I let out a small laugh, as if she'd asked a stupid question. "It's my friend Aaron. He wants to go to Europe, but his passport's expired. He was asking me how to renew it. You know him, he's useless with that kind of stuff."

My tone was light, natural, with no hint of a lie.

Madeline's expression immediately softened. She even looked a little embarrassed. "Sorry, baby. For a second, I thought you were planning on leaving me."

The men at the nearby tables who overheard her shot me looks of pure envy. See how devoted she is?

I hid a cold sneer behind my wine glass. To the outside world, we were still the perfect, enviable couple.

The gala wound down around ten-thirty.

When we were the last two left in the restaurant, Madeline came to my side, her arms wrapping around me. "Tonight was perfect."

As she moved closer, a mixed scent hit me—cigar smoke, expensive whiskey, and… that damn cheap, woody cologne.

Ryan's scent.

She hadn't even bothered to cover it up. Or maybe she hadn't even noticed it was still on her.

A violent wave of disgust churned in my stomach.

I shoved her away, clapping a hand over my mouth as I bolted for the restroom.

"William? Baby?" Madeline's worried voice followed me.

I knelt before the toilet, retching violently. My stomach was empty, but the bitter bile and uncontrollable rage kept coming.

"What is it? Are you allergic to the seafood?" Madeline knelt beside me, trying to help me up. "Or was it the wine?"

Her scent washed over me again, and I heaved.

"Don't… Don't touch me!" I pushed her hand away, my body trembling.

"Is it the smoke on me?" Madeline frowned. "I'm sorry. I must have picked it up from my business partner."

That excuse was the final match on the gasoline.

I looked at her reflection in the mirror. She stood there, her face a perfect mask of innocent concern, as if she truly had no idea what she'd done.

"Business partner?" I sneered. "You and I both know what that was about."

Madeline froze, stunned. She had never seen me lose control like this. "William, what are you talking about?"

I realized I'd shown too much. Forcing myself to pull back, I said, "Nothing. Just an upset stomach."

The next morning, Madeline insisted on taking me to the hospital.

The doctor examined me. "Based on your symptoms, it looks like stress-induced gastritis. It's often caused by pressure or emotional distress. Has anything been stressing you out lately, Mr. Windemere?"

Madeline frowned. "No, not at all. We had a lovely evening yesterday."

"Well, perhaps it's seasonal," the doctor said, starting to write a prescription. "I'll give you something to settle your stomach."

Just then, Madeline's phone rang. She glanced at the screen, and a flicker of anxiety crossed her face. "Excuse me, this is important."

"Go ahead," I said flatly.

She stepped into the hallway, and I could hear her hushed voice. "What? Now? No, I'm at the doctor with my husband… Okay, I get it."

She came back, her face apologetic. "Baby, I am so sorry. One of my men is downstairs with an urgent document. I have to go sign for it. I'll be back in five minutes."

"Go," I said, feigning understanding.

Dr. Ricci continued his diagnosis, but I wasn't listening. I walked to the window, pretending to admire the view, but my eyes were locked on the street below.

A few minutes later, I saw her.

But she wasn't waiting by the entrance for any document.

She was hurrying across the street, heading straight for the building opposite the hospital—a private tattoo parlor.

As I watched her disappear inside, the anger was gone. All I felt was a cold, numb sense of release.

Just then, my phone buzzed.

A message from an unknown number.

[So sorry, but she won't be able to stay with you today. One call from me, and she came running.]

Another picture followed immediately.

It was a shot of Ryan's bare chest, a freshly inked—and still bleeding—Windemere family crest tattooed over his heart. Next to it, in fresh ink, was Madeline's name.

[Surprised? You know, when I told Madeline I'd give her anything, even my own flesh and blood, she was so moved she jumped on me right there. What a passionate little demon.]

[Oh, and she's a total demon with me. What about you? Is she reserved in bed? Hahaha, that's because you can't satisfy her!]

I leaned against the window, the world spinning around me. I thought giving up my life as a mercenary would buy me peace. What a fucking joke.

Maybe I should congratulate them.

Another message arrived.

[By the way, she's taking me to Vegas tomorrow. We're going to have a romantic little getaway.]

I turned off my phone. "Doctor," I said to Dr. Ricci, "I think I need to leave now."

"But your wife—"

"I'll tell her myself."

I went straight to my lawyer's office. I needed a divorce agreement.

"Regarding the division of assets, what are your terms?" Blackstone asked.

I knew the full extent of the Windemere family's power. I didn't want a fight over money. "I'll take the legally mandated 50% of our shared marital assets. Once I have the money, I want you to donate all of it."

Everything else, including the mansion I'd bought, I didn't want. All I wanted was my freedom.

Blackstone's face showed a flicker of surprise, but he simply nodded.

Two hours later, I walked out of his office holding the divorce papers. The Chicago sky was overcast, promising a storm.

