Chapter 1
My arrogant husband seemed heartbroken.
I woke up in the middle of the night and found him standing on the balcony, flipping through a phone while silently smoking.
I intended to comfort him, maybe even talk things out—but as I got closer, I realized he was holding my phone.
Panicking, I tiptoed back, trying to escape quietly, but Ethan Rivera heard the sound.
He snorted coldly and said, “What are you so afraid of?”
“Sara, what kind of trouble have you gotten yourself into this time?”
The balcony wasn’t lit, and the dim city glow cast shadows across his tall, sculpted frame. His voice, casual yet cutting, made my scalp tingle.
I had done a few… questionable things. But I had no idea which one he was referring to.
A few days ago, after drinking too much wine, I ended up in a livestream and impulsively showered the guy with virtual gifts—using his account.
And I may have broken the crystal music box that his ex-girlfriend had given him. I was so afraid he’d notice, I asked her to send a new one behind his back.
Oh, and I also sold the wedding ring… and used the money to buy a house. Under my name.
---
Gathering up my courage, I poured a glass of lemonade and walked over to him.
I used the moment to sneak a glance at the phone screen—and nearly dropped the glass.
He was going through my browser history.
If it were me, even if I were hit by a bus, I’d still manage to clear my browser history before blacking out. Just remembering the kinds of novels I had bookmarked made me want the earth to swallow me whole.
Ethan's well-defined fingers tapped the screen calmly. His voice was steady, slow.
“Two years into this marriage… and I don’t even know who you are.”
Of course he didn’t. He never cared to. He only married me to get back at Isabella. Had he forgotten?
“Babe, you must be exhausted from your business trip,” I said with forced sweetness. “Why don’t you get some rest?”
I reached out with a pitiful look, hoping he'd return the phone.
Ethan’s deep eyes narrowed, the corner of his mouth curving into a cold smirk.
He ignored me and opened my WhatsApp.
My heart skipped a beat.
At the top of the chat list was a guy named AceStorm—a livestreamer I’d recently grown fond of.
He was a new content creator, probably still in college. He sang beautifully, though barely anyone watched his streams.
For just a few digital tokens, you could request a song. Some troll kept requesting “Moonlite Echoes” over and over.
His voice got raspier with each performance, but he didn’t stop. The viewers begged him to rest.
His eyes were red, but he kept singing.
It reminded me of my own college days—working late-night jobs, getting harassed by supervisors just to make ends meet.
Feeling a connection, I sent him six airships in a row—enough to become his top fan.
He was grateful and messaged me first on WhatsApp.
Ethan frowned as he scrolled through:
AceStorm: “Good morning! Just finished at the gym!”
AceStorm: [Image: White tank top slightly lifted, showing abs]
Me: “Be careful when you go out, okay? Stay safe.”
Me: “Are you home yet?”
AceStorm: “Anywhere without you isn’t home… sobbing.”
---
Ethan crushed his cigarette in the ashtray, his gaze heavy as it fell on me. His tone was dangerously calm.
“Sara, are you… thinking about getting a divorce?”
What?
Wasn’t he the one who wanted it?
