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Summer rain always came fast and without warning. By the time Juliette stepped through the door, damp chill clinging to her skin, her husband Maxwell was tucking a blanket around the woman curled up on their couch. The pregnancy report in her bag felt like a shard of ice, its cold biting straight through leather and fabric, threading into every vein in her body. She stood in the doorway for a long time, not moving. Cool air funneled in through the wide-open door. Only then did Maxwell look over at her. His thin lips parted, but he released just two words. "Close the door." She watched his hand tug the blanket higher, wrapping the woman on the sofa a little more snugly. Wind roared in, needling rain against Juliette's already soaked back. The chill made her shiver. But how could the cold in her body compete with the cold in her chest? She stared, stiff and numb, at the man in front of her. The car had broken down on the road. She had called him over and over. He hadn't picked up once. She'd found a tow on her own, walked through the downpour, and came home to find him tenderly looking after her younger sister. Even when the draft swept in, the only person he remembered might be cold was Amelia. He didn't seem to see the bedraggled woman still standing in the doorway. When she didn't respond, he rose and walked past her. Only after the door banged shut did his steps finally slow beside her. His light ebony cologne drifted past her as he asked, a little stiffly, "Why are you so soaked? Ava, take Mrs. Hawke to change her clothes." "Don't you think you owe your Mrs. Hawke' an explanation?" Juliette asked, her voice tight with emotion. "Did you finally get tired of keeping her outside, so you decided to bring her home?" Even as the words left her lips, Juliette realized how raw her voice sounded. A faint ache pulsed at her temples, but she refused to look away. Her gaze held steady, fixed on the man standing before herthe man she had loved for eight years. Maxwell met her eyes, his sharply defined mouth twitching with a hint of a smirk. "You're this upsetdid someone treat you badly out there?" he asked, his tone casual, almost indifferent. He lifted a hand and gently tucked a damp strand of hair behind her ear. "Amelia is your sister," Maxwell continued. "She's just staying here for a while. What more do you want me to explain, Mrs. Hawke?" Of course. Amelia was her sister. If their grandfather's marriage contract hadn't spelled out her name, the one marrying Maxwell back then would have been Amelia. In the end, she was the cuckoo in the nest, occupying someone else's place. What right did she have to stand here acting outraged? Her mouth curved in a bitter, humorless smile. Suddenly, all of this felt pointless. She'd been married to Maxwell for exactly a year, and the whole thing felt like an elaborate joke. His heart had always belonged to Amelia. No matter when, no matter whereone call from Amelia and he came running. Even in bed, he could pull away at any moment. And she was always the clown, the one left behind. Before, she'd managed to deceive herself, pretend not to see. But now that he'd brought the woman right into their home, if she kept acting blind, she might as well be deaf and sightless for real. She brushed his hand away from her face. "Maxwell, let's get a divorce," she said. "I'll talk to Grandfather. You" "Divorce?" His eyes hardened. "It rained hard tonight. Amelia had too much to drink at a work dinner. I brought her back on my way. That's all this is, and you" Only now did he start to explain. She didn't want to hear it anymore. She almost laughed. So he did know the rain was heavy. Even if he'd been busy before, he was home now. He had time to fuss over Amelia, but not a spare moment to wonder where his wife was. She walked right past him and went straight to the bedroom. In her ears, the doctor's words still seemed to echo. "Congratulations, Ms. Westbrook. You're one month pregnant. The baby looks very healthy." The joy she'd felt when she first heard that... now seemed as sharp and mocking as a slap. The test report was still in her bag, yet she no longer saw any point in taking it out. She showered quickly, dried her hair. Outside, the house lay in dead silence. Maxwell was probably still downstairs with Amelia. She couldn't be bothered to care. Tomorrow she would find someone to draft the divorce agreement. She'd had enough of being Mrs. Hawke. In the morning, the sound of the door opening woke her. Through the blur of sleep, she saw Maxwell walk in with a glass of milk in his hand. She glanced at the clock: seven-thirty. Usually he would already be on his way to the office by now. "Since you're awake, get up and drink the milk. We need to talk," Maxwell said as he sat down on the edge of the bed, setting the glass on the nightstand. His voice was calm, but there was no mistaking the command in it. Juliette didn't so much as glance at the milk. As for talkingyes, that seemed unavoidable now. "I'll be ready in a minute. Go downstairs and wait for me," she replied, her tone composed. Maxwell checked his watch before adding, "Don't forget to drink the milk. Ava just warmed it up for you. She put in a little sugar, the way you like." The remark stung, sharper than before. Juliette wondered, not for the first time, how anyone could be as unfathomable as Maxwell Hawke. He hadn't cared that she'd been standing in the rain last night, yet he remembered she liked a cup of hot milk every morning, lightly sweetened. Once, those details might have moved her. Now... She picked up the milk and poured it into the toilet. When she came downstairs, Maxwell was alone at the dining table. Amelia was already gone. He was on the phone. She couldn't hear the other side, only saw the faint pinch of his brows before he answered, "I'll be there soon." "You have something you need to do today?" she asked. "Amelia rear-ended someone. I'm going to" "She rear-ended someone. There are traffic cops and an insurance company. Do you really need to show up in person?" she cut in. She didn't want to drag this out any longer. She just wanted the divorce settled