When she went downstairs for breakfast, a WeChat message from Adrian was waiting.

He didn't hide his absence, but he wasn't exactly honest either. A few curt words explained that an unexpected issue had arisen with a company project, requiring his personal attention at the site.

*What kind of project demands the CEO's presence at a construction site at 4:00 AM?*

Sara stared at the absurd excuse.

Did he think she was a toddler?

Was it true that a man could never forget his first love?

True or false, it didn't matter. At least now, if Bonnie asked, Sara had a cover story to protect the family peace.

Years ago, when Eva had made a scene about their breakup, the fallout between the Hardings and the Jameses had been nuclear. Aside from necessary public functions, the two clans avoided each other entirely. Elijah had even explicitly forbidden Adrian from ever tangling with Eva again.

If word got out that they were meeting in secret, it would be chaos.

Near noon, Bonnie invited a few friends over for mahjong. One player short, Sara filled the seat.

In the past, she hadn't known a bamboo tile from a circle, but to please Bonnie and integrate into this world, she'd forced herself to learn. Flower arranging. Tea ceremonies. Every required course for a socialite crammed into her brain.

She wasn't a master, but she knew enough to avoid being the butt of a joke.

Unfortunately, after the marriage, Adrian rarely took her out in public. With her background—an orphan who didn't even know her biological parents—she wasn't fit for the high society stage.

So they hid her away. A calculated move. When the contract ended and they went their separate ways, her lack of public presence would minimize the blowback on Adrian's reputation.

As lunch approached, Bella came downstairs.

Seeing Sara making Bonnie laugh, she stood on the sidelines, throwing passive-aggressive jabs.

Sensing the impending drama, Sara seized the opportunity to slip away, claiming she needed to head home. Before leaving, she pushed all her winnings toward her mother-in-law.

"A little treat for you, Mom." The other ladies cast envious looks.

Bonnie offered a driver, but Sara declined, hailing a taxi instead.

Her destination wasn't the marital villa Adrian had bought.

It was a residential complex on the opposite side of the city—a world away in every sense.

The location was remote, the buildings aged. Its only advantage was the quiet.

Sara didn't knock. She pressed her thumb to the fingerprint scanner and unlocked the door.

Outside, the sun was blazing. Inside, the apartment was pitched in darkness.

Blackout curtains were drawn tight, sealing the room in suffocating gloom. The stale air hit her face, heavy with despair.

The contrast between the opulent Harding estate and this tomb-like space made Sara freeze in the doorway. An invisible hand squeezed her heart. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust.

Taking a steadying breath, she stepped inside, her high heels clicking on the floor. She marched to the window, ripped open the curtains, and threw the sash wide.

Sunlight and fresh air flooded the room.

She made no effort to be quiet, deliberately making noise to rouse the occupant of the bedroom.

Moments later, the master bedroom door creaked open. A tall, gaunt figure emerged.

Hearing his footsteps, Sara didn't turn around. She placed the takeout on the table and slowly changed into her slippers.

Before she could finish, a mocking voice grated against her ear.

"I've always been curious about one thing. Does Adrian know you're using his money to keep another man on the side?"

Sara's back stiffened.

She recovered in seconds.

Turning to face a pair of cynical, teasing eyes, her expression remained calm. "You're bored, Simon."

Simon Simmons curled his lip. "Is it not the truth?"

She ignored the jab. "The weather is beautiful today. After we eat, come downstairs for a walk with me."

"Not going." He dropped onto the sofa, rejecting her instantly.

Several bags of trash were piled by the door. She didn't need to ask to know he hadn't left in days.

"If you stay cooped up like this, you're going to get sick."

"Then let me die. Better to rot here than go out and have people stare at me like I'm a monster."

His self-loathing sparked a flare of anger in her chest.

But then her gaze landed on the hideous burn scars creeping up his neck and arms.

The anger dissolved into heartache.

The scars weren't just on his skin. They had ravaged his soul.

