Chapter 1

My wife of four years, tech CEO Eve Yates, moved her latest boy-toy into our penthouse. Our marriage was a contract: my absolute emotional submission in exchange for her love, governed by a strict "no-touch" rule she enforced like a religion.

After her cruelty drove me to try and kill myself, she had her guards drag me from my hospital bed. My crime? I had to apologize to her lover for "frightening" him with my suicide attempt.

In his room, she spoon-fed him the special chicken soup her chef always made for me when I was sick.

When I refused to apologize, she forced me to drink glass after glass of whiskey, knowing I had a stress ulcer that could kill me.

As I lay vomiting in agony on the floor, her lover clutched his stomach and announced he thought he was pregnant.

I looked at my wife, expecting her to laugh at the absurdity. Instead, a calculating look crossed her face. She was actually considering this farce. In that moment, the last shred of hope that she ever loved me died.

As I passed out from the pain and alcohol, they wheeled my gurney away. Eve leaned in close and whispered, "Since you want to leave me so badly, I'm having you sterilized. You will never have a family with anyone else."

When I woke up, I set her world on fire and walked away to marry her biggest rival.

Chapter 1

"Let Kason sing the opening song for the tech summit," someone suggested at the party.

The proposal hung in the air, a deliberate challenge. The room, filled with New York's tech elite, fell silent for a moment. All eyes turned to me, then to my wife, Eve Yates.

I was a ghost at these events, a silent accessory to Eve' s brilliance. She was the CEO of Yates Corp, a tech giant she inherited and grew into an empire. I was Bennet Hahn, her husband. It was my only title now.

Four years ago, I had my own name. I was the frontman of an indie rock band with a future. Now, I was just the quiet, boring husband Eve wanted.

Our marriage was a well-known spectacle in our circle: a four-year contract of emotional servitude with no physical intimacy. A 'no-touch' rule Eve enforced with religious strictness. It was her grand experiment, the ultimate test of my devotion.

She believed love wasn't about touch or sex, but about absolute spiritual and emotional submission. My submission.

To prove my love, I had to endure her games.

She made me quit my band, smashing my favorite guitar with her own hands the day I told her I was getting a record deal. "This noise distracts you from me, Bennet," she had said, her voice calm as she shattered the wood and strings. "Your passion should be for me, and me alone."

Then came the boy toys.

The latest was Kason Cooley.

"Bennet?" Eve' s voice, smooth as silk, pulled me from my thoughts.

I looked up. She was standing next to Kason, a flamboyant social media star whose artistic energy was a cruel echo of the man I used to be. He was everything she had forced me to erase from myself.

Eve' s eyes, a stunning, cold blue, searched mine. She wanted to see the flicker of jealousy. She fed on it.

"What a great idea," Kason chimed in, draping an arm around Eve' s waist. "What do you think, Eve? A little duet, maybe?"

The crowd cheered, egged on by the spectacle. Eve and her pretty boy toy, and her stone-faced husband watching from the sidelines. It was their favorite drama.

"Eve decides," I said, my voice flat. It was my standard line, the one that always satisfied her. A perfect, emotionless response.

For four years, this was my role. I'd watch her with other men, smile politely, and say the right, empty words. I would show no jealousy, no anger. Just quiet, unwavering acceptance. That was the game. That was how I proved I loved her more than my own pride, more than myself.

But tonight, something was different. The exhaustion was no longer just in my bones; it was a physical weight in my chest. I was tired of the game. I was tired of proving a love that was only ever a one-way street.

I watched Kason lean in and whisper something in Eve's ear, his lips brushing her skin. The crowd hooted. Eve shot me a look, a tiny, triumphant smile playing on her lips. She was waiting for me to break. To show a crack in my perfect facade.

Tonight, I wouldn't give her the satisfaction.

But I wouldn't play along, either.

"Excuse me," I said, my voice just loud enough to be heard over the murmur. "I need some air."

I stood up and walked away, not waiting for a response. I felt her eyes on my back, a mix of shock and displeasure. I didn' t care.

As I pushed through the glass doors onto the penthouse terrace, I saw their reflection. Kason was kissing her, a full, public kiss. And Eve... Eve wasn' t looking at him. She was looking at my retreating back, her brow furrowed in annoyance that I had walked away from her show.

The cold night air hit my face. I leaned against the railing, the city lights a blur below. For four years, I had played the part of the devoted, passionless husband. I had given up my music, my friends, my identity. All for her. All for a love that felt more like a cage.

The whole thing was a sick joke, and I was done being the punchline.

I pulled out my phone. My hands were steady. I scrolled to a number I had saved weeks ago under a generic name. A number given to me by a discreet lawyer.

I typed out a message, my thumb moving with a finality that felt like freedom.

"This is Bennet Hahn. I accept Ms. Bell's proposal. I need a divorce from Eve Yates and a new marriage contract. Immediately."

The message was for Jillian Bell, Eve' s biggest business rival. A self-made billionaire who, according to the tabloids, was terminally ill and looking for a husband for reasons of her own. For me, it was an escape route. A way out of this gilded hell.

I sent the message.

A moment later, my phone buzzed.

"Understood, Mr. Hahn. We will begin the proceedings. A car will be sent for you. However, Ms. Bell has one condition for the marriage."

My heart pounded. A condition. Of course. Nothing was ever simple.

I typed back, "What is it?"

The reply came instantly.

"You must agree to a reverse vasectomy. Ms. Bell is aware of your circumstances and wishes to have a family. The procedure will be handled by our own medical team to ensure there are no complications with her estate."

I stared at the screen. A cold laugh escaped my lips. From one prison to another. Eve had tried to ensure I could never have a child with anyone else. Now, Jillian Bell wanted to make certain I could.

For a moment, I almost deleted the number. But then I thought of Eve' s face, that look of triumphant cruelty. I thought of my shattered guitar. I thought of the empty, sexless bed.

I thought of freedom.

"I agree," I typed, and hit send.