Amy Sinclair stared at him, her face a mask of disbelief and raw pain. "If you truly believe money means nothing," she countered sharply, "then freeze your accounts and live without a cent. Then come back and tell me how insignificant it is. And do you honestly think I'm with you for your wealth? What else should I admire? Your habit of disappearing at midnight for another woman? Or how you expect me to play housekeeper, cooking for your precious Victoria? Or maybe it's how, when I needed you most, you questioned if it was my fault instead of standing by me. Or when I was in danger, you hung up and walked away with her?"

She held Alexander Blackwood's gaze, her voice steady. "But let's pretend, just for a moment, that I was after your money. Funny—I don’t seem to have gained a single asset from this marriage."

When Victoria Langley had returned to the country, she’d moved into the most luxurious oceanfront penthouse in Solmaris, worth millions. Alexander had purchased it without hesitation, transferring the deed to her name immediately. Meanwhile, when Amy left the Blackwood estate, she could only afford a modest rented apartment.

Five years as Mrs. Blackwood, and she still couldn’t compare to a woman who had been gone for six months. If there was a crueler irony, Amy couldn’t think of it. Being his wife had become nothing more than a bitter punchline.

Alexander’s expression darkened. "Victoria doesn’t have much time left. Why are you so fixated on someone who’s dying?"

"Dying?" Amy let out a humorless laugh. "Are you certain about that?"

The skepticism in her voice made his jaw tighten. "What exactly are you implying?"

"Alexander," she said, tilting her head slightly, "how about a bet? Let’s wager whether Victoria will still be here in six months."

Amy had been turning this over in her mind for weeks. With Victoria’s talent for deception and melodrama, the whole terminal illness act could be nothing more than a performance. Aside from the occasional dramatic faint, she showed no real signs of someone on the brink of death. And someone supposedly battling a fatal illness wouldn’t have the energy to scheme so relentlessly, would she?

"That’s absurd," Alexander replied coldly.

"Afraid you’ll lose?"

His expression remained unreadable. "Medical breakthroughs happen every day. Nathan is consulting the best specialists for her. Her condition may not be hopeless."

Amy wondered what kind of hold Victoria had over him to inspire such blind loyalty.

Alexander exhaled sharply, clearly eager to move on. "What’s your second condition?"

Her gaze didn’t waver. "Alexander, I want a divorce."

His patience snapped. "Amy, I’ve agreed to your demands. You want a hundred million dollars? Fine. I said I’d give it to you. How much longer will you drag this out?"

His irritation was palpable. "Where did you learn these petty games?"

She met his eyes without flinching. "Alexander, do you still think this is a game to me?"

His stare burned into hers, intense and unyielding. "You love me, don’t you?"

For a heartbeat, Amy froze—but she recovered quickly. "You read my journal?"

Something flickered in Alexander’s eyes. "Liam accidentally gave it to me instead of my planner."

Amy had always kept a private diary. Those pages held the truth of her five-year marriage. Before Victoria returned, Alexander had been different—attentive, even kind. He was powerful, devastatingly handsome, and for a time, it had been easy to fall for him.

But hearing him say it now, only one phrase came to mind.