Rhea's POV

I scroll through the messages, my knuckles going white as I grip the phone.

*Chloe's in the hospital. She needs a blood transfusion. Come to Oakhaven General. Now! Where are you? You are fifteen minutes late.*

*If you are unhappy about the price, it's been upped to one hundred thousand dollars. Check your bank account.*

*Rhea Larsen, I expect your presence at the hospital within the next twenty minutes. A deal's a deal.*

A sneer twists my lips. These don't read like texts from a husband—they sound like commands barked at some lowly employee.

That pretty much captures my marriage to Julian perfectly. I'm the servant, he's the master.

When Julian Thorne issues orders, he expects immediate compliance. No questions, no delays.

The small detail that I've already donated blood multiple times in recent weeks? That's apparently too insignificant for him to remember.

Or give a damn about.

"Suck it up. A deal's a deal."

I can practically hear his voice, cold and dismissive, as if he's standing right here looking down that perfect nose at me.

I shiver and rub my arms, fighting off another wave of dizziness.

The nausea hits next, followed by cold sweats—all lovely side effects of giving too much blood too fast.

I tug at my wide sleeves, making sure they cover the ugly bruises dotting my inner arms where they've jabbed that massive needle over and over.

Not that Julian would notice the marks anyway.

He's never laid a finger on me when we're in the same space.

When he's not busy building his empire, he's glued to Chloe Abbott's side.

Everyone speculates about what exactly they are to each other, but I've never had the guts to ask Julian directly.

I'm just the wife, after all.

And a fake one at that.

We sleep in different rooms, exchange polite nods when we bump into each other, and can go days without speaking.

The only time he bothers contacting me is when Chloe needs something.

I happen to have the same freakishly rare blood type as Julian's supposed mistress—AB negative.

Actually, my blood is the sole reason Julian agreed to marry me years ago.

Chloe needed a transfusion then, just like she needs one now.

Less than one percent of people have AB-negative blood, and hospitals are always running short.

"You want me to marry you?"

I can still picture that hospital hallway, reeking of disinfectant and other people's blood, where Julian had stared at the girl bold enough to use Chloe's condition as leverage against him.

My heart had hammered against my ribs as I nodded.

"Fine, but only if you agree to be Chloe's personal blood donor, around the clock. Whenever she needs it, you make yourself available—no questions, no excuses, no backing out. I'll pay you for it."

I'd jumped at the deal, thinking I'd hit the jackpot.

God, I was such an idiot.

I swipe away his latest message—probably another harsh reminder to get my ass to Oakhaven General.

I tap my phone and pull up a photo.

Someone sent it anonymously.

Even asleep, Julian looks impossibly, devastatingly gorgeous.

His face looks like it was sculpted by angels having their best day ever.

Those lips—thin but perfectly shaped, made for kissing—not that I'd know what they taste like.

His eyes are the color of flawless brown topaz, sharp and commanding.

Those long, dark lashes match his black hair, always cut with military precision.

And that jawline could make any man jealous enough to book plastic surgery.

I fell for him the second I saw that face.

My heart still does backflips every time I look at him.

We don't share a bed, but from the few times I've caught him stepping out of the shower with just a towel around his waist, I know there's an incredible body hiding under those crisp shirts and perfectly tailored suits.

Just like the one he's wearing in this photo.

But that's not what makes me stare at this picture for several minutes straight.

It's Chloe's head nestled against Julian's broad shoulder.

He's lounging in a deep red armchair, long legs stretched out, hands folded over his lap, eyes closed.

Chloe looks like she's sleeping too, except for that slight smirk on her lips.

That smirk gives away who sent this photo.

Who else but Chloe? It would explain the nasty, triumphant message that came with it.

"Look how perfect they are together! You should give up. Prince Charming deserves a real princess, not the maid."

I switch to the front camera and study my reflection, wondering if maybe Chloe's right.

I'm not hideous, but all that blood loss has left my cheeks and lips colorless.

The constant exhaustion makes me look like a starved ghost—hollow-eyed and sickly pale.

Is that why Julian never gives me a second look? Is Chloe, with those sultry eyes and pouty lips, more his type?

I touch Julian's face on the screen and finally decide.

I gave myself years to try winning his heart.

He sees me as nothing but an opportunist who took advantage of a desperate situation.

He basically married me against his will.

That's why I swallowed my considerable pride, buried my memories of a better life, and learned to play the perfect submissive wife and dutiful daughter-in-law.

I kissed up to his snobby family, humiliated myself in front of his friends, and followed every piece of advice from *Domesticity* magazine.

I hoped he'd eventually realize that even though I'd forced my way into his life through calculation, my feelings for him were real.

But he never softened toward me.

...

