Chapter 1

The day my husband was caught having an affair with his personal nurse in the parking lot by the New York media, everyone was speculating how much I would pay to suppress the news this time.

Over the years, cleaning up after Oliver Cerano had become routine for me. He believed it too, so when paparazzi swarmed him, he could still call out to me from afar.

His tone, casual yet confident, said, “She looks just like you when you were young. This time, I’m truly smitten.”

“Give me a bit more money, consider it a pre-purchase of several years’ worth of passionate photos.”

The New York media relished the scandal, digging up footage from our wedding day.

Oliver, with red eyes, said to the camera, “I will only love you for the rest of my life.”

Now, paired together, it only resulted in a sarcastic headline:

[The Love-Struck Mr. Cerano, Ten Years Later, Still Loves His Eighteen-Year-Old Mrs. Cerano.]

The calls came one after another. The media asked me how much I planned to pay this time.

I only said, “This time, I won’t be buying. But I have a more sensational story to sell you, only for just three hundred bucks.”

That was the money I used to buy the boat ticket when I fled to New York City with Oliver, who was being hunted down, exchanging the keepsakes my mother left behind.

Now I’m leaving. The return ticket should be returned to me.

——

“What big news is there for Mrs. Cerano? Is she pregnant? Getting pregnant without a uterus is certainly big news.”

They laughed with disdain. My heart grew utterly cold. I lost my uterus because of Oliver.

When Oliver first fought for territory and faced retaliation, his enemies kidnapped me, who was pregnant at the time.

After seven days and nights, my emaciated belly scarred all over, I was dumped at the crossroads of Queen’s Road.

Two words were carved into my skin: “Oliver’s bitch.”

The headline news, paired with my scandal photos, sold like hotcakes across New York. The first thing Oliver did after ascending to power was order the burning of every newspaper in the city.

He smashed all the magazines that had reported on me and beat up the mouths of those who gossiped. My womb was badly injured, and I could no longer have children. It was a taboo subject throughout New York.

Until three years ago, Oliver personally broke this taboo.

It was his first affair, where he lavishly spent on a nightclub hostess. The wealthy wives all urged me to rush to the media with hush money.

They told me to be sensible, that only then would my husband cherish me longer. I simply prepared a divorce agreement calmly.

When I found Oliver, he knelt before me, looking haggard and slapping himself across the face.

“Paula, I was just playing along. I really didn’t do anything. They’re just making things up.”

But the moment he saw the divorce papers, rage consumed him. He smashed everything in our marital home, then stood before me.

He asked me, “After all these years together, don’t I deserve even one chance to make amends for my mistake? Besides, haven’t you forgotten what your father said? If you divorce me, he’ll kill you.”

Oliver’s rage gradually cooled. Sitting across from me, he said, “Paula, you’ll never divorce me anyway. Stop making a scene, I promise this will only happen once.”

I remained silent, packed my things and moved out of the marital home and began living separately from him. That night, my explicit photos were displayed on LED screens throughout New York City.

Thugs broke into my door late at night, hurling filthy insults at me. Still, I stubbornly refused to return.

To force my complete submission, Oliver deliberately had my explicit photos dumped at my grandmother’s doorstep. She was the only woman who raised me.

My grandmother suffered a brain hemorrhage and fell into a coma due to the shock. Only New York City’s Sacred Heart Hospital, funded by Oliver, could save her.