Chapter 3

I was the one who had given her the name Chloe.

The day I brought her back to the city from that remote village, I had smiled and said,

"Your father named you 'Brother's Keeper' because all he wanted was a boy. If you carry that name out in the world, cruel people will mock you. How about I give you a brand-new name? A name that lets you hold your head high and start a whole new life. What do you think?"

I had taken a fresh sheet of paper and carefully printed out the name: Chloe.

"It means blooming, a fresh green shoot full of life. But more than that, I want you to remember where you started, your core purpose. No matter how successful or powerful you become in the future, never forget your original dream—to go back to those mountains and pull other young girls out of the dark."

The young girl had stared at those letters, tracing the ink with trembling, calloused fingertips. Her eyes had turned red with unshed tears.

"It's... it's so beautiful. From now on, my name is Chloe."

"Claire, thank you. Thank you so much."

Perhaps because our facial features bore an uncanny resemblance, I genuinely began treating Chloe like my own little sister.

Holding that thin piece of paper with her new name, she followed me home to the Jenkins estate.

The first time she encountered a flushing toilet, neon streetlights, and towering glass skyscrapers, she was so overwhelmed with excitement that she stayed awake the entire night.

To help her integrate and communicate smoothly, I spent hours teaching her standard English, polishing away her thick, uneducated regional drawl.

"Don't say 'ain't got no,' say 'I don't have.' Speak clearly, enunciate every syllable."

I patiently corrected her, word by word, day by day.

It was agonizingly difficult for her, but she possessed a terrifying work ethic, frequently staying up until the early hours of the morning studying under her desk lamp.

Later, when she started attending prep school, her heavy accent still leaked out. Her wealthy classmates ridiculed her mercilessly, and she would run home to cry in secret.

Seeing her so crushed, I asked Ethan—who had the most polished, articulate diction among our circle—to tutor her.

At first, Ethan was thoroughly annoyed by the chore. But he couldn't resist the persistent coaxing and sweet pleading of his young girlfriend, so he eventually caved and agreed.

He taught her proper pronunciation, drilled her on speech patterns, and took her to watch classic cinema.

Slowly but surely, a bright, confident light began to shine in Chloe's eyes. Her grades shot up from the absolute bottom of the class to the top tier, and her plain, awkward appearance blossomed into refined, delicate beauty.

I was completely blind to the subtle shift taking place during those countless study sessions. The look of reverent gratitude in Chloe’s eyes when she looked at Ethan gradually mutated into intoxicating, romantic adoration. And Ethan, on his part, seemed to grow dangerously addicted to having a girl who looked at him with utter, helpless reliance.

The illusion shattered the day I wrapped up my overseas design program early, eager to give Ethan a romantic surprise.

I unlocked the door to Ethan’s penthouse, only to be greeted by the sight of Chloe wearing my favorite silk pajamas. She was moving around his kitchen, preparing breakfast with the practiced, effortless domesticity of a devoted wife.

Ethan was sitting nearby at the breakfast bar reading the morning news, the atmosphere between them so warm, intimate, and domestic that it felt like acid burning into my retinas.

The moment they saw me, both of them froze.

The spatula in Chloe’s hand clattered violently against the tile floor. She looked at Ethan with wide, terrified, helpless eyes.

A flicker of panic flashed across Ethan’s face, but he quickly composed himself, stepping forward with an easy, dismissive explanation.

"Claire, don't get the wrong idea. Chloe... she just came over to help me organize some research files. She was just making breakfast while she was here."

In that single, agonizing second, I knew. Something between us had rotted straight to the core.

The day of our final confrontation, I accidentally stumbled across Chloe’s personal diary tucked away in Ethan's private study.

I opened the cover.

The earliest entries were filled with her raw insecurities upon arriving in the city, her desperate hunger for an education, and her near-worshipful gratitude toward me. Reading those words felt like catching a glimpse of that pure, bright-eyed girl from the mountains once more.

Yet, the further I flipped through the pages, the faster and more violently my heart hammered against my ribs.

"November 3rd: I deliberately wore the exact same floral dress as Claire today. Ethan looked at me twice. Does he think I look pretty in it too? Claire and I look so much alike anyway... why can't Ethan fall in love with me instead?"

"November 7th: I failed my English exam on purpose today. Ethan promised he would give me private one-on-one tutoring tonight. Claire, please don't blame me. You already have so much in this world..."

"November 12th: Ethan kissed me. He told me Claire is too domineering, too independent. He said a gentle girl who depends on him completely, like me, makes him feel truly needed as a man. He promised that once the timing is right, he will break up with Claire!"

"November 17th: It worked. Ethan and I slept together."