Ever since his discharge from the hospital, he was a different person. Volatile temper. Complete withdrawal from the world. If this continued, Sara feared his mind would break entirely.

She sat beside him, her voice softening. "If you die, wouldn't my sacrifice be for nothing?"

Simon glanced at her and scoffed. "Who asked you to save me?"

"Right, I was meddling." Her tone dripped with reverse psychology. "I shouldn't have made a deal with the devil to pay your medical bills. I should have just bought a bottle of cheap poison—economical and practical—and set us both free."

She nudged him. "If you don't want to see me, just say the word. I'll leave right now."

His face remained cold, but he fell silent.

Sara was his most important person—and he was hers. They had grown up together in the orphanage, two pieces of driftwood clinging to each other in a stormy sea. No relatives, only each other.

Just like the curtains in this room—no one but Sara was allowed to open them.

"I knew you were bluffing. You can't bear to see me go." A triumphant smile crossed her face as she pulled him toward the dining table. "Now, eat."

Simon used to be a chatterbox. Now he finished the entire meal without uttering a single word.

Sara's heart ached.

Starting at sixteen, he'd worked part-time jobs while studying. No childhood. No fun. He sacrificed his youth, even giving up a chance at graduate school, just so Sara could live like a normal girl. He refused to let her feel inferior to her classmates because of money.

The year of the accident, he had finally caught a break. A good job. On the verge of becoming a regular employee.

Then came the explosion at the restaurant where he moonlighted.

He didn't make it out in time.

Massive burns. ICU. Life hanging by a thread.

It was to scrape together the astronomical medical fees that Sara had entered into this absurd marriage contract with Adrian.

After Simon was discharged, she rented this place and hid him here. The Harding family's drivers and nannies were all Adrian's spies, so she couldn't visit often. She'd hired a caretaker, but this morning, the woman's resignation text arrived.

"Everything was fine—why did you fire her?" The thought of him alone was unbearable.

Simon knew why she'd come. "I have hands and feet. I don't need a babysitter."

"The caretaker's wages come from money I borrowed from a friend. Don't feel burdened. If the Hardings didn't forbid their women from working, I would have gotten a job long ago. Just six more months—once the divorce is final, we won't have to hide anymore."

He listened in silence.

Then he spoke. "I had a dream last night."

He rarely shared anything personal these days. Sara leaned in, feigning bright interest. "Tell me about it."

Half-serious, half-joking, he said, "I dreamed you were getting married, and I went to crash the wedding to steal the bride."

A melodramatic soap opera plot. Sara smiled gently. "Did you succeed?"

"No." His answer was crisp, his expression solemn—as if recounting a memory rather than a fantasy. "You rejected me because I was penniless. You even had security beat me up."

Sara nodded gravely. "That is a tragedy." Then she shifted tone. "Dreams are fake, Simon."

He stared at her fair, flawless face. "Why not say the opposite?"

"Because I never even had a wedding." She laughed, though it didn't reach her eyes. "How could you crash a wedding that never happened?"

She and Adrian had only signed the papers. Even the rings were an afterthought. Back then, the Harding family hadn't accepted her.

When Elijah found out, he'd slapped Adrian in public, accusing him of treating marriage like a game just to spite Eva. But Adrian hadn't listened. When the family objected, he took Sara and moved out.

Whether Eva had tried to win him back then, Sara didn't know, but Adrian's relationship with his family had frozen over.

For six months, they barely spoke. Sara had shamelessly, tirelessly mediated, smoothing things over until she finally earned her place at the table.

Only then did Adrian stop treating her like a pretty vase.

Simon didn't laugh.

His eyes fixed on the faint reddish mark on Sara's neck—he'd noticed it the moment she walked in.

"Looks like he likes you a lot."

"A man brings a wife home—how many are just for display?" Sara lowered her gaze, her thick lashes concealing the emotion in her eyes. "With me, he wants my body, not my heart."

