Chapter 2

The next day, I went to the Upper East Side townhouse to pack my things.

When I pushed the door open, Vanessa was sitting on the living room sofa, her arms wrapped around a pregnancy pillow.

She was wearing Dominic’s cashmere cardigan. Her long hair cascaded over her shoulders, and she looked entirely at ease, as if the Vance estate had always belonged to her.

Seeing me, she smiled and slowly stood up.

Her six-month baby bump was glaringly obvious.

"Claire. You're finally here. I thought you weren't coming back for your things." Her voice was soft and sweet. "I packed everything for you. Take a look and see what you want to keep."

Sweet enough to poison someone.

As she walked toward me, I quietly hit record on my phone.

She stopped right next to me and lowered her voice.

"It's so spacious here. The baby and I are very comfortable. Oh, by the way, I already replaced the bed in the master bedroom." She paused, flashing an innocent smile. "Dominic and I found the old one... a little uncomfortable."

Every word was a knife.

I kept my phone down at my side. Every syllable she said to my face was being captured.

Her tone was exactly the same as the day I brought her home.

Vanessa was my adopted sister.

The Hayes family took her in when she was very young. My parents treated her even better than they treated me.

I paid her college tuition. I got her a job. After I got married, I worried she'd be lonely living by herself, so I invited her to stay in our Upper East Side townhouse.

I had held her hand and looked at Dominic.

"She's my sister. Treat her well."

He had smiled and promised he would.

Years later, she was wearing my pajamas, sleeping in my bed.

Next to my husband.

I stared at her swollen stomach as the memories of my past life surged up my throat.

It was after this baby was born that Dominic completely lost his patience with me. When I was locked in the psychiatric ward, I overheard the nurses saying Mr. Vance had left everything to his new child.

I had been strapped to a bed, unable to even cry.

A violent wave of hatred hit me. My nails dug into my palms until they bled. I wanted to lose control. I wanted to make her bleed.

But I couldn't.

I didn't come back to life just to be branded a hysterical, crazy woman again.

I took a breath and walked past her, my face completely blank.

There wasn't much in the boxes. A few clothes, some books, an old picture frame. That was all that remained of my seven-year marriage.

When I didn't react, Vanessa grew anxious.

"Claire, why aren't you saying anything? Are you feeling okay?"

I looked up at her and smiled.

"What do you want to hear, Vanessa? Congratulations?"

She froze.

"I don't want this house anymore. Enjoy it."

I grabbed my suitcase and turned toward the door. Before I walked out, I cast a quick glance at the study.

The hidden camera I installed the day I agreed to the divorce was right where I left it.

In my last life, I lost because I had no proof.

In this life, I was leaving a paper trail for every single step.

That evening, Dominic asked me to meet him to sign some supplemental documents.

He flipped through the paperwork I handed him and suddenly spoke.

"You're being remarkably mature about this, Claire."

I put my pen down and looked at him.

"You call this mature?"

His hand paused on his coffee cup.

"Drop the victim act, Claire. If word gets out about me and your adopted sister, it ruins your reputation too. We both lose."

He frowned, keeping his temper in check.

I knew exactly what he was doing. He needed to package this divorce as a quiet, mutual separation. He had to maintain investor confidence, keep the board's trust, and protect his standing in New York's elite circles.

He needed me to leave quietly and gracefully.

I knew him too well.

But he never knew me.

Just as I finished signing the papers and stood up to leave, Vanessa walked in.

She clutched her stomach, her voice trembling.

"Dominic, the baby's kicking... I don't feel so good."

Dominic instantly slammed his coffee cup down and rushed over to support her. He wrapped one arm around her waist and placed his other hand gently over her stomach.

"Easy. If it hurts that bad, we're calling your OB right now."

That kind of panic and tenderness was something I had rarely seen from him in seven years.

I stood in the entryway, watching them, and let out a short laugh.

It was pure irony.

He painted me as his mentally unstable wife, yet he was capable of such profound gentleness for another woman.

And he didn't even know that the baby Vanessa was carrying wasn't his.

I pushed the door open and stepped out into the night.

The cold wind slipped down my collar.

Dominic's voice called out from behind me.

"Drive safe."

How considerate.

How hypocritical.