5

David’s POV

Five Years Later.

I am a ghost, trapped in a cycle of regret for one thousand eight hundred days. It’s hard to believe how fast time has slipped away.

How is Samantha? How is my child? Where is she?

Those three questions never leave my mind.

"Daddy! Look! I drew a big ship!"

The door to my study swung open, and a four-year-old boy came running in with a piece of paper in his hand. Leo.

My hardened expression instantly softened. I knelt down, letting the boy collide with my legs. I lifted him up, kissing the top of his head which still smelled of baby soap. Leo has large eyes, and every time I look at him, I search for a trace of Samantha in them, even though I know it’s impossible.

"That’s great, Champ. Who is this ship for?"

"For Daddy! So Daddy can come home early and play soccer with me!" Leo laughed, his tiny hands patting my cheeks.

"I promise. Once this work is done, we’ll play in the park, okay?"

I sat Leo down on the large sofa in the corner of the room, giving him some drawing books to keep him occupied. Looking at Leo is my only solace. I endure this charade for him. I want him to grow up with the honorable Miller name, even if his mother is the woman I hate most on this earth.

The door opened again. This time, a cloyingly strong scent of perfume entered first.

Erica sauntered in wearing a skin-tight designer dress, her face painted with heavy makeup that couldn't quite hide the lines of anxiety in her eyes. The moment I saw her, my jaw tightened. The warmth I had just shown Leo evaporated instantly.

"Leo, sweetie... go outside for a bit. I need to talk to your beloved Daddy," Erica said in a saccharine, forced tone.

Leo looked at me as if asking for permission. I gave a small nod. "Go with your nanny, Leo. Daddy will be out soon."

As soon as the door closed and we were alone, the atmosphere in the room turned suffocating. Erica tried to approach, her hand reaching for my shoulder, but I sidestepped her with a cold, obvious movement.

"What is it, Erica? I’m busy. Didn't Noah give you your monthly allowance yesterday?" My eyes returned to the computer screen.

"David, how much longer are you going to act like this? It’s been five years! We live in the same house, we have a child together, yet you treat me worse than your servants! You’ve touched me thousands of times, are you really still going to pretend you hate me?!" Erica began to wail, her shrill voice filling the room.

"We have nothing, Erica. You have my money, you have my name for your status, and Leo has my protection. That was our agreement five years ago," I replied without looking up. "Do not ask for more than I can give."

"I am your wife, David! In the eyes of the law and the public, I am Mrs. Miller!"

"Only because I needed to save the company’s reputation back then, not because I wanted you," I snapped, glaring at her until she took a step back. "Never forget how you entered this house, Erica. You came through the door of betrayal."

“Betrayal? Still hiding behind those words when you’re the lead actor in why we’re together. Samantha is probably out there being a slut by now—let it go, David! Your life has only gotten better with me. Look at how many new investors have come in. They’re all clearly impressed by my wit and how I complement you!"

I lost my patience and slammed my fist onto the desk.

“What do you want now?! Don't you ever bring Samantha into your mouth! I am held hostage by your threats that you think can make me kneel to you! You know it’s all in vain, Erica!”

Erica gave a lopsided smirk, then approached me and stroked my face gently.

“I only came here to tell you I need a yacht for a party with my friends. We’ll be under the media spotlight for 24 hours, so I want you to have that ready, darling.”

“Fine, get out. I’ll arrange it. I’ll call you later.”

I turned my gaze back to the computer, and Erica planted a hollow kiss on my lips.

She sauntered out as if she were full of love. In truth, not once since we married have I shown her an ounce of affection. She truly has me trapped with that one threat.

I tried to keep my rage from boiling over, but I couldn't. I lasted maybe five minutes. Bastard.

I hurled a glass at the door to vent my anger just as Noah rushed in. The glass nearly hit him; luckily, his reflexes were fast enough to dodge.

“My apologies, Mr. Miller!” Noah exclaimed, sounding panicked.

“Fuck! What is it?” I asked.

Noah placed a stack of documents on my desk, but he didn't leave immediately. There was something different about his demeanor today. He looked hesitant, his hands trembling slightly as he straightened the files.

"Anything else?" I asked, turning to face him with a sharp look.

"It’s... about the Annual Fashion Gala in Paris next month. The marketing team is insisting you attend since we are the primary tech sponsor for their runways this year."

"I have no interest in models walking like robots, Noah. Cancel it."

"But, sir... there’s one thing. The agency that won the lead contract this year is Prime Vision. Mr. Perett’s agency."

That name made my jaw lock. Brian Perett. My cousin and rival who always wanted to be number one in the Miller bloodline. The loser who couldn't expand his career beyond being, I don’t know—his job was more like being a glorified pimp.

"Brian’s crawled back to the surface after five years of hiding in a rat hole? Didn't his agency have major scandals for the last two years?"

"Yes, sir. And what’s interesting is their lead model. She’s being hailed as the new 'Ice Queen' of the fashion industry. No one knows her real name; she only goes by the stage name Samara. She never does interviews, never attends parties, and is extremely selective about who she works with."

Noah hesitated for a moment, then pulled an international edition magazine from his folder. He placed it on the desk, right in front of my eyes.

"I think... you need to see this."

My heart gave a painful, thudding jolt.

On the cover of that magazine, a woman stood against a backdrop of dark cliffs. Her blonde hair, once long, was now cut short, sharp, and modern. She wore a black silk gown that clung perfectly to her slender yet strong-looking frame. Her skin was pale, contrasting with the blood-red lipstick on her lips.

"Samantha..."

I touched the surface of the magazine with trembling fingers. The shape of her face, her bone structure, even the tiny mole near her ear that was almost hidden by a diamond earring.

"It’s her, Noah. This is my Samantha."

"Her name is Samara, sir. Brian protects her fiercely. No journalist can get near her without going through Prime Vision’s wall of lawyers."

I didn't hear Noah's explanation. Anger and a passion that had long been extinguished exploded in my head.

She was there. For five years, she let me live in this madness. It stung to see that Samantha was actually doing just fine.

"Get the jet ready for Paris, now!" I ordered.

"But sir, your schedule today—"

"CANCEL EVERYTHING!" I roared, making Noah jump. "I don't give a damn about the world! That woman... she took half my soul and she thinks she can just glide down a runway as if I never existed?"