so she could get out of this marriage. "I'm heading to the office anyway. It's on the way," Maxwell said. He glanced at her and added, "About yesterday" "If you're busy, go deal with it," Juliette said flatly. "I'll have someone draw up the divorce papers. I won't take a cent of the Hawke family's assets. All I want is the house in Hillview Estate." She'd only gotten that house back from the Westbrook family after the wedding. Technically it counted as marital property now, but it was the only thing her mother had ever given her. She meant to reclaim it. When she'd married into the Hawke family, she'd brought nothing with her. Her father, on the other hand, had demanded a sky-high bride price of five hundred million dollars from the Hawkes. From the start, this marriage had been a bargain for the Westbrooks. Now that she wanted out, the thought of clawing back any more of the Hawke family's wealth hadn't even crossed her mind. "Juliette, about the divorce" His phone chimed again, cutting him off. She glanced at the screen. The name "Amelia" flashed bright and intrusive. "Your little sweetheart's calling. You should answer," she said. "Juliette, there's no need to be this vicious. Between me and Amelia" The screen went dark, then lit up againanother call. Annoyance flickered over Maxwell's face. He grabbed the phone and stood. "We'll talk when I get back," he said. Chapter 2 A Gift Juliette had no intention of waiting around for Maxwell to come home. After finishing a simple breakfast, Juliette set a meeting time with Isabella Bradford and headed directly to Bradford & Claude. Isabella was already waiting for her. As soon as they sat down together on the reception room couch, Isabella leaned in, anxiety etched on her face. "Julie, have you really thought this through? Are you sure you want a divorce? What did Maxwell say? I remember when you two first got married..." Juliette cut her off gently. "I need your help drafting a divorce agreement. I don't want any of the Hawke family's assets. It'll make everything much easier." This marriage to Maxwell had always been little more than a promise made between their elders. No matter how many years she had loved him in secret, that feeling alone could never serve as the foundation for a marriage. She realized now she should have understood that long ago. Isabella's eyes widened in disbelief. "Julie, have you lost your mind? If you're set on divorcing him, I'll support you as your friend. But walking away with nothing?" Isabella's voice rose, frustration clear. "Is that bastard Maxwell really trying to move his mistress into your house and threatening you? Does he even know what shame is?" She shook her head, anger building. "He's the one stepping out, tangling himself up with another woman, so why should you be the one leaving empty-handed? If you ask me, you ought to drag this out. Legally, you're still Mrs. Hawke. If he wants to replace you with his mistress, he'll have to make some real concessions." "It's not him," Juliette said quietly. "I'm the one who wants out. Bella, I'm pregnant. I can't let my child be born into that kind of environment." She'd seen with her own eyes how meticulously, how tenderly Maxwell cared for Amelia, every small need anticipated. She couldn't let her own child come into the world only to watch a father who was constantly in gossip columns, a mother too powerless to do anything, and some brazen third party marching into their home. She had lived that life herself for sixteen years. She knew exactly how hard it was to endure, and she couldn't bear the thought of her baby repeating her story. If those were the choices, then better for the child to grow up without a father like Maxwell. She could raise the baby well on her own. "What?" Isabella's voice shot up. "You really are out of your mind. Your grandfather-in-law has been desperate for a first grandson. Now that you're pregnant, do you know what a bargaining chip that is? Listen to me: don't even mention divorce. Go straight to Frank. Let him step in and kick Amelia out of Hawke Group. Wouldn't that solve everything?" As she talked, Isabella grabbed Juliette's arm in agitation. They moved in the same circles; everyone knew Frank's obsession with having a grandchild. Her own grandfather had played cards with him often, and more than once had heard him asking around for fertility remedies. Now Juliette was carrying the Hawke family's first grandchild. With a card like that in her hand, how could things have come to the point of divorce? "And what happens after you get rid of Amelia this time? "He doesn't love me. Even if I use a child to chain him to this family, how long could that possibly last? "Bella, I've made up my mind. I have to divorce him this time," Juliette said firmly. She knew all too well that love couldn't be forced. She had worn the title of Mrs. Hawke for a full year, yet she could count on one hand the number of times Maxwell had actually come home. Even if things played out exactly as Isabella imaginedeven if Amelia was thrown outthen what? Would she be left with a husband who only existed in name, sharing a house and a bed but living completely separate lives? That kind of marriage would be a disaster, not just for her, but for the baby as well. Isabella never quite saw eye to eye with her. They went back and forth for what felt like ages, neither willing to give in. Before they realized it, lunchtime had arrived. On the ground floor of the Bradford & Claude building, there was a cozy, home-style restaurant that had a good reputation. Since Juliette had no plans for the afternoon, she decided to stay and have lunch with Isabella. As soon as they settled into a private dining room and placed their order, Isabella's thoughts returned to the subject at hand, her determination to change Juliette's mind as strong as ever. She couldn't shake the sense that this divorce would be anything but straightforward. Setting aside whether the Hawke family would ever agree, there was also Juliette's own father to consider. Mr. Westbrook was still counting on his daughter to secure some advantage from the Hawkes. If he ever discovered what Juliette intended, there was