Rhea's POV

Over the years of marriage, I could count our genuine conversations on one hand.

Meanwhile, Julian's demands for me to show up at the hospital—sleeves rolled up, vein ready—had bombarded my phone relentlessly.

Text by text, he'd torn down every defense I'd built around my heart, exposing the brutal truth I'd tried so hard to ignore—he didn't love me.

Never had, never would.

I'd seen our marriage as building a life with the man I adored.

He'd probably viewed it as just another business deal.

"A deal's a deal," he'd remind me constantly.

Chloe's photo was the final blow that shattered everything.

I stood up, squeezed my eyes shut as dizziness washed over me, and tried to push down the sharp pain in my chest.

Usually, I was tough as nails.

But admitting that years of my life had been a complete waste? That was a hard truth to stomach.

My eyes burned, but I refused to let the tears fall.

I wouldn't give him that satisfaction.

I stood there, pulling myself together.

The front door slammed open.

Julian stormed in, all six feet of him looking devastatingly handsome in that charcoal suit, his long strides eating up the space between us.

Irritation flashed across his face when he spotted me in the living room.

It turned to pure rage when he saw the phone in my grip.

"If your damn phone works, why didn't you answer me?"

I drank in his sharp features, memorizing every detail.

This would likely be our last moment standing this close.

Being a man of action, he grabbed my wrist and started hauling me toward the door.

"Hospital. Now."

"I know." I planted my feet, gripping the sofa's back to keep from being dragged away.

"Then why aren't you moving?" He exhaled sharply, clearly fed up.

"I'll go. I'll give blood. But I want something first."

"Money? Already transferred." He shoved his hands deep into his pockets. "Check your account."

"It's not about money."

"Then what? Spit it out. We're burning daylight."

"I want a divorce." My voice came out ice-cold, matching his tone perfectly.

I kept my expression neutral, hiding the agony threatening to spill over.

Julian studied me more carefully.

I could see him processing, like he wasn't sure he'd heard right.

Did I just demand a divorce? Wasn't I the one who'd pushed for marriage? What the hell changed? He voiced his confusion. "Explain."

"I don't owe you an explanation. Want Chloe's blood? That's my price."

"That wasn't our arrangement."

"I know. I'm changing the terms. Deal with it." I shrugged.

Shock crossed his features.

Julian had never seen me like this—

Ready for a fight.

I looked calm on the surface, but he'd caught the fury burning in my red-rimmed eyes.

Still, in his mind, I had no reason to be pissed.

Nothing had changed.

——

Julian's POV

Then it hit me.

Could this be one of those hormonal meltdowns women had during their periods? A buddy had warned me—probably speaking from experience—that reasoning with a woman during that time was impossible.

I decided to play along for now.

Maybe she'd calm down in a few days and backtrack, giving me leverage for whatever new deal we'd negotiate.

"Fine." I nodded. "Got the papers ready?"

"Uh, no." She hadn't expected me to cave so fast.

But then again, I'd always been decisive.

"I'll print a standard divorce agreement. We'll both sign, mail it to Family Court. No-fault divorce should get approved pretty quickly."

I was already heading for the spiral staircase.

My office was upstairs.

In shock, she waited while I returned with two copies, then signed both with shaking hands.

As I scrawled my signature, something unsettled gnawed at me.

I brushed it off.

"Done." I slipped one copy into an envelope and sealed it. "I'll mail this on our way to the hospital. Let's move."

She shoved her copy into her bag, swallowing the emotion threatening to choke her.

I'd made it look so effortless.

Had I been waiting for this moment all along?

She followed me outside to my Bugatti, staying silent during the entire drive while staring out the window.

I kept glancing her way, massaging the tension in my forehead, fighting the urge to question my decision to sign those papers.

Was her outburst really just PMS? Would everything return to normal in a couple days?

I sure as hell hoped so.

Neither of us spoke until we reached Oakhaven General.

——

Rhea's POV

Chloe sat propped up in the luxury private room Julian had secured for her, playing the fragile victim perfectly.

A doctor in scrubs dozed in a nearby chair.

Chloe's face brightened when Julian walked in, then darkened the second I appeared behind him.

I caught the flash of hatred in those expertly lined eyes.

"Julian, I told you I'm fine," Chloe whined with practiced intimacy. "You didn't need to drag Rhea here."

She covered her mouth, coughing delicately.

"She's here now. Might as well make use of her."

Julian turned to me. "Roll up your sleeve."

...

Rhea's POV

I approached the bed and positioned myself directly in front of Chloe.

She gave me a feeble smile. "Rhea, thank you for coming. I—Aah!"

Her scream pierced the air as I yanked away the white bandage wrapped around her forehead.

