Chapter 2

Chloe spoke lazily. "After all, he's Sarah's husband. Provoking him like that isn't good."

"We won't touch him, that's not happening."

I couldn't make out what Sarah said, the other end was a chaotic mess, drowning out her voice.

The call lasted fifteen minutes. I turned off the Bluetooth and got out of the car.

That wrenching pain had long passed, now hidden beneath a calm exterior.

But it was still there, tiny and persistent, like a swarm of ants gnawing away at my insides.

As I walked upstairs, I ran into Chloe, who was about to leave.

She seemed to be in a hurry, her buttons were misaligned, and the exposed skin of her collarbone was covered in suggestive red marks.

Seeing me, she seemed to breathe a sigh of relief, diving into my arms and wrapping her hands around my waist.

"Where did you go, hubby? I thought I lost you."

"Just went downstairs to take out the trash."

I lowered my head, my palm stroking her cheek, my fingertip tracing the mole near her eye.

Sarah Montgomery also had that mole near her eye.

Chloe's amber eyes deepened as my finger slid down.

The moment my fingertip touched her lip, she opened her mouth, catching it and gently biting down.

Chloe had a habit, like a biting cat, determined to leave all her marks on me.

Even if this territory wasn't hers.

Chloe's breathing grew heavier, her eyes burning with unresolvable desire.

She pulled me upstairs, her small body tackling me onto the bed.

I suddenly pressed her hands down. "Sarah Montgomery, stop using birth control. Give me a child."

Chloe's pupils flickered. She stared at me, a fierce glint in her eyes.

That night, Chloe transformed from a docile house cat into a fierce, untamed wildcat. She was exceptionally wild.

...

I found out Sarah Montgomery was deceiving me a few days before our wedding, when I received an anonymous video.

The video was taken in a private room at a bar, with Sarah sitting beside Jake Peterson.

She proposed a blind box dating game, and a group of them drew lots, and I was the one chosen.

Besides Sarah Montgomery, there were four other "players."

Chloe Miller was also chosen.

"Boring." She impatiently flipped the table, then abruptly stood up and left the private room. "You guys play if you want."

Jake Peterson laughed, smoothing things over.

"It's fine, four people can still play, but you guys need to watch your limits. For Sarah's sake, don't take it too far."

That's when I realized the wedding I had anticipated for eighteen years was just the starting signal for a game.

My heart clenched so tightly, I couldn't breathe.

The anonymous sender messaged me: *[It's not too late to cancel the wedding now.]*

I ignored it, sitting numbly, staring at the video all night.

It was a commercial marriage alliance; our family was climbing the social ladder by marrying into the Montgomery family. I had no right to cancel the wedding.

The wedding proceeded as planned the next day.

But before the ceremony ended, Sarah Montgomery took a call, changed out of her wedding dress, and left.

That night, it was Chloe Miller who came home.

I had face blindness, but I wasn't stupid.

After secretly loving Sarah Montgomery for eighteen years, how could I not recognize her?

In my world, people were only divided into three types.

Men, women, and Sarah Montgomery.

That night, Chloe stood with her arms crossed, looking at me with a mocking, playful smirk.

I remember she seemed to want to say something that day, but before she could open her mouth, I walked over and kissed her.

"Sarah Montgomery, I knew it, you'd come back."

Everything that followed seemed to fall into place naturally.

Four people took turns pretending to be Sarah Montgomery.

Every year for my birthday and anniversaries, I received five gifts. We were like any normal couple.

Dating, holding hands, hugging, shopping, kissing.

But the one who came home at night was always either Sarah Montgomery or Chloe Miller.

It was too easy to tell Sarah Montgomery and Chloe Miller apart.

Sarah recoiled from my touch, her eyes holding an unmistakable loathing with just a glance.

Chloe, however, was always delighted.

She had many tricks up her sleeve and was incredibly clingy.

She'd join me for a long hike, walking twenty miles, and still have the energy to keep me up until dawn.

She loved all forms of physical contact, clinging to me and calling me "hubby," then getting so breathless from my kisses she couldn't speak.

"Baby, I really, really like you."

That word, "like," she'd whisper it into my ear a million times a night, then playfully demand that I reciprocate.

Eventually, it turned into resentment.

Sometimes I'd drift off to sleep, hazy with exhaustion.

In my dreams, someone would trace my features, murmuring to themselves:

"Why did you marry her, even knowing she was deceiving you?"

"Why don't you divorce her? Do you love her that much?"

I wanted to ask her too.

Why did she go back on her word and join this game?

I treated her as Sarah Montgomery's substitute. What did she see me as?

I never asked, and Chloe never answered.

In my vague world, another type of person emerged: Chloe Miller.