Chapter 1
After Analia, the girl Brentley Foley had always treasured, threw herself off a building, he went on an unstoppable vendetta, tearing down anyone he believed was to blame for her death.
Later, he found someone to fill the void she left behind—a near-perfect stand-in.
When I decided to divorce him, he handed me his entire fortune, eyes red with desperation, begging me not to walk away.
On X, Harriet shared: [Frutdonberg in November, the air is a bit chilly. When he held my hands to warm them, I drowned in his gaze.]
The post came with a cute selfie of Harriet and the cool, tall silhouette of a guy seen from behind.
Her name was Harriet Stone, and she was Analia's younger sister.
Analia was Brentley's everything—the girl he'd always cherished, who ended her life by jumping off a building.
Harriet and Analia were uncannily similar in appearance—practically twins.
Harriet was once the receptionist at my company. After only two months, she just disappeared; nobody knew where she ended up.
Digging through her X posts, I spotted a photo of a classic home-cooked meal—three dishes and one soup. There was also a hand in the shot.
It was a guy's hand, slender fingers, wearing a watch.
That was the watch I'd spent forever picking out for Brentley's 30th birthday.
It felt like an invisible hand clenched around my heart, sending a sharp ache through my whole body.
The sound of the door opening meant Brentley was finally back from his business trip.
He brought with him the weariness of someone who'd just come in from the road.
He was past thirty now, but age had only made him better-looking. With broad shoulders and a narrow waist, he looked every bit the man sculpted by time—sharp features, completely shed of any youthful awkwardness, replaced by the calm maturity and quiet authority that came from years at the top.
I realized I hadn't truly looked at him for a long time.
How did it end up like this? He actually felt a little distant to me now.
"What's wrong?" The moment Brentley saw me, the hardness in his expression eased, and he gave me a gentle smile, handing me a box. "Got you a present."
"Thanks."
I took the box and set it down on the coffee table.
Brentley was such a thoughtful husband—never came back from a trip empty-handed, made sure every special day was celebrated, and never forgot a single anniversary or holiday.
He actually kept track of my cycle better than I did, and even when work was crazy, he'd still remind me to stay away from anything cold.
He was kind of like my uncle, Finlay Reynolds. In front of my aunt, he was the picture-perfect husband, but that didn't stop him from having an eight-year-old son with another woman behind her back.
Brentley snapped his fingers in front of me, sat down close, and said, "Hey, what's wrong? You've been out of it all evening. Not even a welcome home for your husband?"
I managed a faint smile.
There was a strong scent of curry on him, and that instantly reminded me of Harriet's X update—they'd had dinner together at a restaurant, where they had curry.
I subtly inched away from him and said, "I'm not feeling too well."
His brows furrowed. "What's up? Are you coming down with something? It's a bit cold lately."
"I'm alright, just feeling a little out of it."
He went to take a shower.
I stayed in the living room, trying to lose myself in a book.
We'd been planning to start a family for a long time.
My dad was fighting liver cancer, and his days were numbered. More than anything, he wanted to see me happy and settled down, with someone by my side. For him, there was nothing more reassuring than knowing I'd have a husband and a child to take care of me.
He was honestly terrified that I might end up with no one to look after me.
Brentley stepped out of the bathroom, still damp, water trailing down his abs.
It was November and there was no heating on yet. Walking out half-naked like that—he was obviously teasing me.
After six years of marriage, we knew each other's signals by heart.
He dropped the hair dryer by my side, snatched up my book and set it aside on the coffee table. With his voice husky, he said, "Help me dry my hair."
Brentley had always been that kind of guy—impossible to ignore, oozing charm no matter where he went.
Even when he was still in school, he was always at the center of attention—one look and all eyes would be on him.
And after graduation, with zero help from his family, he shot straight to the top—becoming a tech prodigy with his name buzzing through the whole industry, all in just three years.
My gaze fell to the hair dryer in my hand, then drifted up to his still-damp, short hair.
Did he ever ask Harriet to help dry his hair, just like this?
When he looked at her, in the soft lamplight—that face almost a mirror image of Analia's—what went through his mind?
Was he silently thanking the universe... losing Analia, only to have another version sent his way?
After all, Harriet and Analia still had the same blood running through their veins.
They must have loads to talk about—Brentley, the young hotshot with everything going for him, and Harriet, a twenty-something who was cute and bursting with energy.
It was like for guys who had it all. If they didn't have a woman by their side, it was almost pointless—like showing off with nobody around to notice.
They could swap stories about Analia, mourn her together, and share the pain of losing her. Did that shared grief make them hold onto each other even tighter?
"Bethany, just stop!" I scolded myself.
I had to calm down.
These useless daydreams were just driving me nuts—they wouldn't fix anything.
I shouldn't waste my time on stuff that didn't mean a thing.
"I'm not feeling well," I said. "I'll sleep in the guest room tonight."
Brentley's brows drew together, a hint of worry flickering in his eyes.