Chapter 3

There was a brief silence on the other end of the line, as if he was caught off guard.

Then his steady voice came back, with a hint of concern. He asked, "Ms. Sterling? Are you alright?"

I dug my nails into my palm to keep myself grounded. I replied, "I'm fine. Just had a little accident. I got hit by a car."

The person asked, "Where are you?"

I replied, "Winding mountain road, near the third curve."

The person replied, "I'll send someone right away. Do you need a doctor?"

I replied, "No. Could you arrange a quiet spot for me? And don't let him find out."

He didn't need me to explain who I was talking about.

He replied, "Understood. Give me ten minutes."

The line went dead, and the world was once again filled with the relentless sound of rain.

I leaned against the guardrail, soaked to the bone and shivering uncontrollably.

The bleeding from my leg had slowed, but the pain was sharper than ever.

Every heartbeat tugged at the wound, a cruel reminder that what had just happened wasn't some nightmare.

It was real. Asher showed up—but not for me. He was here for someone else.

When I needed him the most, he simply ignored me.

With just a cold "ma'am" and a promise of "full compensation," he shattered everything I'd held onto for the past five years.

Blood was still seeping from the cut on my forehead.

I reached up and touched it, my fingers coming away sticky.

Suddenly, I remembered years ago, back when we'd just gotten married.

I nicked my finger while slicing fruit—a tiny cut, really.

Asher freaked out. He tore the place apart, looking for a Band-Aid, fumbling all over to stick it on for me.

Then he cradled my hand, gently blew on the wound, saying, "There, all better now."

Back then, there was warmth and sparkle in his eyes. Nothing like the cold, masked version of him—Drake Torch—I'd just seen moments ago.

When did everything between us start to shift?

Was it after all those endless "missions," each time he returned a little colder, his temper sharper, as if the world had left a mark on him?

Was it the day the encrypted number became unreachable, staying dead no matter how many times I dialed?

Or did it all begin when that girl, Yvonne, appeared beside him?

The name—Yvonne—was burned into my memory, along with the black watch strapped to her wrist—the one that could call Asher straight to her, no questions asked.

A vital signs tracker, huh? That was fancy.

Fancy enough for Asher to forget whether his own lawfully wedded wife was even alive.

From a distance, I heard car engines approaching—not the deep, menacing roar of the armored car from earlier, just the low hum of ordinary sedans.

Two black sedans silently glided to a stop right in front of me.

The doors swung open, and a group of men in black suits stepped out, their movements sharp and disciplined.

The one in front opened a black umbrella and held it over my head.

He said, "Ms. Sterling, my name is Frank. I'm Mr. Reed's assistant—he sent me to pick you up."

His tone was deferential, and his eyes flickered to the wound on my leg and the blood on my forehead—sharp and alert—but he didn't pry.

Frank asked, "There's a first aid kit in the car. Would you like to take care of your wounds before we head out?"

I shook my head and said, "Let's leave first."

"On it," Frank replied.

He steadied me by the arm with care, making sure not to jostle my injuries.

Another man had already opened the back door for me.

I slid into the warm, dry car, shutting out the cold rain and wind.

The car started smoothly.

I leaned back in the seat and closed my eyes.

Exhaustion crashed over me like a wave, threatening to pull me under.

But I couldn't let myself fall asleep.

I had to stay tense and keep that string in my head pulled tight.

Frank handed me a clean towel.

"Here, Ms. Sterling. Dry off," he said.

I took it and murmured a quiet thanks.

The towel was soft, faintly scented—couldn't be more at odds with the mess I'd become.

Frank said, "Mr. Reed set up a quiet villa for you on the west side of town. The medical team's on their way. If you need anything, just say the word."

The Mr. Reed he mentioned was William Reed.

He was a major powerbroker in the business world, but his name had hardly ever appeared in the headlines. He was also Asher's arch-nemesis.

Basically, Asher's team had him constantly flagged as a person of interest.

I'd only met William a handful of times.

The first was at a charity gala.

It was one of those rare nights when Asher actually came out with me—only for him to be pulled away halfway through by a phone call, leaving me to face the crowd alone.

I was stuck fending off curious stares mixed with pity, making small talk as best I could, when William stepped in at just the right moment—like a knight showing up to save the day.

He carried himself with effortless grace, always knowing exactly what to say, never pushing too far or invading my space.

Since then, I ran into William on several other occasions.

Every time he'd offer the perfect bit of help, then—almost as if it were nothing—drop a mention of how endlessly busy Asher was, or let slip some subtle gossip—including whispers about Yvonne, Asher's golden protégé.

Back then, I thought William was just trying to drive a wedge between me and Asher or playing his own games. Honestly, I couldn't help but feel a little disgusted every time he tried getting close.

Looking back, I was laughably naïve.

Maybe he had his own agenda, but the sad truth was, everything he said turned out to be real.

As the car made its way into the city, rain-blurred neon lights smeared across the window—strange and chaotic, just like the mess inside my heart right now.

