Chapter 3

Two years ago, William began flying to Europe frequently.

He said he was dealing with EU antitrust investigations, calling it a "war that must be won."

But now I understood.

He was busy building Victoria Astor's business empire.

My heart felt as if it were being crushed by an invisible hand; I had to lift my water glass to hide my trembling fingers.

"Are you feeling unwell, Charlotte?" William sensed my anomaly almost instantly, his chair making a harsh scraping sound against the floor. "You look pale. We're going to the hospital."

Before I could speak, Victoria's voice pierced the air like an ice pick.

"Still playing the fragile doll? Save it. He's long been immune to this pathetic act—"

*Smack!*

The sound of the slap was shockingly crisp, plunging the entire booth into a deathly silence.

William's hand remained in mid-air; even he seemed shocked by his own reflexive action.

"Get out," he said in a low voice, laced with bone-chilling coldness. "Don't make me say it a second time."

Victoria clutched her rapidly reddening cheek. The disbelief in her eyes turned instantly to venom, but she knew William's methods well enough not to provoke him further.

She stomped out on her high heels in a rage.

The atmosphere at the table dropped to freezing point, yet I felt no relief, only a penetrating chill.

I could feel William watching me, his hand covering mine, his palm burning hot.

"Baby, ignore that crazy woman. Let's go home."

I pulled my hand back and stood up. "I'm fine. I'm just going to the restroom."

But when I turned the corner into the hallway, she was waiting for me.

Victoria.

"Do you think that slap changes anything?" She lowered her voice, dripping with mockery. "You are his legal wife, true. But I am the mother of his heirs. If I tell him right now that the twins have a fever, he will leave you without hesitation. Want to bet?"

I didn't answer. Because I knew the answer.

When I returned to the table, William was on the phone, his face ashen.

Seeing me return, he hung up hurriedly, his eyes shifting. "Darling, there's a serious compliance issue in the London market. I have to handle it immediately, even if it's just a video conference. I'll have the driver take you back, okay?"

I grabbed his sleeve, my knuckles turning white. "You promised to stay with me all day today. Please, William... don't go."

A struggle flashed in his eyes—a tug-of-war between guilt and desire.

He looked at me as if weighing the gravity of two worlds.

Finally, he kissed my forehead. "I will definitely be home tonight. I swear."

And just like that, he turned and left.

Ten minutes later, my phone vibrated.

It was a video from Victoria.

I pressed play with trembling fingers.

The background was a luxurious nursery. William was kneeling on the floor, helping a little boy assemble a complex Lego castle.

Victoria's voice rang out from behind the camera:

"You just bought her a vineyard in France, William. I'm not happy. I want that vineyard as a birthday present for Louis."

He frowned, a brick still in his hand. "No. That vineyard is for Charlotte and our child."

"You're giving her a vineyard as a tomb for your love," Victoria chuckled lightly. "Give this vineyard to me—so Louis will know that he is the true future of the Vanderbilt family."

Silence for a few seconds—then he nodded.

Victoria turned the camera on herself, revealing a victor's smile.

"See that? Even things that bear your name, if I want them, they're mine. You lose, Charlotte."

I sat there stiffly, the phone feeling heavy as lead.

Every tender moment he had ever given me now turned into blades slicing through me.

He had changed my tires in the pouring rain, brewed ginger tea for me late at night—

It turned out these kindnesses were not privileges exclusive to me, but merely his practiced acting.

Enough.

Tomorrow, I leave. Completely.

That night, I was already in bed when William came home.

In five years of marriage, we had never slept in separate rooms; even when we fought, we reconciled in the same bed.

But this time, I couldn't stand his body heat.

He slipped under the covers, trying to hug me from behind, his breath fanning against the hollow of my neck.

"I missed you to death," he whispered. "Being apart for just a few hours felt like centuries. If you left me, I'd go mad."

"...Is that so?" I closed my eyes, my voice as light as smoke.

He kissed my shoulder. "By the way, regarding the vineyard—the lawyers said there's a property dispute. I'm already looking at another estate in Tuscany. We'll pick a new one together, alright?"

I smiled silently in the darkness, tears sliding into the pillow. "Whatever you say."

He seemed to sense my coldness and propped himself up. "Did I do something wrong?"

"No. Just tired." I took a deep breath, suppressing the lump in my throat. "Our anniversary is coming up. Tomorrow afternoon, I'm taking the private jet to Paris. I ordered a set of cufflinks for you there—I want to pick them up personally."

"You're pregnant, darling. That's a seven-hour flight. Let me send someone to get them."

I turned around, gazing at his silhouette in the dark. "No. It's my heartfelt gesture; I want to do it myself."

This struck his soft spot. "Alright. As long as you're happy, I'll allow it. I'll arrange the best crew."

The next morning, he kissed me before leaving for Wall Street.

The moment he stepped out the door, I handed him a sealed manila envelope.

"This is for you," I said softly. "But open it only after two days. It's a surprise."

Inside were two things:

My pregnancy check-up report,

And a USB drive containing every video and chat log Victoria had sent me.

When the news reached his ears—the news that my plane had crashed over the Atlantic—

He would open it.

He would know exactly what price his betrayal had exacted.

He would know that he had personally killed the woman who loved him with all her heart.

I wanted him to live in this hell for every second of his remaining life.

After he left, I took my simple luggage and headed to the private airfield.

Halfway there, my phone vibrated again.

A message from Victoria.

"He's at the Presidential Suite of the St. Regis. Don't miss the show."

I shouldn't have gone. I knew it was self-torture.

But I told the driver to turn around anyway.

It was the birthday party for their twins.

The elders of the Vanderbilt family, the core shareholders, all surrounded Victoria.

The waiters respectfully addressed her as "Mrs. Vanderbilt."

William did not correct them.

He simply smiled at her—that doting smile that once belonged only to me.

Even his notoriously picky mother was smiling. "Thanks to Victoria," the old lady said proudly, "the Vanderbilt bloodline continues."

"William, promise me you'll take good care of her."

He raised his champagne glass effortlessly. "When have I ever mistreated her? What Charlotte has, Victoria has more of."

The final string in my heart snapped completely.

The vows of eternal love now sounded like an absurd joke.

Everyone knew.

I was the only clown kept in the dark.

There was no need to look back.

And no possibility of forgiveness.

As I turned to leave, I took one last look at that glittering world.

He was laughing, his arm around her waist.

I whispered to myself, "Goodbye, William. See you in hell."

Three hours later, just as he was making the first cut into the birthday cake, his personal assistant stumbled into the room.

"Mr. Vanderbilt," the assistant's face was as white as paper. "Madam's plane—

The radar signal vanished. Right over the high seas of the Atlantic.

Search and rescue says... chance of survival is zero."

William's champagne glass slipped from his fingers, shattering on the marble floor.

"What... did you just say?"