Chapter 3

Seraphina Shaw POV

Outside, the sky was gradually sinking into darkness. The cold rain of early winter began tapping against the glass, steady and dull.

I sat before the screen, its pale blue glow washing over my expressionless face. My fingers flew across the keyboard.

Back when I took on freelance work to make ends meet, I had crossed paths with people from all walks of life, including a few contacts in the gray market who had nearly omnipotent access to personal data.

I dialed an encrypted number.

"Kevin, I need you to run a background check. Clara Brooks, female. I want every connection between her and the CEO of the Vance Group, Julian Vance—especially their marital status and her residential addresses over the past three years."

A low chuckle came from the other end of the line. "Ms. Shaw, digging into the head of the Vance family carries quite a bit of risk."

"Name your price," I said, my voice completely devoid of emotion.

"Fair enough. Give me two hours."

Hanging up, I leaned back against the chair, turning over every shred of memory from the past two years in my mind.

Details were like sparks in the dark—once you started looking for them, they set the whole field ablaze.

I recalled how Julian had a fixed "business trip" every single month.

It was always around the 15th, without fail. Sometimes it lasted three days, sometimes a full week.

Before leaving each time, he would hold me tenderly, whispering in my ear, "Wait for me at home, be good. I'll bring you a gift when I get back."

Each time he returned, he truly did bring back lavish jewelry and limited-edition designer bags. Yet looking back now, whenever he came back from those trips, a strange perfume always lingered faintly around him.

I never wore perfume, and Julian exclusively used a specific brand of woody cologne. That subtle fragrance had clearly come from another environment—or from the embrace of another woman.

I also remembered that unsaved number in his phone.

Several times, while we were having dinner, or even in the middle of our intimacy, that number would ring out of nowhere.

Julian’s reaction had always been identical. His brow would furrow slightly, a flicker of irritation flashing through his eyes before he swiftly muted the call and stepped out onto the balcony to answer it.

Once, when I went to bring him a glass of water, I caught his hushed voice through the sliding glass door: "Stop throwing a fit. I’ll come over tomorrow. You’re not well, so get some rest."

When I asked him what was wrong back then, he had pulled me into his arms without batting an eye, kissing my forehead. "A few senior directors at the company are clamoring for dividend payouts. It's nothing, I can handle it."

What a flawless excuse.

Senior board members. Cross-border mergers and acquisitions. Business entertaining.

Hiding behind that unchanging, devoted mask of his, this man had woven a web of lies so seamless that not a single flaw could be found.

Two hours later, a notification chimed in my inbox.

Kevin's email had arrived.

I clicked open the encrypted file, my palms breaking into a light sweat.

The first thing that caught my eye was a photo of two people. The background was the real Registrar's Office.

The man in the photo was Julian Vance, impeccably dressed in a suit, his expression aloof and cold. The woman beside him was none other than the one he had held and kissed on the street earlier today—Clara Brooks.

Beneath the photo, the date of registration was glaringly clear: November 12, three years ago.

Three years ago.

That was merely two months after the Vance family took him away from my rented apartment, after he regained his memories and returned to the Vance family.

A bone-chilling cold shot straight from the soles of my feet to the top of my head.

I rapidly scrolled down with my mouse, scanning through the documents below.

Clara Brooks was the daughter of the Vance family's longtime ally, the Brooks Group. During the three years Julian had amnesia, Clara had been severely injured for some reason. Driven by guilt and the strategic calculation of a family alliance, Old Mr. Vance had forced this marriage upon Julian when he had just recovered his memory and his footing in the family was still unstable.

In other words, in his second month back with the Vance family, Julian Vance had become Clara Brooks's legal husband.

And yet, what did he do after that?

He took a diamond ring, returned to my rented apartment, and got down on one knee to propose to me.

"Haha..." A short, breathy laugh escaped my lips, sounding eerily grotesque in the quiet room.

It was a joke more absurd and twisted than the trashiest soap opera.

The files also revealed that Julian didn't live with Clara at the Vance estate. Instead, he had settled her into a secluded suburban villa, rarely accompanying her to public events, publicly referring to her only as "a family member quietly recuperating."

When I typed that villa's address into the map, I found it was less than three kilometers from the private club where I had seen them kissing this afternoon.

That explained why Julian had been in such a rush to leave this morning.

Because Clara was right nearby. He didn't just have to soothe the "fake wife" at home—he had to go comfort the "real Mrs. Vance" in her villa.

Julian Vance, you must be truly exhausted.

I closed my eyes, and silent tears slipped down my cheeks, splattering against the keyboard.

I wasn't crying for this dead love. I was crying for the countless nights during those three years when I drew blueprints until my eyes were bloodshot; for the calluses and blisters on my fingers from bussing tables; for my once-unreserved, wholehearted devotion that he had ground into the dirt beneath his heel.

What did he take me for?

A survival tool to keep him going while he had amnesia? A docile, obedient doll to satisfy his emotional whims?

He craved the family backing Clara brought; at the same time, he couldn't bear to let go of the selfless love I had given him with everything I had.

His greed and arrogance led him to believe he could control it all.

I opened my eyes, the anguish within them hardening into an icy resolve.

I didn't act like typical wives who discovered their husbands cheating—I didn't call him in a frenzy to hysterically interrogate him, nor did I wail and scream, demanding an explanation.

Because the truth was already laid bare before me. Any explanation would simply be another lie.

I stood up and turned my gaze toward the room at the end of the hallway.

Julian's study.

Usually, he rarely allowed me inside, claiming it held confidential business documents. Sensible as always, I had never once crossed that line, leaving even the cleaning to Julian himself.

But now, since he had torn my world into shreds, I didn't mind seeing what other sickening secrets lay hidden behind that door!