After giving her statement, Helena finally left the police station. The sky had long since turned dark, and the streetlamps were glowing like distant embers against the night.

The cool air brushed her face. She reached for her phone. Several missed calls from Bryson lit up the screen.

Since she hadn't answered his calls, he had sent her messages.

"I was in a meeting this afternoon. The signal was blocked, so I wasn't able to answer your calls. Is everything okay?"

"By the way, I have a business dinner tonight. I'll be back late. I promise you, there won't be any women there."

"Rest early, okay? Don't wait up for me."

Helena stared at the words on the screen. The messages seemed thoughtful and reassuring, but she felt nothing but a profound chill settle in her heart.

Bryson did not return home until the middle of the night.

Helena lay awake, her eyes open, listening as his unsteady footsteps dragged across the floor. He reeked of alcohol. The sharp smell clung to him as he stumbled inside. But even through the haze of liquor, she caught something else.

A faint scent of perfume that was not hers.

"Helena..." Bryson staggered over to the bed. He pulled back the covers to hold her and murmured, "I've missed you..."

Helena said nothing. She lay still, listening to his uneven breathing. Minutes passed slowly. She waited until his body went slack and his breathing became steady before she sat up. She reached over, took his phone from beside him, and unlocked it without a sound.

She scrolled through all his social accounts and searched. Messages, call logs, social apps. However, she could not find a single suspicious message.

His contacts were filled with coworkers, business partners, and familiar friends. And there, among them, her own number was still saved as "Honey."

It was his only pinned contact.

Everything was impossibly perfect.

Just like her two-year marriage, it looked perfect on the surface, polished to the point of seeming unreal.

From the outside, it was like an exquisitely decorated cake covered in thick frosting. It looked smooth and sweet. But the deeper one cut, the more one found what was hidden underneath—something rotten.

If that was the case, she wanted neither the cake nor the marriage.

The next morning, when Helena woke up, she went downstairs to the dining room. Bryson was in the kitchen making breakfast, wearing an apron like a devoted husband. His broad shoulders and lean physique were, for anyone else, quite pleasing to the eye.

Helena stared at his back, her gaze steady and unblinking.

The Davies family could certainly afford maids. But ever since Helena had been poisoned years ago as the result of a business conflict that involved the Davies, Bryson had insisted on cooking for her himself. He had said it was safer that way and that he could not trust anyone else with what she ate.

In fact, he had learned to cook entirely for her sake. At first, he had been awkward, clumsy with knives and pans, and burning simple dishes. He then spent hours in the kitchen every day, perfecting meals and adjusting flavors until everything was just right.

A privileged heir from Daxwell's elite circles, standing over a stove each day, all so his wife could eat meals that were clean and safe. In less than two months, he had gone from a kitchen novice to a great chef.

If it were in the past, Helena would have been moved by his gestures. Now, she only watched, and the warmth that had once been in her eyes was gone.

The next moment, Bryson's phone rang.

Helena had never been in the habit of checking his phone. She had never wanted to be that kind of woman. However, the look of unease that crossed Bryson's face as he stepped out of the kitchen to get his phone did not escape her notice. His jaw tightened for a second before he smoothed his expression again.

Without a word, Helena turned away. She went to get water as if she hadn't noticed anything at all.

By the time she returned, the breakfast Bryson had prepared was already laid out neatly on the table.

But instead of sitting down to have a meal with her, he hurriedly grabbed his suit jacket from the coat rack and said, "Something came up at the company. It's urgent. I have to go now. Eat up, alright?"

Helena looked at him and replied evenly, "Go ahead."

The words were colder than usual. In the past, she might have asked him what was wrong with concern in her eyes. But Bryson seemed too preoccupied to notice. His mind was already elsewhere. Without another word, he opened the door and left.

The silence that followed was heavy. Helena didn't move for a moment, staring at the untouched breakfast. The plates were still warm, the meal carefully prepared, but she didn't have any appetite at all. She only took a sip of the water she had just poured. Then, she picked up her phone and dialed a number.

When the line connected, she spoke in a clear voice. "I'll participate in the research project you've mentioned before."

The voice on the other end sounded pleasantly surprised. There was a brief pause, as if the person wanted to be sure they had heard her correctly. Once they were sure they hadn't misheard, they began explaining the details of the project. They talked about timelines, expectations, and the scope of the work. After a while, the voice on the other end softened. "Helena, you told me before you were getting married and wanted to be a housewife, and that's why you gave up all your career pursuits. Have you finally had a change of heart?"

At that, Helena's grip tightened around the phone, and her eyes grew cold.

Her home had been full of cracks for years. It was only because she had chosen to forgive Bryson again and again that she had managed to keep living in peace. Now, every time she thought of what she had seen in Bryson's office, it felt like tearing open her wound.

