Chapter 5

Seraphina Shaw POV

Sorting out new identity documents and handling cross-border asset transfers proved far more tedious than I had imagined. Yet, like a finely calibrated machine running on preset code, I pushed everything forward with methodical precision.

Over the past few days, I had been unusually quiet. There were no hysterical confrontations, no passive-aggressive probing, and even our casual daily chatter dwindled to almost nothing. I simply sat quietly before my drafting desk, sketching blueprints that would never be built under the Vance Group, or gazed out the floor-to-ceiling window watching the sun rise and fall, my eyes as hollow and still as stagnant water.

This abnormal behavior of mine caught Julian's attention.

That evening, Julian returned two hours earlier than usual. When he pushed the door open, I was sitting in the dim living room with the lights off, cradling a mug of coffee that had long gone cold.

"Why haven't you turned on the lights? Aren't you scared sitting in the dark like this?"

Julian's voice drifted in alongside the warm, amber glow illuminating the foyer. Shrugging off his coat that still held the crisp chill of late autumn, he slipped into his house slippers and walked straight to my side. Out of habit, he scooped me into his arms, blanket and all.

Resting his chin against the crown of my head, he nuzzled me gently, his tone carrying an imperceptible note of scrutiny mixed with his usual indulgence. "Why have you been so quiet these past few days? Have I been too busy and neglected you? Or are you just exhausted from drafting?"

The moment my body brushed against his chest, I stiffened almost imperceptibly. But I relaxed just as quickly, leaning compliantly against his shoulder and lowering my lashes to conceal the piercing chill in my gaze.

"No, just a little tired." My voice was faint, like a wisp of smoke ready to scatter in the wind.

Julian chuckled softly, his broad hand rubbing my shoulder. "I knew you were pushing yourself again. Come on, go change. We're not eating in tonight. I'm taking you to that dessert place you love most. And after that, I have a surprise for you."

I didn't refuse. I knew that until the moment I vanished for good, I had to play the part of the 'obedient' lover flawlessly. I couldn't afford to slip up now.

Half an hour later, the Maybach glided smoothly along streets awash in early evening lights.

The heater was humming warmly, accompanied by a soothing cello melody flowing from the car's sound system. With one hand on the steering wheel, Julian casually reached across the center console with the other, taking hold of the hand resting on my knee.

His palm was broad and warm, the pads of his fingers marked by the faint, lingering calluses from the manual labor he had done during his bout of amnesia. It was a warmth I had craved through countless bitter winters. Yet now, being held by him only made me feel as if a slick, venomous serpent were coiling around me, sending an uncontrollable wave of nausea churning through my stomach.

"Why are your hands so cold?" Julian knitted his brows, tightening his grip before bringing my hand to his lips for a soft kiss. "I'll have them bring out a pot of hot black tea first once we get there."

Watching his focused profile as he drove, taking in the flawless tenderness woven into his expression, I was suddenly struck by the sheer absurdity of it all.

How could this man transition so seamlessly between two women? The very lips that had kissed Clara Brooks were now kissing the back of my hand. Just last night, he might have been whispering sweet nothings into Clara's ear, and tonight, he was sitting in this car doting on me with tender solicitations.

Upon arriving at the dessert boutique, Julian bought out the entire second-floor terrace.

An exquisite mille-feuille and a slice of Black Forest cake were set before me, radiating an enticing, sweet aroma. Picking up the silver dessert fork, I mechanically cut off a small piece and brought it to my mouth.

The sweetness that once made me feel as if I were floating on air now dissolved over my tongue into nothing but a sickening, bitter cloyingness.

"Not to your liking?" Julian clearly noticed my subdued mood and set down his cup.

"A bit too rich," I murmured, putting down the fork and taking a sip of tea.

"Then don't force yourself." Julian didn't mind. Like a magician pulling off a trick, he retrieved a navy-blue velvet jewelry box from his coat pocket and slid it across the table toward me. "Take a look. Do you like it?"

I stared at the box stamped with the logo of a premier high-jewelry house, remaining motionless.

Julian smiled and reached out to open it for me.

Cradled against the black velvet lining lay a breathtaking diamond necklace. Its centerpiece was an exceptionally rare blue diamond, cut to utter perfection, refracting a dazzling, hypnotic brilliance under the lights.

It was the very necklace I had lingered over for an extra three seconds while flipping through a fashion magazine together last month. A limited global edition, exorbitantly priced.

"You looked at it for quite a while, so I had someone source it directly from their Paris headquarters." Julian rose to his feet, walked behind my chair, swept my long hair aside, and gently fastened the necklace around my neck.

The moment the icy platinum chain met my bare skin, a violent shiver ran through me.

"Breathtaking," Julian murmured, resting both hands on my shoulders. He gazed at our reflection in the glass windowpane. The man impeccably dressed in a tailored suit, radiating devotion; the woman beautiful and gentle, the diamond at her throat gleaming radiantly.

What a picture-perfect portrait.

"Seraphina," Julian whispered, lowering his head so his warm breath grazed my ear, "do you still remember what I told you back in that rundown shack?"

My breath hitched for a fraction of a second.

How could I ever forget?

It was the morning his burning fever finally broke, when the pale sunlight pierced through the thick smog into that cramped, dingy space. Clutching my hands with reddened eyes, he had said: *Seraphina, you are the only light I saw after clawing my way out of hell. Once I find myself again, I'll give you my very life.*

"I remember," I heard my own dry voice reply.

"The more I acquire, the more schemes and power struggles I'm forced to endure," Julian murmured, a hint of weariness seeping into his tone. "Yet in my heart, only what we have here remains pure and untainted. Seraphina, you will always be my only light. Let this necklace be my apology for neglecting you these past two days, alright?"

*His only light.*

Staring at the reflection of myself in the window—looking as though I were bound in ornate shackles—I let out a bitter, silent laugh in the depths of my mind.

Indeed, I was the "only light" in his world, while Clara Brooks was the "only wife."

He drew a stark, immaculate line between love and marriage, between salvation and duty. He relied on money, on honeyed words, on these extravagant "charities" to pacify me—a mistress hidden in the shadows—just to maintain that twisted, perverted equilibrium inside his head.

It turned out that his so-called devotion was nothing more than a conqueror toying with his spoils. He genuinely believed that as long as he provided sufficient emotional validation and material compensation, I would gladly stay locked inside this glass jar for the rest of my days.

"Thank you." Lowering my gaze, I raised my hand and lightly brushed against the icy blue diamond.

My voice was calm, undisturbed by even the faintest ripple, but deep in my heart, I silently added:

*Julian Vance, your light is about to burn out.*