Chapter 3

Ivy

The reception was held in a banquet hall near the church.

It was a building facing the ocean, the interior filled with wedding bouquets and champagne towers. Waiters wove through the crowd carrying trays laden with hors d'oeuvres and champagne flutes.

I was swept along the corridor by the bridesmaids, some helping with my train, others clearing a path ahead. Jane, walking in front, exchanged occasional words with Chloe, glancing back at me from time to time and tossing a few remarks my way.

People were everywhere, all smiling as if celebrating something momentous. But none of it had anything to do with me. I was just Vivian's stand-in, a fraud who could be exposed at any moment.

Finally, we arrived at a dressing room. Someone pulled open the heavy door to reveal a replacement dress already prepared inside—a pale blue gown hanging on a floor-length rack beside the mirror.

Several stylists helped unfasten the wedding dress. I let out a breath of relief. The gown, with its layers upon layers of fabric, was beautiful but unbearably heavy, and walking in it with high heels had been torture.

"Please step outside," I said, waving them away.

I needed a moment alone to breathe.

The stylists filed out, followed by the bridesmaids. Chloe paused before leaving, her lips parting as if to say something, but in the end she said nothing and pulled the door shut behind her.

I stepped out of the wedding dress and picked up the pale blue gown the stylists had prepared, slipping it on and adjusting it in front of the mirror. I smoothed my hair back into place.

Voices drifted in from outside.

The dressing room's soundproofing wasn't great—I could only catch fragments.

"...awfully quiet today."

That was Jane's voice.

Another unfamiliar voice responded: "...nervous, probably? After all... that Sinclair..."

"...you believe it? ...say she's... over Robert... already?"

Robert again.

Of course. Vivian had eloped for Robert—their bond ran deep. Her friends must have known about it. Yet they chose this moment, this occasion, to gossip about it...

What would Vivian herself think if she were here?

Then again, what business was it of mine?

Vivian knew these people. She might feel hurt by their words. But the one who married Sebastian Sinclair wasn't Vivian—it was me, the substitute.

Perhaps they'd already guessed something but didn't dare confront it directly.

"Seriously? At this occasion?" Chloe's impatient voice suddenly cut through the whispers outside.

Then silence.

I faced the mirror, drawing in a deep breath and slowly releasing it.

I'd taken on many assignments before, played many roles, tried on countless identities for the sake of a mission. An assassin didn't need to consider right or wrong—just focus on execution.

This time was different. Playing the part wasn't enough.

I had to become someone else.

My chest felt tight.

Killing was simpler. The moment you pulled the trigger, all you had to consider was that this was a target and you needed to complete the assignment.

But "becoming" someone required thinking—who am I? What should I do? Why do it this way?

Looking at it that way, had I truly gained freedom, or had I simply jumped from one cage into another?

I stood to leave, and just then the door opened. Sebastian Sinclair stood outside. He'd changed into a dark gray suit. The hallway beyond was empty—the bridesmaids must have returned to the reception hall.

"May I come in?"

He was looking for me?

I nodded and returned to my seat.

Or perhaps it was just coincidence—maybe he was simply passing by.

He pulled the door shut behind him.

"They said you were here."

Oh. He had been looking for me.

His gaze moved from my face to the dress, then back again.

"That dress suits you very well."

He was observing.

This made me even more uneasy.

I'd rather he seemed more indifferent than watch me this way.

Not being noticed was always safer than being constantly scrutinized.

Sebastian settled into the chair across from me, his posture more relaxed than during the ceremony. He seemed to remember something, reached into his suit pocket, and withdrew a small box, placing it on the coffee table and sliding it toward me.

I didn't reach for it.

His stare made my cheeks feel warm—I wasn't sure if it was from heat. Surely not another ring? We'd already exchanged wedding bands during the ceremony. Some kind of family heirloom, perhaps?

He opened the box himself.

Inside was a pair of earrings.

Platinum settings, inlaid with blue diamonds, the facets so finely cut they refracted an elegant blue light under the lamps—nothing like the earrings Margaret had given me this morning. The price must have been considerable.

