Chapter 3

William's Bentley pulled up downstairs at the apartment precisely at five in the afternoon. Eleanor, dressed in a deep blue evening gown, came downstairs and was about to open the passenger door when she saw a meticulously made-up face—Sasha.

She was holding a colorful milkshake, sitting in the passenger seat, greeting Eleanor with a look of utter innocence. "I have severe claustrophobia, Mrs. Vance. I can't breathe if I sit in the back. Could I trouble you to sit in the back today?"

Catching the fleeting look of provocation in Sasha's eyes, Eleanor lowered her gaze. In her peripheral vision, she glimpsed a tacky pink crystal ornament on the dashboard. It was a unicorn, with an inscription carved beneath it: "Princess Sasha's Exclusive Throne!"

Seeing Eleanor standing motionless by the door, William knew she was unhappy again. He rolled down the window and spoke slowly and methodically, "Sasha has never been to this kind of high-end gala, so I'm taking her to see the world. Her constitution is sensitive, so just humor her this time."

Humor Sasha? Fine. Eleanor didn't even want William the person anymore; would she care about a passenger seat?

She gave a light scoff, opened the rear door, and got in.

On the way to the gala venue, Sasha wanted water one moment and macarons the next. She even held a pastry between her fingers and fed it to William's lips. The two flirted as if no one else was present, completely disregarding Eleanor in the back seat.

They chatted about the latest fashion trends, discussed where to vacation next week, and enjoyed her occasional coquettish whining; the smile on William's face never ceased.

Eleanor didn't look at them once from start to finish. She put on her noise-canceling headphones, watching the retreating streetscape of Manhattan through the window, her heart completely unmoved.

Upon arriving at the venue, after walking only a few steps, Sasha complained that her sky-high heels were chafing her feet. William laughed, calling her delicate, but still had the driver bring the car around to nearby Madison Avenue.

He personally selected a pair of flat ballet shoes for her and even helped her try them on. Eleanor watched him kneel on one knee, checking if the shoes were comfortable with the solicitude of a knight, and suddenly remembered the time she had twisted her ankle at a construction site until it swelled like a bun. When she asked him to pick her up, he had refused on the grounds that he was "in a meeting."

She thought, the muse held in the palm of his hand indeed deserved better treatment. It was just, had he forgotten that she, too, was once his muse?

Back then, Eleanor hadn't intended to accept William's pursuit. She deliberately made things difficult for him, telling him she would only consider giving him a chance if he could learn to draw a perfect structural diagram within a week.

That was an almost impossible task for him, given his weak foundation at the time.

Yet, he really locked himself in the studio for seven full days, emerging with stubble on his face, holding that drawing which, though immature, was accurate.

Later, Eleanor had wondered countless times: since William's persistence back then wasn't fake, why did his heart change so thoroughly?

In hindsight, it wasn't that he changed. It was just that she had never seen his true nature clearly, never realized that to his bones, he was someone who needed constant novelty to fill the void. No one can make a prodigal truly return.

Eleanor smiled self-mockingly and, without waiting for William and Sasha, walked into the banquet hall alone. It wasn't until the auction segment began that they arrived, late.

The gala provided exquisite French cuisine. As soon as Sasha sat down and saw the lobster on her plate, she pouted, saying she couldn't peel it.

William shook his head helplessly and spread her napkin for her. Then, refusing the waiter's service, he began to peel the lobster meat with his own hands, placing it onto the plate in front of her.

Watching him be so gentlemanly and considerate, Sasha's eyes shimmered with the light of victory.

Eleanor quietly cut the steak on her own plate. After Sasha finished eating, she pointed casually at a postmodern architectural model being auctioned. William immediately raised his paddle.

"Bidder number 8 offers five million dollars!"

This price far exceeded the value of the model itself. No one wanted to contend with this lunatic; a whisper ran through the room.

Soon, the event moved into the social cocktail hour. Many peers in the architectural world walked over to William's table, hoping to curry favor with the heir of the Vance family. Seeing him dote on Sasha so much, they began to flatter her, some even mistakenly addressing her as "Mrs. Vance."

William glanced at Eleanor and corrected them nonchalantly, "You've got the wrong person. The one drinking over there is my wife."

The guests instantly fell silent, their expressions awkward. They hurriedly corrected themselves, their eyes darting between the three of them.

Eleanor said nothing, ignoring the looks of surprise and sympathy cast her way. They weren't wrong to call Sasha Mrs. Vance—Eleanor soon wouldn't be, and judging by William's infatuation with Sasha, he would likely marry her immediately after the divorce.

Halfway through the cocktail party, Eleanor wasn't interested in the remaining lots. After winning two out-of-print design manuscripts, she left early. Just as she reached the cloakroom, Sasha's cloyingly sweet voice came from behind her.

"Mrs. Vance, can we talk?" she asked.

Eleanor stopped, turned around, her coat in hand. "I don't think we have any common language—"

Before she could finish, she saw Sasha raise a hand. Immediately after, the other woman slapped her ruthlessly across the face.