Chapter 1

1.

My husband, Julian Hayes, has severe mysophobia and OCD.

We dated for a year and have been married for nine.

Every time we make love, before and after, he meticulously cleanses himself, and me, with medical-grade antiseptic.

He strictly dictates the time, frequency, and even the positions of our intimacy―no detail is ever allowed the slightest deviation.

But today, while I was away on a business trip in New York, I saw something different through our home security camera.

In the study, the Montblanc pen Julian kept in his pen holder was tilted at a 30-degree angle. I saw his white coat, which wasn't there before, tossed on the sofa, and next to it, a piece of black lace lingerie that definitely wasn't mine.

My husband, Julian Hayes, a man who couldn't tolerate his pen being off by a single degree from its perfect vertical position.

Now, it was tilted.

In that instant, I understood everything. I dialed my private lawyer. "Linda, I need you to prepare divorce papers for me. A unilateral filing."

Julian and I were married in Edinburgh, Scotland.

Under Scottish law, this makes the process for a unilateral, no-fault divorce relatively straightforward.

"Grace, filing unilaterally has a few conditions…"

I cut Linda off before she could finish. "He cheated."

There was a second of silence on the other end. "Understood, Grace. I'll handle it immediately."

After ending the call, I smiled at the Patek Philippe sales consultant in front of me.

"My apologies, I won't be needing this watch after all. Could you perhaps recommend a commemorative piece suitable for a father?"

I had intended to buy a limited-edition Patek Philippe Nautilus as a surprise for Julian.

His obsession with the precision of time is absolute.

I was supposed to be back in our Tribeca penthouse at nine tonight, but a business deal went sideways, causing me to miss my flight.

But now, this gift was unnecessary.

I bought a far more expensive, custom-made Patek Philippe Grand Complications watch for my late father instead.

Then, I walked out of the Fifth Avenue flagship store carrying the shopping bag marked with the Calatrava Cross.

As I settled into the Bugatti waiting for me by the curb, a call came in from Julian.

His voice was as calm and distant as ever. "Grace, I have an emergency surgery that just came up. I won't be home tonight or tomorrow."

"Alright."

"There's chicken and wild rice soup warming in the slow cooker. Make sure you have some when you get back."

Hearing this, I stared out at the neon lights of New York, feeling a wave of dizziness.

The most promising young chief of neurosurgery in the country, making soup for me with his own hands.

I should have felt content.

But in this moment, I couldn't feel any happiness at all.

Does Julian love me?

I don't know.

If he did, he wouldn't be tangled up with another woman behind my back.

"Grace?" Perhaps my long silence made him concerned, a hint of confusion in his voice.

I snapped back to reality, clutching my phone. "I understand. Focus on your surgery."

Only then did Julian hang up.

Suppressing the ache in my heart, I had my executive assistant, Anna, charter a private jet to get me back to Los Angeles as fast as possible.

...

After a flight of over five hours, I finally returned to our home―our home in Beverly Hills, Los Angeles.

Before my finger even touched the biometric scanner on the door, it swung open from the inside.

The woman standing there was my husband Julian's high school sweetheart.

The queen bee of St. John's Preparatory School, Jessica Miller.

Her hair was a cascade of crimson waves, and the silk nightgown she wore was thin. Seeing me, she flashed a seductive smile.

"Grace, you're back?"

My expression was calm. "When did you move in?"

"Two weeks ago. Julian said your guest room was empty. I just got back from Europe and couldn't be bothered to find a place, so…"

Jessica intentionally left her sentence unfinished, as if wanting to see me erupt in anger or burst into tears.

As a woman who has navigated the business world for years, I'm an expert at reading people. How could I not see through her little game?

I didn't get angry. I just nodded. "I see."

As I brushed past her, I offered a piece of friendly advice. "Jessica, you should probably find your own place soon. After all, this isn't a long-term solution."

I went upstairs to the master bedroom.

Only when I was alone did I dare let my grief and hurt surface.

Just now, I had seen a ring strung on a silver chain around Jessica's neck.

My husband, Julian, had an identical one.

He kept it hidden in the deepest drawer of his study. I remember finding it by accident once, and Julian became unusually tense.

"Grace, don't touch my things."

I had suspected something back then, but I never imagined it was a token of love he had given his first love.

A dense, sharp pain pricked at my heart. On my way up, I'd passed the kitchen, where steam was still rising from the slow cooker.

I have stomach problems, and Julian, being a doctor, has been helping me manage it with therapeutic foods for years.

But now, I had no appetite to taste it.

I don't know how long I sat on the edge of the bed, but in the dead of night, Julian returned early from his surgery.

He was stunned to find me awake, sitting there alone.

"Grace, you're still up?"

I looked up at him.

He was wearing a simple white shirt and black trousers.

The minimalist pairing only served to accentuate Julian's innate, elite aura.

"Not tired," I replied.

Julian reached out and touched my forehead, only relaxing after confirming my temperature was normal.

"It's getting cold. Don't catch a chill."

With that, he walked towards the bathroom.

Julian is a severe germaphobe. Any time he comes into contact with the outside world―even with me, his wife―he immediately washes his hands, or even showers.

This time, however, he was in there for less than ten minutes before he rushed out, wrapped in a bathrobe and clutching his phone.

"Grace, Jessica fell downstairs. I have to go check on her."

Before I could answer, Julian was already dashing out the door.

When I got up to see what was happening, I saw Julian holding Jessica in his arms, his face etched with panic.

It was in that moment that I finally realized.

Julian's mysophobia didn't apply to everyone.

Jessica was his exception.