Her face twisted. Without a word, she snatched the crystal ashtray from the desk and hurled it at me.
I didn't dodge. Didn't flinch.
Thud.
Crystal met forehead. Pain exploded behind my eyes, followed by warm blood trickling down my face.
Silence. We stared at each other—her chest heaving, my expression frozen.
Seven years ago, Galloway had been on the brink of collapse. Theodore Galloway, desperate and out of options, had practically begged me to marry his daughter and inject capital into the company.
Back then, Mila was breathtaking—the unreachable star of our university days. I agreed, driven by a foolish, lingering crush.
The reality was a cold awakening. She rarely smiled at me. Refused intimacy, citing severe germaphobia. One rule: I was never allowed to kiss her.
I respected her boundaries. Thought it was genuine. Until I saw her at the mall one afternoon—walking hand-in-hand with Ryan, laughing, hugging, kissing him with a passion she'd never shown me.
That was when the illusion shattered. Ryan was the one she'd always wanted. Her "germaphobia" had a specific trigger: me.