Chapter 1

"Liam, let's get a divorce."

I said the words calmly, placing a freshly brewed cup of coffee on the nightstand beside him. The morning sun cut through the large windows of our bedroom, illuminating the dust motes dancing in the air.

Liam Hayes, my husband of five years, was already dressed in a sharp suit, his focus entirely on a tablet in his hands. He didn't even look up.

"What did you say?" he asked, his voice distracted and cool.

"A divorce," I repeated, my own voice steady. "I think it's for the best. Chloe Miller is back, after all."

That got his attention. His fingers paused on the screen, and he slowly lifted his head. His eyes, usually unreadable, now held a flicker of surprise mixed with something colder, more dismissive.

"Don't be ridiculous, Ava."

He stood up, adjusted his tie in the mirror, and completely ignored the topic. He treated my words like a fly to be swatted away, a minor annoyance in his perfectly structured day.

I just watched him, my heart a placid lake. This was the man I had married for one reason and one reason only: money.

Five years ago, I was just Ava Chen, a struggling artist with more talent than sense. I lived in a tiny, cramped apartment, the smell of turpentine a permanent part of my existence. I ate instant noodles most days and dreamed of a canvas larger than my dinner table. My parents were sick, medical bills were piling up, and my art wasn't selling. I was desperate.

Then I met Liam Hayes at a gallery opening. He was a tech mogul, a name synonymous with wealth and power. But what I saw was something different. He was staring at a painting with a look of profound loneliness. I learned later that he had just been publicly dumped by his high school sweetheart, Chloe Miller, who had left him for a European aristocrat. The tabloids called him a love-struck fool.

And in that moment, I saw my opportunity. A man heartbroken and publicly humiliated is a man who spends freely to prove he has moved on.

He was looking for a substitute, a placeholder to fill the void Chloe left. I was more than willing to play the part. Our courtship was a transaction. I studied Chloe Miller. I learned her preferences, her style, her favorite foods, the way she did her hair. I became her shadow, a perfect imitation. And Liam, in his grief, latched onto it.

He never said he loved me. He just gave me money. Lots of it.

Not long after we met, I found myself at a lavish party on his arm. It was there I saw Chloe for the first time in person. Her engagement had apparently fallen through, and she was back, trying to reclaim her spot at Liam's side.

She cornered me by the champagne fountain, her smile sharp and predatory.

"You must be the new girl," she said, looking me up and down. She noted my dress, which was a style she had famously worn a year prior. "He certainly has a type."

"He has good taste," I replied, my own smile just as empty.

Her eyes narrowed. "I knew Liam my whole life. A copy will never replace the original. Let's make a little bet, shall we?" She took off a delicate diamond bracelet. "If he chooses you tonight, it's yours. If he comes back to me, you disappear."

I agreed. The bracelet was worth more than I had made in the last two years.

Later that evening, Chloe made her move. She approached our table, her voice laced with manufactured nostalgia, reminding Liam of some shared memory from their past. She "accidentally" spilled wine on her dress and asked Liam to escort her to the powder room. The entire room watched. It was a test.

Liam looked at her, then at me. For a moment, I thought I had lost.

But then, he turned back to Chloe, his expression uncharacteristically firm. "I'm with my wife," he said, loud enough for the surrounding tables to hear.

Chloe's face fell. It was a public rejection. Humiliated, she turned and fled. As she passed me, her eyes filled with hate, I reached out and gently plucked the diamond bracelet from her wrist.

"I believe this is mine," I said softly.

She stared at me, speechless with rage, before storming out of the party.

Liam stood up and took my hand. "Let's go home," he said. He didn't mention Chloe, didn't explain his actions. He just led me out, a silent protector. In the car, I wondered what he was thinking. Was he protecting me, or was he protecting his own pride, refusing to be seen as Chloe's fallback? I decided it was the latter. It made my job easier.

From that day on, I ramped up my imitation. I copied Chloe's favorite vacation spots, her hobbies, even her taste in bland, minimalist furniture. Each time, Liam would indulge me without question. My strategy was simple: be the perfect substitute, and test his financial limits.

I started small. "Liam, I saw a purse Chloe used to love. It's twenty thousand dollars." He transferred the money instantly.

A month later, "Liam, I want to redecorate the living room in the style of that hotel in Paris Chloe adored. The estimate is two hundred thousand." The funds appeared in my account the next day.

It became a game. I kept pushing, and he kept giving. He never flinched. He seemed content to have a living, breathing memory of Chloe by his side, one that he could control with his checkbook. I was amassing a small fortune, investing it wisely, building a safety net so large I would never have to worry about money again.

One day, I took it a step too far. Or so I thought. I found an old photo of Chloe with a very specific, very unflattering short haircut. I went to the most expensive salon in the city and had them replicate it exactly.

When Liam came home that night, he stopped dead in the doorway. He just stared at me. I braced myself for his anger, for his disappointment that the imitation was flawed.

But his reaction was completely unexpected. His face softened, and a look of genuine concern crossed his features.

He walked over to me, his hand gently touching the ends of my newly shorn hair.

"Why did you do this, Ava?" he asked, his voice quiet. "This style doesn't suit your face shape. Your long hair was beautiful."

I was stunned into silence.

He wasn't mad about the imitation. He was worried about me.

"I don't hate it," he clarified, seeing my confusion. "I just don't want you to do things you don't like. You always order black coffee, but I know you prefer lattes. You wear these neutral colors, but your paintings are full of vibrant reds and blues."

He sighed. "I'm having your art studio repainted tomorrow. Pick any color you want. Not the beige Chloe liked. The color you like."

The next day, a team of painters arrived. He also had the entire collection of black coffee pods removed from the kitchen and replaced with every flavor of latte imaginable. It was a small gesture, but it shook me. It was the first time he had acknowledged me, Ava, as a person separate from Chloe.

For a moment, I felt a strange warmth spread through my chest. I quickly pushed it down. This was a transaction. Emotions would only complicate it.

To test this new development, I decided on one final, major request.

"Liam," I said a week later. "I'm thinking of starting a small investment portfolio. I need a bit of capital to get started."

I expected him to ask how much. I expected a negotiation.

Instead, he pulled a black, featureless credit card from his wallet and handed it to me.

"This is the Centurion card. There's no limit," he said simply. "Buy whatever you want. Invest in whatever you want. Just... be happy, Ava."

I held the card in my hand. It felt heavy, like a key to a kingdom. He had given me unlimited financial freedom. The final piece of my plan was in place.

That night, I met my best friend, Sarah, for dinner.

"You've done it," she said, her eyes wide as I told her about the card. "You have enough to leave him ten times over. When are you going to do it?"

I looked out the window at the glittering city lights. "Soon," I said. But for the first time, a sliver of hesitation entered my heart. I told myself it was just the comfort of routine. Nothing more.