no doubt she'd be facing a world of trouble. But before Isabella could say any of that out loud, her expression froze. Her eyes flicked down toward the floor in shocked disbelief. Juliette looked down as well. She saw a familiar Bentley pull up in front of the restaurant. Maxwell got out first, then casually opened the front passenger door. Amelia stepped down in a white sundress. They were talking about something. Maxwell looked as impassive as ever, but Amelia's smile was all bright eyes and curved brows. At that sight, Isabella was the first to lose her temper. "Do those two shameless dogs ever come up for air? Do they really have to be glued together like this? "Isn't it enough that they're together all day at work? They have to sneak off for a private lunch too? No way, I'm done. I'm going down there right now to ask that Jin bastard if he still remembers who the real Mrs. Hawke is." "Don't bother. We'll be divorced soon anyway," Juliette said. This wasn't the first time she'd seen a scene like that. Even if they hadn't run into them here today, those two would be wrapped up in each other somewhere else. She couldn't be bothered to make a fuss about it anymore. After a brief silence, Isabella finally swallowed whatever lecture she'd been about to give. She just reached over and patted Juliette's shoulder. "Do whatever you feel you need to do. If you need help, you come to me. Your girls will always have your back." Maxwell and Amelia disappeared into some private room; by the time Juliette and Isabella left, they didn't see them again. Juliette spent the entire afternoon at Bradford & Claude Law Firm. By the time Isabella finished drafting the divorce agreement and Juliette made it back to Jubilee Garden, two hours had passed. The Bentley they'd seen parked outside the restaurant that afternoon was now sitting in the garage. Maxwell was home. The realization made her pause for a second, but she quickly recovered. This was actually perfect. They could talk about the divorce right away. When Juliette walked in, Maxwell was on the couch, fingers flying over his laptop keyboard. Sunlight spilled through the windows onto his profile, laying a wash of gold over a face that so often held a hint of gloom. It made his already striking features even harder to ignore. Juliette gave him a brief glance, then let her gaze slide away to the shopping bags beside him. The logo on the bags was instantly recognizableit was from the private restaurant she and Isabella had eaten at that day. Sensing her eyes on him, the man lifted his lids and said casually, "I know you like their food. I made a point of getting some takeout for you on my way back." Her lips twitched, and for a moment she almost laughed. Made a point of getting it for her? If she hadn't happened to see him and Amelia at the restaurant today, she might actually have believed that. She hadn't intended to engage, but the logo on those bags kept conjuring up the image of him in the sunlight, holding the car door open for Amelia. She said, "You're really generous, Mr. Hawke. Whatever's left over from your little date with your mistress, and you suddenly remember you've got a Mrs. Hawke at home." She watched his brows knot tightly at that, but before he could deny it, she tossed the folder in her hand onto the coffee table in front of him. "As it happens, I've got something for you too, Mr. Hawke. Why don't you take a look." Chapter 3 Strange Positon Under the soft amber light of the afternoon, the five bold characters on the pageDivorce Agreementwere blindingly clear. Juliette sat down on the sofa opposite him. Watching the man across from her, his expression shifting from dark to unreadable, she urged him without haste, "If there's no problem, Mr. Hawke, please sign. I've given up my place as lady of the house. Your little sweetheart can finally hold her head high. Everyone gets what they want. No reason for you to hesitate, right?" When Maxwell still didn't move, Juliette picked up a pen herself and held it out to him. He caught her wrist instead, twisting her hand down flat against the table. Leaning over the coffee table toward her, he said, "Mrs. Hawke, when did I ever say I agreed to a divorce?" With their faces suddenly so close, Juliette could see herself reflected in his eyes. Sharp and clearso clear she could make out the unshakable resolve in her own pupils. "Why don't you read through the agreement first," Juliette said, her tone measured. "I promise it's all benefit and no harm to you. You're a businessmanyou should recognize a good deal when you see one. All it takes is your signature..." Maxwell interrupted her, his voice calm and unyielding. "Juliette, I have never agreed to a divorce." He released her wrist, let out a short, cold laugh, and pushed the divorce papers back toward her across the table. "Walking away with nothingdo you feel noble, Mrs. Hawke? Like some kind of saint? Too bad for youI've never had any intention of divorcing you. So whatever cards you think you're playing are worthless to me." Without waiting for her response, he raised his voice toward the kitchen. "Ava, could you warm up these dishes and bring them in for Mrs. Hawke?" The divorce agreement Juliette had carried all the way home now sat in front of her again. Staring at the stark legal print, she pressed on, her voice steady. "If you're not satisfied with this agreement, your legal team can draft another. As long as I get the house at Hillview Manor, you can keep everything else." In their world, every high-society divorce split the assets right down the middle. She honestly thought she was being more than fair. She was willing to give up her place to his mistress and walk away without a dime. If Maxwell still refused, then there was really no justifying it. Maxwell looked at her with a cool detachment. "It seems you still don't get it, Mrs. Hawke. I don't want a divorce. No matter what terms you offer, my answer stays the same." He spoke as if explaining something obvious to a stubborn child. Maybe he really thought she couldn't understand plain English. This time, without another word, he picked up the divorce agreement and, while she watched, tore it