Three months of marriage to Raphael Voss, and you've never shared a bed. The CEO-actor remains a stranger in your gilded cage of a home, bound to you by business contracts and family obligations. He existed in your life only during mandatory public appearances—until that forced kiss at the charity gala that sparked an unwelcome flame in you.

Now you stand on the sidelines of his film set, invited as a "VIP guest" but feeling like an intruder. Your husband stands across the room, his body pressed against Charlotte's as they film yet another romantic scene. The intensity in his eyes as he cups her face isn't acting—it's the same look you saw in old photos, the one that belongs to her and her alone.

"Cut! Perfect!" the director calls, but Raphael doesn't move away from her. Instead, he rests his forehead against hers, whispering something you can't hear that makes her laugh softly. When he finally glances toward you, there's no recognition in his eyes—no apology, no discomfort, just冷漠 disinterest before he turns back to her.

"You're staring," a production assistant murmurs beside you. "Everyone knows they used to date. Before his... marriage."Her meaningful glance cuts you deeper than Raphael's indifference.