Chapter 3

At seven in the morning, I was still sitting in the same spot as the night before—by the floor-to-ceiling windows in the living room, clutching a cup of coffee that had long gone cold. The sunrise outside remained breathtakingly beautiful, but I wasn't in the mood to appreciate it.

I was waiting for an answer, any answer.

Maybe a phone call from Liam, an apology, an explanation. Maybe a surge of courage from deep within my heart, telling me what choice to make.

But there was nothing.

Only my phone screen suddenly lighting up with a message from Sophia:

[Chloe, did you see this interview? I think... you should know about it.]

I stared at the message, a sense of foreboding rising in my chest.

Below the link was the Architectural Digest logo, with the headline jumping out at me: "Building Dreams: Architect Eleanor Whitmore's Most Personal Project"

My hands began to shake.

Maybe the answer had come. Just not the kind I wanted.

I clicked through.

Eleanor's photo dominated the entire spread—standing on the familiar cliff edge, with this very villa as the backdrop. She wore a white blazer, her smile confident and elegant, as if announcing some indisputable fact.

"The work I'm most proud of is a Malibu cliffside villa," Eleanor said in the interview, "which I designed for... someone very special. Every detail carries our shared dreams and memories."

My breathing quickened.

"Seeing it perfectly realized is like watching love take physical form. This isn't just architecture—it's the physical expression of emotion," Eleanor continued. "I believe true designers put their souls into every inch of space."

The cup crashed to the floor, porcelain shattering everywhere.

The accompanying photos clearly showed design sketches, Eleanor's signature and date unmistakably there—two full years before my wedding date.

She was publicly declaring ownership... What was she treating me like? A thief occupying her position?

With shaking hands, I took screenshots and saved them, fury and humiliation washing over me like a tide.

I sat there in a daze for a long time, until my phone alarm reminded me—I had a designers' gathering this afternoon.

Usually I looked forward to these gatherings, networking with peers and showcasing work. But now...

I looked at my haggard reflection in the mirror. Maybe getting out would help me feel better. At least I wouldn't have to stay alone in this "Eleanor's house."

At three in the afternoon, inside a boutique café in Beverly Hills, Los Angeles's top designers were holding their monthly gathering.

I took a deep breath and pushed through the door, trying to appear nonchalant.

But I immediately sensed something off.

The previously animated conversations came to an abrupt halt, all eyes focusing on me.

"Isn't that the person living in Eleanor's designed house?" designer Amanda lowered her voice, but deliberately loud enough for me to hear.

"I heard Eleanor considers that villa her masterpiece," another designer, Michael, shook his head. "How embarrassing."

I steeled myself and walked toward their table, my five-month bump making my movements slightly awkward. "Hi, everyone."

"Chloe!" Amanda feigned surprise, though excitement flickered in her eyes. "We were just discussing Eleanor's interview. You saw it too, right?"

"Yes." I tried to remain composed, but could feel my face burning.

"Honestly, that house really is a masterpiece," Michael said bluntly, completely disregarding my feelings. "But you living in it... how does that feel? I mean, knowing it's really Eleanor's creation."

My face turned beet red, ringing in my ears. "That's my home. I'm Liam's wife."

Silence.

Then came more piercing whispers.

"But the inspiration and design are all Eleanor's," senior designer Patricia directly challenged. "What role do you... play exactly?"

I felt like I'd been slapped in the face.

"Honey, we all know you're very talented," Amanda offered fake comfort, but her eyes were full of condescending pity. "But that house... everyone knows it's Eleanor's creation. Like an artist's signature piece, you know?"

My blood boiled as I struggled to control my voice: "I'm not anyone's substitute!"

Everyone exchanged glances.

That look was all too familiar—full of pity, yet with cruel clarity.

Patricia chuckled softly: "Of course not, dear. It's just... some things are complicated, aren't they?"

Awkward silence enveloped the entire table.

I realized I'd been completely ostracized by the entire design community.

In their eyes, I was just some pitiful fool who didn't know her place, occupying someone else's position.

I hastily said my goodbyes and fled from that café full of malicious sympathy.

During the drive home, my phone kept ringing—friends wanting to "check on me" while fishing for more gossip. I rejected all the calls.

Back at the villa, I sat alone on the living room sofa—in this living room that Eleanor had designed.

Evening light streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows, illuminating my phone screen covered with countless screenshots.

The Architectural Digest interview, design drawings, Eleanor's signature, dated evidence...

I saved each one, backed up every single image.

Each photo reminded me: I'd been living in someone else's dream all along.

I caressed my five-month belly, feeling the little life's rhythm inside.

All this evidence, all these truths... Liam owed me an explanation.

I heard the click of the lock turning.

At ten PM, Liam pushed through the door, tiredly loosening his tie. He clearly froze when he saw me sitting on the sofa.

"You're still up? The doctor said you need adequate sleep." He tried to change the subject. "I'm going to take a shower..."

"Stop!" I stood up, holding my phone in front of me. "I need an explanation, Liam. About Eleanor, about this house, about our marriage."

Liam's expression immediately changed: "Chloe, it's already late. We'll talk tomorrow..."

"No! Right now!" My voice trembled but was surprisingly firm. "Why did you have Eleanor design our wedding home? Why can she say in magazines that this is her masterpiece? Why was the entire design community laughing at me today?"

"I don't want to discuss Eleanor." Liam's response was terrifyingly cold as he continued toward the stairs. "There's nothing to say about this."

I stared at him in shock: "So your solution is for me to hide? Not defend me? Not clarify the truth?"

"What's there to clarify?" Liam stopped but didn't turn around, his voice carrying suppressed irritation. "Eleanor did design this house. That's a fact."

My heart stopped beating for a moment.

"What about our marriage?" My voice trembled, tears streaming uncontrollably down my face. "What about our child? What exactly am I to you?"

"Don't bring everything into this!" Liam spun around sharply, a flash of unprecedented impatience in his eyes. "This is just a house!"

"Just a house?" I could hardly believe it. "Then why didn't you ever tell me the truth? Why did you let me be ridiculed by everyone like a fool?"

"I don't owe you a report on every detail!" Liam's voice rose, then immediately dropped as if forcing himself to stay rational. "Chloe, can you please stop being so... neurotic?"

"Neurotic?" My blood surged. "I discover our entire relationship has been built inside your ex-girlfriend's dream, and questioning that makes me neurotic?"

Liam's fists clenched, but he took a deep breath, trying to control himself: "I don't want to fight with you!"

"But I do!" I completely exploded. "Tell me, what does Eleanor really mean to you? Why is her word more important than my tears?"

Liam's face turned completely cold, a dangerous light flashing in his eyes, his voice low and terrifying:

"Don't push me... Chloe."

The air went still.

I felt like someone had punched me in the chest, barely able to breathe.

Looking at my husband's unfamiliar face, I realized for the first time: This man had never truly been mine.