Chapter 3

Caroline's POV

The next morning, when I walked into the breakfast room of the townhouse, I found only two place settings at the table.

"Where's Theo?" I asked, my eyes settling on the empty chair that should have belonged to my son.

Adrian looked up from behind The Wall Street Journal, as if I'd asked something strange. "At school."

He handed me a bank card that gleamed metallic in the sunlight. "There's a million dollars on it. We're having dinner at home tonight—go buy some appropriate clothes."

One million dollars. I stared at the card, calculating how many jobs I'd need to work to save that much money.

"When does he come home?" I took the bank card.

"Weekends." Adrian buried his head back in the newspaper, his tone matter-of-fact. "St. Paul's Academy has strict boarding requirements for children from prominent families. It's tradition."

Tradition. I repeated the word silently, feeling its weight.

"He's only six years old."

"I went when I was six too." Adrian put down the paper and looked at me with confusion. "Caroline, these are the rules of our circle. Theo must learn independence—it's required for an heir."

I nodded and put the bank card in my wallet. I understood. In the Cole family, even family bonds served "tradition."

That afternoon, I stood in the fitting room at Bergdorf Goodman on Fifth Avenue, staring at myself in the mirror. The million-dollar bank card was in my purse, but my hands were trembling.

Not from excitement, but from memory.

Three years ago, right after the divorce, I worked as a waitress at a small restaurant in Queens. Twelve hours a day, my feet so swollen they wouldn't fit in my shoes. Some customers would deliberately touch me when I bent over to clear tables. I could only grit my teeth and endure it because I needed those meager tips.

Later I drove for Uber, thinking it would be better. Until one night, a drunk passenger tried to grope me. I kicked him where it hurt most, then got reported for "poor service attitude" and lost that job too.

I remembered those nights in the shared Brooklyn apartment, eating ninety-nine-cent ramen, staring at my three-digit bank balance. When my car broke down and needed a hundred-dollar repair, I even considered borrowing money from former colleagues.

Those were the days when reality ground down my self-respect.

I took a conservative Armani suit from the rack—the price tag read three thousand dollars. To me now, it was just a number. To me three years ago, it was two months' rent.

In the end, I only bought that suit and some basic skincare products. Pragmatism won over pride—the first lesson poverty taught me.

Back in the mansion bedroom, I stood before the mirror getting ready. Looking at my properly dressed reflection, memory suddenly pulled me back to college.

I remembered that girl in the vintage dress who "accidentally" met Adrian in the library.

The truth was, I'd researched his schedule and knew he studied in that quiet corner every Tuesday afternoon. I spent a month's living expenses on that dress, all for one "chance" encounter.

From high school through college, I pursued Adrian for three years until he finally noticed me. We dated, fell in love, married—everything went according to my plan. I thought I'd "passively gotten my wish," thought the fairy tale was beginning.

In those newlywed days, I woke up every morning with an unreal sense of happiness. Living in this dreamlike house with servants, drivers, unlimited credit. I felt like the luckiest woman in the world.

Until reality slapped me hard.

I practiced smiling in the mirror—that perfect social smile. Not too warm, not too cold, just the right amount of gratitude.

"You can do this, Caroline," I told my reflection. "It's just one evening."

At dusk, we drove to the Cole family's Georgian estate in Connecticut. As the black Rolls-Royce passed through those familiar iron gates, my stomach began to clench.

Adrian's mother Victoria Cole stood waiting at the entrance, behind her the brilliant crystal chandelier and blazing fireplace. She looked exactly the same as three years ago—perfect silver-gray chignon, expensive Chanel suit, and those blue eyes that always held judgment.

"Caroline," her voice was cold and polite. "Welcome back."

I noticed Harper was there too. Of course—she was Adrian's adopted sister, the girl Victoria had taken from an orphanage. She wore a simple black dress and looked flawless.

"It's been a while. I trust you understand your place this time, Caroline," Victoria said in front of everyone, her tone like scolding a disobedient servant.

Three years ago, I might have argued back or at least blushed. But now I just smiled and replied: "Of course, Mrs. Cole. I'm very grateful for this opportunity."

I saw Adrian frown, seemingly aware of his mother's deliberate humiliation. But when he saw my submissive response, he didn't know what to say.

In the antique dining room, silverware glinted coldly in the candlelight. I maintained elegant silence throughout, nodding and smiling at appropriate moments like a perfect supporting character.

When Harper proactively cut Adrian's steak, I showed no reaction. Watching her delicate hands display intimacy before him, I felt nothing inside.

"What a thoughtful girl," Victoria looked at Harper approvingly. "Always so considerate."

I raised my wine glass, my voice calm and elegant: "To family tradition."

The harmonious atmosphere at the table made Adrian uneasy—I could feel his frequent glances. But I didn't respond. Three years of hardship taught me how to hide emotions, how to maintain dignity in the worst situations.

After dinner, Victoria led me to the second-floor guest room hallway.

"Caroline, you know how to take care of Harper—she's your sister too, right?" She pointed to Harper's room. "I trust you won't mind preparing the guest room for her."

I nodded. "No problem at all."

"Remember, your current life depends entirely on my son. You should make sacrifices for him." With that, she left.

While tidying Harper's room, I found a men's belt in the bedside drawer. I recognized the brand, the style—Adrian's birthday gift from three years ago, one I'd personally chosen.

When Adrian appeared in the doorway, I was arranging the bedsheets.

"I didn't know Mom would have you do these things," his voice carried apology.

I didn't stop what I was doing. "It's completely fine. I understand my role here."

"You've changed," he said suddenly, angrily. "Too much."

Changed? Maybe.

I remembered that afternoon three years ago when I found Harper organizing his personal items in his office. She was booking our anniversary dinner reservation. When I questioned Adrian, he said impatiently: "She's efficient, unlike some people who make everything about feelings."

That was the first time I realized that in this marriage, I was nothing more than dispensable decoration.

"I already told you Harper is just my sister. She grew up in an orphanage and suffered a lot. Why can't you understand?"

"I do understand. That's why when you asked me to come home, I came back."

"And I didn't kick Harper out either."

"You weren't like this before. You're just jealous and angry," he argued.

I said wearily, "Isn't this what you wanted?"

"What if I said I'm sleeping in this room tonight?" His voice was probing, more like testing something.

"Fine, I'll get you another pillow." Without hesitation, I turned to fetch one.

"I said I'm sleeping in this room with Harper tonight," he raised his voice.

I nodded calmly, about to speak when—bang!—his fist slammed hard into the doorframe, the sound echoing sharply in the quiet hallway.

"Caroline!" I looked directly into his eyes. "Do you want another divorce?"

Victoria rushed over at the commotion and pulled him away.

How strange. I used to be arrogant and domineering, but now that I'd become the perfect wife, he couldn't accept it either.