"It wasn't me..."

"Yeah?"

Christo grabbed her hand and dragged her into the bedroom, pinning her to the bed.

You don't even need to think about what he's going to do.

The blinding morning light pierced through the sheer curtains, stinging Alessa's eyes.

She sat up in the middle of the huge, messy bed, biting her lip to suppress a groan, as the bruises on her shoulders and spine throbbed as if in protest.

The bathroom door clicked open.

Christopher emerged, already wearing a crisp, custom-made shirt. His face wore a mask of utter indifference as he adjusted his dark blue silk tie.

He walked to the dressing table, picked up his wallet, took out a black American Express card with no spending limit, and casually tossed it onto the bedside table.

The cold plastic edge of the card bounced and grazed the back of Alessa's hand. This physical contact sent a sharp pang of humiliation through her.

“Go buy yourself something you like. Consider it a reward for your cooperation last night,” Christopher said, without even glancing at her.

"Don't do anything against my will. And don't hurt Della."

Alessa grabbed the black card from the bedside table and slammed it against the bedroom door with all her might.

The plastic card slammed against the wooden door with a dull thud, just as Christopher stepped out. He didn't even stop; he just kept walking.

The heavy silence in the room was broken by the buzzing of Alessa's cell phone on the mattress. The screen lit up, displaying the name of her best friend, Sloan.

Alessa cleared her throat and answered the phone.

“Hello,” she said hoarsely.

“You sound terrible. Come to Soho House and have a drink with me. You need to relax,” Sloan ordered.

"Okay. I'll be right there."

Alessa walked into her enormous walk-in closet. She skipped over the casual wear and chose a high-necked silk blouse, which she needed to use to cover the new purple bruises on her collarbone.

An hour later, her taxi stopped in front of Soho House, a private establishment in Lower Manhattan.

She went to the front desk, showed her Sloan membership card, and had the receptionist guide her to the private lounge area on the second floor.

Her high heels sank into the thick wool carpet. As she walked down the dimly lit corridor, a familiar, coquettish laugh drifted from one of the rooms.

Alessa stopped in her tracks. Her heart pounded wildly against her ribs as the trauma of the previous night resurfaced.

She peered through the half-open carved wooden door. Through the warm, soft light, her gaze settled on the luxurious velvet sofas.

Diana sat in the center, wearing a flawless white dress, surrounded by a group of wealthy Manhattan socialites.

Diana's long, meticulously manicured fingers were gently stroking a dazzling Cartier panther necklace, which adorned her collarbone.

“My God, Dinah, so glamorous! Which Wall Street billionaire is spending all his money on you?” one of the socialites exclaimed.

Diana lowered her eyes, a shy yet deliberate blush creeping onto her cheeks.

“He treats me like his whole world,” Diana whispered.

Alessa's stomach churned violently. Bile rose in her throat. The image of that cold black card being thrown at her this morning clashed cruelly with the millions of dollars worth of jewelry that now shone around Diana's neck.

She felt nauseous. She turned sharply to leave, but the tip of her shoe struck the edge of a heavy brass decorative vase in the hallway.

The vase tilted and crashed against the wall with a hollow bang.

The noise immediately drew the attention of everyone in the private room.

Diana turned her head. When she saw Alessa standing in the corridor, a malicious glint flashed in her eyes.

Diana stood up, smoothed her white dress, and walked to the door. She looked at Alessa with an expression of pure pity.

“Dr. Ward? What are you doing here?” Diana asked, her voice loud enough for everyone in the room to hear.

The socialites behind her began to whisper among themselves, casting mocking glances at the ordinary doctor who dared to intrude into their elite circle.

Alessa forced herself to straighten her back. She met Diana's hypocritical gaze with icy calm.

“I was just passing by. I don’t need to report my whereabouts to a patient,” Alessa retorted, her voice calm.

Tears welled up in Diana's eyes immediately. She dramatically took a half step back, clutching her chest as if she had just been punched.

Christopher emerged from the shadows at the end of the corridor. He held a crystal whiskey glass in one hand, his posture relaxed, yet his aura intimidating.

Christopher's icy gaze completely bypassed Diana and pierced straight at Alessa, who was gripping the shoulder strap of her handbag tightly, trying to remain calm.

