Chapter 1

'Regina's in the hospital. She needs a blood transfusion. Come to Hagen General. Now.'

'Where are you? You are fifteen minutes late.'

'If you are unhappy about the price, it's been upped to one hundred thousand dollars. Check your bank account.'

'Darya Miller, I expect your presence at the hospital within the next twenty minutes. A deal's a deal.'

Darya scrolled through the messages with a sneer, her knuckles turning white.

Instead of texts from her husband, which these actually were, they sounded more like orders issued to an underling by a hard taskmaster.

Which summed up her relationship with Micah perfectly—her the subordinate, him the superior.

When he gave instructions, Micah Cavanaugh expected to be obeyed without question or delay.

The fact that Darya had already given blood three times in just as many weeks was a trifling detail he couldn't be bothered to remember.

Or care.

'Suck it up. A deal's a deal.'

She could almost hear him as if he were right there in the room, looking down his aquiline nose at her.

Darya shivered, rubbed her arms.

Dizziness, nausea and cold sweat were common symptoms after giving too much blood in too short a time.

She had to wear wide bell sleeves to prevent chafing of the bruises where they'd stuck the giant needle into the crook of her arm, repeatedly.

Micah didn't notice the bruises, of course.

In fact, he'd rarely, if ever, touched her when they were in the same room.

When he wasn't busy running his business empire, he spent his time by the side of another woman—Regina Fischer.

The exact nature of their relationship remained a cause for much speculation, but Darya never confronted Micah about it.

She was just the wife, after all.

A nominal one, at that.

Micah and Darya maintained separate bedrooms, exchanged perfunctory greetings when their paths crossed, and could go days without talking to each other.

When he did reach out, it was mostly for the sake of Regina.

Darya happened to share the same extremely rare blood type as Micah's alleged mistress—AB negative.

In fact, her blood was the only reason Micah agreed to marry her three years ago.

Regina needed a blood transfusion back then, just like she needed one right now.

Less than 1% of the country's population had AB-negative blood, and hospital blood banks were perpetually understocked.

'You want me to marry you?'

In the hospital corridor stinking of antiseptic and someone else's blood, Micah stared fixedly at the girl who dared to use Regina's medical condition to blackmail him.

Heart in mouth, Darya nodded.

'Fine, but only if you agree to become a blood donor for Regina, 24/7. If and when she needs it, you are to make yourself available, no questions asked, no backing out for any reason. Monetary compensation can be arranged.'

Darya had jumped at the offer, thinking it was the deal of a lifetime.

How naïve she had been.

She swiped away the latest message from her husband, no doubt another sternly worded reminder demanding her to hustle her ass down to Hagen General.

She tapped on her phone, brought up a photo.

It was a candid shot, sent anonymously.

Even sleeping, Micah looked incredibly, ridiculously handsome.

His face was carved by the loving hands of angels on a day they were feeling particularly generous.

His mouth, though thin-lipped, was exquisite and made for kissing—not that Darya ever had the occasion to taste it.

His eyes, the colour of flawless brown topaz, were piercing and commanded attention.

His long, thick lashes were the same raven black as his short hair, cut with military precision.

And he had a jawline most men were willing to go under the knife for.

Darya had fallen for him the moment she saw that face.

Her heart still did a nervous flutter every time she set eyes on him.

They didn't share a bed, but from the few times she caught him coming out of a shower, wearing just a towel wrapped loosely around his waist, she knew there was a powerfully built body hidden underneath that crisp shirt and meticulously buttoned-up suit jacket.

Just like the one he was wearing in the candid shot.

But that wasn't what caused Darya to stare at the photo for ten minutes straight.

It was Regina's head snuggled against Micah's broad shoulder.

He was reclining in a deep maroon armchair, his long legs spread out in front of him, hands folded neatly over his lap, eyes closed.

Regina appeared to be sleeping as well, though a corner of her mouth was curved upwards.

