Chapter 1

I've been with my wife, the Pop Queen, for seven years.

Every single one of her social media handles is @Wynter.

Even her latest chart-topping single is titled "Wynter's Love."

I used to think she just had a thing for the season, so I never pried.

That was until our wedding day, when a gift arrived.

The card was signed by a man named Wynn Dalton.

In that moment, the truth shattered me. She didn't love the winter season. She loved Wynn.

He was the ghost she could never let go of, her tragic first love.

My heart didn't just break; it turned to ash.

1.

When Stella Thorne walked back in, I was standing on the balcony, nursing a cigarette.

The room was thick with smoke. She wrinkled her nose in disgust and immediately flung the windows open.

"I told you a thousand times not to smoke in the house, Liam," she snapped.

"How are we supposed to conceive if you're destroying your lungs?"

Conceive?

If this had been yesterday, I would have crushed the cigarette and apologized instantly. I would have promised her anything.

But now, the word felt like a slap in the face.

Today was supposed to be our wedding day. After seven years, Stella finally agreed to marry me. It was supposed to be the perfect ending to our long-term romance.

I had spared no expense. I booked the most exclusive estate in the Hamptons just to give her the wedding of her dreams.

Everything was flawless until the second before the ceremony began.

A delivery arrived―a special gift for Stella.

The moment she saw the sender's name, the color drained from her face.

When she opened it, she broke down. She sobbed like her world was ending.

She didn't care about the guests or the millions I spent. She demanded to leave, right then and there.

I tried to grab her arm, to stop the madness, but she looked at me with pure hatred.

"Liam, don't make me hate you," she whispered.

I let go. I watched her run away in her couture gown, leaving me to apologize to the confused crowd.

I remembered the name on the package: Wynn Dalton.

Suddenly, it all clicked. The @Wynter handle, the lyrics to her songs, the obsession with cold aesthetics.

She wasn't in love with a season.

She was in love with Wynn.

I flicked the ash off my cigarette and spoke with a calm I didn't know I possessed.

"Stella, let's end this. We're over."