Chapter 2

The footage kept playing. Lacking the patience to watch it slowly, I began skipping through the days.

Two months. Fifty-eight days.

Almost every single day, after Delilah coaxed me to sleep, Ethan would appear.

Sometimes they did it on the sofa, sometimes on the balcony, and sometimes he even sat right by my bed, holding Delilah's hand.

One night, because the baby was kicking violently, I woke up in a daze and mumbled, "Ethan..."

On screen, Ethan and Delilah were tangled together.

Hearing my voice, he froze. He patted Delilah's back, signaling her to hide.

He walked over to the bed, gently touched my forehead, and spoke in a voice so tender it could melt iron. "Babe, what's wrong? Are you feeling unwell?"

I mumbled that my leg was cramping. He immediately knelt down and massaged my leg for a full half-hour.

Until I fell asleep again.

Then he stood up, walked to the curtain where Delilah was hiding, pulled her out, and kissed her deeply.

Seeing this, I leaned over and gagged again.

My stomach was completely empty, and I could only throw up bitter bile.

Tears dripped onto my phone screen, blurring the image of the two twisted lovers.

Everyone in high society used to think that I, Rowan Shaw, was the luckiest woman in the world.

Great family background, beautiful, graduated from an Ivy League university.

For the sake of love, I gave up a career opportunity in London and married a man of equal social standing who absolutely adored me.

But they had no idea that beneath the glamorous facade of happiness lay a web of countless lies.

When I was ten, my father had an affair with our divorced live-in housekeeper.

When my mother found out, she set fire to the bed they used for their cheap trysts. She smiled at my father and asked:

"Shall we die together?"

For the first time, pure terror appeared in my father's eyes. He fell to his knees and begged her for forgiveness, admitting he was wrong.

Standing outside the door, I didn't cry or make a sound. I just used my smartwatch to call Aunt Clara.

I watched Aunt Clara rush in and stop my mother.

I watched the housekeeper get thrown out on the street.

I watched my father sign a confession and a postnuptial agreement.

Everything went back to normal, as if that day was just a bad dream.

But after that, my mother never held my father's hand again.

She never called to ask him to come home early from business dinners.

She would only stroke my hair gently and say, "Rowan, men are unreliable. In the end, you can only rely on yourself."

I had been an observant child.

My mother had married beneath her social class. Her massive dowry had helped my father's company survive and thrive more than once.

Yet, even though she was beautiful, came from an elite family, and loved him with all her heart...

Even though they had a sweet, cute daughter like me...

He still chose to cheat on her with a middle-aged, divorced housekeeper who couldn't help him in any way and only drained his money.

Perhaps I inherited my father's cold rationality, combined with my mother's realistic teachings.

From the very beginning, I didn't expect much from marriage.

I was used to making the most calculated, optimal decisions in any situation.

In the Vance family, Ethan's generation was thin on heirs, and the patriarch, Grandpa Arthur, was getting very old.

Whoever gave birth to the first male heir would secure the ultimate power in the family empire.

Although I hated dealing with the complex politics of wealthy families, Aunt Clara's words had woken me up:

"Do you think marrying a middle-class guy means you won't have to deal with in-law drama and family bullshit?"

"Rowan, it's all the same. You might as well marry into the ultimate wealth. At least then, you have a shot at real power."

I couldn't agree more.

So, when the Vance family chose me for an arranged marriage, I didn't hesitate to give up my plans to study abroad in London. I married Ethan.

I thought it would take some effort to win Ethan over, but he fell in love with me at first sight.

I only had to smile, and he would shower me with the kind of devotion other women could only dream of.

Even if his love was partly an act, I had inevitably fallen for him over time.

But who else had been fooled by his acting besides me?

I picked up the confidential will on the table and let out a cold laugh.