He didn't shout, or even raise his voice.

“Security,” Christopher commanded, his tone utterly cold. “Take this unauthorized person away from the VIP floor immediately.”

Aletha stood on the sidewalk outside Soho House, the biting Manhattan wind piercing her thin trench coat. She pulled the collar tighter against her chest.

Her phone vibrated in her pocket.

She pulled out her phone. It was an urgent call from the private lawyer for the Glenn family trust.

“Mrs. Glenn, I have sent you a supplemental document to your prenuptial agreement via email. According to Clause 4B, this specific supplement requires you to print it out in person and submit it to the CEO for signature immediately. This is urgent; you must act tomorrow,” the lawyer stated decisively.

Aletha swallowed the intense humiliation that was stuck in her throat.

"I see."

The next morning, she hailed a taxi and told the driver to go to the Glenn Industries headquarters in Midtown.

She pushed open the heavy revolving glass door and strode toward the huge marble reception desk in the center of the lobby.

“I want to go to the top floor,” Aletha said.

The receptionist looked up from the screen, her polite smile completely perfunctory. “Good morning, Mrs. Glenn,” she said, her tone disciplined yet tinged with a barely perceptible hint of disdain. “I’m sorry, Mr. Glenn is currently very busy. He has given strict instructions not to be disturbed by anyone. I’m afraid I cannot let you up without his direct confirmation.”

Aletha reached into her bag and pulled out her signature black elevator card, which identified her. She swiped it on the security turnstile.

A blinding red light flashed on the scanner. A loud beep of mechanical malfunction echoed through the room.

"Access denied. Card frozen," the machine announced.

Several senior executives walking through the lobby stopped and turned around, casting curious and judgmental glances at the woman who had caused a commotion at the access control.

Aletha bit her cheek hard, tasting the blood. She lowered her head and, as a group of managers swiped their cards to enter, quickly slipped into a regular employee elevator.

The elevator stopped on the fiftieth floor, the highest public access floor. Aletha stepped out, avoiding the patrolling security guards, pushed open the heavy fire door, and entered the emergency stairwell. Her high heels clicked sharply on the concrete floor as she climbed the remaining two floors, her breathing rapid but controlled. She pushed open the heavy door leading to the fifty-second floor and strode towards the CEO's office.

The heavy double mahogany doors were slightly ajar. A warm ray of light fell onto the carpet.

Aletha took a deep breath, pushed open the door, and felt as if her heart had shattered into a thousand pieces.

Dinah was sitting on the edge of Kristopher's huge mahogany desk, playfully swinging her legs.

Kristopher stood between her knees. He leaned down and gently wiped a smear of latte foam from the corner of Dinah's mouth with his thumb.

The sound of the door opening froze them both. Kristopher looked up. The tenderness in his eyes instantly transformed into a chilling, icy rage.

Dinah took a soft breath, slid off the table, and hid behind Kristopher's broad back.

Aletha forced her legs forward. Each step felt like walking on broken glass. She placed the legal folder on the table.

“The trust lawyer needs you to sign this document immediately. I’ll take it and leave. I won’t stay a second longer,” Aletha said, her voice stiff and fragile.

Kristopher picked up the folder. He didn't even look at its contents. He slammed it into Aletha's face.

The sharp edge of the thick paper grazed Aletha's cheekbone. A thin, warm line of blood immediately seeped through her skin.

Kristopher took a large stride, closing the distance between them. He grabbed Aletha's chin, his fingers digging painfully into her jaw.

“Recognize your true identity as a stand-in,” he warned, his voice a vicious hiss. “You’re not even worth a hair on Dinah’s head. Stop making excuses to bother us.”

Aletha didn't blink. The absolute stillness in her eyes suddenly ignited a strange unease in Kristopher's chest.

He shoved her roughly, releasing her chin. He slammed his hand on the intercom button on his desk.

"Bring the security supervisor up now."

Seconds later, two burly security guards burst into the office. They grabbed Aletha from both sides, each gripping one of her arms with a tight, painful force.

Dinah spoke from behind her desk, her voice filled with feigned sympathy. “Kris, please don’t be so harsh. Perhaps Dr. Ward is just desperate for money.”

The security guards dragged Aletha backward. Her high heels screeched on the expensive carpet.

