Adeline Carter's POV:

That afternoon, I wandered aimlessly, trying to clear my head.

A sleek, expensive sports car pulled up slowly beside me. The window rolled down, revealing Alvin Thompson's handsome face.

He smiled, a gentle, disarming expression. “Adeline,” he said. “What a coincidence. Would you like to grab a coffee?”

He was Brock's superior, after all. I couldn't bring myself to say no. I nodded and followed him to a quiet cafe.

As soon as we sat down, he pushed his phone across the table, open to a chat window.

My husband's name. Alvin's name. Those messages. The full text of Brock offering me up like a ritual sacrifice.

I stumbled home, my mind a chaotic blur. I opened the door to find Brock in the kitchen.

The table was covered in food—all my favorites. He grinned, a stiff, awkward expression. “Addie! You're back. Go wash up, dinner's ready.”

There was a flicker of nerves in his eyes, a subtle unease I only noticed now. We sat at the table. Brock talked incessantly, a torrent of words. He complained about his boss, about how terrible his job had become.

“I can't get fired, Addie. The mortgage, the debts. We'll lose everything.” His voice cracked, thick with self-pity. “I'm useless. I can't give you the stable home you deserve.”

He gripped my hand tightly. “I promise, I'll work harder, I'll make more money, we'll have a better life, Addie. I swear.” He looked at me with desperate, pleading eyes. “Trust me, my love. Everything I do, I do for our future.”

“Addie, I love you. Truly, more than anything.”

Adeline Carter's POV:

A profound sense of emptiness washed over me.

Brock's words, his exaggerated professions of love—it felt like a script he was reading to soothe his own conscience.

“I love you too, Brock,” I whispered.

I knew I loved him, or at least, the man I thought he was.

We were both trapped.

And now, I realized the two crucial links: Alvin Thompson, the CEO of Brock's company, and Gill Webb, my boss, were more than just powerful men in this city.

Neither of us had the power to fight them.

Brock started to cry. I knew exactly why he was crying.

I handed him a glass of water. He drank half of it, his hands trembling.

He wiped his eyes, his voice husky. “I'll turn things around, Addie. We won't be stepped on anymore. I promise.”

Then, he poured me a glass of milk. “Drink some, Addie. You've had a long day. It'll help you sleep.”

His voice was tender, but his expression was taut with tension.

I looked at the glass, then at Brock's strained face. He was watching me, his body coiled with anticipation.

My stomach churned, but I picked up the glass. I brought it to my lips. My throat constricted.

Brock let out a long, audible breath, a wave of visible relief washing over him. The tension in his shoulders vanished.

He thought he'd succeeded.

The milk he gave me was laced with a sedative.

But what he didn't know was that I had drugged his water, too.

Adeline Carter's POV:

I finished dinner, told Brock I was tired, and went to lie down in the bedroom.

A few minutes later, Brock walked in, his footsteps light.

He whispered my name, checking to see if I was asleep. I held my breath, eyes closed.

He leaned over me, his breathing heavy, suppressing a yawn. “I'm tired too,” he muttered.

He whispered in my ear: “Addie, even if you're with someone else, I'll still love you.”

“You won't remember a thing. You'll think it was me.”

“As long as we can make money, as long as we're okay, as long as no one knows, that's enough. The world laughs at the poor, not the fallen.”

“We shouldn't feel ashamed, Addie. We've worked so hard; we shouldn't feel ashamed.”

“I've been honest and upright my whole life, and what did it get me? Nothing! I'm bullied at work, crushed by the mortgage. I can't even quit.”

He sobbed. “I'm sorry, Addie. I'm so, so sorry. But this is for our future. This is for us.”

Then, his breathing became deep and rhythmic.

He was out.

I snapped my eyes open and looked at his peaceful face. A storm of emotions swirled inside me.

I remembered his kindness, his small sacrifices. When we were at our poorest, he'd give me the meat from the buns, saying he preferred the bread. He had always been so good to me.

As I was trying to sort through my thoughts, the doorbell rang.

My heart plummeted.