The smirk also gave away the identity of the anonymous sender.

Who else could it be but Regina?

It would also explain the smug, gloating tone in the message accompanying the photo.

'Look how well-matched they are! You should bow out. Prince Charming deserves to be with a real princess, not the chambermaid.'

Darya turned on the front-facing camera, checked out her reflection, decided that maybe, just maybe, Regina had a point.

She was by no means ugly, but persistent blood loss had drained her cheeks and lips of all colour.

Constant lack of sleep gave her the hollow-eyed, sallow-skinned look of a malnourished anaemic.

Was that why Micah never spared her a second glance?

Was Regina, of the bedroom eyes and bee-stung lips, his preferred type?

Darya touched Micah's face onscreen, finally made up her mind.

She had given herself three years to try to win his heart.

She knew he saw her as just a stranger who exploited an unfortunate situation.

Essentially, he'd married her under duress.

Which was why she swallowed her pride of which there was a considerable amount, packed away the memory of a privileged life, learned to play the role of a biddable wife and dutiful daughter-in-law.

She sucked up to his snobbish family, abased herself in front of his friends, did all the things the 'Housewife' magazine suggested.

She'd hoped he would eventually see that although her entry into his life had been abrupt and calculated, her feelings for him were genuine.

Still, he never warmed up to her.

---

Chapter 2: Divorce

In all three years, the number of times they'd had something resembling a friendly conversation could be counted on the fingers of one hand.

In contrast, Micah's texts requesting Darya to show up at the hospital, with sleeves rolled up and a vein picked out, had flooded her WhatsApp inbox.

Bit by bit, message by message, he'd chipped away at the wall she built around herself to shield her from the ugly, crushing reality—he didn't love her.

Never did, never would.

She saw their marriage as a way to share a life with the man she loved.

He probably saw it as a transaction.

'A deal's a deal,' he'd often say.

Regina's photo was the wrecking ball that finally brought the entire wall crumbling down.

Darya rose to her feet, closed her eyes to wait for the dizzy spell to pass, tried to ignore the dull ache in her heart.

She was normally a resolute sort.

Still, to write off three years of her life, to acknowledge they had been an abject failure, it was a bitter pill to swallow.

Darya's eyes were red-rimmed but remained dry.

She would not cry.

She stood there a moment, collecting her thoughts and emotions.

The front door of the house burst open.

Micah, tall and elegant in a charcoal grey suit, strode in on his long legs.

Annoyance flickered in his eyes when he saw her in the living room.

It intensified into fury when he noted the iPhone clutched in her hand.

'If your phone's working, why didn't you answer my texts or calls?'

Darya took in his expression, committed his striking features to memory.

This would probably be the last time they stood this close together.

Micah, a man of action, grabbed her wrist, started moving towards the door.

'You are needed at the hospital, pronto.'

'I know.' Darya dug in her heels, had to hold on to the sofa's headrest to prevent herself from being dragged off.

'Then why aren't you moving?' Micah blew out an impatient breath.

'I'll go to the hospital. I'll give blood. But there's one thing I need from you first.'

'Money? It's already been transferred into your account.' Micah thrust both hands into his pockets. 'Check it.'

'It's not about the money.'

'Then what is it? Get to the point. We are wasting time here.'

'I want a divorce.' Darya's icy tone matched his.

Carefully, she made her face blank, tried to hide the anguish in her voice.

Micah took a second, more careful look at his wife.

He knew his hearing worked fine, but he wasn't so sure of it for a brief moment.

Did she just ask for a divorce?

Wasn't she the one who coerced him into a marriage in the first place?

What changed?

He spoke his mind. 'I need an explanation.'

'I don't have one. If you want me to give blood to Regina, that's the condition.'

'That wasn't the deal we agreed on.'

'I know. I broke my word. Sue me.' She shrugged.

Surprise flitted across his face.

Micah had never seen his wife so…confrontational.