My phone rang. It was Madeline.

"Baby, I'm so sorry. That business took longer than I expected. Where are you now?"

"Home," I lied.

"Okay, I'm on my way back. But…" Her voice became hesitant. "I might have to go to Vegas tomorrow for some urgent family business. It's… complicated. I might not be back until next week."

Her romantic getaway with Ryan.

"Okay," I replied, my voice so calm it surprised even me.

"You're not mad?" Madeline sounded surprised. "I know the timing is terrible, but it's family business. You understand."

"I understand."

"William," her voice suddenly softened. "I love you. You know that, right?"

I looked down at the divorce papers in my hand and asked the question one last time.

"Madeline," I said softly, "could you ever love someone else?"

"What?" She laughed. "Baby, what are you worried about? How could I ever love anyone else?"

"But if… just hypothetically, if something went wrong between us—"

"That's impossible," she cut me off, her tone shifting to a disturbing possessiveness. "William, listen to me. As long as you are my William, you can never leave me. You're my husband. My man. In this city, no one would dare touch you, and there’s nowhere you could run that I wouldn't find you."

A quiet voice in my head answered: Soon, my name won't be William. It'll be Noah.

"And what if I wanted to leave?"

She laughed softly. "Then I'd give you a three-day head start. And then I'd come find you. I told you, no matter where you run, I will always find you. You can never get away from me."

I hung up the phone and stood on the Chicago street, looking at the distant skyscrapers.

I didn't know if she could find me in three days.

I only knew that in three days, I would be free.

Three days left.

I looked at myself in the mirror. The sharp haircut, the expensive suit. I looked the part of a made man. But I knew it wasn't me.

My phone buzzed again. A photo. Madeline and Ryan in a luxury suite in Las Vegas. Champagne, rose petals, and them wrapped in an embrace.

[She says fucking in a suite this nice makes it even hotter. Way better than your wedding suite, huh?]

I ignored it and called my private advisor at a Swiss bank.

"Mr. Chen, a pleasure."

"I need to liquidate all assets in my account. Convert everything to cash and bearer bonds. By end of day."

Two days left.

I met Aaron for a final goodbye. He was my only friend, my old brother in arms.

"William, you don't look so good," Aaron said, his eyes as sharp as ever.

"I'm leaving Chicago," I said, straight to the point.

"Leaving? When are you back?"

"I'm not coming back."

Aaron stared at me for a moment, then nodded. "I get it. Need me to wipe your tracks?"

That's why I trusted him. He never asked questions. Just offered support.

"No. But…" I handed him a small package. "This is for you."

He opened it. Inside was a Patek Philippe watch worth two hundred thousand dollars. "William, this is too much—"

"It's a gift for a true friend," I said, gripping his hand. "Take care of yourself, Aaron."

As I left the museum, a new message came in.

[Check out the three-million-dollar watch she bought me at the auction tonight. Nice, right? You better enjoy your last few days as Mr. Windemere.]

I blocked the number.

The final day.

Three in the morning. The mansion was as quiet as a tomb.

I stood in the walk-in closet, looking at the millions of dollars' worth of suits and watches. Custom-tailored on Savile Row, Rolexes on display… each piece was a symbol of the comfortable life I'd chosen. Now they just looked like a gilded cage.

At four a.m. sharp, a truck from a local charity arrived. I helped them load everything inside.

"Mr. Windemere, are you sure you want to donate all of this?" one of the young volunteers asked, his eyes wide. "This stuff… it's priceless."

"That's exactly why it should go to people who actually need it."

After they left, I drove three large boxes to an abandoned factory on the outskirts of the city. Inside was an old incinerator, shut down for years.

One by one, I tossed the "evidence" inside.

Wedding photos, love letters from Madeline, souvenirs from our honeymoon… I fed it all to the flames. The fire danced in the darkness, consuming every last trace of William Windemere.

The only things I kept were my tactical go-bag and my K-Bar knife. I'd gotten it on my first op. It was one of the few things in my life that was truly mine.

As the flames died down, I felt a sense of relief I hadn't felt in years.

William Windemere was dead.

At dawn, I took a car to the airport. Just as we pulled up, I saw a familiar black Maserati leaving from another terminal. Madeline was back.

At that exact moment, my phone rang.

"Baby! I'm back!" Madeline's voice was as excited as a child's. "The business in Vegas went faster than I expected. I'll be home soon. I can't wait to see the surprise gift you got me!"

A surprise. She was definitely in for a surprise.

"I'm waiting for you," I said calmly, watching her car disappear into the distance.

"I love you, William. Wait for me."

I hung up, snapped the SIM card in half, and threw it and the phone into a trash can.

I clutched the brand-new passport. The photo was me, but the name was Noah Chen. A new identity. A new beginning.

I took one last look at Chicago, then turned and walked toward the boarding gate.

Goodbye, William Windemere.

Hello, Noah.