Chapter 3
Grace Lynn was the unspoken taboo between us.
For five years, I never dared to mention her around him.
Because I knew—she was his one true love, the flame that never died.
And me? I was just a stand-in, never the real thing.
Richard yanked his hand away, voice icy. "Don't bring her up!"
"Why not?" I stepped closer, staring him down as he tried to avoid my gaze. "Guilty conscience? Richard, can you even admit what I've been to you these five years? Was I just her replacement?"
Last life, I really was a total fool.
He took me in because I looked just enough like Grace.
I kept hoping he'd fall for me eventually. Never realized—he was always looking through me at someone else.
After using me in bed, he'd go to the balcony alone, chain-smoking, phone full of Grace's photos.
And me? I'd hide under the covers, pretending I didn't know.
"Emily!" Richard snarled like an enraged lion. "Are you begging to be humiliated?"
"Humiliated? Me?" I laughed until tears spilled down my cheeks. "Richard, you've got it wrong. Ever since I came back, nobody gets to humiliate me. Not ever again."
I wiped my tears and met his gaze. Each word deliberate. "The old Emily is dead. She died the second you called her a plaything."
Richard's eyes went wide.
He couldn't figure out how I knew that line.
I didn't give him time to react. I grabbed my phone and dialed 911 right in front of him.
"Hi, police? I need to report something.
"I'm at Summit Villa One. Someone's illegally detaining me."
Richard looked at me in disbelief.
"Don't you dare!!" he growled.
"Watch me." I spelled out the address clearly to the operator, then hung up.
When I was done, I gave him a challenging look.
"Oh, and Mr. Foster? Thanks to that charity gala, I've got plenty of media friends now. Imagine tomorrow's headlines: Foster Holdings CEO Locks Up Charity Girlfriend. How many points do you think your stock will drop?"
Richard was so pissed. He suddenly calmed down.
He stared at me for ages. Like I was a complete stranger, a monster.
"You've changed," he said.
"People change," I shrugged, totally unfazed. "Especially after you've died once."
The police showed up in no time.
When they started asking questions, I gave them my best puppy eyes, looking like I was about to cry—pitiful and helpless.
I told them Richard got mad at me for doing charity, cut off my card, and wouldn't let me leave the house.
Richard was totally unable to defend himself.
He obviously couldn't just tell the police I was his kept woman, that spending his money was my job, and locking me up was somehow "normal."
In the end, with the police mediating, Richard had to apologize right then and there and promise he'd never try to control my freedom again.
After the police left, the villa went dead quiet.
Richard was slumped on the couch, chain-smoking one cigarette after another. The air was so smoky I could barely see his face.
But I knew—he was pissed off, big time.
A guy who's used to running the show couldn't handle it when his chess pieces started making their own moves.
He'd come at me with even more ruthless tactics.
And I was waiting for him.
Waiting for him to step right into the hell I'd prepared.
*****
Richard stopped trying to control my spending. He even gave the secondary card back to me himself.
He seemed to have caved.
But I knew—this was just the calm before the storm.
He started acting off.
No matter when I got home, Richard was always there.
He'd be sitting on the living room couch, with that probing look, sizing me up like he was searching for something.
It was like I was some broken thing he needed to fix, trying to pinpoint the problem.
I didn't care.
I kept using his money to fund my charity projects.
The stocks I invested in soared, and I used the profits to build schools in remote areas and support elderly people living alone.
My reputation as the Charity Angel Emily Summers was spreading fast.
I even gave an interview to a mainstream financial magazine, sharing my investment tips and charity beliefs.
I shaped myself into an independent, compassionate, and wise woman of the new era.
Every step I took chipped away at his identity as my financial backer, gradually erasing him from my world.
He was no longer my provider, my world, my all.
He was just, well, an ATM.
And Richard clearly felt it, too.
He started pulling out all the stops to remind me he still mattered.
He'd buy any jewelry I lingered on for a second, and have it delivered to me the very next day.
He'd book out my favorite restaurant, just to "accidentally" run into me and share a meal.
He'd even show up at my charity events, clumsily pitching in as my "plus one."
Watching him in his expensive suit, handing out candy to kids? Almost funny.
Where was all this effort when I actually needed him?
In my last life, I begged him to spend just one birthday with me, but he couldn't be bothered.
Now, he was like a clingy shadow, trying to worm his way into my life.
Too late.
I took everything he gave me without hesitation—then donated it all to my foundation.
Jewelry became books for kids.
Fancy dinners became winter coats for seniors.
The harder he tried to buy his way into my life, the more I weaponized his money to drive him out of it.
Finally, Richard couldn't take it anymore.
I came home one day to find things that didn't belong.
Tiny cameras in my bedroom, my closet, even my bathroom.
Tracking and listening apps on my phone.
A GPS tracker on my car.
Richard had completely lost it.
Like some obsessive stalker trying to claw back control with sick surveillance tactics.
I stared at those hidden cameras—not angry, just savoring the twisted satisfaction.
Did you really think you could trap me with this, Richard?
You were dead wrong.
This would only make you crash faster into the trap I've set for you.
I looked at myself in the mirror and flashed a twisted smile.
The real show was just getting started.