Rivergate's most elite social circle had always shared an unspoken rule.

Men were free to play the field as they pleased, drifting from one woman to the next.

Women, on the other hand, were only allowed a single, discreet indulgence on the day they came of age—a privately hired "life assistant" meant to take care of their physical needs.

…

On my coming-of-age day, I picked Elliot at first glance from a hundred applicants who came in for interviews. He wore gold-rimmed glasses, looked composed and restrained, and carried himself with a calm maturity that set him apart.

He was steady, meticulous, and obsessively clean. The only condition he agreed to was that there would be no bodily contact—hands only. And after every encounter, he would scrub his hands with disinfectant alcohol a hundred times.

Over five years, the empty bottles alone were enough to circle the villa seven times.

I used to think that one day, I'd help him overcome his barriers and truly make him mine. That illusion shattered the night I got drunk and accidentally wandered into Elliot's room.

Hidden beneath his pillow was a DV camera, and inside were several videos of him pleasuring himself.

On the screen, the same man who had always been calm and rational with me was staring at the lingerie of the adopted sister who had caused my mother's death, his Adam's apple bobbing as he moaned her name, "Chloe… I love you…"

Only then did I realize that every step he had taken toward me had never been about me at all. It had always been a carefully concealed, long-nurtured love for her. So, it was very odd that he cried when I took my adopted sister's place in marrying someone else.

I'll Marry Him—On My Terms

"Alright. I'll marry that Hunting bipolar mess in Chloe's place."

For the first time in years, my usually taciturn father, Richard Graf, nearly flipped his desk.

He shot to his feet, excitement flashing across his face. "Natalie, you've finally come to your senses?! The Huntings have been pressing hard. The wedding has to happen next week. What sort of wedding dress would you like? I'll have someone place the order right away—"

"Don't bother. I only have two conditions. I'll marry him as long as you agree to those terms."

The joy on his face vanished at once. He sat back down, wariness creeping into his eyes. "What do you want? If you're thinking of hurting your sister, I suggest you drop it now. Don't make me angry."

"My real sister died a long time ago. Have you forgotten?" I smiled at him, frost cutting through my gaze. "You were the one who personally ordered her grave to be relocated."

Chloe Shelton was the daughter of my father's first love.

She was only a year younger than me. Her mother passed away eight years ago. My father, who had never been able to forget the dead woman, brought her daughter home and acknowledged her as his adopted daughter.

My mother fell from the stairs the first d*mned day she darkened our doorstep. She died that day, and so did my unborn sister.

My mother hadn't even been dead a full week when Chloe begged my father to move my mother's grave and replace it with her own mother's. My mother would never know peace, even in her death.

My father's expression darkened.

He grabbed the crystal ashtray from the desk and raised it at me. However, he managed to stop himself before he could hurl it. He closed his eyes, his voice turning sharp. "State your conditions."

"First, I want Chloe's mother's grave moved. She is never to enter the Graf family mausoleum in this lifetime. Second, I want you to transfer Elliot to Chloe's side. I'm done with him."

My father's face went completely grim. "Natalie Graf, are you out of your mind?"

I was. This family had driven me insane.

I tugged at the corner of my mouth and spoke softly. "So, what's your answer? Yes or no?"

He fell silent, lit a cigar, and sat there amid the smoke for a long time before finally forcing down his rage. When he spoke again, the words sounded like they had been squeezed out of his throat. "Fine. I'll do it. I'll take care of it the day you get married."

"No." I met his gaze, unwavering. "I want to see the grave relocated with my own eyes before the wedding. Otherwise, you can wait for the Hunting family to come looking for Chloe."

The crystal ashtray exploded at my feet. My father's voice came out hoarse and broken as he hissed, "Fine."

His Secret Under the Pillow

It was already 3 a.m. by the time I got myself out of the Graf Residence. I had no desire to go home, so I wandered into a bar and drowned myself in alcohol. When the liquor finally hit me, my mind drifted to Elliot.

The day he interviewed for the job happened to be my mother's death anniversary. Chloe had called it bad luck and tossed every photo of my mother into the pool. There were so many servants in that house, yet not one of them dared to help me.

Only Elliot had rolled up his sleeves, stepped straight into the water, and picked out the photos one by one.

My heart had skipped a beat at that very moment. But it wasn't until the day before that I learned it had all been staged. He hadn't gone into the water because he pitied me.

No, he did it to grab Chloe's attention.

It was Chloe's birthday the day before. My father had been determined to host a grand celebration for her, so he specifically ordered me not to come home. He was terrified that my presence would spoil her mood.

Elliot had taken leave early as well, claiming he had something important to handle.

That night, I had ended up in a bar just like this as I wasted away in a pool of alcohol-infused misery. On my way home, I accidentally walked into Elliot's room. Beneath his pillow, I found a camcorder containing several videos of him touching himself.

In the footage, the man who had always been composed and rational around me was aroused by nothing but a tiny scrap of lingerie. As he climaxed, I heard him say, "Chloe… I love you… I really love you…"

At the end of the video, a phone call between him and the butler played.

"Mr. Zeller, how long are you planning to keep up this assistant game? Your parents have urged you countless times to return home and inherit the family business. If you keep stalling, your father will truly lose his temper.

"And you're the golden boy of Rivergate. Women throw themselves at you. You can have any woman you want. Why obsess over the adopted daughter of a wannabe upper-class family?

