Chapter 1

1 At the fancy restaurant, my genius painter husband, Liam, was using his million-dollar insured hands to shell a crab for his little assistant. All to coax her into eating something since she "didn't have an appetite." Meanwhile, I was practically bleeding out from chugging wine to secure an investment for him, and when I asked him for some antacids, he straight-up refused. Said, “My hands are for painting, babe, you got your own, right?” For ten years, his rejection tactics haven't even changed. That night, I sobered up in the cold air and had my lawyer draft divorce papers. Liam, this life is too short for us to stay on the same road. ... The whole room went awkwardly silent when Liam started delicately dismantling the crab for his assistant, Chloe. Just a minute before, I'd been telling the investors, with a straight face, that “Liam’s hands are insured for millions, so he doesn’t even use a steak knife to protect them.” To smooth things over, I downed three shots of tequila, the burn of it sending blood up my throat that I swallowed down. Just when I thought the tension was easing, Liam decided to cut the dinner short, saying he was taking Chloe to McDonald's. Of course, that led to him getting into a shouting match with one of the investors, and it ended with a fistfight. To apologize for him, I took a slap to the face and paid off the investor. When I went to check if Liam had hurt his hands, he just glared at me. "If you weren't such a money-hungry leech and obsessed with sucking up to those rich jerks, the little one wouldn't have been starving," he said. "I'm taking her for burgers, so you should just stay away. You're killing our appetite." Chloe, his assistant, looked at me with big, sad eyes and whispered, "I'm sorry, Ashley. If I knew Liam was so worried, I wouldn’t have said anything." Liam ruffled her hair, looking at her adoringly. "Don’t be silly, sweetie, you did nothing wrong. You’re just too pure." "It’s people like her who are the problem. They’d rather drink themselves sick than walk away from the chance to make a buck." A chill went through me. He’d seen me throw up blood, but he just didn't care. Standing there in the cold air for half an hour, I called my lawyer. "Get a divorce agreement ready for me." Liam didn’t come home until the next morning. He frowned a little when he saw the lack of a big breakfast and that his suit wasn't hanging, pressed, on the door. "You were out late last night?" he asked. I nodded. "Yeah, chatting with my lawyer." I pulled out a stack of papers from my bag. "Here’s two copies. Just sign." He didn’t even glance at it. He just flipped to the last page and signed. He’d always done that, ever since we got married seven years ago and I started handling his business. I sighed in relief, put the papers in my bag, and started to head out. Liam blocked the door, grabbing my arm with a scowl. “Don’t get the wrong idea. Last night, after dinner, Chloe had a crazy allergic reaction, so I had to take her to the emergency room. Nothing happened between us.” It was the first time Liam had ever explained anything to me after we got married. But he seemed to forget that I'd had a terrible allergic reaction to something before. When I was covered in hives and begged him to take me to the ER, he’d said: "Can't you walk yourself? If I get it, how am I supposed to paint?" Liam, seeing my cold face, tried to say more, but just then, Chloe called. "Waaah, Liam, when I got to the studio everyone laughed at me, and I'm so embarrassed and upset…" "What are you, silly? I told you yesterday, if you're sick, you should rest!" Chloe whimpered, "But if I don't go to the studio, the new exhibition won’t get finished. If I hold up your career, I'd die of shame..." “Sweetheart, it’s not your fault you got sick. It’s these greedy people who don't care about others for the sake of making a buck." Then, he turned his glare back on me. "Wait for me in my office. I’ll take you home." Liam slammed the door shut, completely ignoring the redness on my face. I just looked down, pulled out my phone, and contacted the new artist in Paris who'd been courting me for ages.