Chapter 1

A rainy night.

I flew back to New York from Paris early, wanting to surprise Dante Moretti.

The sound of my key turning in the lock echoed in the foyer, but it was drowned out by a woman's sweet moan from inside.

“Oh, Dante, you’re so naughty~”

My hand froze in mid-air.

I knew that voice all too well. It was Dante’s assistant, Isabella.

The living room was dimly lit. On the sofa of our Long Island estate, two figures were tangled together.

Isabella was straddling Dante, wearing the silk nightgown I had just bought on Fifth Avenue last month.

“Oh, my man is so strong. I’m about to melt for you~”

Dante’s large hand caressed her back, his voice low and magnetic. “You little devil, scream a little louder.”

My heart felt like a cold dagger had been stabbed right through it.

The suitcase in my hand crashed to the floor with a loud thud.

They broke apart instantly. Dante’s face turned pale as he looked at me.

“Juliana, what are you doing back?”

Isabella quickly threw on a coat, her eyes filled with triumphant provocation.

I fought back tears, my voice trembling. “I should be asking you two what you’re doing.”

“Juliana, let me explain…”

“Explain what?” I cut him off. “Are you going to explain that you were just discussing ‘family business’?”

Dante fell silent.

But Isabella suddenly spoke up. “Juliana, honey, Dante was tired of you a long time ago. He said you’re like a block of ice in bed.”

Her words hit me like a vicious slap across the face.

“Dante Moretti, is that what you’ve been saying behind my back?”

He remained silent, his eyes avoiding mine.

I understood.

His silence was the only answer I needed.

I turned and walked away. Dante called my name from behind me, but I didn’t look back.

Three years of marriage. I thought we were the most enviable couple in New York.

Turns out it was just my one-woman show.

Late at night on the streets of Manhattan, the neon lights flickered with a cold glow.

I walked aimlessly, tears blurring my vision.

My phone rang. It was Dante.

I hung up.

It rang again.

I hung up again.

The third time it rang, I turned my phone off completely.

I didn’t want to hear a single one of his excuses.

Some things, once seen, can’t be unseen. An excuse is just a pretty lie.

The rain fell harder, soaking my clothes.

I walked past a 24-hour convenience store and went inside.

“Miss, are you okay?” the clerk asked with concern.

I shook my head and bought a bottle of whiskey.

Sitting on the steps outside the store, I drank it sip by sip.

The alcohol muddled my thoughts.

I remembered the first time I met Dante Moretti.

It was at the Parsons School of Design's annual competition. He was a sponsor, and I was a contestant.

He said my designs had soul and asked if I would be willing to work for the Moretti family.

From an intern to his personal designer, from his lover to the “matriarch” of the Moretti family.

I thought we would grow old together.

My phone rang again. It was my best friend, Sloane. I must have turned it back on without realizing.

“Juliana, where are you? Dante is looking for you like a madman.”

“Looking for me for what? To humiliate me again?”

“He said he has something important to tell you, and he asked me to convince you to come home.”

“Home?” I laughed bitterly. “Is that place still a home?”

Sloane was silent for a moment. “Where are you now? I’ll come get you.”

“No, it’s fine. I just want to be alone.”

I hung up and kept drinking.

The bottle was soon empty, and my consciousness began to fade.

I don't know how long passed before a familiar figure appeared in front of me.

It was Dante.

His face was filled with anxiety, his expensive suit soaked through.

“Juliana, are you crazy? Sitting out here in the rain in the middle of the night.”

He tried to help me up, but I slapped his hand away.

“Don’t touch me.”

“Juliana, can we please talk?”

“Talk about what? About your bedroom skills with Isabella?”

His expression turned ugly. “You’re drunk.”

“I’m not drunk.” I staggered to my feet. “Dante Moretti, let’s get a divorce.”