into pieces. The scraps fluttered down in front of her, swirling like a sudden snowfall across the table. A tight breath caught in Juliette's chest, lodged halfway, refusing to move. Ava came over quietly and cleared away the takeout containers, trying not to intrude on the tension. Juliette tried again, her voice caught between frustration and disbelief. "Maxwell, you were reluctant from the very beginningeven late to our own wedding. Now I'm letting you gohow isn't that a good thing? Why won't you agree?" She hadn't wanted to dredge up the past, but with them locked in this stalemate, it felt necessary to remind him: they had never been a loving, affectionate couple. Maxwell didn't answer right away. Instead, he reached into his inner jacket pocket and pulled out a small red velvet box, setting it in front of her. "I noticed this morning you'd taken off your wedding ring. That style's a little old-fashioned. Heretry this one." Wedding ring... He opened the velvet lid. The diamond nearly the size of her fingernail caught the light so hard it almost made her eyes water. For a second she thought she could see her own startled expression mirrored inside that stone. Since the day she married Maxwell, she had never once taken off her ring. But last night in the shower, she'd set it on the bathroom counter without thinking. He had brought her milk in the morning, stepping into the bedroom. He must have noticed then. Juliette sat a little numb as he reached for her left hand and slid the new ring onto her ring finger. The metal was cold. The band fit perfectly, snug against her skin without a sliver of space. A thin, sour ache rose in her chest as she remembered their wedding. Before the ceremony they hadn't even met face-to-face. And yet the ring he'd personally prepared had slipped onto her hand as if it were made for her. For a moment back then, she had almost believed he cared. But the truth was, as the current head of the Hawkesthe richest family in the capitalif he wanted to know a woman's measurements, he didn't have to give it a moment's thought. All he had to do was tell someone to find out. Just like now... She smiled, her expression cool. "What a perfectly fitted ring. Mr. Hawke, are you getting sentimental about your own grand gesture again? The problem is, I didn't like diamonds." Juliette slid the still-chilly ring from her finger and flicked it back toward him. "Whatever your excuse for stalling, I was going through with this divorce. Stop wasting your time on me, Mr. Hawke." The ring struck his chest with a dull thump, then skittered to the hardwood with a soft clatter. Juliette stepped forward, meaning to brush past him and leave, but he moved fast. Maxwell's long arm hooked around her waist, and he hauled her back as if she weighed nothing. She slammed into his chest. The deep, woodsy bite of his cologne surged into her lungs, sharp enough to make her head swim. "Maxwell" Juliette started, but he dipped his head and swallowed the rest of her words. He bent over her, captured her mouth, and drove her backward onto the sofa. Panic hit like a wave. The air felt thin. Tears burned at the corners of her eyes. Wide-eyed and stunned, Juliette could only stare up at him. They had been married for a year. Besides two or three perfunctory nights in bed, they had barely touched. Their first time hadn't even happened until a month after the weddingand even then, only because his grandfather had stepped in. The truth was simple: Maxwell had never kissed her because he wanted to. So this kissimpatient, almost brutalknocked the ground out from under her. Heat flushed up her cheeks, her eyes stinging as she fought him. She wrenched one hand free and, without thinking, swung hard at his face. The crack of the slap tore through the room and snapped whatever feverish haze had been building between them. Juliette's voice came out raw. "If you were that desperate, you should've gone to your little mistress," she said. "Why were you losing your mind on me?" Even with all that bite, the second her gaze met hiswolfish eyes, gleaming with something darkher resolve wavered. She folded in on herself, hugged her knees tight, and scooted deeper into the corner of the sofa. Maxwell didn't stand. Instead, he sat beside her, close enough to steal her breath, and lifted a large hand to comb gently through her hair. "Julie," he said quietly, "stop saying things I didn't want to hear." Didn't want to hear them? Juliette couldn't have made it make sense if she tried. She slapped his hand away and drew in a sharp breath to fire backwhen a sudden, shrill ringtone cut through the room. Juliette blinked and watched him pull out his phone, the screen flaring to life. The name flashing there was one she knew far too well. Maxwell answered, and Juliette tipped her chin, voice dry as sand. "Something came up at the office again?" "Yeah. There was something I needed to handle," Maxwell replied, almost automatically. Juliette nodded once. "Then you'd better go, Mr. Hawke," she said. "And make sure you brought me back a nephew." She paused, and a soft, humorless laugh slipped out. "Nolisten to me. I couldn't even keep the family tree straight." Her eyes stayed on him as she spoke, steady now, cruel in its clarity. "But seriouslyif my sister and my husband had a baby together, what was I supposed to call that kid?" Juliette asked. "My son... or my nephew?" Chapter 4 The Rason to Give Away Rings Steam curled up from the dishes on the table, blurring the air in thin white threads. The diamond ring Juliette had tossed away had been fished out of the trash by Ava. Now it sat in front of her again, beside the neatly packed food, as if it had never left. Juliette stared at it without moving. Ava, standing close at her shoulder, let out a tired sigh. "Ma'am," she said gently, "look at how much Mr. Hawke cared about you. That was a big diamondworth a small fortune, I'm sure." Ava nudged the container with her fingertips, as if coaxing Juliette back into ordinary life. "He was so busy, and he still remembered to pack dinner for you," she went on, her tone turning wry. "Not like my husband. He spent all day playing cards and never once thought