Chapter 5

The city lit up in neon as night fell.

At Pearce Pavilion, Amersol's most exclusive private club, Troy strolled out with one hand in his pocket and the other casually swinging a folder. His black dress shirt hung open at the collar, giving him a rakish, devil-may-care air. He looked every bit the playboy heir.

Samuel, waiting by the car, stepped forward quickly and greeted, "Mr. Pearce."

He had worked for Troy for seven years and could tell from his boss's expression that the deal was done.

Troy tossed the folder over without a word. Inside lay 25% of Washi Pharmaceuticals' equity.

"Starting today, Washi has a new name. Pearce," Troy drawled. His voice was light and laid-back, but the arrogance in his bones was unmistakable.

Samuel grinned. "When Mr. Nigel hears about this tomorrow, he's going to lose it. He's been eyeing Washi for over six months and couldn't get anywhere. But, Mr. Pearce… I thought you always avoided domestic pharma? What made you suddenly take an interest in Washi?"

Troy shot him a sidelong glance.

That one look sent a cold sweat down Samuel's back. He immediately lowered his head. "Apologies, sir. I overstepped."

He rushed forward to open the car door. Then, as if remembering something, he added, "Oh, Mr. Pearce, the arrangements at the hospital have been made. The surveillance and elevators on Ms. Songhurst's floor have been shut down. You can go straight in."

Troy had lived abroad for years. Every time he returned, he kept a low profile, stayed a few days, wrapped up business, and left. Without fail, he visited a woman in the hospital—one who had been in a coma.

Once, Samuel's curiosity had gotten the better of him. He had gathered his nerve and asked, "Mr. Pearce, who exactly is this Ms. Songhurst?"

Troy hadn't looked up from his documents. His answer had come light as air: "A fool."

Samuel had wanted to ask, "If she's a fool, why do you fly across the world every year just to see her?"

He hadn't dared to voice it, though.

Unexpectedly, Troy declined the visit today. "From now on… don't bother."

Samuel was stunned but didn't push. "Yes, sir. I'll take you straight to the hotel then."

Troy gave no reply. He slid into the back seat, leaned his head back, and closed his eyes. For a moment, the lines between his brows softened with a trace of weariness.

The car rolled forward. Streetlights flickered through the half-open window, casting patterns over the sharp planes of Troy's face.

Suddenly, he spoke. "Samuel, have someone clean up Miana Court. I'll be moving in tomorrow night."

Samuel's eyes widened with surprise and excitement. "You're finally staying!"

Troy lifted his eyelids slightly, looking out at the passing night. The yellowish glow of the streetlamps reminded him of the sunset at the airport seven years ago.

'Arya… it's been seven years.'

…

Arya lay in bed, listening to Neil's approaching footsteps. She had heard that sound too many times over the past five years in the hospital. At first, it brought hope. Then pain. Then hatred.

The door opened with a click.

Arya quickly rearranged her face, soft and gentle. "You're done with work?"

"Mm," Neil replied without emotion. He walked over and brushed her cheek tenderly. "Why aren't you asleep yet? Did I wake you?"

Arya's eyes caught the fresh lipstick stain on his white shirt collar. She didn't have to imagine it. She could picture Lindsay wrapped around him, purring like a kitten and pressing that very mark onto his skin.

"Be good," Neil whispered, leaning in for a goodnight kiss. "Close your eyes and rest."

Then Arya caught the scent of Lindsay's perfume lingering on him. He was about to kiss her with the same mouth he had just used on another woman.

"Urgh…" Arya couldn't hold back. Her stomach turned, and she shoved him away, dry heaving.

"What's wrong, Ary?" Neil sounded alarmed. "I'll call Dr. Tambling right now!"

He looked like the perfect, concerned husband—if Arya were blind enough to miss the cold indifference flashing in his eyes. She had to admit that his acting was flawless.

"No need, Neil," she murmured, calming herself and tugging gently on the corner of his shirt. "I think I'm just a little hungry. My stomach's upset."

That small gesture made Neil pause. It was something Arya had done often. Whenever he walked too fast and she couldn't keep up, she'd grab his shirt and pout. "Neil, wait for me…"

As he was lost in the memory, Neil's expression softened into a rare, genuine smile.

"I'll go cook you something warm," he said warmly.

That was exactly what Arya was waiting for. Her smile turned soft, almost coy. "Then… I want your pasta. The ones you make yourself."

He had made those only twice for her in their entire relationship.

"Okay," Neil agreed without hesitation and walked out of the room.

The second his footsteps faded, Arya sprang into action. She darted to the other nightstand and grabbed the phone Neil had casually tossed aside.

The phone lock required a six-digit password. She remembered it was the day he became chairman of the Niall Group.

Wrong.

Had he changed it? Arya bit her finger and tried the twins' birthday after some thought.

Wrong again.

Just then, a message popped up at the top of the screen.

Lindsay: [Tonight was the happiest birthday I've ever had, Mr. Hammond. Thank you for celebrating with me and the twins.]

There was even a heart emoji at the end.

'So that's why Lindsay and the kids were waiting downstairs at the hospital earlier,' she thought.

Neil had brought Arya's two children to celebrate Lindsay's birthday before coming to the hospital.

Arya shut her eyes tightly, chest heaving with cold fury. All those years, and he never once celebrated her birthday voluntarily. The only time he did, she begged his father to intervene.

Meanwhile, another woman received effortlessly the love, attention, and companionship she had begged for.

Arya's fingers hovered over the keypad. A thought struck her. 'Could it be…'

She typed in Lindsay's birthday, and the phone unlocked.

Arya stared at the screen and smiled bitterly.

"So this is how deep your love for her runs, Neil," she muttered.

She opened the chat messages.

Lindsay's chat was pinned at the top, while she—his legal wife—was nowhere to be found.

For five years, Neil had kept up appearances, visiting the hospital regularly like the perfect husband. In truth, he had already assumed she was dead.

Arya's stomach twisted. She scrolled through his contacts and found herself listed under her full name: Arya Songhurst.

She opened the chat with Lindsay. New photos had just arrived—snapshots from tonight's dinner.

In every picture, Lindsay was radiant, wearing a birthday crown, cradling Charlotte and Christopher as she beamed at the camera. Neil stood behind her, his expression soft and content.

To any outsider, they looked like a perfect family—a disgusting, picture-perfect family.

Arya scrolled up. There were no previous messages. Neil had cleaned the chat history. Of course. He always covered his tracks.

She forwarded the new photos to herself—proof delivered straight into her hands. Then she deleted all traces, marked the chat as unread, and placed the phone back where it had been.

As Arya lay down, her eyes landed on the wedding photo tucked in the corner. Her face was mostly obscured, but she remembered that moment clearly—how sweetly she had smiled and how empty Neil's eyes had been behind his grin.

He didn't love her. Maybe he never had. From beginning to end, she had been nothing more than a tool.

Arya reached up to wipe the tears at the corners of her eyes.

"Neil, I finally don't love you anymore," she whispered with a small, peaceful smile.