"And you?" Simon asked quietly.

"Did you give him yours?"

Sara's jaw tightened mid-chew. She smoothed her expression and shook her head. "No."

Simon's gaze didn't waver. "The truth."

"Why would I lie to you?" She met his eyes, her voice steady. "Adrian Harding values people who know their place. If I didn't, he wouldn't have sought me out. Do you really think I'd dare challenge his boundaries?"

Something in Simon's shoulders loosened. He exhaled slowly, the tension bleeding out of him.

Silence stretched between them. Then, without a word, he picked up a choice cut of meat and placed it in her bowl.

The gesture said what he couldn't. Simon had never been one for sweet words or apologies—he let his actions speak instead.

Sara felt the knot in her chest unravel. Despite the simple meal, she was lighter than she'd been in months. Only with Simon could she shed the suffocating rules of "high society" and just *be*. He wouldn't judge her. He demanded nothing.

Before leaving, she insisted he hire the caretaker back. Since the restaurant explosion, the mere mention of fire drained the blood from his face. Leaving him alone wasn't an option.

She hurried home.

The apartment greeted her with hollow silence.

Adrian didn't return. A single message arrived before bed—perfunctory, brief, offering no explanation.

She had waited, hungry and hopeful, only to be stood up. She'd even messaged him in advance.

Ever since Eva James returned, the ground beneath Sara's feet had been shifting.

What surprised her even more was Eva reaching out to arrange a meal. Sara wanted to refuse, but Adrian's erratic behavior left her grasping at air. If he planned to reconcile with his ex, she needed to prepare her exit strategy.

She went.

The location was the very restaurant Adrian had taken her to countless times.

The moment Sara stepped inside, Eva's gaze locked onto her. Gone was the gentle facade from their last encounter. Today, she radiated a suffocating superiority.

This wasn't a social call.

It was a negotiation.

Sara sat down, posture neutral. "Ms. James. You wanted to see me?"

"Assistant Navarro and I are old acquaintances. Our last meeting was too rushed—I wanted to catch up." Eva's smile didn't reach her eyes. "And while I'm at it—"

She pulled something from her handbag and slid it across the table. "Adrian left this with me. I'd appreciate it if you returned it to him."

Lying on the white tablecloth was the watch Adrian had worn the day he visited the old residence.

So when he left in the middle of the night without a word, he had gone straight to her.

It was no longer a suspicion.

It was a cold, hard fact.

"It's just a watch." Sara kept her voice light, breezy—as if her heart wasn't hammering against her ribs. "Why would Ms. James need to make a personal trip for something so trivial?"

Eva's lips curled. Calm. Triumphant. "He's a very nostalgic man. This watch was the first birthday gift I ever gave him. He's worn it for years."

She watched Sara like a hawk circling prey. "And this restaurant... the brand of clothes you're wearing... we founded them together back then."

*So that's how it is.*

Sara had noticed Adrian's "soft spots" for certain brands and places. She hadn't realized they were all monuments to Eva. He had never forgotten her.

He just never spoke her name.

Under the table, Sara's nails dug into her palms.

She had lied to Simon.

And she had been lying to herself.

A man might separate sex from love, but she couldn't. Two and a half years of marriage had fostered feelings she had no business having for the man who sheltered her.

She knew the chasm between them. She kept calling him "Mr. Harding" to remind him of his comfort zone—and to remind herself of her place. But in this moment, the ache spreading through her chest told her the truth.

She was in far deeper than she'd thought.

"What?" Eva tilted her head, mock concern dripping from every syllable. "Did Assistant Navarro not know?"

She saw the crack in Sara's armor. Her smile deepened, a ghost of mockery playing at the corners of her mouth.

"I really didn't," Sara admitted, deciding to drop the charade. "But people and objects aren't exactly comparable, are they?"

"True." Eva's voice turned silky. "That's why I called him that night to test him. I didn't expect him to actually come."

Eva knew exactly how to twist the knife.