She appeared to be calm, but he'd detected what might be anger smouldering in her big, round, bloodshot eyes.

Yet, in his mind, there was no logical reason for her to be mad.

Things were what they had always been.

An idea popped into his head.

Could this be one of those mood swings women were famous for during their time of the month?

A friend once told Micah, likely from his personal experience, that there was simply no reasoning with a woman being visited by Aunt Flo.

Micah considered it politic to go along with her suggestion for now.

Maybe she would cool down in a couple of days and back-pedal, which would give him the upper hand in the negotiation of their new deal.

'Okay.' He nodded. 'Have you drawn up the papers?'

'Uh, no.' Darya hadn't expected him to agree to it so quickly.

But then, he had always been the decisive sort.

'I'll print out a sample divorce settlement agreement. We'll both sign it, mail it to Family Court. Since it's going to be a no-fault divorce, I assume it'll be approved by the court fairly quickly.'

He was already moving towards the winding staircase.

His study was located on the second floor.

In a daze, Darya waited for him to come back down with two printed copies of the agreement, then signed both.

As Micah put down his name on the dotted line, a vague feeling of unease niggled at the back of his mind.

But he pushed it aside.

'Done.' Micah slid one copy into a manila envelope, sealed it. 'I'll drop this off at the post office on the way to the hospital. Let's go.'

Darya stuffed the other copy into her purse, fought to keep down the lump rising at the back of her throat.

He'd made it seem so easy.

Had he been waiting a long time for this moment?

She followed him out of the house, into his Bugatti La Voiture Noire, stared out the window during the entire ride.

Micah glanced at her from time to time, rubbed at the tension between his brows, battled the urge to second-guess his decision to sign the divorce papers.

Was her impetuosity really triggered by PMS?

Would things really go back to normal after two days?

He hoped so.

Neither of them said a word until the car pulled up outside Hagen General.

Regina was sitting up in the single bed of the VIP private room Micah booked for her, looking fragile like a delicate flower.

A doctor in a white lab coat was sitting in a chair nearby, dozing off.

Regina's eyes lit up when she saw Micah enter the room, but her face fell as Darya stepped inside.

Darya didn't miss the flash of resentment in those beautiful, kohl-lined eyes.

'Micah, I told you, I'm fine.' Regina complained to him in a tone of familiar intimacy. 'You didn't have to bring Darya all the way here.'

She covered her mouth with a hand, coughed daintily.

'She's already here. Might as well be useful.' Micah turned to Darya. 'Roll up your sleeve.'

---

Chapter 3: Unmasked

Darya moved up to the bed, stood right in front of Regina.

The latter offered a weak smile. 'Darya, thank you for coming. I—Aah!'

She screeched out a pained cry as Darya ripped off the white gauze wrapped around her forehead.

'What are you doing?' Both Micah and Regina demanded in unison.

'Are you out of your mind?' Micah yanked Darya back before she could do more damage.

Regina recovered quickly.

Irritation morphed into bafflement as she worked some hurt into her voice. 'I…Darya, I don't understand. Why did you…?'

Darya held up the length of pristine white gauze. 'No blood.'

Micah knitted his brows.

Darya pointed to Regina's exposed forehead. 'No wound. Not even a scratch.'

She turned to Micah. 'You said she got into an accident, banged up her head pretty bad, lost a lot of blood.' She sneered. 'Must be invisible blood.'

Micah whirled towards the doctor. 'What's going on? You diagnosed head trauma, ordered a transfusion.'

Doctor Patel, as his nametag pinned above the left breast pocket indicated, slowly rose to his feet.

He was sweating visibly.

'I, ah, we simply…I simply did as instructed.'

'Who instructed you?' Micah dropped the volume of his voice, upped the intimidation level.

'You did, Mr Cavanaugh.' The doctor trained his eyes on the floor.

'When did I ask you to fake a diagnosis?'

Darya leaned against a wall, crossed her arms, watched the drama unfold with disinterest.