"You're even going as far as creating an alias to work as her sister's assistant, just to get close to her. What exactly are you after?"

Elliot had taken off his gold-rimmed glasses, his eyes heavy with lust yet soft with affection. "I can't help it. Chloe's very unguarded. I don't want to scare her."

"And Natalie Graf? Mr. Zeller, do you feel nothing for her?"

Elliot had frowned, disgust flashing across his face. "I do. She makes me sick."

When the video ended, I clutched my stomach and collapsed on the bathroom floor. I retched until my world spun before my eyes. My chest hurt so badly it felt like my heart was tearing apart. I forced myself upright and opened my eighth bottle of the night.

A sudden commotion jerked me out of my thoughts.

I turned my head and saw Elliot standing right there. He wore the standard black uniform. There wasn't even a hint of a wrinkle on him as even the top button of his white shirt was fastened perfectly.

"Ms. Graf, it's time to go home."

I drunkenly pushed myself up, swaying dangerously. Naturally, I accidentally missed a step and fell straight into his arms. Elliot immediately stepped back, expression tight. He looked as though he was terrified of having the slightest physical contact with me.

"Ow…" I hit the ground hard, scraping my knee.

He remained indifferent to my plight. He helped me up with his pristine white gloves, then tossed me onto the sofa without hesitation before hurrying toward the bathroom.

I knew exactly what he was doing. He was going to sanitize himself again.

In the five years he had followed me, he had gone through more than a thousand bottles of rubbing alcohol. When he touched my hand? Disinfect. When he entered my room? Disinfect.

It was even worse when he used his hand on me in bed because he would practically flee just to scrub his entire skin off afterward.

If I hadn't seen him touching himself to Chloe's photo that day, I honestly would have believed he had some kind of compulsive disorder.

There was a mocking twist to my lips. Yet, even that slight twist of my lips nearly made me sob.

…

Half an hour had passed by the time Elliot finally left the bathroom. His gloves were gone, and he reeked of disinfectant.

Left Behind

If I hadn't found out the truth, I would be raising hell out of sheer spite right about now. I would have clung to him and demanded that he carry me, forcing my scent all over him.

Now, as I noticed the wary look in Elliot's eyes, I merely wiped my face and turned away calmly. "Let's go."

Elliot froze for a moment, utterly caught off guard.

We stayed quiet on the drive home. He kept replying to someone's messages while I scrolled through the wedding-dress photos my father had sent me.

Just then, he blurted out, "Stop the car."

I turned, puzzled. He smoothly hid his phone and said shortly, "Something's come up. I need to make a trip to the south side of the city. Ms. Graf, you should take a cab back."

Rivergate was being hammered by heavy rain, and it was around 4 to 5 a.m. right now. The streets were absolutely desolate. I opened my mouth to refuse, but Elliot had already opened the door and shoved me outside.

The alcohol hit my system like a train wreck right then and there. I couldn't keep my balance, slipping straight into the muddy water like a drowned rat.

"Elliot!" I shouted, furious. Alas, he didn't even glance my way. Instead, he simply instructed the chauffeur to drive.

So, the car sped off through the storm, splashing a fresh wave of filthy water onto me. I stood alone in the downpour, abandoned by the whole world. There was no cab to hail, as none made their rounds here under such terrible weather. I ended up walking 3 miles home through the rain.

…

When I finally arrived at the villa, the lights were still on. Chloe was lounging comfortably on the sofa in her plush Gaul-imported pajamas, enjoying supper.

The most famous restaurant on the south side didn't offer delivery—only pick-up.

Elliot stood beside her, and every glance he gave her smoldered with restrained affection.

"Natalie, you're back!" Chloe set down her bowl and looped her arm through mine with practiced warmth. "Elliot bought supper for me. Come eat with us."

"Don't touch me." I pulled my arm back and stepped away in disgust.

She blinked, startled by my vehemence. Her eyes reddened instantly as she looked helplessly at Elliot. "Elliot… did I do something wrong?"

A flicker of pain crossed Elliot's gaze before he looked at me with barely masked aversion. Chloe looked pleased, her own expression turning shy as she glanced at him. "Elliot, my foot hurts a little. Can you carry me to my room?"

I saw his throat bob twice the second she made that request. Sure enough, his eyes had darkened behind his gold-rimmed glasses.

He swept her into his arms and headed upstairs in a few quick strides, even remembering to switch off the living-room lights as he went. I stood there dripping, swallowed by the dark.

…

After a long while, a bitter and hollow chuckle escaped my lips as I drifted back to my room like a ghost.

That night, I came down with a fever. In my delirium, I thought I smelled the disinfectant Elliot always carried. When I focused on the scent, I also caught the cloying sweetness of Chloe's perfume—the scent I hated with every fiber of my being.

Two days had passed by the time I could get up and about. There were only four days left before the wedding.

After washing up, I headed out to pick up a few things from the mall. The moment I stepped outside, Chloe oddly insisted on squeezing into my car. Elliot watched closely from the side. I ignored both of them and stared out at the passing scenery.

As we crossed an intersection, the car suddenly lurched out of control. The black Maybach shot straight off the Harborview Bridge.

Saltwater flooded my throat in an instant. The more I struggled, the more it hurt. Flashes of red blurred before my eyes—my own blood drifting in the water. I saw Elliot smash the car window and push Chloe upward, fighting to get her to the surface.

However, he didn't even turn around to save me, not even when the sea swallowed the last of my consciousness.