The person on the phone was her former university mentor, someone who had once guided her with patience and belief. They were returning to the country soon and preparing to assemble a team for a new development project.

Still, before leaving for the project, Helena had one important thing left to do.

That evening, she dressed herself inconspicuously, choosing plain clothes and a simple coat. Then, she went to a private auction near the docks.

She stepped inside with steady resolve. She was there to bid on one of her father's belongings.

Her parents had both died in a car accident when she was fifteen. Not long after their passing, the Jones family's assets were seized and auctioned off by the courts. It had felt like being stripped twice: first, of the people she loved, then, of everything they had left behind. Over the years, she had worked hard. She built her own life piece by piece, earning her place and name. And with her earnings, she had gradually managed to buy back the items that had once been her parents'.

She had carefully investigated this auction. One of the lots was an emerald sculpture her father had bought to cheer her up when she was a child.

The sculpture was a piece of high-quality carved gemstone. It was rare and meticulously crafted, the kind of object meant to last for generations.

She could still remember the day her father brought it home. She could see his smile as clearly as if it were yesterday. For a moment, she closed her eyes and drew in a slow breath. When she opened them again, the resolve in them was firm. She had to win the bid today, no matter what it cost. She could not let that piece of her father slip away from her.

Helena found a seat toward the middle, close enough to the stage. Then, she picked up the auction catalog and slowly flipped through its pages.

Unexpectedly, a familiar voice came from beside her.

For a second, a shadow seemed to pass over Bryon's face.

Almost without thinking, he pulled his arm away from the woman clinging to it.

"Helena, you didn't reply to my messages. Did you come here to surprise me?" he asked.

Helena blinked. Surprise?

How cheeky of him to just assume she'd still be surprising him with anything.

Helena lifted her gaze to him and watched him put on an act. She could have torn the mask away with a single sentence, but she did not. "I was busy this afternoon. I didn't check my messages."

Hearing that, Bryson seemed to let out a sigh of relief, as though he believed the danger had passed.

He knelt on one knee so he could meet her at eye level and said in a seemingly concerned tone, "It's cold today. You went out dressed so lightly. I am worried that you will catch a cold."

As he spoke, he lifted a hand and gestured to a nearby attendant. A blanket was brought over at once. He took it carefully and wrapped it around her shoulders. To anyone watching, the gesture looked caring.

Helena remained still. She watched his actions quietly, her expression unreadable, then slowly let her gaze drift past him to Charlee.

For a brief second, Charlee looked caught off guard. Then, just as quickly, a bright smile spread across her features as she greeted Helena, saying, "Helena, what a coincidence."

Without waiting for Helena's reply, she then sat down in the seat one over from Helena, settling herself as though she belonged there.

Bryson tucked a strand of hair behind Helena's ear and leaned in to say, "Charlee has secured several major projects for the company recently. I promised her a gift as a reward, and it is her birthday soon."

He let the words hang for a moment, as if they were supposed to explain everything. "Helena, you're not upset about this, are you?"

Before Helena could answer, Charlee interjected, "Helena, if you don't want me here, I can leave."

Helena's face showed nothing at all. Not even a flicker of anger or hurt. Instead, she replied indifferently, "Why would I not want you to be here? Bryson's your brother-in-law. Consider it a birthday gift from both of us as a couple."

Even though their marriage was fake, she was still Bryson's wife in the eyes of the public.

Charlee remained the mistress.

When the auction began, Bryson quickly placed the first bids. One after another, he won several jewelry sets, each one for Helena.

Charlee, however, seemed unable to contain herself any longer. She slipped her hand closer and hooked her pinky finger around Bryson's in secret.

Bryson's expression remained unchanged, but beneath the chair, his finger tightened around hers.

Helena saw it all, and something about it struck her as almost laughable.

Before the Jones family's decline, she and Charlee had been known in Daxwell's elite circles as the accomplished and beautiful siblings. People spoke their names with admiration. Wherever they appeared, heads turned. Even after their family's downfall, that attention never really disappeared.

So, how could Bryson sit there, so self-assured, thinking he could keep one as his wife and the other as his mistress? He really thought he could have everything, didn't he?

Helena had no obsession with Bryson. He was not the center of her world, and he never had been. So, when this relationship finally began to threaten her emotions and her interests, she knew what should come next. It was time to sever her ties.

Just then, the auctioneer's voice rang out across the hall. "Next is the final lot of the evening—an emerald sculpture. The texture is exquisite, and the inclusions are lively. The opening bid is two million."

Helena snapped back to attention at once. Everything else faded into the background. At last, her target for the evening had finally appeared.