Micah caught amused derision in her fleeting smile.

He balled his hands into fists, stared a hole through the doctor's balding pate.

'Um, ah, uh, Miss Fischer said…'

'Speak up!' Micah bellowed.

'She told us you wanted the diagnosis to be severe so Miss Miller would have to give blood!' The doctor blurted.

He cast an apologetic glance at Regina. 'Sorry.'

'Micah, don't listen to him!' Regina sat up straighter, anxious. 'He's making this up!'

Micah raised an arm, palm out, a gesture for silence.

Regina shut up.

'Explain.' Micah looked pointedly at the doctor.

'Every time, before Miss Fischer comes to the hospital, she would give me a heads-up, make sure I know what, ah, what diagnosis to give, get our story straight. It's normally some kind of injury that would require a blood transfusion.'

'And you just went along with it.'

The doctor had the decency to look ashamed. 'She said she would have my job if I didn't fall in line.'

And, since Regina didn't actually need the blood, he could sell it off on the black market.

AB negative was as rare as it could get, pricier than gold.

He had been making a nice little pile of cash on the side, and thought it was a mutually beneficial arrangement, though, to be honest, he wasn't sure what benefit Miss Fischer was getting out of it.

'Micah.' Regina wrung her hands. 'I can explain.'

Since her fake wound was exposed, some colour had magically returned to her pale cheeks.

'To give you more time to cook up a plausible story,' Darya interjected, 'why don't I show him this? You might as well concoct something that explains both the fake wound and the photo.'

She tapped a few keys on her screen, looked up at Micah.

'I just sent you a photo, annotated.'

Micah stared at his own face onscreen.

The background of the candid shot looked familiar.

What was unfamiliar was Regina's face pressed up against his.

'Your company has a pretty decent tech department,' Darya said casually. 'You can probably get a couple of your people to verify if the photo's doctored, and to trace its sender.'

'Who sent you this?' Micah raised his head.

'That's for you to find out, and for her to explain.' Darya flashed Regina a feral smile. 'By the way, the deal I made with him has been revoked. You are gonna have to find someone else to suck blood from.'

She sauntered out of the ward, leaving the past three years of her life behind.

Doctor Patel seized the opportunity to slink off.

Micah gripped his phone.

The comment about Prince Charming and the chambermaid stung.

He'd never thought of Darya as a maid.

In fact, he'd never thought of her, period.

The snarky comment added to the sinking feeling in his stomach—Darya hadn't asked for the divorce on the spur of the moment.

The photo was probably the last straw.

She was really leaving him. Permanently.

A sharp pang stabbed at his heart.

He spun towards the door. 'Darya!'

Regina chose this moment to fall off the bed.

Her knees hit the vinyl floor with an audible thud.

She clutched at her chest. 'I…I don't feel so well.'

Micah paused, hesitated briefly, then turned back. 'What's wrong?'

'I...I feel faint.' Her face was scrunched up in pain. 'I think I'm going to pass out.'

'I'll go get the doctor.'

'No, don't leave me, please!' She gripped his arm, sobbed. 'I miss Lucian. I wish he were here.'

Micah froze.

His army buddy's final moments flashed across his mind.

Out of the corner of her eye, Regina caught the mournful look on Micah's face and hid a satisfied smile.

To make sure he stayed with her, she held her breath until she successfully passed out.

Darya stopped in front of the lift, pressed the call button, strained her ears, but heard no hurried footsteps coming down the hallway towards her.

She stretched her lips into a bitter smile.

The man she'd been married to for three years couldn't even take a moment to say goodbye.

She wondered if that was more of a reflection on his lack of sentimentality, or on her failure to etch out even a tiny corner of existence in his heart.

He'd probably already dismissed her from his mind and was on the hunt for the next blood donor.

Darya stepped into the lift.

The doors slid shut.

She came out into the underground carpark.

Micah's black Bugatti was parked in its reserved spot.