to ask how I was doing." She lowered her voice, almost pleading. "The kind of fate that put a husband and wife together was rare to begin with. You couldn't let one little thingone moment of temperpush you into doing something you'd regret." A moment of temper. Bitterness rose, faint but sharp, in Juliette's chest. To be fair, Maxwell didn't treat her... badly. At least compared with couples locked into business marriages who lived like polite strangers, Maxwell could almost be called considerate. Considerate enough, apparently, that even the housekeeper had started to believe Juliette was the one making a scene. Juliette drew a breath, ready to answer, when the phone on the table buzzed. The name glowing on the screen made her feel oddly unsteady, like the floor had shifted by half an inch. Ameliaher younger sister. Most of the time, if Amelia called anyone, she called Maxwell. Reaching out to Juliette directly was rare. Juliette didn't want to get dragged into it. She tapped decline. The screen went darkand lit up again almost immediately. This time, it wasn't a call. It was a text from Amelia. [Juliette, were you fighting with my brother-in-law because of me?] [I could explain what had happened yesterday. It really was just a business dinner with him. I'd had too much to drink, and he only brought me back because he was worried.] [You'd been protected and sheltered since you were little. You didn't understand work, and you didn't see how much this deal mattered to the company. Of course you were going to get upset over something like that.] [He'd been swamped lately. Could you not choose now to throw a princess tantrum? That diamond ring today was supposed to be my quarterly bonus from the company. I asked him to bring it home so he could use it to make things up to you. For the ring's sake, could you stop stirring up trouble?] The texts kept coming, stacked one on top of another until the screen looked crowded with excuses. Each new message made the phone tremble against the tabletop, the relentless buzzing drilling into Juliette's ears. She couldn't tell what was louderthe vibration skittering through the wood, or the heavy, muffled roar building inside her skull. Slowly, Juliette reached out and drew the ring toward her. Only then did she truly look at it. The diamond caught the light with a cold, practiced brilliancebeautiful in the way a knife could be beautiful. Maxwell had said it was meant to replace her wedding band, as though a different piece of jewelry could erase what had been done. Her original ringthe one she had taken off that morninghad been warm from her skin when she removed it. Inside the band, their names had been engraved, letter by letter, permanent by design. He had insisted on that detail back then. Almost stubbornly. As if carving their names into metal could force a vow to stay put. Now, staring at this new ring, she found only a single character etched on the inner band: "Westbrook." Not even a full name. Somehow that felt more mocking than if it had been left blank. The dinner had been packed up after he'd eaten with Amelia, and even the ringher supposed wedding ringhad originally been a reward for Amelia. No wonder... No wonder she'd taken off her ring that morning and by afternoon he had a new one ready. There'd been one on hand already. As for how he knew her sizebetter to say it was actually Amelia's size. She and Amelia, from their figures down to the size of their hands, were almost exactly the same. She suddenly thought of all the dresses that had been sent over to her this past year at Maxwell's request. Every one of them fit perfectly, just like this ring, and all of them, she now realized, were quietly reminding her that she was picking up what Amelia didn't want. A dry retch tore out of her. She should have seen it earlier. Maxwell didn't love her. There had never been that much warmth in this marriage; it was just her own wishful retouching. Now that the curtain had finally been pulled back, beneath the heart-gouging pain lay the truth of their marriage. "Ma'am, are you all right? Should I call the family doctor?" Ava asked, worried. "No." Juliette refused at once. He could not find out she was pregnant. Otherwise the news would end up with Frank Hawke and then with her father, and that would make this marriage even harder to leave. Her phone lit up on the table again. Amelia was still messaging, still telling her to stop throwing a tantrum. Juliette blocked her outright. Then she picked up the diamond ring, snapped a photo, and sent it to Isabella, asking her to have it consigned for sale. Just having it in front of her made her sick. After the divorce, she would need cash for more than pride. There would be attorneys, a new place to live, a life rebuilt from the ground up. And after monthsyearsof swallowing her disgust at Amelia, Juliette decided she had earned the right to take something back. Isabella answered almost at once. [Juliette, this isn't an ordinary ring. If I went by my experience, I'd put it at no less than $100 million.] A second message followed before Juliette could even blink. [But jewelry lost value faster than almost anything. If there's engraving inside, you'd be lucky to get thirty percent. Are you sure you want to sell it?] Thirty percent. Even stripped down to a fraction, that still came to $30 million. The number landed with a clean, satisfying weight in her mind. Juliette typed a single word and sent it off without hesitation. Sell. Then she walked into the bedroom and yanked open the closet like she meant to expose it. Over the years, boxes had arrived under Maxwell's namegifts that were supposed to prove something, or patch something, or purchase silence. She pulled the pieces out one by one, laid them out, and snapped photos, sending each image to Isabella so she could deal with the lot. Maybe she had been lying to herself on purpose before, because it had been easier to pretend. Only now, with the fabric in her hands and the tags still stiff against the seams, did the truth sit up and stare at her: None of it looked like her. Everything was lavish, dripping with diamonds and gemstones, trimmed and studded until it glittered