Chapter 1Withdrawal Syndrome

At eighteen, I stumbled upon Vaughn Vance helping a scholarship student with her torn blouse. His expression was grave, his movements clumsy and hesitant.

At twenty-six, I married Vaughn Vance in a match arranged by our families. But everyone in New York’s elite society knew he kept a portrait of that same girl locked away in his study.

Three years into our marriage, I asked for a divorce.

He was silent for a long time before signing the papers. "If you ever need anything," he said, "don't hesitate to ask."

Later, I attended a gala on the arm of my law firm partner. A friend from college teased us, "Who would've thought the two of you, always at each other's throats in debate championships, would end up holding hands?"

Late that night, Vaughn's name lit up my screen for the first time in months.

"That riverside penthouse you insisted on," his voice was a low growl. "Was it because you could see his law firm from the window?"

* * *

A bitter wind rattled the windows, but inside, the air was still and warm. Across from me on the sofa sat a man in a tailored suit, his tall, lean frame exuding an aura of cool command. His face was just as chiseled as it had been at eighteen, his features sharp and deep-set. The only thing marring his perfect facade was a fresh cut on his temple, a stark, angry line against his skin.

An hour ago, I’d gotten a call from the police precinct.

Vaughn had been in a fight.

When I arrived, a woman was cupping his face, dabbing at the wound with painstaking care. I recognized her.

Mia Foster. A classmate of ours from high school.

The moment she saw me, she flinched back like a startled fawn. Vaughn immediately moved to shield her, his voice tight with displeasure as he spoke to me.

"She's... delicate. Don't frighten her, Eleanor."

I said nothing, simply turned and followed an officer to handle the paperwork. By the time I returned, Mia was gone.

The drive home was suffocatingly silent, at least on my end. Vaughn was on the phone the entire time. He was still on it now, his voice a low and gentle murmur, a caress meant only for the woman on the other end of the line.

I had never seen this version of Vaughn before. A tenderness in his gaze, a focused devotion... he was giving every ounce of his patience to Mia.

And in that moment, the thought of divorce, once a distant whisper, became a deafening roar.