"Bidder number 20 offers 2.6 million. Any higher bids?"

Helena's gaze sharpened, and her fingers curled slightly. This was the moment she had been waiting for. Seeing that the bidding was about to conclude, she raised her paddle and said, "3.5 million!"

A piece like this was rare, but the people willing to spend freely on it were rarer. And Helena's offer stood far above the opening bid, high enough to make the room pause. Everyone could see she had come here for this sculpture. And in circles like these, there was an unspoken rule. When someone revealed such clear intent, others rarely interfered. No one wished to challenge Helena now. Just as expected, no other paddle rose.

"The lady with paddle number 7 bids 3.5 million. Any bids above that price?"

"3.5 million, going once! 3.5 million, going twice..."

The room held its breath. Just as Leo, the auctioneer, raised his gavel to finalize the sale, a gentle voice echoed in the air.

"3.51 million!"

Charlee leaned close to Bryson, her posture cautious as she whispered, "Is this the right way to hold the paddle?"

Helena's brow lifted with quiet challenge as she called out again, "Three million six hundred thousand."

"Three million six hundred and ten thousand," Charlee said without missing a beat.

The absurdity of the situation was impossible to ignore. No matter what Helena offered, Charlee always stepped neatly over it by exactly ten thousand, like she was doing it on purpose.

With a pleading look, Charlee turned to look at Helena as if she'd been deeply wronged. "Helena, I really need that emerald sculpture. You already have so many beautiful things. Could you please let me have this one? If the price gets any higher, I won't be able to afford it anymore."

Helena's lips curled in open amusement. "But isn't Bryson the one paying for it?"

Charlee's gaze dropped, and she pressed her teeth lightly against her lip. "He works so hard for what he earns. I don't want him spending too much on me. I want to save him some money."

How thoughtful. How perfectly innocent it sounded, as if she were doing Bryson a favor.

Round after round passed, until the auction price finally reached three million eight hundred thousand.

Something sharp and icy settled deeper in Helena's chest. She started to lift her paddle again, but Bryson moved faster, pushing her hand down to stop her.

"Helena, since Charlee says she truly needs it, just let her have it," he said.

Helena stared at him in disbelief. "What did you just say?"

"I already promised her a gift. This is the one she wants. Don't take it away from her," Bryson replied.

The moment he finished speaking, Helena felt something inside her drop straight into a frozen void.

Long before he ever married her, he had taken the time to dig through every detail of her past. He knew exactly what kind of history existed between her and Charlee.

Ever since childhood, the two of them had been unable to stand in the same space without tension twisting between them. The accident that killed her parents could easily be traced back to Charlee's indirect involvement.

She could hardly stand the sight of Charlee, and she was certain Bryson understood exactly what she felt about her.

Charlee would have never had the chance to set foot in this place if not for Bryson.

He was the reason Charlee dared to challenge her at all.

A bitter laugh slipped from Helena. "What if I refuse to give up on it?"

She lifted her paddle and called out, "Four million."

A heavy silence swept through the hall. All attention landed directly on them.

Noticing the tension, the auctioneer attempted to maintain order. "The lady with paddle number 7 bids four million. Any other offers?"

As the auctioneer repeated the question, Charlee's eyes brimmed with tears, as though she had suffered a terrible injustice. "Four million and ten thousand."

A chill settled into Helena's palm as she prepared to raise her paddle once more.

Suddenly, the manager of the auction house hurried over and spoke in a low, respectful tone. "Mrs. Davies, during our recent check, we discovered your account has been frozen. Is there another account you wish to use?"

That revelation struck Helena like a bolt of lightning.

She turned her gaze to Bryson, only to find him avoiding her gaze.

So he was behind this.

Ever since their wedding, their auction accounts had been connected, leaving him with the power to block her access at any moment.

All this trouble, just to make Charlee happy?

Charlee shot Helena a daring glance, the challenge clear in her eyes. "You've been spoiled with treasures since we were kids. Would it really hurt you to let me have this one thing without causing a scene?"

Did Helena truly believe she was still that meek woman she could so easily outmaneuver?

Now, they stood as equals. Their family's fortune was gone. And if Helena was free to fight for what she wanted, why couldn't she?

There was a time when every bit of their parents' affection was reserved for Helena. Now, with no one left to support Helena, she could finally take her on, fair and square.

All the things Helena had—her relationship, her social standing—she was determined to claim them someday.

With her account frozen, Helena couldn't bid for the item anymore.

Charlee's face gleamed with triumph as she called out, "Drop the gravel! Say the item is mine already!"

Just then, a voice came from a private box on the second floor. "Ten million."

The room paused in disbelief before bursting into chaos.

"Who was that? He raised the price so high!"