Chapter: 1

A message lit up Stella Russell's phone, and along with it came a bunch of photos. Clothes scattered carelessly, two people holding each other tightly, messy bedsheets, and a hazy reflection in a fogged -up mirror...

Stella had seen this kind of thing before. This wasn't new to her.

One look at the big hand holding that woman's wrist, and Stella knew it was Marc's. Her husband. The same man she'd been married to for four years.

Then her eyes caught the date on the pictures, and her stomach sank. It was the same day as their wedding anniversary.

Marc had promised they'd spend the evening together, but he'd vanished for three days. All she got was a message from his assistant, saying he had some urgent business to handle.

"Urgent, huh?" Stella let out a cold chuckle. Clearly urgent—in someone else's bed. She then closed the message and called someone from her contact list.

The person picked up almost immediately. "Stella," came the voice on the other end.

"Ive made my decision about the classified research project," she said calmly.

"Who's the candidate?" they asked.

"Me."

A heavy silence stretched on the other end of the line, and then came a sharp, unwavering voice. "Don't joke around, Stella. You know what this means! Once you're in the classified research project, there's no turning back. No outside contact, no personal ties. You'll be officially listed as missing, and everything about your past will be wiped clean. A new identity will be created for you. So ask yourself—are you really ready to walk away from your family? From Marc?"

Stella's eyes fell on the framed wedding photo hanging nearby.

The smiles in it once made her feel warm, but now they just made her heart ache.

Marc's promises, which used to sound sweet, now felt cold and empty.

"I've made my decision," she said quietly. "I'll come by tomorrow to fill out the forms."

She ended the call before the person on the other end could say anything else. She didn't want to hear more. Her mind was already made up.

At that moment, a car pulled up outside. Moments later, Marc Walsh walked in, tall as ever, loosening his black tie while heading straight for the bathroom.

His jacket, tossed lazily on the hook, still carried the suggestive scent of FIRE2, the latest women's perfume of brand Vlexoot. Bold, heated —everything she apparently wasn't anymore.

Marc came out minutes later, dripping from a fast shower, wearing a gray bathrobe.

The robe hung loosely, showing off his chest and abs. Damp hair fell around his face, and the steam only made him look colder. Sharper.

Being the heir to the powerful Walsh family, Marc had everything— looks, status, and money.

Once, she'd been drawn to all of that. Now, it only made her sick.

"What's with that look?" Marc chuckled, sliding an arm around her waist, his voice low and teasing. "Miss me, babe?"

His hand slid down her side, but his touch made her skin crawl. She quickly pulled away.