Chapter 1

Prologue

On our third wedding anniversary, Charles Vance didn't come home. He spent the entire night at the hospital, watching over Natalie Vance, his first love who had been in a coma for three years.

The next day, he demanded that I move out of our home so Natalie could move in.

I loved him for three whole years. Back then, to save his life, I smashed through the car window with my bare hands until they were bloody and torn. But in his eyes, his savior had always been Natalie, while I was just a greedy gold-digger who leveraged a debt of gratitude to force my way into the Vance family fortune.

I endured three years of his cold indifference. Now that Natalie was awake, I was finally ready to let go.

What Charles didn't know was that the person who truly saved him had always been me.

And this time, I was done with him.

Harper's POV

It was already two in the morning.

I sat at the end of the long dining table, facing a feast that had gone completely cold.

Today was our third wedding anniversary.

My phone screen suddenly lit up. I glanced down.

It was a fresh notification from an entertainment news outlet.

[Vance Enterprises CEO spotted at hospital late at night, suspected visiting Natalie Miller. Charles Vance has reportedly stood vigil by her side throughout her three-year coma.]

Though the photo was somewhat grainy, I instantly recognized Charles's back.

He was wearing the bespoke charcoal trench coat I had ironed for him that very morning, walking toward the hospital with his head down.

Another photo in the article showed a smiling woman standing on a stage, glowing like a radiant pearl in her element.

I recognized her at once.

Natalie Miller.

The first love who had lived in Charles's heart for an entire decade, the woman who had supposedly risked her life to save him in a car crash three years ago, leaving her critically injured and comatose ever since.

I stared at that picture for a long time.

Three years of emotional abuse and relentless humiliation had long reduced whatever spark remained in my heart to cold, dead ash.

A sudden wave of nausea hit me, probably from the cold pot of creamy chowder sitting on the table.

I stood up, flipped my phone face down on the table, picked up the platter of pan-seared sea bass, and scraped it straight into the trash can.

Next went the glazed ribs, the garlic roasted shrimp, and finally, the chowder.

The china clattered against the bin with dull thuds. The mixed food waste immediately gave off a sour, ruined smell.

I loaded all the dishes into the dishwasher and pressed start. The roar of running water filled the kitchen, drowning out the empty silence of the mansion.

Once that was done, I washed my hands, dried them, and turned to head into the guest bedroom.

The next morning, at seven-thirty.

The front door clicked open. Charles was finally back.

Perhaps from staying up all night, faint dark circles bruised the skin beneath his eyes, yet his expression remained as cold, aristocratic, and arrogant as ever.

He took off his coat and habitually headed to the kitchen to pour a glass of water. His gaze inadvertently fell on the half-open trash bin, brimming with the remnants of an abandoned feast.

Charles stopped in his tracks. He turned around, just as I was walking out of the guest room. I wore a faded beige loungewear set, my long hair loosely gathered in a clip, my eyes sliding past him without lingering for even a second.

"Did you cook last night?" Charles asked, his voice laced with faint impatience.

He had always believed I was a vain, scheming woman. In his mind, I had taken advantage of Natalie's coma three years ago, pulling every dirty trick in the book to pressure his mother, Mrs. Vance, into forcing him to marry me. Because of that, anything I did was, in his eyes, just a calculated attempt to curry favor.

"I threw it out." I walked to the kitchen island, poured myself a glass of warm water, and answered in a completely flat tone.

Charles frowned. He probably expected me to break down like I used to, tearfully explaining that it had been our anniversary, or red-eyed and demanding to know why he hadn't come home. But I said nothing. I didn't even look at him.

His arrogance couldn't stand being ignored like this.

"Harper, drop the hard-to-get act," Charles scoffed, loosening his tie. "You've occupied the position of my wife long enough. Stop scheming for things that don't belong to you."

My fingers tightened around the glass. I looked up, finally meeting his eyes head-on.

"Okay," I said, taking a sip of water and swallowing down the dryness in my throat. "I know."

Charles's frown deepened. He stared at me coldly for a couple of seconds, as if searching my face for any crack in the facade, but he found nothing. He turned around, walked toward the walk-in closet, and slammed the door shut.

I stared at the heavy oak door, slowly setting down my glass.

It would all be over soon, I thought.