded that I get on my knees and apologize to the dead insect.

I thought she had completely lost her mind.

Yet she grabbed the back of my neck, forcing my head downward.

"Sean, open your damn eyes and look!" she snarled. "This is the auction certificate for an ultra-rare golden-bellied long-proboscis mosquito! Winning bid: two million dollars!

"I've spent three years building this collection! This one came in last week. I've been feeding it fresh blood every day, waiting for it to lay eggs!"

She tapped a designer stiletto against the floor and pointed at the smear of dried blood on the counter.

"Kneel down. Apologize to my baby."

I let out a laugh—one so bitter that tears sprang to my eyes.

In our three years of marriage, she had tortured and humiliated me using every absurd excuse imaginable.

Her pet dog ate out of bespoke sterling-silver bowls, while I was left to eat its cold scraps.

And now, she wanted me to drop to my knees for a mosquito.

I didn't kneel. Instead, I turned on my heel, walked straight into the bedroom, and dragged out my packed suitcase.

"Vivian, here are the divorce papers."

"My knees are far too expensive. Neither you nor your bug deserves them."

"Getting bold, aren't we?"

Vivian tore her gaze away from that two-million-dollar smear of mosquito blood.

Her eyes flicked down to the divorce settlement I had tossed onto the coffee table.

A smirk tugged at her lips.

It was the look of someone watching a docile lapdog finally trying to bare its claws.

She pulled out her phone and dialed her executive assistant.

"Cancel every card I issued to Sean and cut off his access to the household accounts. I don't want him leaving with a cent of my money."

Hanging up, she crossed her arms over her chest.

"Sean, you've been living off my dime for three whole years.

"Without me, you're lower than a stray on the street."

Footsteps echoed down the grand staircase. Her best friend Julian came sauntering down.

Catching sight of the papers on the floor, he let out an exaggerated gasp and clapped a hand over his mouth.

"Oh my gosh, Sean, how could you ever ask Vivian for a divorce?

"She treats you so well! For heaven's sake, she turned down every handsome bachelor in high society just to be with you!"

He cozied up beside Vivian, his face practically glowing with malicious delight.

I couldn't even stomach looking at him. I turned around and grabbed the handle of my luggage.

Behind me, Vivian's voice rang out cold and sharp.

"I'll give you three minutes to crawl back here.

"Do that, and I might just pretend this never happened."

My fingers closed over the brass door handle.

The icy metal felt just like that rainy night three years ago.

The night I came home with my third consecutive Gold Master Chef Award, she told me, "I can't stand the smell of grease and cooking fumes." I packed away my knives and quit the professional kitchen.

I honestly believed that was love.

Scenes flashed through my mind, frame by agonizing frame.

There was our wedding anniversary dinner, which I had spent an entire week prepping. Every dish was something she once adored.

When she came home, she had brought Julian along with her.

She cast one dismissive glance over the lavish feast, wrinkled her nose, and sneered,

"Ugh, looks way too heavy."

In the next breath, she scraped every single dish straight into the trash can.

She said she had to accompany Julian to a charity gala.

Then there was the night I doubled over on the cold kitchen floor, rolling in agony from an acute stomach ulcer. My hands shook violently as I called her for help.

Through the receiver came deafening club music, followed by her impatient snarl.

"I'm closing a multi-million-dollar deal with an investor. Call an ambulance yourself."

Click.

The harsh dial tone that followed cut deeper and hurt far worse than the tearing spasms in my gut.

I pulled the door open.

Bright, unfiltered sunlight flooded in.

It turned out I had lingered in hell for so long that I had almost forgotten the warmth of the sun.

"Sean!"

Her final ultimatum snapped like a whip behind me.

"If you dare take one step out that door, I swear you will never find a job in this city again!

"Not even as a dishwasher!"

I stepped outside.

And slammed the door firmly behind me.