Chapter 3

"Benedict rushed out to look for you, got into a car accident on the way. Is this the result you wanted?"

"I didn't—"

"You didn't what?" She bent down, her gaze pressing down like a stone blocking my throat. "You were jealous, so you chose today of all days to pull this running-away-from-home act!" She straightened, turning to the subordinates in the corner, her tone sharp as snapping a twig. "Take him back. Lock him in the dungeon. Let him think things over."

Lachlan moved, taking a step forward. "Sinclair—"

No gunshot sounded, but the gun was out. Rowan turned, the muzzle aimed at Lachlan, no extra movements, as if handling an inconsequential chore.

My heart plummeted.

Rowan Sinclair. No one in the entire city dared stand under her gun for more than a second. Whoever she said disappeared wouldn't even leave ashes the next day. Now that gun was pointed at Lachlan's chest, the muzzle steadier than her gaze.

Lachlan didn't retreat. Her gaze passed over Rowan, landing on me—Don't agree.

But I couldn't risk her life.

"Wait." I spoke, my voice steadier than expected. "I'll go back with you."

Lachlan's fist clenched, knuckles white, but she said nothing more.

Rowan holstered her gun, not even glancing at me again, and walked straight out of the room.

Several subordinates surrounded me—not to support, but in a restraining posture. They gripped my arms, dragged me out into the corridor, threw me into a car. When they shoved me into the dungeon cell, the force was so great my knees hit the stone floor. I caught myself with my hands to avoid falling flat.

The iron door closed, the light narrowed to a slit, then vanished.

I sat in the dark for a long time, my hand slowly pressing against my chest. The old injury from my past life ached faintly. I couldn't afford to get worse this time.

I don't know how long passed before sobbing came from the corridor.

Benedict's voice, soft, nasal, each sob perfectly measured.

"You shouldn't lock him up... It's my fault. I was too anxious and ran out alone, ended up in a car accident... It has nothing to do with brother..."

"It's not your fault." Rowan's voice was half a tone lower than in the hospital room. "It's his fault for causing a scene tonight."

Benedict sobbed, his voice lower, as if trying hard to defend me. "Brother was just panicked. He was afraid me coming back would threaten his position, but I wouldn't... How could I possibly take his woman, even if that woman... was supposed to be my fiancée..."

When the words "was supposed to be" came out, there was a slight tremble in his voice, perfectly placed.

Through the crack in the door, I saw Rowan pull Benedict into an embrace, her hand covering the back of his head, gently patting.

"I was originally supposed to marry you." Her voice was low, just loud enough for me to hear. "If it weren't for him finding a way to marry me, none of this would have happened. All these years you were outside alone, you suffered."

I dug my fingernails into my palm.

The pain was real, and so was the clarity.

Back then, Rowan was just the heir to a small, regional family, with a few smuggling routes, nothing on the larger criminal landscape. My parents looked down on her, thought Benedict wasn't suited for such a "bandit." Benedict himself thought she was poor, had no future, and secretly fled the marriage, cleanly, without a word. My parents' first reaction wasn't to chase him, nor to inform the other party, but to send me as a substitute—after all, we looked alike, she hadn't seen Benedict many times, and marrying someone like her was "putting me to good use."

I didn't resist. I had nowhere to go.

After marriage, she gradually changed. Sometimes she would hold me when I had nightmares, sometimes she would shield me when others mocked me. I thought that was real, thought we might have a real future.

In my past life, Rowan rose from a despised smuggler to a matriarch in three years. When the news spread, Benedict returned—with tears, with grievances, with a fabricated story, saying he was forced to leave by me, that I took advantage of his vulnerability to steal his place. My parents immediately stood behind him, their stories aligned, insisting I orchestrated everything.

And Rowan believed it. Or rather, she had been waiting for this person to return.

I thought she would stay, but what awaited me was betrayal, the illness left from saving her, and a despairing death.

I used the back of my hand to press against the corner of my eye, stifling the sobs in my throat, only tears leaking out.

The corridor fell silent for a moment. Rowan was about to let go when Benedict wrapped his arms around her neck, pressing a kiss to her lips. She froze for a second, her arms tightening. The two of them clung together.

I looked away.

After a long while, Benedict lowered his voice. "If... he really doesn't want to stay, if he has someone else outside... perhaps you could let him go, just divorce him directly."

"He loves me." Rowan's voice was flat, without inflection. "He couldn't have another woman."

"Then do you want to be with me..."

"Enough." She cut him off. "I'll decide this matter. For now, don't let him have a mental breakdown and cause trouble." As soon as the words left her mouth, hurried footsteps came from the corridor. A subordinate approached, whispering a few things. Rowan's footsteps quickly vanished down the hallway.

In the light, Benedict's face slowly changed.

That layer of gentleness peeled away inch by inch, revealing something cold and sharp beneath. The iron door creaked open. He walked straight in, used two fingers to grip my chin, forcing my face up. He looked down at me, examining—my face, identical to his own. Then he patted my cheek—the face exactly like his.

"Just because of this face, she still can't let go." He snorted, the second pat suddenly much harder. "Don't think you can hold on much longer. I have plenty of ways to make her kick you out."

From the shadows, Father and Mother emerged.

"Benedict, don't worry." Mother's voice was sickly sweet as she hooked her arm through his. Her gaze swept over me like looking at a broken old piece of furniture. "Placing all our hopes for so many years on a useless person brought nothing but shame to the family." Father nodded, not even bothering to look at me.

"Hang in there." Mother said softly. "Once you become Mr. Sinclair, no one in the world will dare cross us."

The laughter of the three of them spilled out. The corridor gradually sank into silence, like a stagnant pond.

My phone vibrated. An unknown number.

I answered. It was Lachlan's voice, low, clear. "I've learned the situation. I'll help you."

I closed my eyes for a moment.

Some things couldn't be repeated. The old injury from my past life was still there. I only had this one path left.

"I need to leave here," I said. "The sooner, the better."