She walked past it without a backward glance, stopped in front of a Rolls Royce Phantom in Smokey Quartz, bowed her head.

---

Chapter 4: Big Brother

The rear left window of the Rolls Royce rolled down soundlessly.

Avery McAllister's handsome, dark-eyed face peered out.

'Get in.'

The door lock popped open.

Darya hunched her shoulders, climbed into the backseat obediently.

She laid her head on the lap of her big brother, and finally allowed the tears to come.

'There, there.' Avery stroked her back the way he might soothe a kitten.

At a nod from him, the chauffeur quietly started the car.

'I was so stupid,' Darya sobbed. 'So, so stupid. And blind.'

'We all make mistakes, honey. I knew you'd come to your senses eventually.'

Just didn't expect it would take three years, he thought.

Darya wiped her tears on her big brother's tailored trousers, straightened up. 'Thank you for coming to pick me up. I hope I didn't pull you out of an important meeting.'

As the oldest son of the McAllister family, Avery was currently serving as president of the family business.

The Paragon Group had its humble start in retail and, through four generations, gradually expanded to have a finger in every pie worth having.

It had offices in over twenty cities, six countries.

Avery cut short an acquisitions meeting this morning after he received a long-awaited text from his sister.

'Anything for my princess, Dolly.'

'Don't call me that,' she protested. 'It makes me sound like a three-year-old with a Barbie doll.'

'Which, at one point in time, you were.'

'That was like decades ago.'

Avery just patted her head, smiled indulgently at his kid sister.

'And, thanks for tracing the photo for me.'

'It just took a couple of calls.' With the pad of his thumb, Avery wiped away the tears on Darya's cheeks.

'I've missed you.' The simple, brotherly act of affection brought on a fresh wave of tears.

'As have I, Dolly. We've all missed you.'

Darya threw herself into her brother's arms again. 'I've been such a fool. You told me not to do it. Dad told me not to do it. Everyone else told me not to do it. I should've listened.'

'Better late than never,' Avery said mildly. 'So I take it you've severed ties with the Cavanaugh man?'

Darya nodded. 'The divorce papers are making their way to the courthouse as we speak.'

'So you are no longer Darya Miller?'

'That name's as good as dead and buried now. I'm back to being Darya McAllister.'

'Welcome back, princess.'

He kissed her forehead, shook his head as he took in her pallid face and puffy eyes.

'I've said this before, and I think it bears repeating—he's not good enough for you, Dolly. You deserve so much better.'

'I know that now.' She touched the crook of her left arm, which still throbbed painfully now and then. 'Found out to my cost.'

'You've always been a hard-headed one.' Avery tapped a fingertip against her nose. 'Just had to find out for yourself. You've got a blind spot when it comes to that Cavanaugh man.'

'The blinkers are off now, I promise. No more Stubborn Dolly. From now onwards, I'm going to be Smart Dolly, the one who listens to her family and makes smart, informed decisions.'

'Does that start with you returning to the fold?'

'You mean back to the company?' Darya pouted. 'I've just ended a long, soul-crushing relationship. I thought I'd earned a couple of days to sulk and wallow in self-pity.'

'Work is the best antidote to sorrow, honey.'

'And I know you actually believe that.' Darya shook her head, amazed.

Avery was the workaholic in the family.

And the worrier.

Though Avery kept his promise and stayed away from Darya for the past three years, he'd been keeping tabs on her remotely, as big brothers were wont to do.

He didn't approve of her decision to assume an indigent identity in order to get close to Micah Cavanaugh.

In the metropolis of Hagen, the McAllisters were the uncrowned royalty.

Darya was supposed to live the life of a princess, not a pauper.

She should have people wait on her hand and foot, not the other way around.

But Darya was young, and a little naïve back then.

She'd made an error of judgement, mistakenly believed Micah Cavanaugh was what she wanted, was willing to throw away everything she owned to go after her dream.