like armor. The cuts were overly precious, the details fussy, the silhouettes theatricalsome of them so exaggerated they might as well have been princess gowns from a display window. But Juliette had never been the kind of woman who wanted to sparkle. She had once told herself his spending had been meant for the Hawke family's lady of the housean image, a role, a requirement. Yet standing there, surrounded by all that glittering excess, she understood something she hadn't wanted to name: the taste behind these choices belonged to someone else. She folded the garments with brisk, unsentimental precision. The ring went in as well. One by one, she sealed everything into boxes, planning to ship them straight to Isabella. Ava hovered at the doorway, wringing her hands. "Ma'am," she said, her voice tight with worry, "what were you doing? Weren't all these things from Mr. Hawke?" Juliette's mouth twitchednot quite a smile, not quite a grimace. She turned her head and looked at Ava as if she were testing whether the older woman could bear the answer. "Ava," Juliette said evenly, "had you ever heard of a company where the boss gave his secretary a diamond ring as a quarterly bonus?" Ava went still. Everyone knew what a ring meant. A diamond ring made the message unmistakableloud, shameless, and impossible to misread. There really was no point in continuing this marriage with Maxwell. Ava was struck speechless. After a long moment, she still hadn't thought of what to say when Juliette added, "Ava, just pretend you didn't see anything that happened today." She reprinted a copy of the divorce agreement and waited up. By the time the clock hit ten that night, Maxwell still hadn't come home. It wasn't unusual for him not to come back. She still remembered their wedding night. On the very night they were married, he'd been called away by a single phone call from Amelia. When he finally returned, a full week had passed. Back then, she'd still been happy about marrying the man she loved. She'd believed that if she played her role as Mrs. Hawke well enough, she could bring him back to the family. But after a year of watching him and Amelia in that endless, half-cut bond, she'd come to see that her original hope had been childishly ridiculous. Three days in a row, he didn't return to Jubilee Garden. She assumed he would stay away again tonight, but at eight o'clock, the sound of an engine broke through the rain outside. The man pushed open the door. When she saw him, his suit jacket was slung carelessly over his shoulder, his dress shirt askew. The face that was usually cold looked even frostier now, his eyes edged with something almost vicious. The heavy reek of alcohol smothered the dark, woody scent he normally carried. She arched a brow, surprise slipping out before she could stop it. "What are you doing back?" So late, with the rain coming downshouldn't he be curled up somewhere with Amelia, warm and cozy, like that other night? What she got in response was a low, derisive laugh. "The wedding ring I gave my wife turned up at an auction today," he said. "Tell me, Mrs. Hawkedo you think I should have come back or not?" Chapter 5 Why Bother with Work? The air was thick with damp, a heavy, clinging humidity. The man closed in on her step by step. He hadn't changed his shoes; the soles, wet from the rain, left dark, spreading patches on the carpet with every stride. Each step seemed to carry a crushing weight. Juliette went still when she heard the bite in his voice. For a heartbeat, she didn't even breathe. Then she lifted her chin and answered him, calm enough to be cruel. "I didn't want it," she said, letting each word land. "So I got rid of it myself. Why were you so furious, Mr. Hawke?" Her eyes didn't leave his. "Or did that ring mean something... special?" The fact that he kept calling it a wedding ring sat in her mouth like a bad joke. Her next words came out sharp, almost elegant in their malice. A reward meant for Amelia dressed up as a symbol of marriageridiculous didn't even begin to cover it. Maxwell's jaw tightened. "If you didn't like it, you could've put it away," he said, voice low. "The Hawke family wasn't going to let Mrs. Hawke end up so broke she had to auction off her wedding ring." He paused, and when he spoke again, the softness was gone. "But was it really just that you didn't like it?" His gaze pinned her in place. "Juliettewhat were you doing?" She heard what he didn't say. In his mind, selling it wasn't about money; it was about making him look foolish. About dragging his name into a room full of strangers and letting them bid on it. Even Juliette had been caught off guard when Isabella actually sent it to an auction house. Still, she let out a quiet laugh, light as a match strike. "A wedding ring?" Juliette asked. "If you hadn't called it that, who would've known what it was supposed to be?" She had never been vague about what she wanted. Not once. The divorce papers had been waiting on the living room coffee table like a verdictneat, still, unavoidable. Juliette reached forward and slid them across the wood toward him, not hurried, not pleading. Just done. She didn't even get the first word out before Maxwell looked away, as if the pages burned. "There's nothing to talk about," he said. "You can throw a tantrum. You can ask for something else. But divorce was impossible." Impossible. The word hit her as strange as it was blunt. Or maybe the real shock was simpler: after all this time, she still didn't understand what he thought he was holding onto. "Anything else?" Juliette repeated, her voice steady. "As long as it wasn't divorce," Maxwell said. He stood by the sofa, tall and immovable, his shadow swallowing the edge of the room. His eyes were darkclouded, unreadablelike his thoughts were locked behind fog. Juliette looked up at him without flinching. When she spoke, it was measured, almost clinical. "Then what if I wanted Amelia's current position?" "No." The refusal came so fast it sounded practiced. Juliette expected it. Even so, the answer left a bitter aftertaste. She leaned back slightly, as if giving the truth room to breathe. "Did you forget," she said, "that I fought my way