Chapter 1

In all the years Autumn Gray had been married to Damien Caldwell, divorce had never crossed her mind. She loved Damien deeply, profoundly; she would have died for him. But now, his first love had returned.

At the time, Autumn was hospitalized. The doctor bluntly stated, “Ms. Gray, the miscarriage caused lasting damage. Your chances of future pregnancy are very low. Please be prepared.” Autumn’s mind went blank. She had been trying to conceive for three agonizing years, only becoming pregnant two months prior.

That afternoon, a car swerved unexpectedly, causing her to fall. The doctor frowned. “Ms. Gray?” Autumn replied, “Oh, I understand. Thank you, doctor,” blinking back tears before forcing herself to stand. She overheard nurses gossiping, “Why didn't her husband come for something this serious?” “She sobbed after the surgery, begging him to come, but he never did,” another whispered. “He doesn't even try to hide his indifference! Why hasn't she gotten a divorce?” Autumn was already too far away to hear the rest.

In truth, Damien hadn't merely refused to come; he'd said, “So what if the baby’s gone? Why cry about it? I’m busy. Don’t bother me!” He’d ignored her subsequent calls. This coldness had been consistent for three years; she’d become accustomed to it.

It began three years earlier. Autumn had saved Damien's grandfather, Hank Caldwell's, life. Hank, liking her, arranged their marriage—a union that elevated her social standing. Damien, however, had been unwilling from the start. She'd hoped he might care for their unborn child, but that hope proved unfounded.

Composing herself, Autumn called a cab. As she retrieved her phone, a message appeared—a video from Damien's friend, Barry Walters. It showed a massive bouquet of roses; at least 999, filling the frame. The camera panned to reveal Damien and a woman, Emilia Mason. Autumn's pupils constricted, fists clenching.

A voice teased, “Emilia, Damien planned this party to welcome you! He went all out!” Another urged, “Hug him! Thank him! Just kiss already! I still haven’t deleted that three-minute passionate kiss video!” Emilia demurred, “That’s not really appropriate now…” before Damien gently embraced her. “Welcome back, Emilia,” he said, his tone and manner utterly natural. The crowd squealed, “See? He doesn't mind at all! You guys should kiss!” The video abruptly ended, a message appearing: “Sorry, I sent it by mistake.” Barry likely assumed she hadn't seen it.

Autumn stared at the chat window, a slow smirk forming. So, this was Damien's important matter…For three years, she'd tried to win him over, only to witness his reunion with his lifelong love. Damien cared even less now. It was time to abandon her foolish hope.

Returning home, Autumn packed. Her minimalist lifestyle meant few possessions; a single suitcase held everything. She waited for Damien.

At 2:00 AM, the front door opened. Damien, unsurprised to see her (she always waited after his social events), asked indifferently, “You just had surgery. Aren’t you going to rest?” “I was waiting for you,” she replied.

Autumn had been staring at his lips—chapped, with faint traces of lipstick on his collar and neck. He'd kissed her—likely more. Her heart ached. In three years, Damien had touched her only a handful of times, always pressured by his elders to attempt procreation. He never initiated affection, showing no tenderness. Each encounter was torture; afterward, he'd retreat to the bathroom, leaving her with his cold back.

Damien noticed her suitcase. “You saw Barry’s video?” he asked. “Yeah,” Autumn responded, smelling alcohol and perfume on him. “Let’s get a divor—” He interrupted, “Since you already know, let’s get divorced. You knew what you were getting into. If Emilia hadn’t gone abroad, I’d never have married you.”

Autumn agreed. “Alright.”

“It’s late. Rest, and move out tomorrow—”

“No need. I’ve already signed the divorce papers,” Autumn said, gesturing to the coffee table. She'd signed the papers he'd given her on their wedding night.

Damien was taken aback. He frowned, assessing her sincerity.

“I made soup for your hangover,” Autumn added, “It’s in the kitchen.” It was habit—her attempts to win his heart. She'd become a master chef, despite countless kitchen injuries, only to face his constant criticism. He knew a compliment would make her happy, yet he withheld it.

“I’m going now,” she said, having nothing more to say.

Damien frowned. “Stay for tonight.”

“No, thanks.” Suitcase in hand, Autumn left. Damien disliked her defiance.

Barry called. “Damien, are you home? Did you ask Autumn about the video? Sorry, I didn’t mean to send it, but even if she saw it, it should be fine, right? You two fight all the time—”

Damien cut him off. “She’s divorcing me.”

“What? Divorce?” Barry exclaimed. “Over that video? No way! If she’s really divorcing you, I’ll eat my hat!”

“I suggested it,” Damien said.

Barry fell silent. Damien's requests for divorce were frequent, but Autumn’s clinginess always foiled his attempts. “Didn’t you ask for a divorce last month? It’s like clockwork.” He teased, “Last time I bet she’d be back in half a day, and I was right. I’m betting she’ll be back in a day. If I win, you owe me another meal!”

Damien glanced at the closed door, then heard a car drive away. Autumn seemed resolute. His sharp eyes remained unconcerned. “It won’t take that long. She’ll be back by morning.”