Chapter 1
After failing to seduce her religious husband for the 99th time, Lilibeth Quimby called her brother.
“Lory, I’ve decided to get a divorce,” she said.
A long silence stretched across the line before Lorenzo Quimby’s deep voice came through. “I told you, didn’t I? Clifford is too much of a saint for you to drag down from his pedestal.”
Tears glistened in Lilibeth’s eyes, but she forced a smile. “Yeah. I was a fool to think I could change him.”
“Come to Gindara,” Lorenzo suggested lightly. “There are plenty of men here, and they’re just as handsome as Clifford, if not better. I can’t believe he doesn’t know how to appreciate my sweet little sister. You know what? Leave him. Let him grow old alone.”
Lilibeth softly replied, “Okay. I’ll head over once I’ve sorted out the paperwork.”
After hanging up, Lilibeth took a deep breath and walked down the hall. The meditation room was at the end.
Just as she passed it, a muffled groan came from inside. The door was ajar, and a sliver of light spilled into the hallway. Unable to help herself, Lilibeth peeked inside.
A faint haze of candle smoke curled through the air.
Kneeling before the altar, Clifford Sinclair wore a white robe that hung loosely around his shoulders, prayer beads coiled around his wrist. But his body moved slowly, deliberately.
Beneath him lay a life-sized doll. The flickering candlelight cast shadows across the doll’s features. It had doe eyes, delicate lips, and a small mole just below the left eye.
The life-sized doll was an uncanny replica of Clifford’s adoptive sister, Tiffany Sinclair.
The sight of it made Lilibeth bite down on her lip, hard enough for the metallic taste of blood to fill her mouth.
This was the third time she had caught Clifford like this. The first time, she had run. The second time, she hadn’t slept a wink.
But tonight, she felt nothing.
How pathetic. It turned out Clifford wasn’t without desires. It was just that he had never felt that way about her.
Leaning against the cold wall, Lilibeth’s mind drifted back to the night they first met.
She had been 20 years old. That evening, Lorenzo had taken her to a banquet, eager to introduce her to his closest friends.
Clifford had worn a crisp white suit with mother-of-pearl cufflinks and prayer beads wrapped around his wrist. While the other men in the room had downed alcohol, he sat quietly, sipping tea.
Lilibeth had watched as his slender fingers curled around the teapot handle before pouring steaming liquid into his cup.
Out of nowhere, Clifford had looked up. The second their eyes had met, her heart skipped a beat.
Seeing Lilibeth’s dazed expression, Lorenzo had flicked her forehead.
“Don’t even think about it. You can fall for anyone but him,” he had warned with a chuckle.
Then, he had added, “Every man in our circle drinks, smokes, and fools around. But Clifford? Well, he grew up in a clergy house. He doesn’t indulge in anything.”
Yet, Lilibeth hadn’t believed a word of it. She had always been reckless and refused to accept that there was a man in the world who could resist temptation.
And so, she had begun to pester Clifford. She had gone as far as to try every trick she knew to flirt with him.
Once, she had climbed onto his lap while he was deep in prayer. But he had simply picked her up with one arm and set her aside.
Another time, she had spiked his tea. After finishing the entire cup, Clifford had calmly remarked, “Next time, go easy on the herbs. Too much of that can upset your stomach.”
Her boldest stunt had been sneaking into his meditation room when he had been in seclusion once. She had sprawled across his bed, wearing nothing but one of his white shirts.
When Clifford had walked in, Lilibeth had deliberately swung her legs over the edge. To her dismay, he had turned on his heel and walked out.
The next day, he had sent someone to deliver a box of brand-new shirts to her.
“Take these. Stop stealing mine,” Clifford had said.
At that point, even Lorenzo couldn’t stand it anymore. “For goodness’ sake, have some dignity!” he had scolded her.
However, Lilibeth had shot back defiantly, “I’m doing the world a favor. A man that good-looking shouldn’t be a priest!”
She had spent four years trying to win him over, exhausting every trick she knew. Sadly, no matter what she did, she never managed to stir even the faintest desire in him. By then, Lilibeth’s hope had begun to wear thin.
But things had taken an unexpected turn. On her birthday, she had received a call from Clifford late at night.
“Come downstairs,” he had simply said.
Still in her pajamas, she had rushed outside to find him standing in the snow, his shoulders dusted with white.
“Let’s get married,” Clifford had stated.
There had been no ring, no confession—just those three words.
Even so, Lilibeth had been so overjoyed that she had thrown herself into his arms. “I finally won you over, didn’t I?”
Clifford hadn’t hugged her back. Instead, he had hummed softly in response.
Looking back now, Lilibeth realized just how indifferent he had been.
Two years of marriage, and not once had he touched her. No matter how she had tried to seduce him, he would always walk away at the last moment and retreat to his meditation room.
At first, Lilibeth had thought Clifford just needed time. After all, he had lived like a priest for so many years.
Then, three nights ago, she had finally seen the truth with her own eyes.
Lilibeth had refused to back down and followed Clifford into the meditation room. Only then had she realized that he had desires too. Yet, they had never been for her.
The woman Clifford wanted was, in fact, his younger sister, Tiffany. She was an orphan his family had taken in when she was a child.
Every prayer, every string of beads he wore, and even their marriage—it was all his way of suppressing what he truly felt for Tiffany.
From that moment on, whatever had been left of Lilibeth’s hope had shattered.
Inside the meditation room, Clifford finally stilled.
“Tiff…” he murmured in a hoarse voice. Seconds later, he leaned down and pressed a kiss to the doll’s neck. “I love you.”
The words were barely above a whisper. However, to Lilibeth, each one struck like a blade, carving deeper into her already broken heart.
At last, tears streamed down her face. Soon after, she strode away without a word or a backward glance.
…
When Lilibeth woke the next morning, Clifford was already dressed and ready to leave.
He wore a perfectly tailored black suit that accentuated his tall, lean frame. The prayer beads still circled his wrist. It was as if the man who had unraveled the night before had been nothing but her imagination.
Just as Clifford was about to step out the door, Lilibeth called out, “Wait a second.”
“I have a meeting today. Please stop bothering me,” he replied coolly. He didn’t even bother to glance her way.
The words cut through Lilibeth like a dull blade, grinding away at what little hope she had left.
So, that was it. To him, she was nothing more than a nuisance, always in his way.
Suddenly, she let out a chuckle and said, “You’ve got it all wrong. I just wanted keys to the Maybach. I drive that one better. You should take another car from the garage.”
At last, Clifford met her gaze. But his tone remained distant as he questioned, “Are you going to take care of something?”
“Yeah,” Lilibeth responded with a nod.
“What?” he asked again.
She didn’t answer. Instead, she reached into his suit pocket and pulled out the keys.
The corners of her lips curled into a smile as she said, “Something that will make you happy.”
And that was leaving Clifford for good.
