Anathea Jacobson had spent ten years nursing a crush on Gregory Sinclair and five years as his wife. She’d believed she could eventually thaw his heart, even if it was as cold as forged iron.

She’d never expected it to be just wishful thinking on her part.

The sound of running water echoed from the bathroom. Anathea stood by the bed when her phone lit up with a new message.

It was a photo taken at Castenea’s most exclusive fine-dining restaurant. Gregory sat across from a woman. His gaze was gentle, and his expression was warm.

Anathea knew the woman.

She was Natalie Whitman, Gregory’s ex.

Natalie had just returned from abroad last month. The very night she came back, Gregory had left Anathea behind to see her.

To Gregory, Natalie was his flawless first love, while Anathea was nothing more than an unsightly stain on a white wall.

The bathroom door swung open. Gregory stepped out in a bathrobe, steam rolling off his skin.

Anathea put her phone down and turned around, only to find him already behind her. He pinched her chin and lowered his head.

She frowned and groaned, but Gregory didn’t ease up. If anything, seeing her wince seemed to amuse him. He caught her lips in a rough kiss while grabbing her jaw. With his other hand, he gripped her waist and pushed her toward the bed.

“Wait.” Anathea pressed a hand against his chest. Her voice sounded unsteady as she said, “I’m not feeling well.”

Her stomach had been aching ever since dinner, though she wasn’t sure why.

Upon hearing that, Gregory merely let out a soft scoff. He pinched her chin and forced her to look up at him.

“Anathea, you pursued me for five years, clinging on like a leech. And now you’re trying to play hard to get?” There was nothing but mockery in his tone.

Anathea’s face went pale. “That’s not—”

Before she could finish, Gregory shoved her onto the bed. There was no tenderness or patience. He got straight into action.

Pain shot through Anathea’s body. She bit down on her lip, enduring it.

To the outside world, Gregory was the picture of restraint and refinement. But with her, there was no trace of gentleness. He thrust into her again and again, as if he was punishing her for something.

Anathea bore it in silence, watching him. His features were sharp and impossibly handsome, like a masterpiece sculpted by the gods. But his expression was devoid of warmth, even in this moment.

And yet, the man in the photo had looked at Natalie with such tenderness.

It turned out he was capable of being gentle. Just never with Anathea.

At the height of it all, when she should’ve felt close to him, she felt suffocated. A single tear slipped from the corner of her eye.

“What are you crying for?” Gregory wiped it away carelessly before pulling away from her. He cleaned up, then wordlessly handed her a box of pills.

Anathea sat up, clutching the blanket to her chest before taking the box from him. He was always cautious, even though he’d used protection.

After all, it had been an unexpected pregnancy that had forced them to marry at their families’ request five years ago.

Their marriage had never been made public, but it had been enough to drive Natalie away.

Anathea thought Gregory must hate her for that. Otherwise, why else would he break her every night?

But now, just seeing the pill made a dull ache rise in her stomach. “Can I skip it tonight?”

Gregory didn’t answer. He just handed her a glass of water.

The message was clear.

Biting her lip, Anathea took the glass and swallowed the pill. Before the taste of bitterness could fade, Gregory’s phone rang.