Chapter 2

My best friend Sophie Lane raised her coffee cup to me. "To freedom," she said.

Sophie narrowed her eyes with a grin. "Tell me, what expression was Hector wearing this time? I saw the financial news this morning; Quentin Group's stock has already hit the limit-down."

I stirred my latte, breathing in the rich aroma. "I suppose he probably wants to skin me alive right now," I said.

As I unlocked my phone, the screen instantly lit up with over a dozen missed calls and dozens of messages, all from the Quentin family.

"Out of sight, out of mind," Sophie said, locking my phone screen with a swift gesture. "You're not thinking about forgiving him, are you?"

"Forgive him?" I let out a light laugh, pulling a folded newspaper from my bag and spreading it open. "Take a look at this."

Sophie took the paper. Her eyes grew wider the further she read. "Quentin Group's financial fraud scandal continues to deepen, multiple partners terminate contracts—my god, this is even worse than I imagined." She looked up sharply. "Wait, when did you sell the shares?"

"The day before the divorce," I said, taking a sip of my coffee. "Hector's secretary always respected me. She 'accidentally' let me see a draft of the SEC's inquiry letter."

Sophie drew a sharp breath. "So you knew about all this already."

"You mean this disaster for the Quentin family? Of course," I said, gazing out the window at the bright sunshine. "For three years, playing the part of a domestic robot in that house every day wasn't just about collecting evidence of Hector's affairs."

Scenes from three years ago surfaced in my mind. The day after our wedding, Hector used overtime as an excuse and stayed out all night. I found a hotel key card in his suit pocket and accidentally saw his flirtatious chats with other women.

When I confronted him, he brushed it off casually. "Rachel, don't be so naive. In families like ours, men don't marry for love." In that moment, I understood this marriage was destined to be a joke.

"So you put up with him for three years?" Sophie's voice pulled me back to the present.

"I prefer to call it preparation," I said, opening my phone's photo gallery and showing her an encrypted folder. "There are 1,427 photos, 89 audio recordings, all sorts of his hotel records, transfer receipts... Every time Hector cheated, I added something to this folder."

Sophie's eyes widened. "Weren't you afraid of getting caught?"

"I had a good teacher," I said with a wink. "Remember Professor Tobby Matthews, who taught us information security in college? He taught me how to use encrypted cloud storage and how to remotely control Hector's phone for automatic backups."

Just as Sophie was about to speak, my phone vibrated with an incoming call—from my long-uncontacted teacher, Tobby. "Speak of the devil," I said, answering the call. "Professor Matthews?"

"Rach," Tobby's voice was as booming as ever. "I heard you finally left the Quentin family."

A warmth spread through my chest. "News travels fast," I replied with a light laugh.

"An old friend of mine, Robert Collins, runs a design studio. He's in a bit of trouble right now," Tobby got straight to the point. "I remember you had quite a talent for architectural design before you got married. Wanna check it out?"

I was stunned. Architectural design was my dream in college, but after marriage, the Quentin family stifled it, saying a wife shouldn't be in the public eye. I hesitated. "But it's been three years since I've touched anything related to architecture."

"Nonsense," Tobby cut me off. "I know you secretly helped a colleague's company with a mall design last year, even if you used a pseudonym."

I shook my head with a resigned smile. So Tobby had always known I wasn't content being just a housewife.

"Ten tomorrow morning, Blue Citrus Studio," Tobby said, leaving no room for refusal. "Don't let me down."

After hanging up, I realized my heart was racing. After three years, I could finally be Rachel Evans again, not just Hector's wife.

Sophie leaned in curiously. "What's going on?"

"Maybe the start of a new life," I said with a smile.

*****

Blue Citrus Studio was on the top floor of an old office building. As the elevator doors opened, I was hit by the strong smell of coffee and a tense, oppressive atmosphere. A few young people sat scattered around the workspace, their expressions grim.

"Can I help you?" a girl with a ponytail asked, looking up.

"I'm here to see Mr. Robert Collins. Professor Tobby Matthews scheduled a meeting for us," I said.

Her expression suddenly turned odd. "Mr. Collins is in the conference room, but, uh, he's not in a great mood right now. You'd better—"

Before she could finish, a loud crash came from the direction of the conference room, followed by a man's roar, "You stayed up all night, and all you made is this piece of shit?"

I walked straight toward the source of the noise. Behind the glass door of the conference room, a tall man stood with his back to the door, hands braced on the table.

A building rendering was displayed on the large screen in front of him, and several designers stood with their heads hung low.

I knocked on the door. The man yelled without turning around, "Whoever you are, get out."

"I suggest you try some anger management," I said, pushing the door open. "Professor Matthews told me to come at ten. It's ten exactly."

The man spun around. I finally got a clear look at him. He was handsome with rugged features, a small scar above his right eyebrow adding a touch of wildness to his good looks.

His anger hadn't fully subsided yet as he looked me up and down. "You're Rachel Evans?"

"Sure," I said.

He smirked coldly. "Mrs. Quentin, welcome to our humble studio. We're honored by your presence."

The air froze instantly. The designers exchanged glances and subtly shifted toward the door.

I remained expressionless. "Correction—it's former Mrs. Quentin. Besides, I'm here to discuss work, not my marital status."

