The Whitmore heir is cold. I am insufferable. He refuses to share a bed with me, so I spend entire nights reciting the legal obligations of a spouse at his closed door. He starts coming home past midnight just to avoid me. So I go crying to his parents. The elder Whitmores make him kneel and take thirty lashes with a belt. I’m about to intervene when the comment feed flickers across my vision: [Can this dumb-ass woman just fast-forward to her miserable end already? Can’t she see he doesn’t want her?!] [His body is reserved for OUR female lead!] [Let her keep acting out. The female lead already got hired as Callum’s personal assistant — Callum’s going to fall for her soon, and their kid will start calling him Mommy. [Then this idiot wife throws a fit all over town, calling our female lead a homewrecker. [Gets tossed out by Callum himself, ends up in a psychiatric facility, degraded and broken every single night. [Honestly, just thinking about it is satisfying!] My hand jerks. I nearly drop my glass. The elder Mrs. Whitmore raises the belt again. I lunge forward. The strike lands across my back instead. Through Callum’s stunned stare, I bite down on the pain: “It’s all a misunderstanding.” …… That one actually hurt like hell. I suck in a sharp breath. Callum looks at me like he’s never seen me before. The comments explode with question marks: [What is Madeleine Shaw doing? This idiot wife just took a hit FOR him?] [Please. Wasn’t it her tantrum that got Callum punished in the first place?] I try to stand. The movement pulls at my back and sends a white-hot bolt of pain through me. Callum reaches out and catches my arm. [Oh, I see it now — classic manipulation!] [She took one hit so he’d have to help her up. Now she gets to use it against him!] [What a disgusting woman. I want to reach through the screen and slap her.] [Callum took ten lashes. She took one. And somehow she’s made herself the victim. Nobody calculates like she does.] My hand goes stiff. I pull away from Callum’s grip and manage a thin smile: “I’m fine. It really is just a misunderstanding between Callum and me both.” Callum’s hand freezes mid-air. [Oh, the old push-pull. Worse than any cheater I’ve ever seen.] [It’s fine. Once he ends up institution-bound and broken, I’ll have reason to keep reading.] I nearly lose my footing. When I turn back, Callum is still watching me. His gaze is exactly what it’s always been — distant and untouchable. I was the one who swore I’d marry no one but him. He was the one who never had any interest in me. But… a psychiatric facility? Humiliated. Destroyed. By his hand? Callum… could he really become that cruel?
Back at the penthouse, I lie face-down on the bed while the housekeeper tends to my back. Callum comes home. His sleepwear hangs loose at the collar. Bandaging wrapped across his chest — from where they’d gotten to him before I arrived. [Oh my god, battle-worn Callum?! That silhouette. That ratio. I can’t breathe.] [Cover up! Don’t let that woman take advantage!] [Your body belongs to the female lead! Don’t let her near you!] Callum can’t see those comments. He sets a basin of water beside the bed. Kneels at the edge. Wrings out a warm cloth. My back wound means no shower — just a wipe-down. The comments nearly swamp my vision: [So THAT’S why she suddenly grew a conscience! Took a hit just to get him on his knees in front of her!] [One calculated move and now he has to clean her up out of guilt. Pathetic.] [Her schemes and her reputation are perfectly matched. Does she think about anything besides power plays?] [Hold on, girls — the female lead just joined Callum’s company as his personal assistant.] [Callum’s glacier is going to melt. He’s going to discover he can love someone. And then she’ll pay.] [Just wait — when she goes around calling our female lead a homewrecker, Callum will make her pay for it.] [The author said she ends up beaten to death by a hundred men in that facility. FINALLY. Now I can keep reading.] I pull my hand back from his. The cloth Callum was pressing against my knuckles hangs in the air. “Go do what you want,” I say. Callum frowns. “What would I go do?” “Work late. Sleep in the guest room. Isn’t that your favorite routine?” “Madeleine.” He drops the cloth back into the water. “What are you scheming now?” I look at him. He’s kneeling — technically the lower position — but the look he aims at me is pure contempt. He has always been like this. Cold. Self-contained. He only agreed to this marriage because my family once saved his, and even that was a concession he resented. And yet — in these eight years of marriage, I have never let him breathe. He pulls away, I report it. He snaps at me, I report it. He disappears for a night, I take it straight to his parents. I’ve used the title of “wife” like a weapon, marking territory everywhere. But… I never wanted to actually hurt him. And yet he would end up doing that to me— My eyes sting. Why? He is my husband. The father of my child. A few arguments between us, and I’d die at the hands of some other man, broken and unrecognizable. “Callum.” I sit up. “I signed the agreement.” He stiffens. The steward lays a document on the bed between us. The marital non-interference agreement. The one he drafted before the wedding. A paper marriage. No physical contact. No intimacy. It had triggered every stubborn nerve in my body. My husband. Why shouldn’t I touch him? “From now on, I won’t push you anymore. Do whatever you want.” Callum stares at me like he doesn’t recognize the language. I expect him to say something. Instead, the agreement tears — strip by strip — between his fingers. “Callum?” He drops the shreds into the wastebasket. “What good does it do now?” Before I can make sense of that, the comments ignite: [She didn’t sign it at the wedding, waited until after she’d already had her way with him and there’s a child involved, and NOW she wants non-interference? Hilarious.] [Not just an idiot — a dramatic idiot.] [Our clean, untouched Callum — ruined. Because of HER.] [It’s fine. Everything she taught him, our female lead gets to enjoy later.] [I’m blushing — STOP.] Something in my chest pulls tight. So according to that feed — not only would Leo stop calling me Mom. Everything I’d ever taught Callum would become some other woman’s reward. I breathe through it. Then: “If the marital agreement is too late — what about divorce papers?” Callum goes very still.
