Chapter 2

Joanna's mother, Andrea Guzman, said, "Really? You're not lying to me?" On the other end of the line, Andrea's voice was buzzing with excitement. But to Joanna, the voice only triggered a wave of disgust. She said flatly, "I have a few conditions." "Name them. As long as you agree to marry into the Schuman family, I will agree to whatever you want." A mocking smile tugged at Joanna's lips. "I want a helicopter to pick me up. I want you to erase every trace of me from this city. And lastly… I'll send you a design. You'll have someone make me that wedding gown. Exactly as shown." There was a pause. Then Andrea responded with a puzzled tone, "The Schuman family already has everything ready. Why would you need to handle the wedding gown yourself? And besides, that's not something the bride should be dealing with." Joanna's lashes fluttered, her eyes low and unreadable. She had no interest in explaining. She said calmly, "Just do it. Bring what I asked for. I'll keep my word. I'll marry George Schuman." She was just about to hang up when Andrea's voice came through again. "Make sure you're divorced before you come. The Schuman family doesn't care that you've been married before, but if you're going to cut ties, do it cleanly." Joanna let out a bitter laugh. "You don't have to worry. I've never been married." Her arm dropped loosely to her side. "What? What do you mean you have never been married?" Andrea's confused voice crackled through the phone, but Joanna didn't answer. She ended the call. "Never married? Who's never married?" A voice behind her—low, familiar—froze her in place. She turned slowly, only to meet Rowan's rigid expression, his lips twisted into a strained smile. He strode toward her and grabbed her wrist hard. She winced at the pain but didn't make a sound. Her face was calm, and her gaze never left his. She said evenly, "I was never married." Rowan stared at her, eyes locked onto hers. Then, a strange smile pulled at the corner of his mouth. He suddenly threw an arm around her shoulders, holding her close. "Darling, if you were never married, then who am I to you? Come on, stop messing around. You're not getting rid of me. Not in this lifetime," he said. He pressed a kiss to her forehead. But the moment his lips brushed her skin, a cold shiver ran down her spine. She thought, "Rowan, that's exactly what I've been wondering. If I was never your wife… then who exactly were you to me?" She bit down on her tongue so hard the metallic taste of blood filled her mouth. Her nails dug deep into her palms. Every nerve screamed for release, for her to shout or cry or break something—anything. But all she could do was bite down on her lower lip, trembling as her vision blurred from the sting behind her eyes. Rowan watched her, visibly rattled by her state. He reached out awkwardly, trying to wipe the tears from her face. It had been a long time since Rowan had seen Joanna cry. Something about her now—so raw, so broken—stirred a deep instinct in him. The urge to protect her surged up without warning. Rowan stared at her, his expression turning serious. "Darling, who hurt you? You never cry. What's going on with you today?" A small twitch pulled at Joanna's brow. She thought, "Am I crying?" She lifted her hand to her face instinctively. Her fingertips came away wet. Rowan's eyes were locked onto her, full of concern. She could have told the truth. But instead, she let out a small, mocking laugh. "I'm on my period. The cramps are killing me. I'm tired, Rowan. I just want to sleep." As she turned to walk away, he swept her up in his arms. As they walked past the study, the same guys who had been teasing her earlier suddenly changed their tone. Now they were gushing about how perfect the two of them looked together—like something out of a fairytale. Rowan cursed them playfully and chased them out of the house. Then he carried Joanna to their bedroom, laid her gently on the bed, and stretched out beside her without even removing his jacket. One warm hand found her lower abdomen, moving in slow, steady circles. "Feeling better, darling?" he murmured. Every month, around this time, the pain would hit her hard. And every month, Rowan would drop everything—meetings, calls, business trips—just to be home. He would lie beside her in the dark and warm her with his hands until she drifted off. He loved the way she sounded half-asleep, her voice soft and sleepy when she mumbled, "Yeah… that's better." It reminded him of the girl she used to be. Back when she was still the heiress of the Malone family in Andarre. She was timid but impossibly stubborn. After her father died, her mother became a well-known socialite, the kind who moved through high society like it was a stage. Joanna hated it. She hated her mother and everything she stood for. To maintain the illusion of elegance, Andrea had long traded her dignity for wealth, moving from one man's bed to another. Watching her mother ruin herself, Joanna rebelled. She started sneaking into clubs and drinking. She was nearly assaulted because of Andrea. A man tried to force himself on her, and no one stepped in—until Rowan showed up. A street-smart kid with fists and fury, he had pulled her out of that nightmare. From that moment, she never left his side. She learned he was the illegitimate son of the Swanson family in Andarre. She learned about his rough beginnings. His pride ran deeper than his bloodlines, and so did his anger. She ran with him when he fled the country. She stood beside him while he built his empire in the shadows of Eldorra. Whatever he faced, she faced it too. Rowan said she was too delicate, so she became unbreakable. He hated how easily she used to cry. So she learned to swallow pain with grit and silence. Even when a bullet tore through her shoulder, she didn't shed a single tear. For ten years, Joanna stayed by Rowan's side. She transformed from a timid, fragile girl into the one they all feared in the syndicate—Joanna. And finally, she earned his heart. He looked her in the eye and said, "Joanna, marry me." But now, she realized it had all been a lie. Rowan lay beside her, waiting for a reply that never came. His phone suddenly buzzed on the nightstand. He pulled his hand away and grabbed it quickly. The glow of the screen lit up his face. A smile crept across his features. His fingers flew across the keyboard as he typed back, completely absorbed. The warmth he had left on her abdomen slowly faded.