Robert narrowed his eyes. "You haven't worked in three years, right? Do you even know what the architecture industry is like now?"

"I don't," I admitted frankly, then continued, "But I do know there are at least four violations of the Building Fire Safety Code in your Eclat Plaza design proposal. If they build according to your plan, it will never pass quality inspection."

Dead silence filled the conference room. Robert looked like he'd been doused with cold water. He lowered his voice. "How do you know about Eclat Plaza?"

I walked to the computer and opened another drawing. "The curved corridor width is insufficient, safety exit signs are unclear, fire compartmentation is unreasonable, and here—"

I zoomed in on a corner, "—the ventilation system conflicts with the fire sprinklers. If this proposal gets submitted, not only will the client demand a refund, but you might also face fines."

Robert's expression grew increasingly strained. "You figured all that out with one glance?"

"Not one glance," I interrupted. "I studied your studio's display wall downstairs. The initial draft for Eclat Plaza had obvious revision marks. Combined with recent new fire regulations and your client's public tender requirements, it was easy to deduce the problems."

A young designer wearing glasses couldn't help but exclaim, "Amazing."

Robert was silent for a moment, then suddenly waved a hand at the others. "Everyone out."

The designers scattered like pardoned prisoners, quickly fleeing the invisible battlefield. Robert closed the conference room door and turned to face me directly. "Professor Matthews said you were exceptional. Seems he wasn't exaggerating."

I raised an eyebrow. "So?"

"So," he took a deep breath, "welcome to Blue Citrus Studio. But fair warning—our funding is almost gone. We might not even make payroll next month."

I smiled. "Well, I specialize in pulling through in desperate situations."

Just then, the conference room door opened. The ponytailed receptionist said, "Mr. Collins, Mr. Grant is here."

Robert frowned. "Now?"

The receptionist said, "He says it's urgent."

Before she finished speaking, a man had already entered the conference room. He wore a deep gray suit, his movements exuding elegance and composure. When he turned to me, I paused slightly, because his eyes looked familiar.

"Sorry to interrupt," he said in a low and pleasant voice, "and you are?"

Robert introduced me reluctantly, "Rachel Evans, our new design director. Meet William Grant, our—" he paused, "—potential investor."

A flicker of surprise passed through William's eyes before he said to me, "Ms. Evans, it's my pleasure to meet you."

I nodded politely but remained inwardly wary. The way this man looked at me was too complex, unlike someone seeing me for the first time.

"Since Ms. Evans is here too," William said with a smile, "I have a proposal. I can invest one million dollars, on the condition that Ms. Evans personally leads the AetherPeak Hotel project."

Robert's head snapped up. "What?"

I was also stunned. "Why me?"

William gave me a meaningful look. "Because only the best is worthy of my investment. Ms. Evans is quite renowned in the industry, after all."

Robert's face shifted through several emotions. I keenly noticed that when William mentioned AetherPeak Hotel, Robert unconsciously clenched his fist.

"I need some time to think about it," I said.

William calmly handed me a business card. "Please reply in three days. I look forward to working with you, Ms. Evans."

He turned and left, leaving behind a faint trace of woody cologne. Robert suddenly punched the wall, cursing, "Dammit."

"What's the matter?" I asked.

Robert gritted his teeth. "AetherPeak Hotel was our design two years ago. Quentin Group plagiarized it and sold it to the current client."

My heart jolted. No wonder the name sounded so familiar. Hector had once proudly boasted to me about this major project he personally secured. The irony of fate brought me face-to-face with shadows from my past in this way.

"Take it," I said decisively.

Robert looked at me in astonishment. "What?"

"I said, take the project," I met his gaze directly. "If it was truly your design, then take it back with your own hands."

A flame ignited in Robert's eyes. He nodded slowly. "Fine. But I have to be part of the project."

"Deal," I said.

As I was leaving the studio, I encountered William at the elevator bank. He seemed to be waiting for someone. When he saw me, he said, "Ms. Evans, I'm actually curious about something, actually."

I said, "Please, go ahead."

"Why are you helping Robert? As far as I know, you only met him today," William said.

I smiled slightly. "Perhaps because I despise plagiarists."

William laughed at that. "The Quentin family is certainly skilled at that." He paused, then added, "After the financial summit three years ago, I'd always hoped to see you again."

I was taken aback. "Three years ago?"

"You wore a dark green gown and gave a truly impressive speech on sustainable architecture on stage," he said softly. "When I heard later that you married Hector, I was disappointed for quite some time."

My memory suddenly sharpened. That was my last public speech before marriage. Afterward, a stranger stopped me, saying my perspective was very inspiring. Maybe that man was William.

"It seems you remember," William smiled. "I look forward to working with you, Ms. Evans."

The elevator doors slid shut slowly. Standing alone inside, my heartbeat quickened inexplicably.

I wondered who exactly William was, and whether he approached me really just because he admired my abilities. Moreover, I was curious about what grudges exist between him and the Quentin family that I didn't know about.

Carrying a mind full of questions, I stepped out of the office building. The sunshine was still bright, but I knew a different kind of battle—one without visible smoke or gunfire—had only just begun.