Chapter 1

The air in the boardroom was thick with tension. I stood at the head of the long, polished table, my voice echoing slightly in the silent room. The presentation for the Apex Tower, the biggest project of my career, was projected onto the massive screen behind me. Years of work, fifteen-hour days, and millions of dollars were all riding on this meeting.

"As you can see from the revised schematics," I said, pointing my laser at the screen, "we've optimized the structural integrity without compromising the aesthetic flow."

I clicked the remote to advance to the next slide. But it wasn't the next slide.

Instead of a 3D model of the tower, the screen flickered and then settled on a live video feed. It was our meditation room at home. The white cushions, the single orchid on the low table, the serene, minimalist space I had designed for my wife, Sarah.

And Sarah was there.

But she wasn't alone.

A man, Mark, was with her. He was kneeling before her, his hands on her waist. Her head was tilted back, her eyes closed, a faint smile on her lips as he leaned in and kissed her neck. The feed was crystal clear, the audio picking up their soft murmurs.

A collective gasp went through the boardroom. The investors, my partners, my entire senior team-they all stared, first at the screen, then at me. My face went numb. The laser pointer slipped from my fingers and clattered onto the table. It felt like the sound was a gunshot in the dead silent room.

I fumbled for the remote, my hands shaking so badly I could barely press the button. The screen went black. But the image was burned into my mind, burned into the retinas of every important person in my professional life.

My throat was dry. I tried to speak, to salvage something, but no words came out. My entire world had just collapsed in front of an audience. The silence stretched on, heavy and suffocating. Finally, one of the investors cleared his throat.

"Liam," he said, his voice carefully neutral. "Perhaps we should reschedule."

I just nodded, unable to look anyone in the eye. I gathered my papers with robotic movements, my mind a churning vortex of shock and white-hot pain. I walked out of that room, leaving my career masterpiece and my dignity in pieces on the floor.

The drive home was a blur. I don't remember the traffic or the turns I made. All I could see was that image. Sarah and Mark. In our home. In the room I built for her as a sanctuary.

When I walked through the front door, the house was quiet. Too quiet. I followed the faint scent of incense to the meditation room. The door was slightly ajar. I pushed it open.

Sarah was sitting on the cushions, alone now, her posture perfect, her expression serene. She looked up at me, her eyes calm, as if nothing had happened. As if she hadn't just ripped my heart out and displayed it for the world to see.

"You're home early," she said, her voice a soft, detached melody.

"The meeting ended," I managed to choke out. My voice was raw.

"How did it go?"

The casualness of her question was a physical blow. Did she not know? Did she not care? I stood in the doorway, my fists clenched at my sides, every muscle in my body screaming. I had loved this woman for fifteen years. I had worshipped her since the day I thought she saved my life.

I was ten years old when I fell into the lake behind the old temple. The water was icy, my lungs burning. I was sinking, the light fading, when a hand grabbed mine and pulled me out. I only saw a flash of a girl with long, dark hair before I passed out. Everyone told me it was Sarah, the quiet girl who spent her days at the temple. From that moment on, she was my angel. I dedicated my life to her, to being worthy of her, to giving her everything she could ever want. I built this house for her. I built my company for her. My entire life was a monument to my devotion.

And she had just desecrated all of it.

"They saw you, Sarah," I said, my voice trembling with a rage I had never felt before. "Everyone saw you. It was on the screen."

Her serene expression finally faltered. A flicker of something-annoyance? inconvenience?-crossed her face before it was gone. She didn't look guilty. She didn't look sorry.

"The security system?" she asked.

"I connected it to my laptop for the presentation. I must have clicked the wrong window."

She sighed, a soft, airy sound. "That was careless of you, Liam."

Careless. That was her response. Not "I'm so sorry," not "How could I do this to you?" Just... "That was careless of you." The raw pain in my chest solidified into a cold, hard knot.

"Who is he?" I demanded.

"Mark," she said simply. "He's from the temple. An orphan. He needed guidance."

"Guidance?" I laughed, a harsh, broken sound. "Is that what you call it? On the floor of our meditation room?"

She looked at me, her eyes void of emotion. "You're being dramatic. Your energy is very agitated."

I stared at her, the woman I had thought I knew, and realized I was looking at a complete stranger. The love, the devotion, the fifteen years of one-sided adoration-it was all a lie. I had been in love with a fantasy, a story I told myself about a girl who saved a boy. The real woman in front of me was a cold, manipulative shell.

"I want a divorce," I said. The words tasted like poison, but they were also the only truth left.

She didn't flinch. "If that's what you feel you need to do."

Her indifference was the final twist of the knife. It was worse than any screaming match or tearful confession could ever be. It told me I meant nothing. That our life together meant nothing.

But as the words hung in the air, a sliver of the old, pathetic hope flickered within me. Fifteen years of devotion doesn't die in an instant. Maybe this was a mistake. A moment of weakness. Maybe I could still fix it. Maybe I could make her see me, make her love me.

"No," I said, shaking my head, desperate. "Not yet. Let's try. Just one month, Sarah. Give me one month. No Mark. No one else. Just you and me. Let me try to save this. After one month, if you still want... this... then I'll sign whatever you want. I'll walk away and never look back."

I was begging. I, Liam, the architect at the top of his game, was on my knees, metaphorically, in front of the woman who had just publicly humiliated me.

She considered it for a moment, her head tilted slightly. "One month," she agreed, as if granting a small favor to a child. "But you must remain calm, Liam. I can't be around your negative energy."

I nodded, my heart pounding with a sick mix of relief and self-loathing. I had my month. One last chance to win a war I had already lost.