6
Isabelle had fled long ago, not expecting Nicolai to come home early. Even less did she expect him to be anything other than the
clueless, wooden husband” she imagined.
Truthfully, I knew better.
I knew he was good to me. It just wasn’t a romantic, passionate, heart–stopping kind of good. It was too quiet, too steady.
He was like me, extremely self–disciplined. Two people so similar rarely create sparks.
The only area where we were perfectly compatible was… physically. Beneath his suits, he had the physique of a top model, and in
the dark, he was astonishingly powerful. Even in our most intimate moments, he controlled the rhythm with an almost severe disc-
ipline that still left me breathless and with no room for complaint.
The thought of us separating one day sent a strange, unexpected pang of loss through me.
I hadn’t paid any mind to Isabelle’s words. Richer than Nicolai? Unlikely.
The “white moonlight” she was talking about, Dillian Nash, was just some guy who pursued me in college. He chased me, I told him
I wasn’t interested, and then he went around telling everyone I’d said yes. He kept pestering me, so I told him bluntly I would only
marry a rich man.
The rumors were hard to kill, and somehow, he got twisted into being my unforgettable first love. It was laughable.
But the next day, Dillian actually contacted me.
The text was cautious and restrained: Serena, it’s Dillian Nash. Can we meet? There’s something I need to tell you.
That cringey nickname…
I didn’t reply.
But a ripple of unease went through me. Not out of love, but because he felt like a bomb. If I didn’t handle this carefully, he could
become a hidden fuse in my marriage, one that could detonate and destroy my entire life.
I knew how the media loved a “rekindled old flame” story. Any hint of scandal would be a fatal blow to me. I wasn’t some love–stru-
ck fool. I knew that if I wanted to keep the life I had, I couldn’t make a single mistake.
At least, until Nicolai was the one to ask for a divorce, I had no intention of leaving.
