Chapter 1

1.

There was a running joke in the Upper East Side’s elite circle:

"Harper catches a cheater twice as fast as Julian can cheat."

Whenever a husband in our circle strayed, I was always brought up as the cautionary tale of the "crazy wife."

At cocktail parties, they’d whisper behind their champagne flutes, "She’s practically a madwoman. No trophy wife should ever lose her dignity like that."

But this time, I shocked the entire New York social scene.

When the paparazzi shoved high-definition photos of Julian and that woman in bed right into my face, I didn't scream.

I just looked up at the billboard in Times Square and smiled.

Even Julian, who had rushed back from The Hamptons with his belt barely buckled, looked at me in confusion.

I shrugged, swirling the red wine in my glass. "I'm tired, Julian."

Julian laughed, relief washing over him. He pulled a cigar from his silver case and lit it. "Finally learned to be a good girl, Harper?"

My eyes drifted to the explicit photos scattered on the coffee table. "Yeah, I learned."

I had to. Because the woman he fell in love with this time was the only bone marrow match that could save my life.

...

Julian paused, his arrogant smirk freezing.

"You aren't planning some trick with the divorce settlement, are you?"

I touched the leukemia diagnosis report hidden inside my Hermes Birkin bag and let out a self-deprecating laugh.

"You're overthinking it."

I used to be the crazy woman who dominated Twitter trends.

I once stripped a mistress naked and made her walk down Fifth Avenue.

I once charged into the Ritz-Carlton with a telephoto lens, climbed into bed with the cheaters, and snapped photos right in their faces.

I naively thought that if I fought hard enough, Julian would eventually get tired of playing around and come home.

Turns out, I was the one who got tired first.

I didn't tell anyone when I got the diagnosis.

The paper with the Mount Sinai Hospital letterhead was sitting right on the master bedroom desk.

Julian never even noticed it.

Seeing me so unusually quiet, Julian was about to say something when the video doorbell rang.

Chloe appeared on the screen. Julian looked panicked.

Not letting his mistresses step foot in our penthouse was the last scrap of respect he gave me.

Three years ago, when Julian’s first scandal broke, I broke down in front of the media cameras like a maniac and scratched the model's face.

All I got from him was a cold remark:

"I thought you were prepared for this when you married into the Sterling family. Acting like a shrew is unbecoming of my wife."

I stood there in front of the cameras, wanting to cry but unable to shed a tear.

I realized then that my genuine love wasn't worth a penny against Wall Street interests.

But since then, he had been more careful.

Chloe was clearly the first woman to break through his defenses.

She stood at the door in a sharp business suit, looking helpless.

"Mrs. Sterling, the PR team is going crazy trying to handle your trending topics. I hope you can understand Julian's position."

"At the very least, don't use Julian's money to do things that hurt the stock price. Don't you agree?"

My fingertips trembled slightly.

Chloe was an Ivy League intern sponsored by the Sterling Group’s charity fund.

She was also the donor I had painstakingly found in the bone marrow registry who matched my rare blood type.

I didn't make a scene because I knew the truth.

She wouldn't be stupid enough to save me―the stumbling block to her marrying into a billionaire family.

For the first time, I nodded humbly. "OK. No problem."

Julian looked at me with shock, then cleared his throat.

"Since Chloe put it that way, come to headquarters tomorrow and apologize to everyone."

He knew better than anyone that asking someone with my pride to apologize publicly was harder than climbing to heaven.

But he gave Chloe that win anyway.

I opened my mouth, my expression grim.

Sensing my mood, Chloe immediately put on a victim act, bowed to me, and ran toward the elevator.

"Chloe!"

Julian started to chase after her, then stopped.

"You must go tomorrow."

"Also, I'm transferring Chloe to manage my personal finances. I'm freezing your secondary cards. Maybe without money, you'll calm down."

I pursed my lips and pretended to be relaxed.

"Whatever. You're the boss."

Julian frowned, then chased after her without looking back.

I got a nosebleed. Blood dripped onto the carpet.

He didn't see it.

Looking at the astronomical bill for the targeted therapy drugs sent by the doctor, I clicked 'cancel' on every single one.

Then I called my lawyer.

"Prepare the divorce papers."