Chapter 1

On Valentine's Day, my husband's kept woman delivered a bouquet to my door.

The flowers looked wilted, and tucked between the petals was a greeting card.

It was covered in childish scribbles and sticky, sugary fingerprints.

The woman gasped with exaggerated shock, plastering a fake, mocking apology across her face.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, sweetie. My little boy got carried away with his crayons."

"Then again, maybe you're the one who needs to grow up."

"You barren bitch. Julian and I have had a two-year-old son together, yet you're still clinging to him like a parasite."

Listening to her, I offered a faint smile and flicked the card right into her chest.

"Is that so? Because just yesterday, Julian was begging me to let him bring that bastard home so I could raise him."

When I opened the door, the sight of the woman caught me slightly off guard.

She wore a skintight, revealing dress that hugged every curve of her body.

Catching my eye, she flashed a smile that was anything but kind. "Ma'am, these flowers are from your husband. He told me to tell you: Happy Valentine's Day."

Her tone was bizarre, and her expression was even stranger.

A twisted mix of contempt and smug satisfaction.

I sized her up. I had never seen a courier dress like a high-end escort just to drop off flowers.

Besides, Julian and I had just had an explosive fight the night before.

Connecting the dots, I instantly figured out who this woman was.

I glanced down at the bouquet she held out. Roses. My least favorite flowers in the world.

The fiery red petals were already withering, their edges blackened like they had just been fished out of a dumpster.

A wave of cold amusement washed over me. Even if Julian was cheating, he would never order flowers this cheap for me.

The woman stared at me, her eyes screaming a deliberate provocation.

Not wanting to ruin her little performance, I took the bouquet.

That was when I noticed the card tucked deep between the thorns.

I pulled it out with two fingers. It was covered in toddler scribbles, stained with milk and sugar, with a faint, sticky handprint right in the center.

I looked back up at her. She clearly wasn't the type who could hide her emotions.

The triumphant smirk on her face was almost comical.

"I'm really so sorry, sweetie. Kids are just so mischievous. I have no idea when he slipped his little drawing in there."

I stayed silent, staring at her coldly. After a few seconds of holding my gaze, her smirk faltered, and she reached out to snatch the card back.

As her arm extended, a familiar wave of cheap, suffocating perfume hit my nose.

In that exact second, I was one hundred percent certain of her identity.

Seeing that I wasn't flinching, her face darkened. She awkwardly pulled her hand back, and the mockery in her voice turned sharp and vicious.

"Then again, maybe the real problem here is you, sweetie."

"You're nothing but a broken woman who can't pop out a baby. Julian and I already have a two-year-old son, and you're still stubbornly hogging him."

Listening to her vitriol, I let out a soft laugh. Twirling the card between my fingers, I snapped my wrist and hurled it straight into her face.

"Is that so? Because just yesterday, Julian was begging me to let him bring that bastard home so I could raise him."