Chapter 2

Just like he described in his post, my marriage to Julian Thorne was not a simple affair.

A year ago, a partner at my company, the Vance Group, developed a nasty gambling habit in Las Vegas and embezzled a huge amount of company funds. After he was exposed, he shot himself in his Long Island villa.

The funding chain snapped right when we were in the middle of a massive project. The Vance Group was suddenly on the verge of bankruptcy, and the vultures on Wall Street were circling, ready to pick the carcass clean.

That was when Julian appeared.

At the time, his reputation in the financial world was notorious.

As the disfavored eldest son of the Thorne family, who had been exiled to Europe for years, he had returned to New York only to report his own father to the SEC for insider trading, personally sending him to federal prison.

While the board was in chaos, he bought up stock at rock-bottom prices, ruthlessly purged the management, and became the sole ruler of the Thorne empire.

The New York Times called him "a machine without a heart."

Everyone said Julian Thorne was a devil who would sell his own soul for profit.

But the day he walked into my office, he came with nothing but a contract drafted by his lawyers.

It stated that the Thorne Group was willing to inject capital to save the Vance Group. The conditions were sharing our sales channels, and...

To ensure the stability of the business alliance, we would enter a one-year contract marriage.

My legal team and I went over that contract three times.

Once we confirmed there were no traps, I almost thought it was a miracle from God.

I even braced myself, thinking he must have some dark, hidden fetish, or needed a beard to cover up a scandal.

I had a whole plan for how to secretly record him and leak it to the press.

I admit, that sounds ungrateful.

But I simply couldn't believe that a man who would send his own father to prison would show up and play knight in shining armor for me for no reason.

But I was wrong.

He was completely normal. In fact... as a roommate, he was almost too perfect.

He'd have Michelin-star chefs cook my favorite dishes. He never missed a birthday or anniversary, and his gifts were always impeccable. At charity galas, he would gallantly shield me from sleazy men trying to hit on me.

When I was drowning in work over my company's M&A deals, he'd even use that billion-dollar brain of his to give me critical advice.

Thanks to his help, the Vance Group's stock price tripled in just one year.

I wasn't so narcissistic as to not consider it: maybe he was actually interested in me?

But every time I tried to get closer, he would practically recoil, dodging me like he'd seen a ghost before locking himself in his study.

How should I put it?

It felt like I was in a psychological chess match with a multi-billion-dollar, aloof Persian cat.

After a few attempts, I figured out the rules for getting along with my nominal husband:

Business matters were open for discussion. Daily chatter was limited to the weather and coffee. Physical contact was absolutely forbidden (except for staged photos in front of the media).

Following these rules, we lived in peace for a year.

So, why did I ask for a divorce?

It's simple. Because Julian was a good person.

No matter what The Wall Street Journal wrote about him, to me, he was an impeccably good man.

If he had been even a little bit cruel to me, I would have used my position as his wife to rip a chunk of flesh off him in the divorce settlement without hesitation.

But he was too good, and it made my conscience... uneasy.

After all, I have one principle―I don't pick on decent people (even if "decent" is a strange word to describe him).

So, it was better to just cut the ties.

I believed that even without the marriage, we could still be excellent business partners.

In fact, that's what I had planned to tell him.

But I never expected that when I brought up the word "divorce" at dinner, he would nod without a moment's hesitation.

He didn't even finish the steak on his plate before rushing back to his room.

It was like he couldn't wait to get away from me.

So the explanation I had prepared―"I'm doing this for your own good"―got stuck in my throat.

What could I say? That I didn't want to hold him back from finding true love?

Forget it. It sounded fake no matter how I framed it.

I downed my glass of red wine in frustration and stormed back to my room.