Chapter 2

I kept my eyes open and waited until dawn that night.

Early the next morning, Adrian got up very early.

Before he left, he leaned over and kissed my forehead by the bedside. His movements were as gentle as if he were handling a fragile, priceless treasure.

Not long after, the phone on the bedside table lit up.

It was a voice message from Adrian.

"Good morning, my girl."

Adrian’s low and gentle voice came from the phone speaker.

In the background, there was the sound of footsteps from construction workers at the venue. His tone had a hint of hoarseness from being busy, but it remained extremely patient:

"The white roses at the venue are already set up. They are exactly the way you like them. The registration office said they need to verify your passport again. It should be in the bottom file cabinet in my study. Please take a photo and send it to me when you have a moment. I will wait for you at home tonight."

The voice message ended, and the screen went dark.

For the past five years, Adrian has kept everything for me: my passport, bank documents, medical records, email and phone accounts, and even all materials related to the outside world.

He always used pity-filled excuses, saying that I had been traumatized and should not worry about these trivial things anymore.

I know he wasn't acting. When I cried until my whole body spasmed in nightmares in the middle of the night, he was the one with red eyes, kissing away my tears over and over again, holding me tightly until dawn.

It is true that he loves me. It is also true that he cherishes me like his own life.

But I could not connect the cold-blooded, cruel demon in the garage to this same man who once fussed over a paper cut as if it were a mortal wound.

How could a man love me so much that he was willing to block bullets from the whole world for me, and yet, in order to get me, he could so calmly reduce my entire life to ashes?

I took a deep breath and pushed open the study door.

The air was filled with the scent of the cedar perfume he usually wears. I pulled open the bottom file cabinet and found my passport among some thick medical insurance policies.

But the moment I pulled the passport out, a stack of documents underneath was dragged out with it.

It was a brown paper envelope with no label, and the seal was already broken. More than a dozen express delivery receipts slid out like snowflakes and scattered on the dark solid wood floor.

I froze.

I should have just closed the drawer. But the familiar handwriting on them pinned my gaze tightly.

I squatted down and picked one up.

The recipient was me.

The senders were all from the Hartwell family.

My fingertips began to tremble uncontrollably.

The earliest letter was from four years ago. It was written by my sister Rebecca:

"Cecilia, I have reviewed the surveillance footage again. The time does not match at all."

"I don't know if you are willing to see me, but please at least tell me you are still alive."

The next letter was from three years ago:

"Father has started investigating the money again."

"He is starting to doubt the evidence from back then."

"I still have the sealed letter you asked me to give Father before the accusation. The one about you and Adrian. I never destroyed it."

I knew exactly which letter she meant.

I had written it the night before my life fell apart.

Further on, there were annual birthday gift receipts, Christmas cards, and even the critical illness notice after my father was hospitalized.

Every item and every letter was signed for or intercepted by Adrian’s people on the day it arrived at this villa.

And I, kept in the dark for five whole years, didn't even know they had tried to find me.

But I had underestimated Adrian’s cruelty.

In the second half of the folder, I saw a stack of printed reply emails. The sender address was my old email account, which I hadn't logged into for five years.

The content of the emails was soul-crushing:

"Do not contact me again."

"I will never forgive the Hartwell family."

"I don't want to see my father. Even if he dies, it has nothing to do with me."

At the end of every email, my name was coldly signed.

My stomach spasmed violently.

Adrian not only cut off my family’s calls, making me believe I was an orphan who had been completely abandoned. He even impersonated me and stabbed the most vicious knives at the family who tried to make amends.

He made the family believe that it was I who coldly rejected all their kindness.

Adrian managed my "isolation" just like he managed his financial empire. He used a set of precise files to record which numbers he had blocked, which letters he had returned, and which heartless words he had said on my behalf.

He ensured with absolute certainty that the vacuum glass house he built for me did not have even a tiny crack.

At the very bottom of the envelope lay an old silver digital recorder.

I tremblingly pressed the play button.

In the study, my father’s voice rang out. It was extremely weak and extremely slow.

"Cecilia... I have re-checked the money..."

"Both the video and the transfer record have problems. Maybe Father was wrong..."

"The board seat was never given to anyone else. I couldn't bring myself to replace you..."

"I know I am not qualified to ask for your forgiveness. But if you are willing, come back... let Father see you one last time."

The date of the audio was three months before he passed away.

I sat in the large leather swivel chair, and the study was completely silent. I did not scream hysterically, nor did I smash anything in the study.

When the pain exceeds a certain limit, a person cannot make a sound. You only feel the blood being drained from your body, drop by drop.

I remembered the time my father passed away. I suffered from insomnia night after night. Every day, I asked Adrian desperately: "Does Father still not want to see me?"

And every single time, Adrian would hold me tightly in distress, kiss my forehead, and say:

"Don't torture yourself anymore, Cecilia. He thought you were a traitor until the end. It's okay, you still have me."

He not only created my abyss. He also personally cut every rope that tried to pull me up, day after day.

I stood up and put all the documents back into the drawer exactly as they were, without the slightest change.

I did not call my mother, and I did not contact Rebecca. Five years ago, they did abandon me when I needed them most. And Adrian’s later actions completely destroyed my perception of the word "trust."

I don't trust anyone now. I can only rely on myself.

I took the passport, copied my father’s recording, and wrote down Rebecca’s current number.

Then, I turned on the computer and used an unfamiliar pseudonym to book a short-term rental apartment that no one would be able to find. I transferred the last of my pre-marriage savings into a brand new personal account.

Finally, I bought a one-way ticket.

In the evening, Adrian came home with the French dessert I love most.

He meticulously checked the preparations for tomorrow’s wedding as usual. Afterwards, he walked to the vanity and personally put that expensive diamond necklace on me.

He stood behind me, his arms wrapped around my shoulders, looking at me in the mirror with deep affection.

"After the wedding, you will never lose anyone again."

I looked at him in the mirror.

Echoing in my ears was my father’s desolate "Come back, let Father see you once" before he died. And I would never have the chance to receive that wish again.

I curled the corners of my mouth and gave him a flawless smile.

"You are right, Adrian." I said softly, "After the wedding, I will never lose anyone again."

He kissed the side of my neck with satisfaction. He thought I had finally accepted fate and believed that he was the only one who would never leave.

Late at night, my phone screen lit up in the dark.

It was a silent flight notification:

Flight confirmed. Departure: 1:10 A.M.