Chapter 1

On the night of the harvest moon, my wife asked me to meet her at the mountain peak. She told me she had a surprise waiting for me.

I waited until the storm broke and the mud started to slide. I tumbled down the steep slope, but she never showed up.

By the time a hiker found me and I was rushed down the mountain, I saw a post from her male secretary. "Hurt my hand, but luckily my boss is here to save the day."

The photo showed his bandaged finger and my wife tenderly feeding him soup in a hospital bed.

I silently gave the post a like. A second later, my wife called me just to tear into me.

"I was just feeding Cillian some soup. Can you stop being such a petty jerk?"

In the past, I would have lost my mind and begged her to stay away from other men. But this time, I was just done.

1

When the ambulance finally got me to the ER, I was barely conscious. I lay there on the gurney, feeling the world spin.

From the next bed over, I heard the soft, intimate sounds of a couple whispering. It sounded like they were lost in their own little world.

Through the haze, I thought I recognized the voice of my wife, Sylvie. I reached out with a trembling hand and pulled back the curtain.

Sylvie was leaning over Cillian, gently wiping his face with a damp cloth. My heart skipped a beat, and I couldn't stop myself from coughing.

Sylvie spun around and her eyes went wide when she saw the state I was in. "Fletcher? What are you doing here? Why do you look like a total disaster?"

She saw the blood matted in my hair and immediately covered Cillian's eyes. She hissed at me with a look of pure disgust.

"Turn your head away! Cillian can't stand the sight of blood. You'll make him faint!"

I ignored her contempt and looked at the two of them huddled together. "Why do I look like this? Because I fell down a mountain in the dark."

"If a stranger hadn't found me, I wouldn't even be in a hospital. I'd be dead."

"But I guess that isn't as important as your secretary's scratched finger."

Cillian bit his lip and looked down, playing the part of the guilty victim. "Sylvie, you should go take care of Fletcher. I'll be fine on my own."

"I'll just find a nurse and ask to move to a different room. Don't worry about me."

He acted brave as he pushed his IV pole toward the front desk. Sylvie glared at me one last time before chasing after him. "I'll be back to deal with you later," she snapped.