Chapter 3

Luna walked over with light, airy steps, looking as innocent as a lamb.

"Vivian, this is our new marketing intern, Luna Brooks."

Christian’s voice was smooth, showing no cracks. "Luna, this is my wife."

"Luna."

He called her by her first name, so casually, right in front of me.

Luna smiled, her eyes crinkling into sweet half-moons. "Nice to meet you, Mrs. Sterling. I’m Luna. Everyone in the office talks about you. They say you and Mr. Sterling are goals."

She tilted her head up, and that crescent moon necklace dangled right before my eyes.

It was blinding.

My chest tightened so hard I could barely breathe.

But I knew I couldn't lose my cool now.

I forced a elegant, poised smile.

"Nice to meet you, Luna. You must be highly capable to land an internship at Sterling Corp at such a young age."

I gently tightened my grip on Christian’s arm, claiming my territory with a soft but firm tone. "Christian has notoriously high standards when it comes to work."

I emphasized "Christian" and "my husband" with subtle precision.

Luna’s smile faltered for a microsecond before returning to its sweet mask. "You're absolutely right, Mrs. Sterling. I'll make sure to work even harder."

She was good.

The defiance in her eyes was practically dripping, yet she played the naive girl flawlessly.

Christian seemed to breathe a sigh of relief. He patted my hand and told Luna, "Alright, get back to work." Then he whispered to me, "Come on, let's go home."

Back in the quiet interior of our Bentley, the silence was suffocating.

It wasn't until we merged onto the highway that I finally broke the quiet.

"That necklace wasn't a vendor gift, was it?" I stared out the window at the passing city skyline, my voice as flat as if I were discussing the weather.

Christian’s grip on the steering wheel tightened. He let out a long, weary sigh. "Vivian, do we really have to do this?"

"Do what?" I turned my head to look at him. "Is it wrong of me to ask? Or did you plan on lying to me forever?"

"I wasn't trying to lie to you!" His voice spiked, laced with the irritation of being caught. "Fine. I bought her the necklace. She's just an intern, okay? She moved here all by herself from a small town, working crazy hours, struggling to make rent. I felt bad for her and wanted to show some support. That's it!"

"Support?" I let out a cold laugh. "Since when does the CEO of a multi-billion-dollar company personally curate jewelry for struggling interns? Should I write you a card praising your charity work?"

"Vivian!" Christian slammed his hand on the steering wheel, causing the car to swerve slightly.

He took a deep breath, softening his tone. "I just... when I look at her, I see a bit of Summer when she was younger. You know I've moved on. But seeing someone who looks like her brings back old memories. I lied because I didn't want you to overthink it. It was just a stupid, nostalgic whim. Can we please just drop it?"

Summer. He brought her up again.

Then he started listing all the sweet things we had done over the past year, trying to prove how much he cared about me.

"Does our entire marriage mean less to you than your paranoia over an intern?" he pleaded, grabbing my hand. His pain looked so genuine. "Vivian, stop overthinking. I love you. I've always loved you. Let's just put this behind us."

I slowly pulled my hand back and turned to look out the window. I didn't say another word.

When we got home, Christian went out of his way to please me. He poured me water, massaged my shoulders, and constantly checked my expression.

I didn't resist, but I didn't respond either. I was a lifeless doll.

When he went to take a shower, I walked back into his study like a ghost.

This time, my target wasn't the desk drawer.

My eyes landed on the massive, floor-to-ceiling mahogany bookshelf.

Christian had a habit: he always hid his most precious secrets in plain sight.

Taking a deep breath, I began pulling down the heavy, leather-bound volumes one by one.

Finally, in the deepest corner of the bottom shelf, my fingers brushed against cold metal.

It was a small, built-in digital safe.

My heart leaped into my throat.

What was the passcode?

My birthday? Our anniversary? Or... Summer’s birthday?

WWith trembling fingers, I typed in Summer’s birthdate based on what I remembered from his old archives.

With a soft click, the safe door popped open.