The more her family objected, the more she dug in her heels.

Until she practically ran away from home and started living under a different name.

Luckily, that rebellious phase had finally passed.

Avery smiled as he thought of the dozen ways he had in mind to celebrate his kid sister's return.

Dad would be thrilled.

Darya looked out the tinted window as the car left the hospital.

She'd said goodbye to her failed marriage.

It was time to get back to her life.

'You are right,' she declared. 'Work might actually help.'

'But first, a celebration.' Avery handed her a tablet. 'Pick a restaurant.'

'Your treat?'

'My treat.'

Darya planted a kiss on her brother's clean-shaven cheek.

'Thanks!'

Micah came out of the ward after a team of doctors examined Regina and assured him she'd just passed out.

He pulled out his phone, stared at the name onscreen, drummed a finger against his pantleg, finally hit 'Call.'

'Sorry, the number you have dialled is unavailable. Please try again later.'

He called a different number, issued instructions.

Elliott reported back fifteen minutes later. 'Sorry, boss, we can't find any sign of Miss Miller on the premises.'

The assistant's use of Darya's surname suddenly irked Micah.

But then, he was the one who ordered his men not to address her as 'Mrs Cavanaugh.'

Their marriage had simply been another kind of transaction.

Deals came to an end; contracts expired.

So why should he get agitated now?

Micah wasn't one to indulge in excessive contemplation.

All he knew was, he didn't want Darya to just disappear on him like that.

So he had to find her.

---

Chapter 5: Homecoming

When Micah married Darya three years ago, she was penniless, jobless.

He wasn't even sure if she'd finished college, or ever gone to one.

Come to think of it, he also had no idea where she'd been living before he brought her home.

She became a full-time housewife, had zero marketable skills.

She didn't ask for anything during the divorce, just walked out of the house with the clothes on her back.

How was she supposed to fend for herself now?

What was she going to live on?

Micah ran through several scenarios in his mind.

He turned to Elliott. 'Get in touch with the hospital director. I want a copy of the surveillance footage for the last hour, covering this floor and the carpark. Also send two men to my house. Call me if they find Darya there.'

'Yes, boss.'

Darya started fidgeting as the Rolls Royce pulled into the circular driveway in front of the five-storey house perched atop a hill.

Grand and leafy trees, some of which were a hundred years old, stood silently like sentries, guarding the front entrance, welcoming her home.

Avery got out, held open the door for her.

Darya climbed out, walked past green lawns and flowering shrubs on both sides, jogged up the stone steps, paused at the threshold.

'Go on.' Avery gave her a bolstering pat on the shoulder.

She stepped into the spacious living room, done up in beige with splashes of soft blue.

Tall arched windows let in plenty of natural light.

Matthias McAllister set down the newspaper he'd been pretending to read, slowly got to his feet, faced his only daughter, worked up a mildly disapproving look.

'So, you've finally decided to end your rebellion and come home?'

Darya launched herself into her father's arms and burst into tears.

Matthias sighed, stroked her back in the same way Avery had done.

'You didn't even let me finish my speech. I had a whole thing prepared.'

Darya smiled through her tears. 'You can still give me the lecture. I'm all ears.'

Matthias pulled back to study his daughter's face, shook his head. 'Looks like you've suffered enough.'

Anger flashed across his eyes.

Not directed at Darya, of course.

He was thinking about Micah.

Like Avery, he had used his own resources to monitor Darya's situation, discreetly and from a distance, of course.

The more he learned about the kind of life she led in the Cavanaugh household, the more he grew to despise the man his daughter had offered her heart to.

If not for his promise to her, he'd have taught a lesson to that unfeeling, heartless bastard years ago.

Now that Darya had come home, Matthias would wait an appropriate amount of time, just to make sure she had truly gotten over the man and moved on, then he would set things in motion.

Within three months, Micah, along with every other Cavanaugh, would be out on the street.

They'd be lucky to get a job washing dishes.

