Chapter 1 The Man Behind the Lie

Eric ended the call.

When he turned around and saw me lying on the couch in the dark, his whole body went still.

For a split second, shock flashed across his eyes. Then, almost immediately, it disappeared beneath his usual calm composure.

He strode toward me, his voice carrying a trace of tension. "Aimee? Why didn't you turn on the lights? When did you get back?"

I did not answer. I only lifted my head and stared at him with an empty gaze.

This was the face I had loved for ten years.

But now, all I could see was a mask.

The longer I stared, the more uncomfortable he became. He reached out, wanting to touch my face, but I flinched away as if his hand had burned me.

His hand froze awkwardly in midair.

"What's wrong?" he asked, frowning. A hint of blame crept into his voice. "Are you upset about something again? I've been dealing with company issues all day. I'm exhausted."

My heart felt as if it had been seized and crushed.

He had personally planned the staged accident that made me watch the biological parents I had searched for my entire life "die" right in front of me.

And now he was telling me he was exhausted.

With trembling hands, I lifted the death report in front of him. Every word felt like it had been scraped out of my throat.

"Eric," I whispered, "my parents are dead."

He looked at the report.

For a moment, I caught a flicker of relief in his eyes. Then he sighed and pulled me into his arms.

His embrace had once been my safe place. Now, it felt like a cold cage.

"I know you're hurting, Aimee," he murmured, patting my back gently.

His voice was so tender that it was almost impossible to connect him to the monster I had just overheard. "Don't be afraid. You still have me."

He held me tighter. "I'll marry you and take care of you for the rest of your life. You'll never be alone again."

'The rest of my life?' I mused.

I lay against his shoulder and laughed silently, but tears poured down my face and soaked through his shirt.

He thought I was crying from grief, so he continued to comfort me. "Don't cry. The dead can't come back."

Then he added, "You've always been weak. What if you make yourself sick from crying?"

I never imagined that the one obsession I had carried for more than twenty years—finding my biological parents—had been destroyed by him again and again.

He had given me hope five times, only to crush it each time.

This time, he had gone even further. He made them "die" in front of me so I would lose every reason to keep looking.

He did all of this out of fear that the Hart family might take me back and that I would take their love away from Isabelle.

I pulled myself out of his arms and stood unsteadily. "Eric, I'm tired. I want to rest."

He looked at my pale face and swollen eyes, then nodded. "Okay. I'll help you upstairs. I already asked Mrs. Collins to make you some calming tea."

That was how he had always been.

In the small details of everyday life, he took care of me so well that it was almost impossible not to be moved.

He supported everything I wanted to do, even my work restoring old paintings, a career the upper-class circles quietly looked down on.

That was why I had always believed we loved each other.

I never realized that his kindness was just a way to keep me close. And all of it was ultimately to protect Isabelle.

I let him support me as we walked up the stairs, step by step.

He settled me into bed, tucked the blanket around me, and spoke gently. "Be good and sleep. Don't think about anything. Everything will be better tomorrow."

I closed my eyes.

A moment later, I felt his light kiss fall on my forehead.

The door closed softly behind him, and the room sank into silence.

My eyes snapped open. Tears slid silently across my entire face. 'Eric, there is no tomorrow for us. Our world ended the moment you chose to plan that death.'