through round after round to earn that position on my own? And because you said one word, Amelia got to" "Juliette," Maxwell cut in, impatience edging his tone, "you were already Mrs. Hawke. Wasn't that enough? You had money to spend, a comfortable life to live. Why were you competing with Amelia over a secretary job?" There it wassaid to her face, clean and dismissive: stay pretty, stay quiet, enjoy the comfort I allowed you. And behind her back, God knew what he and Amelia laughed about when her name came uphow useless she was, how easily she could be managed. Even though more than a year had passed, the memory still sent a dull ache through her chest. Her grandfather had died. Her father had seized the Blake family's assets, changed the company's name to Westbrook, and even her motherno one knew where they had locked her away. She had given up her dream of attending a conservatory, chosen to work and study at the same time, and fought her way into a business school instead. After graduation, she had battled her way through one competitive round after another to win the job as the CEO's secretary at Hawke Group. She had idolized Maxwell. She had always wanted to follow him, to learn from him. Even if there was only a one-in-ten-thousand chance, she wanted to reclaim her grandfather's life's work. On the day she walked in brimming with hope, she was told she'd been dismissed. The CEO had personally chosen his own secretaryan old classmate from his university days. Amelia. All of her effort, all the strength she'd spent trying to move just a little closer to him, had turned into a farce. Back then he'd brushed it off with one airy line: "Ms Westbrook, we're getting engaged soon. You just need to live in comfort." Marriage, a life of leisurenone of it had been anything more than one move in his long game with Amelia. The memories were anything but pleasant. Juliette had thought that after so long she would be numb. Yet tears still slipped down her cheeks. Juliette dipped her head fast, refusing to let Maxwell witness her like thiseyes wet, throat tight, dignity slipping through her fingers. Maxwell lowered himself in front of her in one smooth motion, settling into a crouch. He reached for the tissue box, pulled one free, and held it out as if the gesture could fix what his words kept breaking. His voice stayed rigid, almost formal. "The secretary's job wasn't as simple as you imagined. There was no reason for Mrs. Hawke to push herself that hard." Juliette didn't take the tissue right away. She stared past it, past him, then finally spoke, her tone steady in spite of the sting behind it. "Being Mrs. Hawke was exhausting, too. You told me I could make demands." She lifted her eyes to his. "Give me Amelia's position, and I wouldn't divorce you." He remained half-crouched at her knees, forced to tilt his face upward to meet her gaze. In his eyes, she caught the small, clear reflection of herself. For a heartbeat, it fooled hermade her believe she was the only thing he saw. Then his voice shattered it. "Don't start this," Maxwell said, impatience threading through the restraint. "Amelia hadn't made mistakes at work. I wasn't going to" "Mr. Hawke," Juliette cut in, crisp as a blade, "you were suddenly so fair and impartial." Her mouth curved, sharp and bitter. "So what was I, back then, when you threw me out like I didn't matter?" It wasn't the position she truly wanted. She hadn't wavered on the divorcenot once. She didn't want a thread left tying her to Maxwell, or to the Hawke family, or to any version of herself that kept waiting for him to choose her. She only wanted to make him feel it. Before, she had fed herself hope the way people swallowed medicine: trusting it would help because she needed it to. If the words came from Maxwell's mouth, no matter how thin or ridiculous, she would smooth them over in her mind until they sounded like something she could live with. Now the sheen was gone. What remained was exposed and ugly and honest, the kind of truth that bled when you touched it. Juliette's voice didn't rise, but it sharpened. "Next you were going to tell me that if it weren't for that marriage contract, the title of Mrs. Hawke would've belonged to Ameliaand that I stole her place." Her eyes didn't blink. "If that was what you believed, then fine. I was willing to hand it back." She leaned slightly forward. "So why wouldn't you agree?" Her slender fingers came down on the divorce paperstap, tap, taplight and rhythmic, like a quiet countdown he couldn't stop. Her throat roughened as she spoke. She wasn't sure if it was from the two tears she'd refused to shed in front of him, or the bite of a cold that had been creeping up on her all day. Maxwell watched her in silence. She was still bright, still beautiful, still carrying that trace of pride that made her seem untouchable. Her eyes cut with irony; even with the corners reddened and the faint tracks of drying tears, she looked less broken than sharpenedarrogance intact, defiance undimmed. At last, Maxwell straightened, rising back to his full height as if distance could restore control. His voice was flat when he spoke. "It was late," he said. "Go to bed." He clearly didn't want to continue the conversation. He turned and walked out to the balcony. She heard the click of his lighter opening and closing, and a faint smoke smell seeped into the living room. The blank signature lines on the divorce papers on the table seemed to mock her helplessness. Her grandfather's life work had been taken. Her mother's whereabouts were a blank. The position she had finally won had been handed to someone else. She had no career, and she couldn't even keep her husband. She felt like a complete joke. She suddenly wanted a drink. She might have been tempted to numb herself with a drink, if only to quiet the noise in her head. But she didn't even have that escape anymore. There was a baby growing inside her, and every careless choice suddenly felt like a debt she couldn't afford. Right then, Isabella's name flashed across her screen. Juliette answered, and Isabella's voice came flying through the speaker, bright with triumph. "Julie," Isabella said, practically