'I'm sorry, Daddy.'

Guilt overwhelmed her as she thought of what she'd put her father through, running away from home for three years and cutting off all contact.

'I suppose you've learned your lesson.'

'I have.'

'All done with that Cavanaugh man?'

'All done.'

Matthias thought for a while. 'Plenty more fish in the sea, honey.'

Darya smiled. 'I know, Daddy.'

Avery perched on the arm of a sofa. 'I've booked a private room at Lutter & Wegner. Eight o'clock reservation.'

'Good.' Matthias seemed to have just realised his eldest son was also in the room. 'Aren't you supposed to be at work?'

'I took the day off.' Avery grinned. 'Which, as the boss, I'm entitled to. I wouldn't miss Dolly's homecoming for the world.'

'But now that your job's done, don't you think it's time to head back to the office? The company's not going to run itself, you know.'

'Speaking of, Dolly has agreed to come work at the company. We could go over the plan at dinner.'

'Well now, that's a pleasant surprise.'

Before she left three years ago, Matthias had been pushing for Darya to take a management position at the Paragon Group.

She had a good head for figures, was ruthless at the negotiating table, but still needed some honing in the area of strategic planning.

Matthias hoped to groom his youngest daughter to eventually take the helm of the entire group.

Darya nodded. 'I'm ready to work.'

She had wasted three years in a foolish pursuit of an unrealistic romance.

Now that she'd had her heart thoroughly broken, it was time to throw herself into work.

'Attagirl. But work can wait till tomorrow. Come, let me show you to your old room.' Matthias took her by the hand, steered her towards the spiralling central staircase.

'Billinger kept everything as it was.'

'How's Uncle Bill?'

Darya was fond of the long-serving butler.

Tall, gangly, with a mind like a steel trap, he was more a member of the family than an employee.

'He's fine. Just ran out for groceries. He knows how much you like those Ruby Roman grapes.'

Darya bounded into her old bedroom, flung herself onto the Super Caesar-sized bed, inhaled the lavender scent of the freshly laundered sheets, then hugged Po, her favourite childhood stuffed toy in the shape of a giant panda.

Uncle Bill never missed a trick.

'You should take a nap.' Matthias said from the doorway.

'I'll come and get you when it's time to go out for dinner.'

'Okay. Thanks, Daddy.'

Matthias stood there and waited for Darya's eyes to close before he pulled the door shut, gently.

Avery was waiting for him downstairs.

Matthias sat down, folded both hands over his lap. 'Now, tell me what you found about the Cavanaughs. I don't want the publicity stuff. I want the dirt.'

Avery brought up a passcoded file on his tablet, scanned it to refresh his memory. 'We can start with a woman called Regina Fischer…'

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

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The text lit up my phone like a warning flare: 'Regina's in the hospital. She needs a blood transfusion. Come to Hagen General. Now.'

I stared at the words, my knuckles whitening around the device. Three years of marriage reduced to cold commands. I wasn’t his wife—I was inventory. AB-negative. On call. Always.

I swiped to the photo sent anonymously: Micah asleep in an armchair, Regina curled against him, smug as a cat. The caption read: 'Prince Charming deserves a real princess, not the chambermaid.'

My reflection in the dark window looked hollow. Pale. Broken. Was this all I’d become?

Then the door slammed open. Micah stood there, sharp in a charcoal suit, eyes blazing. 'If your phone works, why didn’t you answer?'

He grabbed my wrist. 'We’re going. Now.'

I dug in my heels. 'I’ll go. But first—you’re giving me a divorce.'

Silence cracked like thunder.

He blinked, as if I’d spoken in a foreign tongue. 'You want a divorce? After everything?'

'After everything,' I whispered. 'And I won’t give another drop of blood unless you sign the papers.'

His jaw tightened. For the first time, I saw something flicker behind those topaz eyes—not anger. Uncertainty.

The deal was over. The question was—what would he do now?