Chapter 1

Damian Vance was gorgeous, wealthy, and born with a silver spoon in his mouth.

I was nobody. Just a broke girl pouring drinks in a VIP lounge to survive.

Because of one careless thing he said, I willingly stayed by his side as his secret lover for seven years.

Once, when he was half-drunk, he whispered against my lips, "My heart belongs to you, and only you."

Deep down, I always knew the truth: he had to marry an heiress from a family as powerful as his own.

***

In our seventh year together, I brought up ending our relationship for the first time.

He had just come home from a business dinner. When he heard my words, his hand froze on his loosened silk tie. Those handsome eyes flicked over me with a cool, sharp scrutiny, as if checking whether I was being serious.

It made sense that he looked surprised. In all those years, he had been the one calling the shots. I was always obedient, quiet, and kept my place. I had never dared to say I wanted out.

"Give me a reason," he demanded coldly.

"I heard you’re getting engaged," I said honestly. "Congratulations."

I had only found out about his upcoming wedding because his best friend, Logan Foster, let it slip by accident.

The second the words hit me, it felt like being shoved into a freezing cellar. Chills ran down my spine, and my head kept echoing: *Damian’s getting married. He’s really getting married.*

On the outside, though, I stayed completely calm. My hands didn't even shake.

Maybe that was the only thing I truly mastered after seven years with him: hiding how I really felt.

This time, Damian didn't wear his usual careless expression. His face darkened. He stood frozen in the exact same spot for nearly three minutes. He only snapped out of it when I called his name.

"Think this through carefully," he dropped coldly, turning and slamming the door behind him.

Not long after, his fiancée, Natalie Miller, showed up at my place.

At the time, I figured Damian and I would soon be strangers anyway, so I had given up on my diet and ordered three boxes of greasy takeout fried chicken.

Because of that, I lost the battle the moment I opened the door.

Natalie was wearing a custom designer dress that showed off every perfect curve. Her hair cascaded over her shoulders in flawless waves, and her nude-rose lipstick screamed expensive taste.

The second she looked at me, pure disgust radiated from her eyes. She didn't even bother looking me in the face as she walked inside.

She sat down, pulled out a checkbook and a sleek pen, and placed them on the coffee table. "Write down any amount you want, Miss Taylor. Once it's filled out, get the hell away from my fiancé."

It felt like a classic soap opera scene where the wealthy wife buys off the mistress. But oddly enough, I felt no shame.

I smiled slightly and pushed the check back toward her. "Sorry, Miss Miller. I only take money from Damian."

To anyone else, it might have sounded petty and bold.

Every word was the truth.

Between Damian and me, it had always been a clean transaction.

The money I received from him was what I earned. My conscience was clear.

Natalie rolled her eyes and let out a harsh laugh. "Miss Taylor, let me give you a piece of advice. A woman needs self-respect. Know your place. Do you honestly think you're good enough for him in any way?"

I kept a polite smile on my face, stood up, and opened the door to see her out.

She didn't need to remind me. I knew there was an ocean of difference between Damian and me.

Once he came back, cut me a generous settlement check, and sent me packing, I would take what was left of my dignity and disappear.

Over the next month, I didn't see Damian in person. Instead, I saw a photo of him and Natalie walking hand-in-hand into a luxury hotel.

In the picture, his tall silhouette was wrapped in a tailored coat, the hem fluttering in the chill wind. It looked freezing outside. He had an arm wrapped tightly around her waist, shielding her from the cold.

The gesture made Natalie look tiny, delicate, and adored.