Sunlight filtered slowly through the bedroom curtains—

"Mmm..." Rachel Nelson let out a soft groan, her entire body aching like she'd been hit by a truck.

Propping herself up with trembling arms, she forced herself into a sitting position.

"Awake?"

The voice—cool, distant—cut through the silence like a blade. Sharp enough to send a chill crawling down her spine.

Rachel blinked against the light, eyes finding the man by the floor-to-ceiling windows.

He moved with unhurried precision, buttoning his shirt, adjusting his cufflinks. Each motion was deliberate, elegant, like he'd stepped straight out of a luxury menswear spread. The tailored black suit hugged his frame perfectly, the white cuffs peeking out just enough to give him that polished, ruthless edge.

Samuel Harper.

"You're up... Here's your monthly allowance."

With a flick of his wrist, Samuel tossed a sleek black credit card onto the bed. It was the kind of card that didn't have a limit—exclusive, custom, the kind only a few in the world carried.

The edge of it grazed Rachel's skin as it landed beside her.

She blinked, startled, then let out a soft, almost amused laugh. "Wow, babe. You really know how to make a girl feel special."

The card gleamed against the sheets—unrestricted, globally accepted. A silencer disguised as a luxury.

Rachel twirled a strand of her hair around her finger, her smile lazy, teasing. "But hey... if I end up pregnant, do I get an upgrade?"

Samuel didn't smile.

Instead, he crossed the room with slow, deliberate steps, leaning in until his face hovered just inches from hers. His fingers tilted her chin upward.

"Rachel," he said, voice low and dangerous, "you really think... you're worth that?"

She didn't flinch. Not outwardly.

But her fingers tightened around the card, her other hand still clutching the blanket to her chest. She played it off like she didn't care, but the flicker in her eyes said otherwise. Pain—not fresh, but the kind that had learned to live in silence.

Three years of marriage. And all she had to show for it were invisible scars.

To Samuel, she was nothing more than a stand-in. A shadow. A ghost of someone who had vanished seven years ago, leaving behind a memory no woman could ever replace.

"Don't forget where you stand," he said, eyes narrowing.

Rachel blinked up at him, lips curving into a mock pout. "Oh honey, I was just teasing. I'm way too into our quality time to even think about kids."

Samuel scoffed, stepping back. He waved her off like she was something clinging to his sleeve. "Even if there was a kid... it wouldn't change how this ends."

That ending. Singular. Inevitable.

Rachel's smile faltered. Froze.

She didn't respond, didn't try to keep up the act. Just watched as Samuel walked out, like even another second in the same room might contaminate him. He left behind rumpled sheets, scattered clothes, and whatever was left of her self-respect.

Grinding her teeth, Rachel shoved the blanket aside and stood. Her hands trembled as she pulled on her clothes, tears slipping down her cheeks without warning.

She didn't bother wiping them away.

From the drawer beside the bed, she pulled out a stack of papers. Her knuckles turned white from how tightly she gripped them.

The bold words across the top read: Divorce Agreement.

Her signature was already there—clean, precise. Like this had always been the plan.

...

Meanwhile—

At the top of a towering skyscraper shaped like a sleek modern pyramid, golden sunlight spilled across a mahogany desk. The light caught on the edge of a photo frame.

The picture inside had begun to yellow with time, but the woman's face was unmistakable. She looked strikingly similar to Rachel—same eyes, same delicate jawline—but softer. Her smile was shy, almost hesitant. Her straight, dark hair brushed her shoulders like it belonged there.

Not like Rachel, who wore her curls dyed a warm chestnut, her smile bold and dazzling, like she dared the world to dim her shine.

One glance was all it took to tell them apart.

Samuel's gaze lingered on the photo. For a moment, the hardness in his expression eased.

"Grace..." he murmured, almost to himself.

"Sam!"

A voice rang out—sweet, high-pitched, and unmistakably practiced. The overpowering scent of designer perfume followed it into the room.

Samuel didn't move, but the faint crease between his brows deepened.

He let go of the photo frame slowly, as if trying to keep something buried.