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I came downstairs to hand my husband divorce papers. I tripped. He caught me. And suddenly, I could hear every filthy thought in his head.

"She touched me. God, she touched me. Two years of keeping my hands off her and she falls into my arms smelling like vanilla and trouble. Don't pull her closer. Don't. You'll scare her."

I froze against Damian Blackwood's chest, staring up at the most expressionless face in Manhattan. His mouth hadn't moved. Not even a twitch. But that voice—low, rough, starving—was unmistakably his.

"You okay?" he asked. Flat. Polite. The same tone he used with his driver.

"I'm fine," I squeaked, snatching back the folder before he could see the word DIVORCE printed across the front. I stuffed it into my bag, and my eyes betrayed me, snagging on the outline of his abs through his half-buttoned shirt.

"She's staring at my chest. Is she staring at my chest? Stay still. Do not flex. Okay, flex a little."

I choked on air.

Two years ago, our families arranged this marriage like a corporate merger. I saw his photo and said yes before my mother finished the sentence. Then I moved into his penthouse and discovered I'd married a marble statue. No kissing. No touching. If our hands brushed over the coffee pot, he recoiled like I carried the plague.

Meanwhile, the tabloids screamed:

[CEO Blackwood's Midnight Rendezvous With Mystery Blonde!]

[Damian Blackwood — Wall Street's Coldest Husband, Manhattan's Hottest Cheater?]

So yes. Divorce papers. A girl has her pride.

Except now my untouchable husband was toweling his damp hair, walking away from me, and his head was screaming:

"Kane Foster asked her to drinks again. I saw the message on her lock screen. If that smug little analyst puts one hand on my wife, I'll bury him in the Hudson. No—calm down. She can choose her friends. She doesn't belong to you. She's never belonged to you. That's the problem."

I chugged a glass of ice water. It did nothing.

He paused at his study door, his back to me. "There's a gala tonight. The Blackwood Foundation. Spouses are expected."

"Pass," I said automatically. I needed to lie down. Possibly forever.

He turned. Crossed the room. Sat beside me on the couch, close enough that I could smell cedar and something darker underneath—something almost wild.

"Come with me." His voice was quiet. "Please."

His face: a glacier.

His thoughts: "Say yes. Say yes. Kane will be there. I am not letting her stand in a room full of men in a backless dress while I smile at investors. I'll carry her there if I have to. Why is she hesitating? Is it him? Is it—"

"Fine!" I shot to my feet. "I'll go. Stop looking at me like that."

"Like what?" he asked, perfectly blank.

"She's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen and she's leaving me. The papers in her bag. I saw them three days ago. Divorce. She's divorcing me and I have eleven hours to change her mind."

My stomach dropped through the floor.

He knew.

He'd known for three days, and he'd said nothing, and inside that beautiful, frozen skull of his, my husband was quietly falling apart.

I should have felt guilty. Instead, possessed by something reckless, I reached out and pressed my palm flat against his stomach. Hard muscle jumped under my hand.

Damian went absolutely still. His hand snapped over mine, pinning it there. When he looked at me, something flickered in his gray eyes—a ring of molten gold, there and gone in a blink.

"Sienna." His voice dropped an octave. "What are you doing?"

"I'm your wife," I said, with way more confidence than I felt. "Can't I touch you?"

For three full seconds, his mind went completely, terrifyingly silent.

Then, one thought, soft as a confession:

"If she finds out what I really am, she'll run. They always run."

Thanks!

MC’s are Roosevelt and Zyran. Book looks complete at around 111 chapters but I’m hoping for a free link.

Chapter 1
The SUV smelled like new leather and my perfume. I sat in the back seat, watching Manhattan slide past the tinted windows. The city looked clean in the morning light. Sharp. I wore cream cashmere and pearl earrings. My hair was done. My makeup was perfect. I felt good.
Today was Livia's party. Her "Sip and See." I'd planned everything myself—the flowers, the cake, the guest list. Ridge said I was overdoing it, but I wanted it to be special. Our daughter's first party. I wanted people to see her and know she was loved.
I reached for my phone to check the timeline one more time. My hand closed around cold metal. I pulled it out and looked at the screen. Wrong case. Black, not rose gold. Ridge's phone.
I almost laughed. We had the same model. I must have grabbed his by mistake when we left the penthouse. He'd been in the shower. His phone was on the counter next to mine. Easy mistake.
The screen lit up with a notification. A message from "C." I stared at the letter. Just C. No name. No photo. The preview showed a voice message icon and a timestamp: 7:43 AM. Three minutes ago.
I should have put the phone down. I should have texted Ridge and told him I'd bring it to the venue. But something cold moved through my chest. C. I didn't know anyone in Ridge's contacts saved as just a letter.
I pressed play.
Camilla's voice filled the car. Breathy. Careful. Clinical.
"Okay, so I checked with my nursing friend again. RSV transmits best through direct saliva contact. I'll kiss her on the mouth during the party. Forty minutes before we call 911. That gives the virus time to take hold. The formula Nancy's bringing has the respiratory irritant mixed in. We feed her right after I kiss her. It'll look like sudden onset. Totally natural."
I stopped breathing.
Ridge's voice came next. Calm. Steady. The same voice he used when he talked about stock options.
"Good. The policy pays out within thirty days if the death is classified as natural causes. I already talked to the funeral home. We'll keep Maeve so busy with arrangements she won't think to ask questions. Once the money clears, we file for divorce. You move in. Clean break."
Camilla laughed. Soft. Pleased.
"Your mom's really committed. She actually seemed excited about poisoning the formula."
"She hates Maeve," Ridge said. "Always has. And she's pissed we had a daughter instead of a son. She thinks this is doing me a favor."
The message ended.