Chapter 1
Chantelle’s POV “Are you sure about this? Once you sign these papers, you’ll be declaring war on your own husband. There’s no undoing it.” I stared down at the divorce and resignation papers, my hands trembling slightly—not with fear but with a bitter laugh. Lachlan Gurfinchel made that decision for me the moment he chose her mistress over our seven years of marriage. And the worst part—I didn’t find out until our anniversary. I was four months pregnant when I got into a car crash. There was so much blood, I honestly thought I might die. And where was my loving husband while I was bleeding out on the side of the road? His goddamn phone was off. Days later, after I was discharged, I found the answer—hidden in the clothes he’d carelessly tossed aside. Four Disneyland tickets and a happy portrait of a family of four. The date on the tickets? The exact day I lost our baby. In the photo, Lachlan and Kirsten Horvath posed like the perfect mom and dad. Just then, my phone buzzed. It was a message from her. [Did you like my anniversary gift? The twins I had with him are already four. Hate to break it to you, but you were the secret mistress all along.] Before I could even process it, she sent a series of videos. I tapped one. And there it was—my husband, naked, moving over her like he didn’t have a wife. “I promised you,” he said, his sweet voice playing loud and clear from the speaker, “the twins will inherit the family fortune. As for Chantelle, I’ll just spend the rest of my life making it up to her.” At that moment, I knew—our seven years of marriage was long over. It was time to take back all the love I had ever wasted. “Mr. Coulthard.” I looked up, my voice steady. “I don’t need an escape route. I accept your offer. Please find the best hospital for my mother, and I’ll report for work at your company in seven days.” —— After I hung up the phone, my gaze drifted down to the terms written on the divorce papers in my hands. But my mind was already slipping somewhere else. I wasn’t just the CEO’s secretary—I was his wife. We’d been married in secret for seven long years. I still remember the morning of our anniversary. That day, I found out I was pregnant. I’d tucked the test into my bag, rehearsing how I’d tell him over dinner. But on my way back to the estate, a car came out of nowhere and slammed into me. The world spun in a blur of screeching tires and shattered glass, and the first thing I did was to shield my belly. Blood was everywhere. I could barely hold my phone, but I managed to dial his emergency number. It rang. And rang. But Lachlan never picked up. By the time I stopped calling him, darkness pulled me under. When I woke up, the first thing I did was to feel my belly. It was… flat. Remembering what my baby bump used to feel like shattered my heart felt like someone dug it out of my chest. I didn’t need to ask. The pity in the doctor’s eyes told me everything. Somehow, I made it home and moved on autopilot—shoes off, coat hung, laundry started. That’s when I found it—a crumpled receipt in my husband’s pockets. And beside it… a photo. There he was—my husband, smiling, arm around Kirsten. Standing beside them were two children, a boy and a girl, who looked identical. Probably twins. Their features were unmistakable—they looked like him. And the four of them together looked like a family. My legs nearly gave out from the pain. Still, I caught myself on the edge of the washing machine and unfolded the receipt with shaking hands. It was from an amusement park, the same one located near where my accident happened. ‘So Lachlan already has kids with Kirsten…’ ‘So that day, while I was bleeding in the ER, they were at a theme park enjoying a family day…’ ‘So while I was losing the baby I hadn’t even gotten to tell him about… he was having fun with his two kids…’ The realization hit like another collision, the pain so sharp I couldn’t straighten up. My vision blurred again, but this time from tears. I wiped my face, shoved the photo and receipt back where I found them, and forced myself upstairs. By the time Lachlan stepped out of the shower, towel slung low, displaying his abs, I had already braced myself. That’s when I saw them—scratches running down his back. Long, thin, fresh. He paused when he saw me, just for a second. Then, as if nothing had happened, he reached into a bag and tossed me a necklace. “Don’t be mad,” he said lightly. “I just took a client’s family to the amusement park that day. I’ll make it up to you, alright?” My heart clenched. ‘A client,’ I repeated in my head. ‘As if any client needed a billionaire CEO to personally escort their wife and kids to Disneyland!’ If he cared about me at all, he wouldn’t lie to my face with something that ridiculous. I caught the necklace without a word. My hands felt numb. That night, he climbed into bed and pressed against me. “Babe, I’ve been away on business so long. Did you miss me?” His deep voice was seductive, but the scent of jasmine clung to his skin. That familiar feminine perfume made me feel like I was suffocating; I had to push him away to breathe. Seeing the confusion contorting on his face, I said flatly, “I’m not feeling well tonight.” He frowned but didn’t push. He just kissed my forehead, got up, and when he came back, he handed me a cup of chamomile tea. He still acted like the perfect husband. But as I sipped the warm tea, all I felt was cold. The warmth didn’t melt the dread in my heart. I closed my eyes… but all I could see was blood. The crash. The way it felt to lose everything in one breath. The trauma robbed me of sleep that night. Sometime in the middle of the night, his phone rang. He answered quickly, dressed even quicker, and slipped out the door without a sound. The soft click behind him was the only goodbye. I opened my eyes. The room was silent again. Too quiet. In my hands, I was still holding both agreements—divorce and resignation. I stared down at them, the paper trembling slightly in my grip… when suddenly, a voice came from behind me. “Chantelle? What’s that you’re holding?”