I was my husband's lucky charm. He brought me to every single business negotiation. As long as I was in the room, no deal ever fell through. But his childhood friend, who had just returned from abroad to work as his secretary, looked down on me. Behind my husband's back, she mocked me for being a useless trophy wife. I was so upset I cried. That same day, my husband's company lost two major contracts, and its market value evaporated by hundreds of millions. By the time he dragged his childhood friend to apologize, I was already on a plane, heading overseas to clear my head. Chapter 1 When my mom was pregnant with me, she hired a psychic to calculate the perfect birth date, hoping I'd be born with a silver spoon in my mouth. But the day before that "perfect date," my mom tripped on a flat sidewalk and went into labor early. So much for the silver spoon. The psychic looked at my chart and declared: "This girl has no fortune of her own. She'll have to rely on men to survive." My mom was so furious she trashed the guy's shop and called him a fraud. This became the cautionary tale my mom told me every time I bombed a test, whipping me into studying harder to change my "fate." I never took it seriously. But despite calling the psychic a fraud, my parents were secretly terrified every time they saw my abysmal grades. My mom went full tiger mom, tutoring me every night after work no matter how tired she was. Thanks to her iron fist, I clawed my way from the bottom of the class to somewhere in the middle. In middle school, when the subjects got too hard for my mom, my dad started pouring money into cram schools. My mom worried I wouldn't be able to feed myself. My dad, a six-foot-tall softie, just couldn't handle the idea of his precious, innocent, beautiful daughter being dependent on a man instead of being an independent woman. Honestly, they worried too much. My dad was handsome in a rugged way, and my mom was delicately pretty. I was a blend of both—cute, clean-cut, but ultimately, pretty average. I had the kind of face you'd lose in a crowd. But weirdly enough, boys loved me. From kindergarten on, boys would bring me snacks and give me their favorite toys. In elementary school, before I even knew what a crush was, I was getting love letters. In middle school, my parents went on high alert, crushing any signs of puppy love. By high school, between regular classes and cram schools, I barely had time to sleep, let alone date. Then I went to college out of state. Without my parents hovering, my "bad romance" curse activated. I was a magnet for jerks. Every relationship, no matter how passionately it started, ended with me catching them cheating. The strange thing was, every guy I dated had insane luck with money while we were together. Their startups boomed, or they got promoted rapidly. As they got richer, they were generous with me. But money changes men. Having me wasn't enough; they needed the thrill of other women. I didn't get it. If they had that much energy, why not donate it to charity? Why be a scumbag? Chapter 2 After getting cheated on enough times, I stopped believing in fairy-tale romance. But the suitors kept coming like weeds after rain. Between the harassment and my struggle to find a job, I acted on impulse. I decided to just find a man to marry for peace of mind. I signed up for a matchmaking service behind my parents' backs. I figured the guys at a matchmaking agency would at least be vetted. I provided the criteria; the matchmaker provided the service. My requirements were shallow: Tall, handsome, high IQ. If I married a hot guy and he made me mad, at least I could look at his face and calm down. If I married an ugly guy and he made me mad, I'd just hate myself for being blind. When I told the matchmaker this, her face said, You have zero self-awareness. But the next day, she excitedly told me a wealthy businessman had seen my profile and wanted to meet. I went alone. He brought a Feng Shui master. The master took one look at my face and said I had "prosperity written all over me" and would bring immense luck to my husband. I almost walked out from second-hand embarrassment. If I was destined for riches, why were my parents still scrimping to pay off the mortgage? But the businessman... Julian Thorne... bought it. He grew up in a superstitious family and, despite being a modern tech mogul, still believed in Feng Shui and destiny. He was blunt. His company was hitting a bottleneck. The master looked at his chart and said he needed a "prosperity wife" to break through. Basically, he needed a lucky charm to marry. And apparently, that was me. I appreciated his honesty. I didn't play coy. I was there to get married, after all. If the terms were right, I'd sign the papers immediately. Julian was a man of action. Seeing I wasn't repulsed, he drove me straight to a law firm to draft a prenup. He told me to name my terms. Anything he could do, he would put in writing. A legally binding contract was way sexier than empty promises. My terms: Absolute loyalty, and no forced pregnancy. If he violated either, I could file for divorce and take half his assets. His terms: I had to accompany him to business dinners whenever requested. If I refused, he'd deduct from my allowance. At the time, I didn't know how rich he was, so the "allowance" threat didn't register. I just wanted a marriage without betrayal. We signed the papers, got our marriage license, and he took me home to meet his parents. Chapter 3 As the car pulled into the driveway of a sprawling estate that screamed "old money," I realized I had misunderstood the matchmaker's definition of "wealthy." I thought wealthy meant a nice house and a few million in the bank. I didn't know it meant dynasty wealthy. Huge mistake. I had just accidentally married into the 1%. And I hadn't told my parents. They were going to kill me. When I took Julian to meet them, my mom, with her fiery temper, tried to smack me. Julian stepped in and took the slap for me. While my mom raged, my six-foot-two dad was bawling in the corner, mourning the loss of his innocent baby girl. Thankfully, they didn't force me to divorce him. My life with Julian was surprisingly harmonious. Mostly because Julian was a workaholic. His energy went into making money. He left early and came home late, always texting me his schedule. We lived under the same roof but rarely saw each other. I slept in; he went to work. I went to bed early for my beauty sleep; he came home late. Unless there was a dinner I needed to attend, we lived separate lives. I thought it was perfect. He seemed satisfied too. He'd randomly transfer money to me. He said the master told him the more I spent, the smoother his business would go. So whenever he hit a snag at work, he'd send me cash and tell me to go shopping. I couldn't spend it fast enough. My monthly allowance was seven figures. He'd randomly drop another seven figures as "pocket money." Designer clothes and jewelry were delivered to the house on his tab. Aside from food, I barely had anything to spend money on. I thought this life would last forever. Until the glitch in the matrix appeared. Chapter 4 It started when I found a long, curly strand of hair in a jewelry gift bag Julian gave me. It was jarring. Deliberate. The next night, I stayed up late waiting for him. Unsurprisingly, I smelled women's perfume on him. When he saw I was awake, his fatigue vanished. The sofa was huge, but he insisted on sitting right next to me. Up close, the mix of his crisp cologne and the cloying sweetness of the other perfume hit me hard. He didn't seem to notice. He leaned in, eyes burning, wanting a kiss. I pushed him away. "Babe..." His voice was low and husky, full of intent. I felt a twinge of regret. I shouldn't have stayed up just to play detective. There was a reason I went to bed early. Julian looked like a stoic CEO, but in private, he was clingy. His energy was either on work or on me. I couldn't handle it. But I was weak for a handsome face. When Julian turned on the charm, I crumbled. Before he could lean in again, I told him to go shower. At least wash off the other woman's scent. Instead, he scooped me up. "Let's shower together," he said, ignoring my protests as he carried me to the bathroom.
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