Chapter 1

1: 1

I met my husband, Greg Sanchez, through an arranged marriage.

He was capable at his work and considerate toward me. As arranged-marriage partners went, I was satisfied.

As long as he kept the line drawn, we would get along just fine.

But then, out of nowhere, he let his little secretary step over it.

The first time, the little secretary took my passenger seat. I slapped her across the face.

And I warned Greg.

"That's once."

At a business dinner, Greg peeled a shrimp for his little secretary. I slapped her twice.

And warned Greg, "That's twice."

The last time, the little secretary put on my pajamas.

I didn't say a word. I slapped her three times.

"As long as I'm still here, you don't get to be Mrs. Sanchez."

Greg, who had shielded his little secretary every single time, was silent this time.

Maybe he remembered what I'd said before.

Three strikes. If a third slap ever landed, it would be time for a divorce.

1

I turned and walked away.

The little secretary stayed where she was, sniveling.

"Mr. Sanchez, your wife hit me, my whole face is swollen, and you're just going to let it go?"

This time, Greg didn't comfort her.

Instead he came rushing after me, his hand clamping around my wrist.

"I was in the wrong this time, Lottie Delgado. She got caught in the rain, her clothes were soaked, she only put on your pajamas because there was nothing else."

"Can't we just pretend none of this happened?"

Greg was always a force to be reckoned with out in the world. He rarely let his voice go this low, this pleading.

I pulled my hand free, cold.

"Greg, you should know by now, I don't joke around."

He stared at me for a long moment, and a thread of impatience crept into his voice.

"Lottie, don't take this too far."

"You already slapped her three times and got it out of your system. Let this go now. Be reasonable."

What a perfect little pivot from courtesy to threat.

His tone left no room for argument, as if I were nothing more than a partner across a negotiating table.

But he'd forgotten.

He'd forgotten who he had to thank for the seat he sat in today.

I let out a cold breath and turned to leave.

At the far end of the hallway, his bodyguards suddenly lined up in a row, blocking my path.

I turned my head and looked at Greg.

"What is this supposed to mean?"

"Lottie, we've been husband and wife for three years. We've gotten along well all this time. And you want a divorce over something this small?"

"I told you. Three strikes."

I lifted my eyes to him. "First the passenger seat, then the shrimp, then the pajamas. I don't think I've wronged you at all."

His throat moved, and he frowned as he explained.

"Those were all accidents."

"Accidents?"

I laughed. "The passenger seat was an accident, the shrimp was an accident, and her wearing my pajamas was an accident too?"

"You're the one who handed her the chance to overstep, Greg. You're a smart man. You should understand exactly what I mean."

He fell silent.

I finally pulled my hand free.

"I'll have my lawyer draft the divorce agreement. Sign it or don't. This marriage is ending either way."

Greg chased a few steps after me, calling my name in a hoarse voice.

I didn't answer.

I walked straight out into the rain.

I didn't go back that night. I went alone to a dinner to negotiate a contract.

At two in the morning, I stepped outside for some air, and only then saw that Greg had called me seventeen times.

The eighteenth time, it happened to connect.

"Lottie, where are you? The housekeeper said you weren't home, I came to the company and couldn't find you either. Send me your location, I'll come get you."

I spoke calmly.

"No need."

"Stop sulking. I can explain about today..."

"I said, no need."

Greg was getting anxious.

"What do I have to do to make you come back?"

"Greg," I said softly, "how long have you known me?"

He paused.

"Three years and three months."

I said it flatly. "Then you should know I don't like to say the same thing a third time."

I hung up.

The next day, Grandma Sanchez called my mother.

My mom came rushing over to my apartment and burst in without even knocking.

"Lottie, what on earth are you doing? Your mother-in-law just called. She said you hit Greg's secretary?"

I was at the mirror putting on lipstick. I had to make a trip to the company.

"I did. Three times."

My mom's mouth fell open in shock.

"You, you're just admitting it like that?"

"Mom knows you're not the kind of person who makes a scene for no reason, and besides, married couples fight and make up. If it weren't something serious..."

"Mom, if you came here to talk me into going back, then don't."

"But you have to have a reason, don't you? I've met that Greg boy. He's so gracious with people. How does he come out of your mouth sounding like the worst kind of villain?"

I turned around.

"He let his secretary sit in my passenger seat. He peeled shrimp for her at a dinner. His secretary stood in our bedroom wearing my pajamas."

My mom's mouth opened and closed.

"This..."

"So." I picked up my bag. "I want a divorce."

"Lottie, why don't you think it over some more? None of what you're describing is really that serious. Maybe Greg had no choice, given the circumstances."

"And besides, the Sanchez family and ours, after all..."

"Mom." I cut her off. "My name is Delgado, not Sanchez."

There was no reason to be thinking on the Sanchez family's behalf.

Just then, my assistant called.

Her voice was a little cautious.

"Ms. Delgado, have you seen tonight's headlines?"

"Mr. Sanchez didn't get your approval, and he actually took Secretary Pruitt to the gala!"