chapter 1

After being with Maverick Stone for seven years, I stopped by his office, only to overhear a conversation.

"You've been with Stephanie for seven years. That must mean you're happy, right?"

Maverick's voice was flat as he answered, "Would you believe me if I said I never loved her?"

"Don't mess around. If you didn't love her, why stay together that long? Are you still hung up on Reagan? She's been overseas for years."

"Stop it. Reagan and I ended things ages ago," he said, his voice carrying a strange sadness.

Reagan Brown was his first love. That was a name I hadn't heard in a long time.

His friend fell quiet, and my hand slipped from the doorknob.

The thermal lunch box in my hand was still warm. I made chicken soup for him this morning.

He said he'd been feeling tired lately and wasn't in good spirits.

The heat seemed to fade, and the lunch box felt icy cold in my hands.

I turned and calmly placed it on his secretary's desk before walking away. Seven years—we had been together for seven years.

I felt hurt when he said he'd never loved me.

Turns out the seven-year itch is real, but the sad part is, Maverick probably never even had an itch.

...

Rain tapped against the windows, and distant thunder rumbled.

I curled up on the couch, staring at the TV. It was already 1:00 a.m., and Maverick still wasn't home.

In the past, I'd keep calling him, asking when he'd be back.

He'd always sound annoyed and ask, "Stephanie, don't you have a life of your own?"

I used to joke, "You're my life."

Thinking about it, I felt a little pathetic.

Maybe he was right. Somewhere along the way, I had lost myself.

A dull drama played in the background. Aside from the low TV noise and the sound of thunder, the villa was eerily quiet.

Around 2:00 a.m., Maverick finally came home.

When he opened the door, I could feel the dampness of the rain. It made me shiver a little.

He looked surprised to see me awake.

"You're still up?"

"Yeah. I couldn't sleep," I said softly.

He didn't say anything else. After changing his shoes, he walked straight to the bedroom.

We lay in bed, facing opposite directions and not saying a word.

Thunder rumbled outside, and his words from earlier today kept replaying in my head.

"I never loved her."

A deep ache started in my chest. I bit my lip as tears silently fell.

It was strange. I hadn't cried all day, but the moment he came home, I couldn't stop.

He didn't fall asleep. He turned toward me and pulled me into his arms.

"Tomorrow is our wedding anniversary. How do you want to celebrate it?"

His body was warm, and I could feel his breath on my neck. It tickled a little.

I used to love being held by Maverick. For seven years, I longed for his touch. But now, I felt a strange discomfort.

"Anything is fine," I mumbled.

"I asked my secretary to get you a gift. I'll be busy tomorrow, so I probably won't be around much."

Then, he let go of me and rolled over.

I was used to it. I'd spent all our anniversaries alone anyway.

I didn't expect this one to be any different.

I didn't sleep much. I only drifted off when the sun had already come up. By the time I woke, Maverick was gone.

During breakfast, the doorbell rang.

It was his secretary, Eva Fisher—young, beautiful, with a perfect figure.

She gave me a polite, yet unfriendly smile. "Mrs. Stone, this is your anniversary gift from Mr. Stone."

I took it—a Hermès handbag.

I remembered how thrilled I was when he gave me one the first time. But now, I didn't feel anything.

"Who chose the style?" I asked flatly.

"Mr. Stone did. Don't you like it?"

Why wouldn't I? But this was the fourth one, all in the same style and color.

I couldn't even remember when he stopped caring about me. Now, he just went through the motions.

Also, today wasn't even our wedding anniversary—it was next month.

I was tired. I didn't want to argue with him anymore.

I had already decided to ask for a divorce today. After seven years, I wanted to end it peacefully.

Before I started cooking, I called Maverick to make sure he'd come home for dinner.

I spent three hours preparing the meal—sweet and sour fish, spicy ribs, caprese salad—all his favorites.

Back when we met, I couldn't cook. But his stomach was sensitive, and takeout made him sick. So, I learned to cook, just for him.

After we got married, he told me I could stay home and that he'd take care of everything.

I trusted him and became a full-time housewife, focusing only on him.

Maverick was always late whenever we had plans, just like today.

I sat at the table, watching the food go cold. I didn't feel a thing.

Not long after, I gave him a call.

We had to talk about the divorce. I still hoped we could speak face to face.