Chapter 1

On our seventh wedding anniversary, my husband Ethan brought his pregnant subordinate home.

After I caught the two of them in bed together, Ethan said disdainfully: "Unlike you, a dead fish, I have needs. Vivian is younger than you. She understands what I want."

Right in front of me, he put Vivian's feet on his lap and massaged them.

I didn't cry or make a scene. I just packed a few old clothes in front of them.

I tore up the terminal illness diagnosis I'd been hiding and flushed the pieces down the toilet.

Ethan's friends were all betting in their group chat that I'd be back on my knees begging to reconcile by morning.

After all, I'd been a stay-at-home wife for seven years. I even had to watch his face just to buy groceries.

But half a month passed, and I vanished completely.

Ethan panicked. He called, his voice seething: "Jane, if you don't get your ass back here, we're getting divorced!"

But a deep, cold male voice answered the phone.

The billionaire tycoon Adrian replied icily: "Jane just had surgery. She's sleeping. My lawyers will send the divorce papers."