Chapter 3

When I was twenty, I thought love was as pure as a fairy tale.

But I learned very early on that what keeps two people together isn't just love. It’s leverage, dependence, guilt, habit, and calculation.

And I just needed to hold onto Sebastian Sterling. He was my best bet, my only ticket to the upper class.

How could I ever let him go?

I knew he was torn, struggling to weigh his options.

But I wasn't in a rush. I had my own plans to execute.

Through an executive headhunter, I landed a high-level position at Sterling Enterprises.

The day he saw me standing in his office as the new director, he literally jumped out of his leather chair in shock.

He tried to corner me for a chat several times, but I smoothly dodged him every single time.

Until one night, he waited for me outside my apartment.

The night was pitch black. His eyes were filled with desire, conflict, and a chaotic mess of emotions I couldn't quite decipher.

When he leaned down to kiss me, the name that slipped from his lips was like a knife driving straight through my chest.

"Vivian..."

At that moment, my heart sank to the bottom of the ocean. But the smile on my face only grew wider and brighter.

"Will you marry me?" he asked, his voice urgent, as if trying to prove something to himself.

"Vivian is never coming back," he added, more to convince himself than me.

"So," I interrupted, my voice soft like a sigh but sharp as a razor, "you want me to be her substitute?"

"I never said..." He tried to explain, his eyes darting away.

"Sure, I'll marry you," I said, looking him dead in the eye, making it sound like the most sacred vow. "Sebastian, remember this. I would give up anything for you."

I reached up and covered his eyes with my hand.

I didn't dare look into them. I was afraid of seeing his hesitation, and even more afraid he would see the cold, loveless determination in mine.

That night, I cried until I lost my voice, letting out every ounce of misery I had bottled up over the years.

He held me tight, rubbing my back in silence, incredibly gentle.

Eventually, I cried myself to sleep. In my hazy consciousness, I think I mumbled, "Sebastian, I don't actually love you..."

The last thing I remembered was him letting out a very low, quiet chuckle, whispering something back that faded into the night.

The next morning, the space beside me was cold.

As expected.

I numbly got up to change. Just as I was down to my lingerie, the bedroom door swung open.

Sebastian stood there, frozen, holding a breakfast tray. He was wearing my ridiculously cute pink rabbit apron.

The air instantly turned to ice, and both of our ears flushed bright red.

"Morning. Breakfast is ready," he said, looking like a little boy who got caught stealing cookies. "You're too thin. Eat up. I can drive you to the office after?"

I nodded. As he turned to leave, he paused, his gaze dropping back to the scar on my lower back. "Does it still hurt?"

I shook my head, forcing a smile. "I'm used to it."

The pain had moved to my heart a long time ago.

He just didn't get it.

Sebastian's cooking was surprisingly amazing.

For a while after that, we actually lived like a deeply in love couple.

He stayed late at the office with me, wrapped his heavy coat around me to kiss me in the pouring rain, took me to private galleries on weekends, and bought me a luxury penthouse with a deed hidden in a sea of red roses for my birthday.

We named our new home "Sunrise" and started planning a trip around the world.

That luxury condo actually started to feel like a real home.

He was more perfect, more attentive, and more of a dream husband than I had ever imagined.

I almost let myself believe that happiness was finally within my reach.

But a string in my heart remained pulled tight, never relaxing for a second.

I knew that stolen joy always had to be returned. Borrowed light eventually goes out.

I never complained about my bad luck, because I had already learned how to survive in the dark.

The divorce papers went through incredibly smoothly.

Sebastian didn't even glance at the heavy terms I had carefully drafted—terms that would take a massive bite out of his assets. He just signed his name with a sharp, decisive stroke, looking as cold and calculated as he did making multi-billion-dollar deals in the boardroom.

"Chloe," he said, putting down his pen and looking up at me. His eyes were like a dark, bottomless ocean, showing absolutely no emotion. "Thanks for these three years. You worked hard."