Chapter 2

"Yes, I regret it," I said, staring straight at him. "I want a divorce, Lawrence Peterson."

Lawrence blinked, caught off guard for half a second. Then a harsh sneer broke across his face.

"Is this another one of your pathetic games?" he taunted. "You honestly think if you bring up divorce, I'm going to beg you to stay?"

I didn't answer. I simply reached into the drawer, pulled out the divorce papers I had already signed two years ago, and set them on the desk.

Lawrence stared at me for a few long seconds. His jaw clenched tight.

He grabbed the pen, snapped off the cap, and aggressively slapped his signature onto the bottom line.

"Let's see how long you can keep up this act," he growled, slamming the pen down. "When this falls through, don't dream for a second that I'll ever take you back."

He spun on his heel and marched toward the door.

"Don't forget," I called out to his back. "We're going to the registry office to finalize it in three days."

He paused in the doorway. "Fine," he snapped, his voice icy, before slamming the door shut behind him.

I couldn't blame Lawrence for thinking I was bluffing. In his mind, I was hopelessly, desperately in love with him.

He truly believed I was capable of drugging him just to force him to the altar.

I let out a tired sigh and turned to shut the door completely.

That was when I noticed a small tube of burn ointment lying on the hardwood floor. He must have dropped it just now.

He always did this.

He would torture me relentlessly, and then throw me a tiny crumb of warmth, making me believe I could somehow melt his heart.

Not anymore.

I picked up the tube and tossed it straight into the trash.

---

I woke up in the middle of the night, cold sweat dampening my hair. I had dreamt of the day I first saw Lawrence Peterson.

He had been standing on the lawn, staring passionately at my twin sister as she ran through the sunlight.

The burning love in his eyes had filled me with intense envy.

Vivian Hall and I had shared more than just identical faces. We had shared emotions, physical sensations, even desires.

When she fell in love with Lawrence Peterson, I tasted that same sweet, overwhelming sensation.

When he held her in his hands like a precious gemstone, I drowned in that illusion of happiness, too.

So the very first time I laid eyes on Lawrence, I fell for him like a moth to a flame. I naively believed that one day, he might love me with that same fiery devotion.

Now I knew how wrong I was.

---

The next morning, I stood in front of the mirror and skillfully transformed myself into my dead sister.

Looking at my own reflection, the lines blurred. I couldn't even tell if I was Clara Hall or Vivian Hall anymore.

"Come here and eat breakfast," Lawrence said from the dining room table, not bothering to look up from his phone.

Halfway through the meal, dark red hives flared up across my skin, looking hideous and raw.

Lawrence noticed, but he didn't care. Instead, he scooped another spoonful of seafood onto my plate.

"This was Vivian's favorite," he commanded, his voice cold and unyielding. "Stop acting so fragile and swallow it."

Clara Hall and Vivian Hall were polar opposites in every way that mattered.

Vivian loved spicy food, I preferred light dishes.

The fruits and seafood she adored triggered severe allergic reactions in me.

Yet ever since I married into the Peterson family, every single meal was prepared strictly according to Vivian's tastes.

I remembered one afternoon when Lawrence ordered the cook to make a table full of extra-spicy dishes, forcing me to clean every plate.

That night, acute gastroenteritis hit me. I collapsed onto the floor, trembling violently from the agonizing stomach cramps.

I had grabbed the hem of Lawrence’s pants, weeping and begging him to take me to the hospital.

He had merely looked down at me with utter indifference. "If you want to be Mrs. Peterson, you'll endure the pain."

After breakfast, Lawrence left for the office without another word.

It wasn't until late at night that my phone rang.

A stranger's voice informed me that Lawrence was wasted at a high-end club and needed someone to pick him up.

When I pushed open the VIP lounge door, Lawrence was wrapped around a scantily clad woman, kissing her deeply.

"Hey, Lawrence, your wife is here," one of his friends called out.

Lawrence whipped around and threw a hard punch straight into the man's face.

"Who the hell said she's my wife?" Lawrence roared, his eyes bloodshot. "My only wife is Vivian!"

The blow felt as if it had landed right on my own chest, shattering what was left of my heart.

I stepped forward and took his arm, trying to pull him away from the crowd.

Lawrence violently grabbed my wrist instead.

"Right, since you're walking away with nothing," Lawrence spat, a cruel smirk twisting his lips as he stared into my eyes, "let's count everything you owe me. Starting with the ring I bought you.”