Chapter 4: The Mask Slips

I should have known the Lin mansion's security was useless.

My stepmother Margaret had fired all of my father's old guards after he died and replaced them with cheap men who spent more time looking at their phones than at the cameras. In my past life, that was how Chloe was able to bring Arthur into my bedroom while I was still technically married. That was how they were able to take me away to the asylum without anyone stopping them.

I made a mental note. The first thing I would do after I secured the Sterling name was fire every single one of them.

Because at 11 PM, when I had just come back from Sterling Tower and was trying to take off this red dress that felt like armor, my bedroom door clicked open.

I froze.

"Vivian?"

Arthur's voice. Hoarse. Broken. Like he had been crying.

He slipped inside and closed the door behind him, locking it. He was still in his wrinkled tuxedo from this morning, his eyes red, his hair a mess. He looked like a man who had lost everything overnight. Which, thanks to me, he had.

My hand went instantly to the vanity drawer where I kept my father's old letter opener. Sharp enough to draw blood.

"What are you doing here?" I kept my voice low and cold. "Get out of my room."

"Vivian, please, you have to listen to me," he said, and he walked toward me, hands up like he was approaching a wounded animal. "I can explain everything. Everything at the party yesterday—"

"There is nothing to explain, Arthur. We are done."

"No! We are not done!" His voice cracked. He dropped to his knees. On his knees, right in front of me, tears actually spilling down his cheeks. If I didn't know him, I would have believed he was devastated.

"Vivian, someone framed me! Those documents are fake! You know me! Have I ever gambled in my life? Have I ever asked you for money? I love you! I have loved you since we were in college!"

It was such a good performance. So good that in my past life, I had fallen for it a hundred times. Every time I found a text from Chloe on his phone, every time he came home late smelling like perfume, he would do this exact thing. Kneel. Cry. Swear he loved me. And I, like a fool, would forgive him.

Not anymore.

"You love me?" I whispered.

"More than my life," he sobbed, reaching for my hands.

I stepped back before he could touch me. I walked to my desk, opened my laptop, and turned the screen toward him.

On it was a spreadsheet. And a dozen high-resolution photos.

"Then explain this, my love," I said sweetly.

His tears stopped.

"This is your account at the Venetian Macao. Forty-seven million in losses in the last eight months. Here is you, signing a marker at 3 AM. And here—" I clicked to the next photo. "Here is you last month, begging Mr. Chen from the underground bank for an extension. You offered him my mother's jewelry as collateral. My dead mother's jewelry that you stole from my safe."

Arthur's face went from pale to grey.

"And this," I continued, my voice shaking not with sadness but with pure, icy rage I had held in for a lifetime, "is a recording from the bank. You called them pretending to be my father. You forged his voice, his signature, to steal twenty million. Do you want me to play it for you? For the police?"

He stood up slowly. The tears were gone. Just like that, like someone had wiped them off. The heartbroken fiancé vanished.

"Where did you get these?" he said, his voice now flat and cold. The real Arthur.

"Does it matter?" I laughed. "Did you really think I was still the idiot who would believe any lie you fed me? For three years in my last life — I mean, for three years I thought you were a good man! I defended you to everyone! And all along you were laughing at me with my sister!"

"Your sister loves me!" he shouted suddenly, his mask finally, completely shattering. "She is ten times the woman you will ever be! At least she knows how to please a man, not just lie there like a dead fish frigid bitch!"

There it was. The truth. The man who watched me burn.

"And you think Julian Sterling will want you?" He sneered, stepping closer, trying to intimidate me with his height. "Everyone knows he's a cripple! A freak who will never stand! He'll get bored of you in a week and throw you out! You humiliated me in front of the whole city, Vivian! You ruined my reputation! You will regret this!"

He grabbed my arm, his fingers digging in so hard I knew there would be bruises. "You think you can cancel me? I made you! Without me, you are nothing! Just a fat, unwanted heiress no one wants!"

I didn't scream. I didn't cry.

I looked down at his hand on my arm, and I remembered the leather straps on the asylum bed. I remembered the fire eating my skin while he locked the door.

Slowly, I reached into my jewelry box with my free hand and took out the engagement ring. The three-carat diamond he had bought with my father's stolen money.

"I forgot to give this back to you," I said calmly.

And I threw it straight into his face.

It hit his cheek, hard. He yelped, clutching his face, a thin line of blood appearing where the diamond cut him.

"Get out," I said, my voice like a knife. "Get out of my house before I call the police and have them drag you out for trespassing and assault. And Arthur? If you ever come near me again, I will not just ruin your reputation. I will send you to prison where you belong."

He stared at me, his hand on his bleeding cheek, his eyes full of pure, murderous hatred.

"You will pay for this, Vivian Lin. I swear you will pay."

He unlocked my door and slammed it so hard the walls shook.

The second he was gone, my legs gave out. I collapsed onto the floor, clutching my bruised arm, breathing hard. My whole body was trembling with adrenaline.

A soft knock came from the balcony door.

I nearly jumped out of my skin.

The balcony door was open. And leaning against the frame, in his wheelchair in the dark, was Julian Sterling.

How long had he been there?

He was in a black shirt and black trousers, his face half in shadow, his black eyes fixed on me. There was no surprise on his face. He had heard everything.

"You didn't call for help," he said quietly.

"I didn't need help," I said, trying to stand, trying to keep some dignity while sitting on the floor in a red dress, shaking.

"You let him grab you."

"I handled it." I lifted my chin. "I don't need you to fight every battle for me, Mr. Sterling. I told you not to control my revenge."

He was silent for a long moment. Then he wheeled himself forward, into my room, without asking. He stopped right in front of me and looked down at my arm, at the red finger marks already blooming into purple.

His jaw tightened. A dangerous, dark emotion flashed in his eyes that I had never seen before.

"I promised not to interfere," he said, his voice low and dangerous. "So I didn't. Even when I wanted to break his hands for touching you."

My breath caught.

"But Vivian," he reached out, and with a gentleness that completely contradicted his words, he took my bruised wrist in his large, warm hand. His thumb brushed over the marks lightly. "Tomorrow, you will be my wife. My wife does not get bruised. Understand?"

His touch sent a shiver through my entire body that had nothing to do with fear.

"Why were you here?" I whispered. "How did you get onto my balcony?"

He looked at me, and that almost-smile was back.

"I came to tell my future wife that I don't like people who threaten what is mine," he said. "And to show you that your security is shit. I got past them in under two minutes."

Despite everything, despite the pain in my arm and the terror still in my veins, I let out a watery laugh.

"Goodnight, Vivian," he said, releasing my hand and wheeling himself back toward the balcony. "Lock your balcony door. And put some ice on that bruise. I want you looking perfect for our wedding photos tomorrow."

And then he was gone, disappearing into the night like he had never been there at all.

Only the faint scent of his cologne — cold pine and smoke — and the warmth on my wrist proved he was real.

I sat on the floor for a long time, holding my wrist where both men had touched me. One had left a bruise. The other had left a promise.

Tomorrow, I would become Mrs. Sterling.

And Arthur Vance would finally learn what regret really felt like.