Chapter 1

On our third wedding anniversary, the private restaurant was completely bought out by Chloe's toxic ex.

He walked up to our table, crushing rose petals beneath his designer shoes, and slammed an ultrasound report onto the white linen.

"Three years ago, I tattooed a rose right over her lower belly."

"She promised me that until I found someone I loved more than her, she would never carry your child."

He pointed to the unfamiliar woman's name on the pregnancy report, a cruel smirk playing on his lips.

"Well, I found her. So I came to tell her that our little deal is officially off."

The phantom bitterness of hundreds of daily contraceptive pills rushed into my mouth as I turned to look at Chloe.

She didn't look embarrassed or guilty at all. She just stared at me with icy indifference.

"You heard him," she said calmly.

"We can finally have a baby now."

In that exact moment, I wanted nothing more than to strangle her.

1

"What? Aren't you happy for me?"

Chloe's voice was coated in frost, piercing straight through my ears.

She didn't even look at me. Her eyes were still glued to Jace Mercer.

It was as if he were her real husband, while I was just a pathetic bystander.

Jace sneered, looking down his nose at me.

"You should be thanking me, Logan."

"If it weren't for my mercy, you'd never get to touch Chloe in your entire life."

"Oh, wait. I mean, you'd never get her to carry your seed."

His words felt like a serrated blade thrust directly into my heart.

For three years, I had swallowed a small white pill every single morning.

Chloe had claimed she was severely allergic to latex, yet pretended to cry because she didn't want me getting a vasectomy.

She had said, "Babe, please just take the male birth control for a while. Once we're ready in a few years, you can stop, okay?"

I had believed every word.

I loved her so much that I was willing to do anything for her.

Even if it meant enduring the endless metallic bitterness of those pills every dawn.

My friends had mocked me, asking what kind of man took daily contraceptives.

I had worn it like a badge of honor, proof of my devotion.

Yet now, this bastard was telling me it was all because of a sick promise.

A vow between him and Chloe, sealed with a rose tattooed on her skin.

Nausea churned violently in my gut.

The accumulated bitterness of three years of pills seemed to burn its way up my throat.

I stared hard at Chloe, desperately searching for even a flicker of remorse in her eyes.

Just a single ounce of guilt.

There was none.

Absolutely nothing.

She merely knitted her brows in mild annoyance.

"Are you done talking, Jace?" she said dismissively.

"If you're done, get lost. Don't ruin our anniversary dinner."

She sounded so casual, as if shooing away a bothersome fly.

The grin on Jace's face stiffened for a second before turning predatory.

"Still as ruthless as ever, Chloe. God, I love that about you."

He leaned down, whispering close to her ear so only the three of us could hear.

"Don't forget. I inked every single petal of that rose into your flesh."

"Every thorn still remembers my touch."

Chloe's body gave an imperceptible shiver.

I watched a faint blush creep up her neck to her ears.

My heart plummeted into absolute zero.

Jace straightened up, visibly thrilled by our reactions.

He stood like a victorious conqueror admiring his spoils.

Finally, his gaze landed on me, dripping with disdain and pity.

"Don't be so naive, Logan."

"You thought you married a pure white rose?"

"No, man. You're just the gardener who waters her soil."

"I'm the only one who gets to pluck her whenever I want."

With a loud laugh, he turned on his heel and strolled out, trampling all over the obnoxious rose petals he had scattered.

Every patron and waiter in the restaurant was staring at us.

Their eyes felt like hot needles digging into my spine.

I felt like a stripped clown on display for public entertainment.

And my wife, the woman I had cherished for five whole years, didn't even offer me a single comforting look.

Instead, she picked up her knife and fork, delicately slicing a piece of steak.

"Why are you just sitting there?" she asked smoothly.

"Eat. Isn't this prime filet mignon your favorite?"

I watched her elegant, composed movements and her completely unbothered face.

A wave of bone-chilling cold rushed from my feet to the crown of my head.

I finally understood.

It wasn't that she was unbothered by drama. She simply didn't give a damn about me.