Chapter 1

To marry her father, Luke Johnson's close friend, Oliver Carter, Cynthia Johnson decided to cut ties with her family. Even after three years of marriage, Oliver still loved her passionately. Just moments ago, they had finished a nearly hour-long round of intimacy. "Sweetheart, how am I supposed to resist you when you are dressed like that? At this rate, you will be the death of me," he said. Cynthia lay exhausted on the bed, her entire body aching. She was too drained to even lift a finger, struggling to keep up with his pace even after all this time. People said younger men are stronger, but Oliver—12 years her senior—would put them to shame whenever he got things going. Still, she propped herself up and gave him a contented smile. "Don't you die on me. You promised you'd care for me forever." "You little minx." Oliver chuckled affectionately, tapping her perky nose before gently wiping her down with a warm towel. Cynthia let him move her however he pleased. In no time, he had helped her into her pajamas, then casually shrugged. "Get some rest, sweetheart. I still have some work to finish up, so I'll be with you later." His attentiveness warmed her heart. Cynthia never once regretted marrying him. He had fulfilled every fantasy she ever had about love and marriage. Worried he'd overwork himself, she prepared fruit juice and brought it to his study. However, just as she was about to open the door, voices from inside caught her attention. "Oliver, Melissa's big day is next week—she's finally becoming Johnson Corporation's CEO. What are you planning to get her as a gift?" "Let me guess… Your divorce from Cynthia?" Oliver's raspy voice cut through with a warning tone. "Whatever's going on between Melissa and me, you'd all better keep your mouths shut. Otherwise, we can all forget about being good friends." Yet, his warning didn't stop the others from gossiping. "Come on, Oliver. You're being way too cautious. Melissa's about to be CEO. Her place in the Johnson family is solid. Why keep wasting time on Cynthia? We all know the one you love is Melissa." "Exactly. He only married Cynthia to help Melissa climb the ladder. Rumor has it Cynthia even cut ties with her father for him. Talk about being a simp." "Let's be real—Melissa's just the adopted daughter. If she were a true Johnson by blood, Oliver wouldn't have had to make such sacrifices." "Didn't he say it himself? He's only using Cynthia as a practice. When the time comes and Melissa marries him, he'll finally live the good life." Oliver didn't deny their theories. Cynthia stood frozen, her heart pounding in disbelief. How could it be that Oliver didn't love her? If he hadn't loved her, why had he knelt outside the Johnson residence to marry her to the point where he collapsed from a fever and was hospitalized? Why would he know everything about her life? Why did he prepare her meals, her clothes, her home—every little detail of it? Why would he pour such passionate desire into her every time they slept with each other? Over a thousand nights, he whispered his love into her ear. Those words still echoed clearly, so how could it all be fake? She wanted to barge in and confront him, but her hand recoiled like it had been burned. She was scared. What if it were all true? Suddenly, she had no courage left. Cynthia placed the glass of juice quietly by the door and staggered off. … Back in their bedroom, she threw herself onto the still-warm sheets that held the scent and memory of their intimacy. She breathed in deeply, as if trying to find traces of his love here. "Sweetheart, did you leave the fruit juice outside the door?" Oliver asked, gently nudging her as she pretended to sleep. His voice carried a hint of cautious curiosity. "Yeah, I did," she mumbled, keeping her eyes closed, feigning sleep. "I left it there. Didn't want to disturb you. Did you drink it?" "You didn't hear anything, right?" "No," she replied, voice soft and drowsy. "I left right after." Seeing Cynthia's calm expression, Oliver finally relaxed. He leaned in and kissed her softly on the corner of her lips. "It's late. Get some rest. I'm here with you." Soon, the room filled with the sound of steady breathing. Once she was sure he was asleep, she carefully reached for his phone. The passcode was her birthday. It unlocked instantly. She had never once gone through his things. She trusted him, but tonight… she couldn't stop herself. Everything seemed normal at first. Only messages from work and photos—hundreds of them—of her. Just as she began to wonder whether she had merely been paranoid, a message popped up on the screen. It read, "The toy you sent just arrived. Want to try it out?"