Chapter 3

I brought it up casually, but my eyes were locked on Julian’s face, catching his subtle reactions.

His hand on the bedside table twitched slightly.

But in the next second, he naturally withdrew his hand, turning to look at me with a perfectly calm, warm expression.

"That's great. People like that need to be behind bars so they can't hurt anyone else."

"I totally agree," I said, offering him a bright, sweet smile.

He smiled back.

I stayed at the hospital for nearly two hours before leaving.

Before I left, Julian held my hand tightly, asking if I could visit him every day because the hospital was incredibly boring.

I whispered, "Of course."

He beamed.

The very second I stepped out of his hospital room, the smile wiped off my face.

The window at the end of the hallway was open. The cool October breeze blew in, sending a chill down my spine.

I leaned against the windowsill, mentally organizing my strategy.

From Julian's perspective, I was still the naive, wealthy heiress who had been completely swept off her feet by his heroic act. In his eyes, I was easy to manipulate and utterly devoted to him.

He would proceed with his plan: court me, propose to me, marry me, and then systematically strip me of everything I owned.

I wasn't going to stop him from pursuing me.

In fact, I was going to play along perfectly.

Because only when he stepped fully into my trap could I take all of his chess pieces, one by one.

I visited Julian every single day. His recovery was remarkably fast; his wounds were healing beautifully, and he was soon able to walk around.

On the fifth day, there was someone else in his room.

A woman in her late forties, dressed in modest, plain clothing. Her eyes were red as she sat by his bedside, holding his hand.

When she saw me enter, she stood up, scanning me from head to toe with a calculating look.

"Mom, this is Clara. The girl I told you about."

Julian leaned against his pillows, introducing us with a warm smile.

"Clara, this is my mom."

I had met his mother in my past life, but that was much later.

Back then, after I married Julian, his mother had always behaved with a polite but cold distance. She never said anything to my face, but I once overheard her whispering to Julian in the kitchen:

Clara might be rich, but that money belongs to the Vance family, not you. You need to find a way to get it into your own name.

I hadn't thought much of it back then. But looking back now, that statement was incredibly revealing.

"Nice to meet you, Mrs. Sterling," I greeted her politely, placing the thermos on the table.

"I didn't know you were visiting today, otherwise I would have brought enough soup for both of us."

Martha Sterling glanced at me, her expression guarded.

"Don't worry about me," she said, her tone flat. "You two talk. I’ll go grab some fresh water."

Once she left, the room fell into a cozy silence.

Julian gestured for me to come closer. I sat on the edge of the bed. He reached under his pillow and pulled out a sleek, elegant envelope, handing it to me.

"What's this?"

I opened it. Inside was a beautiful card with a watercolor painting of red roses on the front.

When I opened it, there were a few lines of elegant handwriting—Julian's handwriting.

Clara, thank you so much for taking care of me these past few days. Meeting you is the absolute best thing that has ever happened to my life. — Julian

It was simple, not even a full-blown love letter, but I knew exactly what he was doing.

He had used the same tactics in my past life. During the years I thought he was genuinely in love with me, these little romantic gestures were deployed one after another, weaving a tight net that slowly trapped me.

I looked up at him. He was watching me, a faint trace of anxiety in his eyes.

"Julian," I holding the card, keeping my voice soft and trembling slightly. "What does this mean?"

He took a deep breath, looking as though he was making the most monumental decision of his life. He reached out and grasped my hand.

His hands were large, his knuckles defined. He held me with just the right amount of pressure—not enough to feel controlling, but firm enough that I couldn't easily pull away.

"Clara."

He looked directly into my eyes, speaking every word with absolute gravity.

"I love you. I’ve loved you for a very long time."

A very long time.

I sneered in my head, but my face showed the perfect blend of shock and girlish shyness.

My eyes welled with tears, and I sniffled, looking up at him with a trembling voice. "Julian... I love you too."