Blurb：
When billionaire mogul Dashiell Rhodes plunges into the Atlantic after a Labor Day party gone wrong, he uncovers a chilling truth: his wife Liliana, Juilliard dancer turned socialite, prioritizes her "musical soulmate" Thaddeus Crane—the world-famous pianist and her lurking White Moonlight—over his life. Surviving hypothermia and Liliana's indifference, Dashiell returns to find Thaddeus installed in their Port Sterling penthouse, The Prism, with a fabricated hand injury. Armed with Milo's underwater surveillance tech from Chiaroscuro Lab, Dashiell exposes their poolside infidelity in international waters, triggering a high-stakes divorce war. Can the betrayed tycoon outmaneuver Thaddeus' manipulative charm and Liliana's cruel apathy? A tale of marital sabotage, underwater camera revenge, and billion-dollar ego clashes where love drowns but vengeance surfaces.Content：
§01The Atlantic was a shock of liquid ice, a brutal slap that stole the air from his lungs.
One moment, Dashiell Rhodes was on the deck of his flagship yacht, surrounded by the warm glow of the Labor Day party.
The next, he was plunging into a black, churning void.
His tuxedo jacket, a custom Tom Ford, felt like a lead weight, dragging him down.
Above, the lights of the *Helmsman's Pride* blurred into a constellation of indifferent stars.
He could hear the faint thrum of music, the ghost of laughter.
Then, nothing.
Just the roar of water in his ears and the searing burn in his chest.
This is how it ends, he thought, a strange, cold calm settling over the panic.
Not in a boardroom, not in a crash, but here.
In the middle of nowhere.
Because of a phone call.
It had started just fifteen minutes ago.
Liliana, his wife of five years, had stormed onto the deck, her face pale beneath the festive lights.
"We have to turn back," she’d said, her voice tight with a hysteria he’d never heard before.
"Lily, what are you talking about? We're in international waters."
"It's Thaddeus," she’d choked out, clutching her phone like a holy relic. "He hurt his hand. He’s in pain."
Thaddeus Crane. The Architect of Harmony.
The world-renowned concert pianist she called her 'white moonlight'.
Her old friend from Juilliard.
The man whose name had become a constant, unwelcome presence in their marriage since his return from Europe a month ago.
"He hurt his hand?" Dashiell had repeated, the absurdity of it hitting him. "And for that, you want to turn around a twenty-thousand-ton vessel?"
"You don't understand!" she’d shrieked, drawing stares. "His hands are everything! He needs me!"
"He needs a doctor, Lily. We'll arrange the best one as soon as we dock."
"No! Now! He’s my everything! I have to go to him! I don't care if this ship sinks!"
That was when she started pushing him.
Frantic, desperate shoves against his chest as he tried to calm her, to reason with her.
In the chaos of her flailing, his foot slipped on a slick patch of deck.
He lost his balance.
And then, he was falling.
The last thing he saw was her face.
Not horror. Not regret.
Just… a blank, chilling indifference as he disappeared over the rail.
§02
The harsh, sterile light of the ICU was the first thing Dashiell saw.
Then, the rhythmic beep of a heart monitor.
He was alive.
A fishing trawler had found him, a miracle of timing and luck.
He’d suffered from hypothermia and swallowed a lungful of the Atlantic, but he was alive.
The door swished open.
Liliana walked in, Thaddeus Crane trailing behind her, his wrist wrapped in a neat medical bandage.
It was a minor sprain.
A fucking sprain.
She looked at him, not with relief, but with an air of profound annoyance.
Her lips curled into a sneer.
"You deserved that," she said, her voice as cold as the ocean he'd almost died in. "Who told you to stand in my way?"
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