Chapter 3

The 23rd floor of the office building was brightly lit.

Through the blinds, I saw Scarlett wearing a nightgown identical to mine, twirling the leftover pasta with a fork.

He laughed, leaning in to bite the other end, and as their lips met, she deliberately smeared sauce on his tie.

"You're awful~" Scarlett's voice drifted through the barely closed window. "Didn't *your wife* keep you satisfied?"

He lifted her onto the desk, piled high with documents. "We’re the real deal, baby."

*The real deal*, huh? Just as that phrase struck me,

"Marcus," she drew out his name, her fingertip tracing the sauce stain on his tie. "Where's my lucky charm? You promised it to me today."

My heart instantly stopped when Marcus pulled a velvet box from his inner suit pocket.

It was the consecrated charm, one I had literally *begged on my knees* to get for him after his car accident, pleading for hours at a spiritual sanctuary until my knees were bruised. The spiritual guide had said its vibrant red color was supposed to ward off bad luck.

"It’s beautiful~" Scarlett held the bead up to the light, the red glow reflecting on her face like blood. "You giving me this… won't Rain be upset?"

"Why would she be upset? I'll just say I lost it on a business trip," Marcus knelt to tie the red string around her wrist, his movements practiced, as if he’d done it a thousand times. "If she complains, I’ll just tell her to go kneel and get another one."

I bit down on my lower lip until I tasted blood.

Scarlett suddenly tugged on his tie. "I want you to thread it yourself."

She conjured a fine needle and red thread. "Just like she did for you back then."

As the needle pierced Marcus’s fingertip, a spasm twisted in my stomach.

In my sophomore year, he’d broken his leg playing basketball. I'd stayed up all night in his hospital room, using embroidery thread to weave a bracelet from the special wooden beads my grandfather had given me.

The thread was too thick for the holes, so I used a strand of my hair to guide it, pricking my fingertips until they were dotted with blood.

Now, he held the needle, and a drop of blood rolled onto Scarlett's foot.

She laughed sweetly, licking away the blood, her red tongue like a venomous snake's.

I took one last look at the entwined figures, then turned and walked toward the elevator.

My pale face reflected in the mirror.

As my car pulled out of the garage, the lights on the 23rd floor were still bright.

I rolled down the window, and the night wind rushed in, blowing away the fake marriage certificate.

At four in the morning, I stood by the villa's floor-to-ceiling window, looking at a message Marcus had sent on my phone:

"Urgent situation with the company’s Riverbend City project. I need to handle it personally. Can't be with you for the next couple of days, baby. Get some rest."

I stared at the message for a long time, my finger hovering over the screen, eventually replying with just "Okay."

Two days later, Marcus returned, travel-worn, his suitcase filled with so-called "Riverbend City specialties"—even though the exquisitely packaged pastries clearly bore the logo of a famous bakery right here in our city.

"I brought you a gift." He smiled, pushing a blue velvet box toward me. Inside was a diamond necklace, the pendant shaped like a tiny computer.

I let him put it on me.

"There's a surprise tonight," he kissed my forehead.

Marcus had booked out the entire Contemporary Art Museum. In the center of the exhibition hall hung a massive digital oil painting: my neural network algorithm diagram, published in an international journal, which he’d had someone render into art.

The surrounding walls were adorned with my academic achievements from over the years; every title page of every paper was framed like a masterpiece.

"Mr. Thorne is truly a model husband!" Mr. Collins exclaimed, raising his champagne glass. "My wife’s partner doesn't even know what her thesis was about."

"Rain loves these things," Marcus said, his arm around my waist, his fingers gently caressing my side. "I want to celebrate every important moment of her life in a special way."

His voice was so tender it almost made me believe that what I’d seen in his office that night was just a nightmare.

Until my lower leg began to ache faintly, protesting from standing too long, my old injury flaring up.

"Tired?" He noticed my stiffness and immediately waved for his assistant. "Go get her spare flats from my car, they're in the grey storage box in the trunk."

Ben hurried off, and Marcus continued to chat and laugh with the guests.

0

Twenty minutes later, the art museum's glass doors were pushed open, and a damp gust of wind, carrying rain, swept into the hall.

Scarlett stood in the doorway, soaked through, water dripping from her hair.

She held a shoe box, looking timidly at Marcus. "Mr. Thorne, the shoes you asked for..."

I recognized the diamond-studded high heels she wore—Marcus had custom-ordered them from Italy last month, claiming they were a gift for a client's wife.

Marcus’s smile froze on his face.

Scarlett stumbled toward me, leaving a winding trail of water behind her.

"Rain," she handed me the shoe box. "I'm so sorry, I was just nearby..."

"Thank you." I took the shoe box and calmly headed to the restroom.