"What are you doing?" Julian and Chloe shouted together.

"Are you out of your mind?" Julian grabbed my arm, pulling me back before I could continue.

Chloe bounced back fast.

Her annoyance shifted to confusion as she added a wounded tone to her voice. "I... Rhea, I don't get it. Why did you...?"

I held up the spotless white gauze. "No blood."

Julian's brows drew together.

I gestured toward Chloe's uncovered forehead. "No injury. Not even a mark."

Turning to Julian, I said, "You claimed she had an accident, smashed her head badly, lost tons of blood." I let out a cold laugh. "Must be phantom blood."

Julian spun toward the doctor. "What's happening here? You said head trauma, ordered a blood transfusion."

Doctor Gupta—according to the name tag on his white coat—slowly stood up.

Sweat beaded on his forehead.

"I, uh, we just... I just followed orders."

"Whose orders?" Julian's voice dropped low, menacing.

"Yours, Mr. Thorne!" The doctor stared at his shoes.

"When did I tell you to fabricate a diagnosis?"

I settled against the wall, folded my arms, and watched the show with detached amusement.

Julian noticed the mocking curve of my lips.

His hands clenched into fists as he glared at the doctor's shiny scalp.

"Um, uh, Miss Abbott said..."

"Speak clearly!" Julian roared.

"She told us you wanted the diagnosis serious so Miss Larsen would have to donate blood!" the doctor stammered out.

He shot Chloe an apologetic look.

"Sorry!"

"Julian, don't believe him!" Chloe straightened, panic creeping in. "He's lying!"

Julian lifted his hand, palm facing out—a clear signal for quiet.

Chloe fell silent.

"Go on," Julian fixed the doctor with a hard stare.

"Each time Miss Abbott visits the hospital, she warns me ahead of time, makes sure I understand what diagnosis to give, gets our stories aligned. Usually some injury requiring blood donation."

"And you just played along?"

The doctor at least had the grace to look guilty. "She threatened my position if I didn't cooperate!" He continued with visible reluctance, "And since Chloe didn't really need the blood, I could move it through underground channels. AB negative was extremely rare, worth more than precious metals. I'd been building up quite a profit and considered it a win-win situation—though honestly, I wasn't clear on what Miss Abbott gained from it."

"Julian," Chloe twisted her fingers together. "I can explain—"

Now that her fake injury was exposed, color had mysteriously returned to her ashen face.

"To buy yourself more time to craft a believable lie," I cut in, "let me show him this. You might as well dream up something that covers both the phony wound and this photo."

I tapped my phone screen and looked at Julian. "Just sent you a picture with notes."

Julian stared at his image on the screen.

The candid photo's setting seemed familiar.

What wasn't familiar was Chloe's face pressed against his.

"Your company's tech team is solid," I said casually. "You can probably get them to check if the image is altered and track down who sent it."

"Who gave you this?" Julian looked up.

"That's your job to discover, and hers to clarify." I gave Chloe a predatory smile.

"Oh, and that arrangement I had with him? It's done. You'll need to find another blood source."

I strolled out of the room, leaving years of my life in the dust.

——

Julian's POV

Doctor Gupta took the chance to slip away.

I clutched my phone.

The crack about Prince Charming and the servant hit deep.

I'd never seen Rhea as hired help.

Actually, I'd never really seen her at all.

The bitter remark added to the hollow feeling in my chest—Rhea hadn't decided on divorce impulsively.

The photo was likely the final blow.

She was truly done with me. For good.

A sharp ache pierced my heart.

I turned toward the exit. "Rhea!"

Chloe picked that moment to tumble from the bed.

Her knees struck the floor with a loud crack.

She pressed her hands to her chest. "I... I don't feel right."

I stopped, wavered briefly, then came back. "What's the matter?"

"I... I feel dizzy." Her face contorted with apparent pain. "I think I might collapse."

"I'll find the doctor."

"No, don't go, please!" She grabbed my arm, tears streaming. "I miss Dante. I wish he was here!"

I went rigid.

Images of my army friend's last moments flooded back.

From the edge of her vision, Chloe saw the grief cross my features and concealed a triumphant smirk.

To ensure I remained, she held her breath until she actually fainted.

——

Rhea's POV

I stood before the elevator, hit the call button, and listened hard, but no rushing footsteps echoed from the corridor behind me.

My lips curved into a bitter expression.

The man I'd shared years with couldn't spare a second to say farewell.

I wondered whether that reflected his emotional detachment, or my complete failure to claim even the smallest space in his heart.

He'd probably already erased me from his thoughts and was searching for his next blood supplier.

I entered the elevator.

The doors closed.

I emerged in the underground garage.

Julian's black Bugatti sat in its designated space.

