Chapter 3

The master closet. My private sanctuary.

Every rack was filled with clothes I had carefully collected over three years, alongside a few vintage heirlooms left by my late mother.

And now Julian wanted me to hand half of it over to Chloe.

In the calmest voice possible, he demanded the most shameless robbery.

"Okay," I nodded.

Julian seemed pleased by my obedience. He reached out, intending to stroke my hair.

Instinctively, I pulled away, dodging his fingers.

His hand froze in midair, his expression instantly souring.

"Serena, what's with the attitude now?"

"Nothing. I have a cold. I don't want to get you sick."

He scoffed and withdrew his hand.

"Hurry up and pack. The movers need to bring Chloe’s vanity upstairs."

I turned and walked up to the second floor, pushing open the master bedroom door.

Everything was exactly as I had left it.

On the nightstand sat our framed wedding portrait.

In the photo, I was leaning against his chest, my eyes brimming with unmistakable, overflowing adoration.

I walked over and flipped the frame face down.

Then I stepped into the closet, pulling out several oversized black heavy-duty trash bags from the bottom drawer.

I yanked open the wardrobe doors, tearing my clothes off the hangers—coats, dresses, blouses—and shoved them relentlessly into the bags.

Item by item, I erased every single trace of Serena Vance from this space.

Thirty minutes later, the once-crowded closet was hollow and barren.

Only four bulging black trash bags remained, piled neatly by the door.

I tied the final knot, brushing the dust from my hands.

Soft footsteps padded down the hallway. Chloe strolled in, wearing my slippers.

Taking in the bare racks and the garbage bags on the floor, she feigned shock.

"Serena, what are you doing? Julian only asked me to crash here temporarily. You don't have to act like you're being thrown out on the street."

Stepping closer, she lowered her voice, her tone dripping with smug malice.

"Julian’s going to be furious if he sees this. You know how much he despises this tragic victim routine of yours."

I looked at her, completely unfazed.

"I don't share spaces. If you're moving in, it’s all yours."

Chloe’s smirk faltered, visibly rattled by how easily I surrendered my territory.

Right then, heavy footsteps echoed outside. Julian appeared in the doorway.

Seeing the sea of black garbage bags, his brow locked into a furious knot.

"Serena, what the hell is wrong with you now?"

He kicked one of the bags out of his path.

"I told you to clear half the closet! Throwing everything away to throw a tantrum at me?"

He glared at me, his eyes burning with suppressed rage.

"Do you honestly think pulling this dramatic martyr act will make me feel guilty? That it’ll make me kick Chloe out?"

He was entirely convinced this was just another game of hard-to-get, a pathetic ploy to force him onto his knees.

I bent down, stuffing a fallen hem back into the bag.

"The clothes were old. It was time to clear them out anyway."

I looked him straight in the eye.

"Didn't you say Chloe’s vanity needs space? Now there's plenty."

Julian choked on his own anger, silenced by my utter lack of defiance.

He was used to my screaming matches, my desperate attempts to mark my territory and push Chloe away.

Now that I was handing over the keys without a fight, it left him utterly unsettled and frustrated.

"Fine. Throw it all out. Just don't come crying to me to buy you replacements."

"I won't," I said, picking up two heavy bags.

As I brushed past him, his fingers snapped around my wrist.

"Serena, my patience has limits. Know when to stop."

His voice dropped dangerously low, tinged with a flicker of raw irritation.

I stared down at his pale, slender fingers. The hearing in my left ear seemed to have deteriorated even further overnight.

His voice sounded like an echo traveling from the bottom of an ocean.

"I'm not throwing a fit. I'm just cleaning up."

Pulling my arm free, I carried the bags downstairs without looking back.