Chapter 1

Seven years ago, she braved a torrential downpour to save Julian Vance when he had amnesia, giving up her chance to study abroad just to stand by him through his three darkest, most destitute years.

She thought seven years of love and two years of marriage had finally brought her happiness.

It wasn't until she tried to replace their marriage certificate that she realized she had never actually married him—and that Julian already had a legal wife.

As it turned out, he couldn't bear to let go of her devotion, yet he was equally unwilling to give up the lucrative benefits that marriage brought him.

Having finally seen through the truth, Seraphina Shaw resolved to tear apart this elaborately woven scam and make Julian Vance pay dearly for his betrayal.

Seraphina Shaw POV

Inside the bustling hall of the Marriage Registry Office, the heavy, suffocating scent of rose perfume wafting off the couple who had just finished their paperwork ahead of me made me feel sick to my stomach.

I was clutching a clear, sealed plastic bag holding an unrecognizable lump of sodden pulp.

It was our certified copy of the marriage certificate. Three days ago, I had forgotten it in my trench coat pocket, leaving it to tumble inside the washing machine for two hours. By the time I pulled it out, it had disintegrated into complete mush.

When Julian found out, he merely chuckled and ruffled my hair affectionately. "Silly girl. We can just apply for another copy later. We'll go together next time."

I had frowned slightly. "Can't we just go right now?"

Something flickered in his eyes before he pulled me into his arms. "I'll take care of trivial things like this. You just stay home and get some rest."

Then, placing an apologetic kiss on my forehead, he added, "Seraphina, there’s an urgent situation at the office. A few figures in the cross-border merger and acquisition deal aren't matching up, so I have to head over to the private club to meet a client. Be a good girl and stay home. I'll figure out a way to handle the replacement certificate."

I had always been considerate, and I understood that as the head of the entire Vance Group, his days were consumed by countless responsibilities. Being perpetually busy was simply his norm.

So, I adjusted his tie, handed him the black cashmere coat I had personally pressed, and smiled gently. "Go take care of business."

Believing it was only a minor errand and not wanting to trouble him with it, I simply hailed a cab and went to the Marriage Registry Office myself.

Now, sitting before the service counter, I pushed my identification documents and the mashed clump of paper toward the clerk.

"Hello, I'm here to apply for a replacement copy of my marriage certificate," I spoke softly.

The middle-aged woman on the other side pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose, tapped a few keys on her keyboard with practiced ease, and glanced between her screen and my face a couple of times.

"Seraphina Shaw, right?" the clerk asked coldly.

"Yes."

"The system clearly shows that you have a single status."

I froze for a moment, forcing an awkward, reflexive smile. "Could you have made a mistake? We registered our marriage right here two years ago. If you look at the remains in that bag, you can still make out the faint traces of the official seal..."

The clerk’s expression darkened.

Without another word, she abruptly swung the monitor around to face me, pointing directly at the system interface on the screen. "See for yourself! Your marital status clearly reads 'single'! Just who exactly did you register with?"

"That's impossible." I stood up abruptly, my knees slamming hard against the counter with a dull thud. My voice trembled uncontrollably. "My husband's name is Julian Vance—Julian Vance from the Vance Group. Two years ago, we..."

"Julian Vance?" At the mention of that name, another younger clerk nearby leaned over, quickly typed something on her keyboard, and sucked in a sharp breath. The look she directed at me instantly filled with pity and thinly veiled contempt.

"Ma'am," the younger clerk lowered her voice, "Mr. Julian Vance's marital status is indeed listed as married. However, the name written in the legal spouse column isn't yours."

"It's Clara Brooks."

"What... what kind of joke is this?" A wave of dizziness rushed over me as I stammered, "We had a wedding... I even still have the video recording from that day..."

"These days, is it really that rare for rich men to spend some pocket change on a fake banquet and buy a forged certificate just to trick naive young girls?" The clerk shoved my items back across the recessed counter groove. "Ma'am, be more careful next time."

I didn't even know how I managed to walk out of the Registrar's Office.

I stumbled down the bustling street amidst the roar of passing traffic, yet everything fell on deaf ears.

How could this be possible?

Two years ago, on the day we registered, Julian had held my hand, his palm warm and slick with nervous sweat. With rimmed red eyes, he had told me, "Seraphina, the rest of your life is finally mine. Starting today, you are Mrs. Vance."

Why would Julian lie to me? What could he possibly stand to gain?