They dragged her into the elevator, through the crowded first-floor lobby in front of hundreds of employees, and then roughly threw her out through the front door.

Aletha stumbled and fell heavily onto the cold concrete pavement.

She sat there, gazing at the supplementary agreement fluttering in the wind. A tear finally slid down her cheek, landing on the back of her hand and shattering.

Aletha walked aimlessly through the streets of Chelsea, letting the harsh wind dry the wetness on her cheeks.

The phone in her pocket started vibrating aggressively. The screen flashed with Kristopher's name.

Her fingers trembled as she pressed the answer button and brought the phone to her ear.

"Listen to me very carefully," Kristopher's voice came through the speaker, cold and absolute. "You are not to appear within a five-mile radius of Dinah ever again."

Aletha closed her eyes, the street noise fading away.

"I cherish her too much," Kristopher continued, his tone brutally honest. "I can't even bear to touch a single hair on her head. I won't let your toxic jealousy ruin her peace."

Those words acted like a physical blade, twisting into Aletha's chest and shredding the very last, pathetic shred of hope she held for this marriage.

She didn't say a single word. She pulled the phone away, ended the call, and immediately blocked his number.

She looked up and realized she was standing on the corner near the Chelsea Art Gallery. This was the venue where Sloane was hosting the new exhibition.

Aletha pushed open the heavy glass doors. The little brass bell chimed brightly. The warm air and the smell of oil paint and expensive perfume rushed over her.

She took off her trench coat, walked straight to a passing waiter, grabbed a flute of champagne from his tray, and downed it in one gulp.

The alcohol burned a fiery path down her throat, but it did nothing to melt the block of ice sitting in her stomach.

A tall figure suddenly stepped into her line of sight, blocking the crowd. The familiar, comforting scent of cedarwood and clean linen washed over her.

She looked up and met Julian's amber eyes. The usual calm, collected demeanor of the Wall Street prodigy shattered the second he looked at her face.

Julian reached out and gently pried the empty glass from her tight grip. His brows pulled together in a deep frown.

"Why are you so pale?" he asked, his voice tight with worry.

Aletha tried to force the corners of her mouth up into a polite smile, but the moment she met her childhood friend's gaze, her defenses completely collapsed.

Julian didn't say another word. He wrapped a strong arm around her shoulders, shielding her from the crowd, and guided her up the stairs to the private VIP balcony on the second floor.

The cold wind whipped across the open terrace. Julian stripped off his custom suit jacket and draped it over Aletha's shivering shoulders.

Aletha leaned heavily against the metal railing. She stared down at the blurry headlights of the traffic below, and a broken sob finally tore from her throat.

She cried until her chest ached. Between ragged breaths, she poured out the suffocating toxicity of her three-year loveless marriage. She told him about the humiliation, the coldness, the feeling of being nothing but a disposable shadow.

She kept her secret-she didn't tell him she was Lan-but she gave him all the pain of being Kristopher's wife.

Julian gripped the metal railing. His knuckles turned stark white. The veins on the back of his hands bulged, and a terrifying, murderous rage boiled in his amber eyes.

He spun around and grabbed Aletha by the shoulders, forcing her to look up at him.

"Say the word," Julian said, his voice shaking with fierce determination. "Just nod your head, Aletha, and I will take you away from him today. Right now."

Aletha offered a bitter, broken smile. She slowly shook her head.

"I can't. The prenuptial agreement... the penalty clauses. My family is tied into his trust. I can't just walk away without destroying everything."

Julian cursed viciously under his breath, calling Kristopher a blind, arrogant tyrant.

He pulled Aletha into his chest, wrapping his arms tightly around her. His large hand rubbed soothing circles on her back, offering her the first genuine warmth she had felt in years.

Aletha closed her eyes, letting her tense muscles finally relax in a space where she didn't have to fight to survive.

Suddenly, a loud commotion erupted from the main exhibition hall downstairs, shattering the quiet moment on the balcony.

Julian released her slightly. His eyes narrowed, instantly shifting into a defensive glare as he looked toward the top of the stairs. He sensed the danger immediately.

Aletha wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. She took a deep, steadying breath, locking her emotions back behind a wall of ice, ready to face whatever storm was coming.