Chapter 1

A gold-and-silver Rolex was dangling from my dog’s collar.

A fifty-thousand-dollar Rolex, shining brightly around Buster’s furry neck.

When my wife, Chloe, came home that night, I placed the watch on the coffee table right in front of her.

She was glued to her phone, laughing and typing away on Snapchat.

She glanced up, saw the watch, and smirked. "New watch? Your taste is getting better."

I didn't say anything. I just pushed the watch a little closer to her.

"Chloe, let's get a divorce."

She finally looked up from her phone, her eyes filled with confusion. "What is that supposed to be? Why are you bringing this up out of nowhere?"

I looked at her, my voice completely flat. "That watch isn't mine."

I never wear anything on my wrists. She didn’t even remember that.

"If it’s not yours, whose is it?"

Chloe put her phone down and picked up the watch. My eyes fell on her screen, which was still lit.

Message notifications from Julian Vance were popping up one after another. Now, I knew exactly who the watch belonged to.

Julian Vance was the regional president of a partner company. He and Chloe had been doing a lot of business together lately.

I had met Julian twice. The first time was a month ago at Chloe’s corporate anniversary party.

That day, Chloe’s mom, Helen, fell suddenly ill. I rushed her to the hospital, stood in line for hours, handled the insurance, and made sure she was admitted.

By the time I finally made it to Chloe’s party, the celebration was already in full swing.

Chloe was cutting the cake, and a man in a perfectly tailored suit was standing right next to her.

I stood near the entrance where the light was dim. I overheard two of her employees chatting nearby.

"Oh my gosh, Chloe and Julian look so good together!"

"Right? Power couple goals. They look like they walked straight out of a billionaire romance novel."

"Totally. Unlike her husband. He looks like a total freeloader living off her."

"Yeah, her husband is honestly so—"

They stopped mid-sentence when one of them noticed me. They looked panicked and quickly walked away.

I swallowed my pride and looked back at Chloe and Julian. After cutting the cake, Julian helped Chloe hand out slices to the staff.

Suddenly, he dipped his finger in some frosting and playfully wiped it on the tip of her nose.

Instead of getting mad, Chloe let out a bright, beautiful laugh. She dipped her own finger in the frosting and swiped it across his cheek.

They laughed, looking into each other's eyes. In that moment, my heart sank into a frozen abyss.

I remembered our wedding three years ago. When we cut the cake, I playfully tried to put a little frosting on her face, too. But back then, her face instantly turned ice-cold.

The cheerful atmosphere had died instantly. Chloe grabbed a napkin, wiped her face, and hissed, "I'm a germaphobe. I hate when people do that." Then, she walked out.

She left me standing there, humiliated, in front of a room full of awkward guests.

For the next three years, I walked on eggshells to accommodate her "germaphobia."

But seeing her laugh with Julian made me realize the brutal truth: she didn't hate the frosting. She just hated that it was me doing it.