If it was just for my body, for cheap amusement, he wouldn't have needed to go through the painstaking trouble of forging an entire marriage.

He was the untouchable, elite CEO of the Vance Group—what kind of woman couldn't he have? Why resort to such a vile, cruel method to cage me inside the illusion of being his wife?

And just who was this "Clara Brooks"?

I pulled out my phone, my fingers trembling violently as I dialed Julian's number.

"Beep... beep... We're sorry, the number you have dialed is currently unavailable."

The cold, automated female voice repeated on a hollow loop.

I wandered aimlessly down the sidewalk, sharp spasms twisting my stomach into knots.

The oatmeal porridge Julian had lovingly made for me this morning churned violently within me, morphing into corrosive acid eating away at my insides.

I didn't know how long I walked until I stopped at a busy intersection. As the pedestrian light turned red, I numbly lifted my gaze.

Directly across the street stood an opulent, lavish private club. Julian frequently entertained top-tier clients there. I remembered him saying this very morning that he was heading to a club to handle the merger and acquisition deal.

My eyes had merely swept past it by chance, but in the next second, they locked onto the entrance steps as if nailed to the spot.

A sleek black Maybach was parked there. The vanity license plate belonged to none other than Julian.

The car door was open, and the tall, striking figure standing beside it was wearing the very same black cashmere coat I had ironed with my own hands that morning. That was my husband. The man I had loved for seven years, my partner of two years.

Instinctively, I moved to raise my hand, desperate to call out his name.

Yet my voice caught in my throat, utterly paralyzed.

In Julian's embrace leaned a woman. She wore a cream-colored trench coat, her frame delicate, her long hair cascading softly over her shoulders. Julian’s arm held her firmly around the waist in a fiercely protective stance, tinged with a delicate, cautious adoration.

The woman seemed to be throwing a small tantrum, playfully thumping her small fist against Julian's chest.

Julian wasn't angry in the slightest. He looked down at her with a gentle, melting tenderness that was excruciatingly familiar to me. Then, angling his head, he captured her lips in a kiss.

Right there on the crowded public street, amid the biting chill of the late autumn wind, the man who was supposed to be "handling a cross-border merger and acquisition deal" was openly, passionately kissing another woman.

I stood frozen on the opposite side of the road.

The red light turned green, and the crowd surged past me like a tidal wave. Someone bumped hard into my shoulder, muttering a curse under their breath—"Freak." I didn't react at all; I simply remained rooted to the spot, my eyes unblinking, fixed on the scene across the street.

That kiss lasted a long, agonizing time. Long enough for me to clearly register her side profile when she turned her face.

Gentle, delicate, fragile—like a tender blossom cultivated inside a pampered greenhouse.

In that shattering instant, the clerk's chilling words detonated inside my head once more:

"The name written in the legal spouse column isn't yours. It's Clara Brooks."

So it hadn't been a glitch in the system, nor was it a mere coincidence of sharing the same name.

Seven years of sticking together through thick and thin, two years of shared warmth and intimacy, the so-called marriage, the sacred vows—they were all nothing more than a colossal, grotesque illusion woven by Julian's own hands. And within that illusion, I was the sole fool kept in the dark, dutifully playing along in his one-man show titled "Undying Love."

I thought I was his savior, his one and only.

When in truth, I was merely a pet he kept inside a glass jar during his spare hours. Even that hollow title of "Mrs. Vance" was just a fake bone he tossed out to pacify his pet.

The spasms in my stomach finally reached their absolute breaking point. I doubled over violently beside a curbside trash can, retching uncontrollably. I threw up the morning's oatmeal, the bitter stomach acid, and finally, pure bile.

I gasped raggedly for air, my tears mingling with cold sweat as they splattered against the concrete sidewalk, blooming into dark stains.

I didn't storm across the street to confront him or demand an explanation.

In the face of such overwhelming agony, even rage became an unaffordable luxury. I only felt an inescapable, bone-chilling cold.

I watched the Maybach's door shut, watching the vehicle that carried seven years of my youth and every ounce of my faith merge smoothly into traffic, driving off without a shred of lingering hesitation.

Slowly, I straightened my posture and wiped the foulness from the corner of my lips with the back of my hand. Pulling out my phone, I stared down at the familiar contact label on the screen: "Hubby."

My fingertip hovered over the glass for a second before I calmly tapped "Delete."

Then, turning on my heel against the biting wind, I walked step by step into the dim, shadowy streets, heading in the exact opposite direction from them.