Suddenly, Frank said, "Ms. Sterling, there's a car behind us. Seems like it's been tailing us for a bit."

My heart skipped a beat as I looked into the rearview mirror.

A regular gray sedan was trailing behind—not too close, not too far, but always there.

I wondered whether it was just a coincidence or sent by Asher. Maybe I was still the kind of "problem" he couldn't bring himself to really trust.

Or maybe it was Yvonne's oh-so-kind reminder—just making sure Asher sent someone to confirm I was good and dead.

A cold wave slid down my spine.

"Can you lose them?" I asked.

Frank glanced at the driver.

The driver nodded, slammed on the gas, and whipped the wheel, sending us careening down a narrow side street.

The gray sedan behind us gunned it, sticking right on our tail.

I knew we were being watched.

My heart hammered, not with fear but pure, suffocating anger. Every bit of privacy was being stripped away, like I was some criminal under constant surveillance.

Asher really could play dirty.

Our car skidded and swerved down rain-slick streets, shooting through one sharp turn after another.

Frank and the driver were clearly experienced, working together seamlessly.

Finally, after darting under a tangle of overpasses, we managed to shake our tail.

The car fell quiet, leaving nothing but the steady rhythm of the windshield wipers.

I leaned back into my seat and exhaled slowly, trying to steady myself. My palms were clammy with cold sweat.

Frank said, "We're safe now, Ms. Sterling."

I nodded, staying silent. But deep down, I knew this was just the beginning.

By teaming up with William, I was finally stepping into that dangerous, secret world that belonged to Asher—the one he'd done everything to keep me out of until now.

And with that choice, I was putting myself directly at odds with the man I'd once loved more than anything.

Our car finally rolled into a heavily guarded luxury villa compound, coming to a stop in front of a grand three-story villa.

Bright lights flooded the villa, and a medical team—doctors and nurses—stood ready at the entrance, prepared for my arrival.

Frank and the others helped me inside, where I was checked immediately and my wounds tended to with practiced efficiency.

The injury on my leg was deeper than I thought—stitches were necessary.

The cut on my forehead turned out to be minor. They disinfected it and carefully bandaged the area.

Through it all, I was just silent. No cries, no tears—just sitting there like some lifeless doll, numb to the pain and everything else.

The doctor administered a tetanus shot and handed over some antibiotics, speaking gently as he urged me to rest and take care of myself.

I quietly agreed to everything he said.

Once my wounds were treated, I changed into fresh, comfortable clothes. Then I was brought to a bedroom on the second floor.

The room was spacious and elegantly decorated, but had none of that lived-in warmth—it was just like a high-end hotel suite: flawless, but distant.

Frank lingered at the doorway and said, "Ms. Sterling, please rest. Mr. Reed will visit you tomorrow morning."

"Thank you," I murmured.

Frank closed the door before leaving. I was left completely alone in the room.

I walked over to the window and pulled back the heavy curtains.

The rain had eased, now just a gentle drizzle.

The view of the villa compound was peaceful and serene, a stark contrast to the storm raging inside me.

I pulled out my phone and powered it on.

The lock screen lit up—it was still that old photo of Asher and me, frozen in happier times.

He had that gentle smile, arm around my shoulders, looking at me like I was his whole world.

I tried to remember where we took the photo, but the details were already fading from my mind.

My fingertip hovered, shaking over the delete button—then just stopped. I didn't press it.

Not because I was sentimental, but because I needed the reminder. That ridiculous "sweetness" was staring back at me, a perfect souvenir of just how laughable and pathetic these last five years had been.

I opened up my contacts and tapped on Asher's number.

My finger hovered above the screen for a moment before I changed the name to something ice-cold: "Mr. Cross."

I pulled up an international number and hit dial.

It rang forever before someone picked up.

Lynn answered, her voice groggy but surprised, the sound of busy chatter echoing in the background.

She exclaimed, "Elena? No way—look who finally remembered I exist."

Lynn was my best friend—she was working as a visiting scholar overseas.

Hearing her voice, I blinked back tears—nearly lost it, but forced myself to stay strong.

I steadied my voice and said, "Lynn, I'm getting a divorce from Asher."

It went dead silent on the other end—not even a whisper of background noise.

A few seconds later, Lynn practically yelled, "What did you just say? Divorce? Elena, have you lost your mind? What the hell happened?"

I said, "I haven't lost my mind. I just finally woke up. Lynn, help me find a lawyer.

"The best one—someone who's a total beast in divorce court. Money's not an issue."

Lynn was clearly thrown by how serious I sounded. She went silent for a moment, and when she finally spoke again, her voice sounded really worried.

She asked, "Did Asher do something to hurt you?"

I twisted my lips into a smile that was uglier than tears—so forced, it hurt just making the effort.

Images flashed before my eyes: Asher stepping in front of Yvonne to protect her, that cold emptiness in his gaze, and Yvonne shooting back with her taunting, smug grin.

I replied, "It's not just about him hurting me."

My voice carried a hatred I hadn't even known was there.

I added, "He wanted me dead. He wishes I'd disappear for good."