Chapter 3

After I deleted Alexander’s text, my phone fell silent.

For the past twelve years, I had developed a habit—no matter when he messaged me, I would reply instantly.

Even if I was cooking, or in the middle of the night fast asleep, the moment he asked, "Are you free?" I would drop everything.

I used to call this habit love.

Looking back, it was simply putting someone else’s needs ahead of my own for so long that I had forgotten I had the option not to respond.

The next morning, I sat at my computer and did a final review of my compiled portfolio.

It didn't contain any designs currently used by Reed Technologies.

I had intentionally avoided the branding concepts that now belonged to the company, keeping only my work from our early startup days, projects I had completed for other clients before my marriage, and a few never-before-seen conceptual designs.

I didn't want to give Alexander any leverage to attack me.

More importantly, I wanted Isolde Carter to stand on her own feet, not as "Alexander’s ex-wife."

Once the portfolio was sent, I didn't just sit around waiting for emails.

During our early startup days in my past life, I had accompanied Alexander to pitch clients and faced countless rejections.

I knew better than anyone that clients don't just hand over money because of a cold email.

So, I pulled out my contact list.

There were many familiar names. Some were small business owners we had collaborated with when starting out; others were entrepreneurs I had only met a few times.

I clicked on them one by one, then closed them one by one.

Finally, I dialed the first number.

The man who answered was Martin, the owner of an independent coffee shop.

In our first year of business, he and his wife were preparing to open their shop but couldn't afford a professional design agency.

I designed their entire brand identity for them, charging only for the cost of materials.

Later, when the coffee shop did well, they even sent me a box of artisanal coffee beans to thank me.

The phone rang three times before he picked up.

"Isolde?" Martin sounded genuinely surprised. "Is that really you? It’s been years."

After some brief small talk, I got straight to the point.

"Martin, I’m getting back into brand design. If you know anyone looking for design work, I’d appreciate it if you kept me in mind."

Silence lingered on the other end for a couple of seconds.

"Aren't you still at Reed Tech?"

"I left."

Martin didn't press for details. "Actually, I have a friend who’s about to open a second shop. His budget isn't huge, but he's been looking for someone who truly understands branding."

I smiled. "We can negotiate the budget."

"Isolde," Martin's tone turned earnest. "I told you back then—you should have never stopped designing."

After hanging up, I sat there for a long time.

Those words carried more weight than any platitude.

In my past life, I spent twelve years proving I was a good wife. In this life, someone had finally reminded me that I was a designer all along.

Three days later, I met the clients Martin had recommended.

They were a couple in their early thirties, looking to upgrade their small bakery into a local community brand.

They didn't ask why I left Reed Tech, nor did they question my abilities. They simply shared their vision with passion.

I took notes, constantly digging into the details.

"What do you want your customers to remember?"

"When they walk in for the first time, what should it smell like?"

"Will children want to drag their parents back a second time?"

After talking for over an hour, their excitement grew.

Before leaving, the wife smiled and said, "Isolde, the questions you asked are completely different from what other design firms have asked us."

I smiled.

Because a true brand is never just a logo. It’s the reason people choose to remember you.

That was exactly what I used to tell Alexander over and over again.

Meanwhile, over at Reed Technologies, things weren't going nearly as smoothly.

I saw the news on an industry site. The company’s new product launch, which had been three months in the making, was officially underway.

The headline read:

Reed Tech Unveils Brand Identity Overhaul

I clicked on the livestream.

In the center of the stage, Alexander looked as sharp and confident as ever. Standing beside him was Brienne. She wore a tailored white suit, presenting the new brand philosophy with absolute poise.

I watched for ten minutes.

The longer I listened, the calmer I felt.

There were no glaring errors in the presentation. It was just soulless. It was sleek, standard, and safe—tailored to meet every market analysis.

Because of that, it looked indistinguishable from dozens of other tech brands on the market.

Within thirty minutes of the livestream ending, social media feedback began to roll in.

"Nice design, but totally forgettable."

"Reed Tech used to have such a distinct identity. Why does this look like a template?"

"Did they change their design team?"

The comments kept piling up.

I closed the browser tab, refusing to look further.

These results didn't bring me any satisfaction. I knew better than anyone that when a brand loses its direction, the first to suffer is the team, not the CEO.

In my past life, many of the young designers who stayed up late with me to revise concepts were still working there. They had done nothing wrong.

At 4:00 PM, I received a message from Martin.

Martin: Isolde, they decided to go with you.

Right after, the official email from the client arrived.

My first design contract.

The amount was small. It wouldn't even cover the cost of a watch Alexander would casually buy.

Yet, I stared at that email, hesitating to open it.

In my past life, I had signed countless multi-million dollar contracts for Alexander. Those contracts had always ended with his name.

This was the first contract in twelve years that truly belonged to Isolde Carter.

Taking a deep breath, I slowly typed my name in the electronic signature box.

After signing, I didn't celebrate. I simply opened my laptop and created a new folder.

I named it with just two words:

First Client.

My first step.

At 7:00 PM, just as I finished the first draft of the brand sketches, my phone lit up again.

The caller ID read:

Alexander.

I watched the screen, letting it ring.

When the ringing stopped, he didn't redial. A minute later, a text popped up.

Alexander: Isolde, we need to meet.

I didn't reply.

Ten minutes later, another message came.

Alexander: The launch ended today. A lot of things didn't go the way I expected.

My eyes lingered on the last sentence.

A lot of things didn't go the way he expected?

I suddenly recalled our early days, when a client had demanded a complete overhaul of a concept at the last minute. I had pulled two all-nighters to deliver a fresh version.

Alexander had laughed and told the team, "Don't worry. As long as Isolde is here, we'll always find a way."

Over time, he began to take that safety net for granted. He never once considered what would happen if, one day, Isolde wasn't there anymore.

I closed the messaging app and muted his number.

Then, I went back to refining my drafts.

Half an hour later, Martin suddenly sent me a screenshot of a thread from Reed Tech’s anonymous employee forum.

The title was just one sentence:

"Has anyone else noticed that ever since Isolde left, everything in this company feels off?"

I stared at the screen, unable to look away.

At that moment, my phone buzzed again.

This time, there was no text.

Alexander's name flashed on the screen once more.

I let it ring until the screen went dark.

A second later, another notification appeared.

This time, it wasn't another call.

It was a text.

Alexander:

Be at Reed Technologies tomorrow at ten.

Our legal team has prepared the final agreement.

If you still care about your future, don't be late.

My thumb froze above the screen.

The "final agreement."

In my previous life, I had walked into that conference room believing I was signing divorce papers.

I walked out having signed away twelve years of my life's work.

Tomorrow, they were expecting the same woman.

They had no idea she had already died once.

I locked my phone and smiled.

Tomorrow wasn't going to be the day they took everything from me.

It was going to be the day I stopped being their victim.