I walked by without looking back, stopped beside a Smokey Quartz Rolls-Royce Phantom, and lowered my head.

...

Rhea's POV

The back window of the Rolls-Royce slid down without a sound.

My big brother's handsome face appeared, his dark eyes finding mine. "Get in."

The lock clicked open.

I pulled my shoulders tight and slipped into the backseat like a scolded child.

Collapsing against Soren's lap, I finally let the tears fall.

"Shh, it's okay." His hand moved across my back in gentle circles, the way you'd comfort a wounded animal.

He nodded to the driver, who started the engine quietly.

"I was such an idiot," I choked out through my sobs. "So damn stupid and blind."

"Everyone screws up, honey. I knew you'd figure it out eventually."

Just didn't think it would take so long, he kept to himself.

I dried my face on his expensive pants and sat up straight.

"Thanks for coming to get me. I hope I didn't drag you away from something important."

Soren ran the family empire now, being the eldest Kensington son.

The Apex Group started small in retail but grew over generations into something massive.

They had offices scattered across cities in multiple countries.

He'd walked out of an acquisition meeting this morning when my text finally came through.

"Anything for my princess, Bunny."

"Stop calling me that," I groaned. "Makes me sound like I'm still playing with toys."

"You were, once upon a time."

"That was forever ago."

Soren just ruffled my hair and gave me that indulgent smile he always did.

"And thanks for tracking down that photo."

"Couple of phone calls, that's all." His thumb brushed the wet streaks from my cheeks.

"I missed you so much." The simple gesture broke me open again.

"Same here, Bunny. We all did."

I crashed into his arms once more. "I've been such a fool. You warned me. Dad warned me. Everyone did. I should've listened."

"Better now than never," Soren said softly.

"So you cut things off with Thorne?"

I nodded hard. "Divorce papers are headed to the courthouse right now."

"No more Rhea Larsen?"

"That name's dead and gone. I'm Rhea Kensington again."

"Welcome home, princess."

His lips pressed against my forehead as he took in my washed-out skin and swollen eyes.

"I've said it before, but it's worth saying again—he wasn't worth your time, Bunny. You deserve better than that."

"I see it now." My fingers found the tender spot on my left arm that still ached. "Learned it the hard way."

"You always were stubborn as hell."

He tapped my nose playfully.

"Had to learn for yourself. You had a massive blind spot where Thorne was concerned."

"No more blinders, I swear. No more Stubborn Bunny. From here on out, I'm Smart Bunny—the one who actually listens to her family."

"Does that mean you're coming back to work?"

"Back to the company?" I made a face. "I just escaped a soul-crushing marriage. Can't I have a few days to feel sorry for myself?"

"Work's the best cure for heartbreak, honey."

"Only you would actually believe that."

I shook my head in disbelief.

Soren lived and breathed the business.

Always worried about something.

Even though he'd kept his word and stayed away all this time, I knew he'd been watching from a distance. That's what big brothers do.

He'd hated my plan to go undercover as some nobody to get close to Julian Thorne.

In Oakhaven, the Kensingtons were basically royalty.

I was supposed to live like a princess, not scrape by like everyone else.

People should've been serving me, not the other way around.

But I'd been young and stupid back then.

Made a terrible call, thought Julian Thorne was everything I wanted, and threw away my whole life chasing that fantasy.

The more my family pushed back, the harder I fought them.

Until I basically ran away and became someone else entirely.

Thank God that phase was finally over.

Soren was already planning a dozen ways to celebrate my homecoming.

Dad would lose his mind with joy.

I watched the city blur past through the tinted glass as we left the hospital behind.

I'd buried my disaster of a marriage.

Time to reclaim my real life.

"You're right," I said firmly. "Work might actually be exactly what I need."

"But first, we celebrate!" He handed me his tablet. "Pick somewhere good."

"You're paying?"

"My treat."

I kissed his smooth cheek. "Thanks!"

——

Julian's POV

I stepped out of Chloe's room after a team of doctors—everyone except Gupta—examined her and confirmed she'd simply fainted.

I pulled out my phone, stared at the name on the screen, tapped my leg with one finger, then hit call.

"Sorry, the number you have dialed is unavailable. Please try again later."

I dialed another number and barked orders.

Fletcher called back a short while later.

"Sorry, boss, no trace of Miss Larsen anywhere in the building."

The way my assistant said Rhea's last name suddenly grated on my nerves.

But I was the one who'd told my people never to call her Mrs. Thorne. Our marriage was just business, after all.

Business deals end. Contracts run out.

So why was I so wound up about this?

I didn't waste time on deep thinking.

All I knew was I couldn't let Rhea just vanish like this.

I had to track her down.