“You want to divorce me?” Callum’s voice drops. “Yes.” I meet his eyes. “You’ve been waiting for this, haven’t you?” He looks away. He’d proposed it himself, at the start. Three years. After three years, we’d separate. I could walk away with half his assets — the Whitmore family’s acknowledgment of what my parents had sacrificed for them. Three years was also enough time to make it look dignified. I refused. Took it to his parents. That day, Callum got torn apart in front of everyone. I’d stood there with my arms crossed, watching, pleased with myself. He’d looked back at me then — expressionless. No grief. No anger. Now that I’m finally offering to let him go, that look has only gotten colder. “What are you actually trying to do?” “Callum. I mean it. You write the terms. “Sign it, and I walk out with nothing. Whatever you want.” Callum’s brow creases. Then — a slow, bitter curve of his lips. “Madeleine. Stop it.” He stands, picks up the basin, and carries it out. That night, he doesn’t come to our room. Same as always. He’d never come to me unless I cornered him into it. Good. I didn’t want to share a bed with someone who was going to destroy me. I didn’t sleep. Callum could let go — fine. But the comments said Leo would stop calling me Mom? The next morning, still half-asleep, I found Leo already waiting in the doorway. My rule. Every morning, say good morning to both parents. Who says my son is going to belong to someone else? Look at him — standing right there, perfectly on schedule. But when breakfast hit the table, he opened his mouth: “Did you find out about aunt Ellie?” I blinked. “If you’re going to divorce Daddy, why do you have to make Ellie look bad?” Who was Ellie. How had I made him look bad. The comments lost their minds: [Leo’s defending our female lead!] [He’s right — filing for divorce now makes it look like Ellie broke up the family. Like she’s the other woman!] [She’s so calculated. God, I want to reach through the screen.] [She can’t fool Callum or Leo though — they’ve already called her out!] [Go for it, Leo! She only cares about her pride — her own kid is her only weak spot!] I stared at him: “You knew about this?” “Dad told me everything. Dad said you’re manipulative.” My fist tightened. So that was why Callum had been so hostile last night. I looked at Leo carefully. “If your dad and I actually divorced — who would you go with?” [Does she even have to ask? Leo’s already calling the female lead Mommy at the office. She’s so behind.] I went cold. Leo’s eyes fixed on mine. “You… you’re sure about the divorce? No taking it back?” [Ha! Leo’s already planning his new life.] [She did this to herself.] My own son… really didn’t want me? I ignored the pain in my back and sat up straight. “Leo.” I reached for his hand. He stepped back. I tried for his sleeve. He pulled free. I’ve had high expectations for him, it’s true. But every book, every activity, every choice — I thought through carefully. For him. I’m someone who never sat still for crafts in my life, and yet I became a passable bracelet-maker just for this child. I reached for his wrist. The woven bracelet there. Not one I’d made. “Don’t touch that!” Leo yanked his arm back like I’d contaminated something, retreating to the doorway. [Ha! Leo’s protecting it — Ellie made that for him!] “Leo…” I stared at him. He scrunched his nose. “Mom said it’s precious.” Then he turned and ran. The comments dissolved into laughter: [Those two are so in love with the female lead it’s embarrassing.] [Ellie braided Leo’s bracelet. Callum told him not to ruin it. Madeleine’s crafts? Leo can’t even be bothered to wear them.] [Love and indifference really are that obvious. Good. Let her hurt. It means our female lead wins.] I curled my fingers into my palm. Swallowed everything down. Fine. Fine, Madeleine Shaw. You brought this on yourself. I picked up my phone. “Usual place. Nobody better be missing.”
The private room erupts the moment I walk in — a dozen men, all different types, surging toward me at once: “The queen is back!” I drop onto the couch. Immediately, half of them are around me — offering drinks, working out the knots in my shoulders. “You disappeared after the wedding. We thought you’d forgotten us.” “Speak for yourself. I cried the hardest when she settled down.” “Please. I still look at her pictures every day. You don’t even compare.” “Alright, alright.” I wave them quiet. “Where’s Ryan?” Ryan Mercer. My favorite, back when I was the worst kind of player. If Callum hadn’t appeared out of nowhere when he did — I honestly don’t know if Ryan and I would’ve ended up together. He hasn’t changed much. Still exactly my type. I’m about to stand when my phone buzzes. “Word is the legendary heartbreaker is back in circulation?” “Finally woke up, babe! You’ve got a whole room of men there, don’t you?” I smirk. “Sending you the address.” A few minutes later, a small child is delivered to the door. My friend’s voice crackles through the phone, laughing: “My husband and I are on our honeymoon! Have your little fan club babysit for me!” “Sara Collins, I swear to god—” There’s a kid here. What am I supposed to do with a room full of men now? Ryan laughs and scoops the boy up: “Maddie, look at him — he’s got a bit of both of us, don’t you think?” “Mama!” The child reaches for me with both arms. Just like Sara. Shameless. Instant attachment. I pinch the bridge of my nose. Fine. “Can you handle a kid?” I look at Ryan. “With you? No problem.” I wave the others off. Just Ryan with me was enough. I couldn’t exactly let loose with a child in the room. Watching Sara’s boy around Leo’s age, I feel something bitter settle in my chest. The things I’d normally do aren’t an option right now, so I take the two of them to the mall instead. We’re in the middle of holding a tiny jacket up against the boy when every sales associate in the store suddenly straightens up: “Ms. Ellie! Mr. Whitmore! You’re here!” I look up. Callum is holding Leo’s right hand. A woman — sharp-featured, warm smile — is holding his left.
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