laughing, "I did something today that was so satisfying I'm still riding the high." Juliette didn't speak, but Isabella barreled on anyway. "That wedding ring of yours? I marched it straight into an auction house and made sure it went up right in front of those two dogs." Isabella's delight sharpened. "You should've seen Maxwell. His face went dead-darklike he'd swallowed smoke. He dropped a hundred million dollars just to drag it back into his own hands." She paused for effect, then crowed, "So? No depreciation. And it got under that cheating pair's skin, too. Tell me you didn't feel better." Isabella didn't wait for an answer. Her tone turned sly, already plotting. "But seriouslydid he ever actually give you that ring? Because if he didn't, I could put it back on the block and squeeze him again." Her words came quick, confident, like she was explaining a simple rule of physics. "Men like him lived for appearances. There was no way he'd let Mrs. Hawke's wedding ring end up on some stranger's hand. Trust meif we did it again, he'd buy it again." Juliette's fingers tightened around her phone. Her voice, when it came, was even. "He didn't give it to me," she said. She swiped absently, more out of habit than intentionand her thumb landed on Amelia's social feed. There, in a glossy photo, Amelia held up her left hand as if the gesture were effortless, natural. The diamond caught the light and flaredhuge, unmistakablesitting on the ring finger like it had always belonged there. The fit was flawless: snug, exact, almost intimate in its precision. Chapter 6 Divorce? On the phone, Isabella's voice went on and on, but whatever she was saying had already blurred into nothing for Juliette. Her gaze felt glued to the photo on her social feed. Even the hand holding her phone had begun to tremble. She had known, in her head, that this ring wasn't hers. But seeing it on someone else's hand, seeing it for real, still cut sharp and bitter. Under the photo the likes kept ticking up, comments stacking one after another. Amelia seemed to be sitting guard over her phone; every remark got a quick, eager reply. Juliette stared at these peopleMaxwell's friends, business partners, and a string of usernames she'd never even heard of. To all of them, it seemed, Amelia had finally endured her way to a happy ending. The comments section was a clean sweep of congratulations. By contrast, she herselfthe legal wifelooked exactly like that vicious supporting character in a bad novel, stubbornly clinging to a stolen place she had no right to. Among all the congratulations, the comment from James Lockwood of the Lockwood family was especially eye-catching. He had written, blunt as daylight: "That woman still won't divorce Maxwell? Don't worry. I'll teach her a lesson she won't forget and make sure she packs up and leaves overnight." He was notorious in their circle as a spoiled little tyrant, always trailing after Maxwell, almost taking his every move as instruction. Juliette had only met him once, on her wedding day. In her memory, James always acted like he wanted to tilt his chin straight up to the skyturns out he knew how to play the charmer too. What she was genuinely curious about was how Mr. Lockwood planned to "teach a lesson" to Maxwell's still-un-divorced wife. Hopefully he'd make a big enough mess of it that Maxwell would simply sign the divorce papers and be done. It took only one night for Juliette to understand exactly what James meant to do. Preparing to leave the Jin house, she'd lined up several job interviews early that morning. Things had started out promising enough when she'd made the appointments. But at sunrise, calls began coming in one after another telling her not to bother showing up. A couple of places did let her get as far as reception, only to cut her off after a single glance and usher her back out the door without any explanation. Under the blazing sun, she trudged around all morning. The backs of her heels were rubbed raw and bloody, and still she couldn't find a single company willing to let her finish three sentences. There were two interviews left that afternoon that hadn't been canceled yet. Slim as the odds were, she still wanted to try. Once she left the Hawke family, she knew perfectly well the Westbrooks wouldn't give her a cent. She needed a jobsomething that could support her and the baby she was carrying. She grabbed a seat in a random coffee shop by the street. She had barely sat down when a shadow fell across the table. Juliette lifted her eyes a fraction and saw a guy standing there in an oversized T-shirt, a heavy silver chain hanging at his throat, a helmet tucked under one arm. The wind had wrecked his hair into a deliberately wild mess. He looked at her from a slant, as if even the angle of his gaze carried disdain. She gave a short, dry laugh. "What, Mr. Lockwood didn't trust the results, so you came in person to check?" As the words left her mouth, she caught the flicker of embarrassmentshock, evenon his face, and found it only funnier. The deed was already done. What was the point of pretending innocence now? James dropped onto the chair across from her. He didn't bother to deny it. His tone was stiff, awkward. "Since you know, then hurry up and divorce Maxwell. Give the Mrs. Hawke spot back to Amelia. Otherwise, I have plenty of ways to make sure you can't do a damn thing in this city." He lounged in his chair like the room belonged to him. One ankle rested over the opposite knee, one arm thrown across the table, his whole stance broadcasting a lazy, unbothered arrogancetry me written in the angle of his jaw. Back when Juliette had first married into the Hawke familyback when she still carried the fragile, foolish hope that this marriage could become something realshe had tried to learn Maxwell's world from the inside. She had wanted to meet his friends, to understand the people he laughed with, drank with, trusted. She'd told herself that if she could step into his circle and be seen there, she would finally be secure as Mrs. Hawke. Maxwell had refused every time. Not once had he let her in. And now, the first time she ...

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