Chapter 2

I took a deep breath, walked to my desk, and opened my laptop.

On a blank document, I typed five words:

Divorce Agreement.

It was simple. I wanted nothing.

None of the things he gave me over the last three years—not the penthouse, not the cars, not the money. I was leaving with nothing.

I would only take my own pre-marriage savings and a few of my clothes.

I printed it out.

The two sheets of paper felt heavy, as if they had drained all the energy from my body.

I placed the agreement on the coffee table in the living room, weighing it down with his crystal ashtray.

Then, I packed my bags.

One small suitcase was enough to fit my entire life.

By the time I was done, it was past midnight.

The rain showed no signs of stopping.

Suddenly, the front door clicked.

Liam was back.

He took off his wet coat and hung it up.

He brought the chill of the rainy night and a faint scent of alcohol with him, but his eyes were sharp and sober.

He walked into the living room, noticing the lights were on.

Then, he saw me. And he saw the document sitting on the table.

He froze. His gaze locked onto the bold words: Divorce Agreement.

The air in the room turned to ice.

A few seconds of dead silence passed.

He looked up at me, his brow furrowing into a tight line. "What is this?"

His voice was lower than usual.

I stood by the couch, squeezing the hem of my sweater, trying to keep my voice steady and empty of emotion.

"Divorce papers. I've signed them. There’s no property to split. I’m waiving alimony. Once you sign, we can file the paperwork."

He looked at the papers again, then back at me, as if he were seeing me for the very first time.

The corner of his mouth curved into a cold, mocking smirk.

"What? Not enough money? Or are you just tired of playing the good wife after three years?"

That smirk felt like a knife twisting in my chest.

I looked up, meeting his eyes.

In three years, I had rarely looked at him so directly, without hiding.

He was handsome. He had deep brown eyes and long lashes. When he didn't speak, he looked incredibly intense.

"Liam," I said, my voice trembling slightly, though I tried to control it. "Our marriage was just a deal from the start, wasn't it? You needed funding, and I needed an excuse to escape my father."

"Now, you’re successful. You don’t need my money anymore. And I..." I choked up, my throat tightening. "I’m tired."

He took two steps closer, his tall frame instantly towering over me.

His scent—a mix of cold rain, tobacco, and expensive whiskey—filled my senses.

"Tired?"

He repeated the word, his eyes cutting through me like blades, trying to rip open my calm facade.

"Clara, have I ever mistreated you in these three years? The food, the clothes, the lifestyle—didn’t I give you the absolute best? Your greedy father practically begs for my business now. No one in your family dares to look down on you anymore!"

His questions pounded against my ears.

Yes, he had given me luxury. He had given me status.

But that wasn't what I wanted.

I looked at his face, so close to mine. Over the last three years in the corporate world, his boyish charm had faded, replaced by sharp, cold angles.

The lamplight cast a shadow across his straight nose.

Suddenly, three years of suppressed pain, anger, and grief boiled over. I couldn't stop myself.

I let out a bitter laugh that felt more like a sob.

"Yes, you gave me a lot, Liam. But everything you gave me—including this angry, accusing look on your face..."

I stared directly into his deep brown eyes.

Word by word, I forced out the brutal truth.

"Isn’t it all because my face looks a little bit like your perfect ex? The one you lost, the sister you couldn’t have?"

The moment the words left my mouth, the room fell dead silent.

Only the sound of the rain outside filled the space.

Liam’s face froze.

His expression was incredibly complex—shock, disbelief, confusion.

And for a split second... a flicker of panic, like a man whose deepest, darkest secret had just been exposed.

It happened so fast I thought I imagined it.

He stared at me, his throat moving as he swallowed hard, trying to speak but failing.

His eyes, usually cold and unreadable, were swirling with intense emotions.

Time dragged on, each second feeling like an eternity.

I expected him to explode, or to laugh coldly and admit it. But instead, he closed his eyes tightly.

When he opened them again, they were red.

He spoke, his voice incredibly hoarse, shaking with a desperate pain I had never heard before.

"Clara... tell me..."

"When you married me..." He paused, as if it took every ounce of his strength to ask the question that had haunted him for three years. "Was it because my face looks just like your dead first love?!"

It felt like a bolt of lightning had struck me. My entire body went rigid, and the blood in my veins turned to ice.

Then, my heart hammered violently against my ribs, making my head spin.

What... what did he just say?

My dead first love?

Who?

Him?

This was absurd! Completely insane!

I opened my mouth, but my throat felt like it was being squeezed by an invisible hand. I couldn't make a sound.

I could only watch Liam. I saw the raw, destructive pain and the desperate need for answers in his bloodshot eyes.

My chest throbbed.

Memories I had locked away—memories of another person—flooded back, smelling of rain and blood.

Ethan Carter.

That name, along with his bright, lazy smile, hadn't been mentioned in front of me for years.

He died five years ago on a rainy night just like this, in a horrific car crash.

But... Ethan and Liam?

For the first time, I actually looked at Liam’s face.

Those deep brown eyes, the straight nose, even the slight curve of his lips when he frowned...

No, it couldn’t be!

Ethan was warm, passionate, and bright, like a flame that would never go out.

Liam was cold, dark, and silent, like a deep, frozen lake.

They were completely different people!

"...What nonsense are you talking about?"

I finally found my voice. It was cracked and trembling with disbelief.

"First love? Did you spy on me?"

Liam stared at me, his gaze so sharp it felt like he was peeling back my skin to see my ugliest secrets.

He let out a self-deprecating, painful laugh.

"Spy on you? Clara, did I even need to?"

He stepped closer, his shadow completely swallowing me. The pressure made it hard to breathe.

"Ethan Carter."

He said the name clearly. It felt like a bullet hitting the softest part of my heart.

"The star student of the Art Institute. He was a year ahead of you. Your little college romance was quite famous, wasn’t it?"

His voice was low, each word forced through his teeth.

"He loved wearing white shirts. He used to tuck a pencil behind his ear when he painted. And he had a tiny brown mole right under his right eye."

My breath caught. My body went cold.

How did he know that?

Even Vivian didn't know those details!