I knew both the Sinclair and Clairmont families held seats at the Round Table, but I hadn't realized they were this wealthy.

The payment Vivian had offered me was already substantial, but compared to this...

If only these could be mine.

"My grandmother left these. She instructed me to give them to my future wife," he said.

"Future wife," not "you."

Was he reciting lines, or did he always speak this way?

Red flag!

For all I knew, he'd said these words to every matchmaking prospect.

I reached up to remove the earrings Margaret had given me that morning. He stood, took one of the blue diamond earrings from the box, and moved to my side.

His fingers brushed lightly against my earlobe as he leaned in close. I could almost smell the cologne on him.

Very warm.

He was fastening the blue diamond earring for me.

After securing one, he moved to the other side.

I sat perfectly still, watching him in the mirror. His head was lowered, his expression focused.

I couldn't help wondering—what would he do if he knew the person sitting here wasn't Vivian?

Sebastian leaned closer, his lips nearly grazing my ear as he said softly, "You look beautiful today. Just... a bit nervous."

Too close.

I resisted the urge to pull away, merely turning my head slightly to the side.

"The wedding was somewhat elaborate," I said.

"Was it?" He straightened, looking at me through the mirror, the corner of his mouth moving in what could have been a smile or something else entirely.

Dangerous.

Then he said, "You seem... different from what I expected."

My heart skipped a beat.

Did he know what Vivian looked like?

No—photos and real life always differed. It was normal for people to find their partners looked different at weddings than they'd imagined. He was probably just making conversation.

I instinctively gripped my dress, then quickly relaxed my hands.

Right. He hadn't noticed.

Probably.

"People change," I said, forcing my mouth into a smile.

He looked as though he was considering what to say next.

"I heard you're quite fond of hunting?"

Margaret had mentioned this morning that she used to take Vivian hunting when she was younger. Looking at Vivian's own social media, there were indeed a couple of posts mentioning past trips to hunting grounds. Was he searching for common ground?

"Just a way to relax," I said, trying to keep my tone casual. "Only during hunting season."

Margaret hadn't specified what they used to hunt. Generally, it would be legally permitted game birds or deer, most likely the former, since the latter required days of tracking and hiking.

He looked me over but didn't press further.

"Let's go," he said, standing and walking to the door. He pulled it open and stepped aside to let me pass first.

---

The reception hall was more crowded than before.

A band played smooth jazz in the corner. Sebastian walked ahead of me, pausing whenever someone approached to greet us, introducing me to them. Occasionally, when we encountered someone connected to the Clairmont family, I made the introductions instead. Fortunately, the information Vivian had provided last night was detailed enough.

Most people simply nodded politely; a few exchanged pleasantries with me. In this setting, authenticity probably didn't matter. What mattered was the face and the surname.

We reached the bar, where Willow appeared, now wearing a deep green gown and holding a champagne flute. She glanced first at Sebastian, then turned to me.

"Vivian, congratulations."

Her tone was different from this morning. When she'd said "let go of the past" earlier, her voice had been particularly cold. Now it was softer. Was it because Sebastian was present?

"Thank you."

She smiled at me, then walked away with her glass.

I had no time to consider whether her congratulations were sincere—there were simply too many guests here. Oh, another couple was approaching.

Sebastian walked over to speak with a silver-haired man, beside whom stood a silver-haired woman.

"Vivian," Sebastian said as I approached, turning to present me. "The Hastings—this is Michael and Cordelia."

Michael Hastings. First Seat of the Round Table, one of the founding members who'd established the "Rules" years ago. I'd seen his name in the files but never found a photograph. Lane had mentioned that few founding members remained—the Hastings were among them.

"Sebastian," he extended his hand, shaking Sebastian's before turning to me. "Lovely ceremony. Cordelia is quite taken with the floral arrangements you chose."

The woman beside him, Cordelia, smiled at me. "Vivian, your mother was just looking for you."

"I'll find her shortly," I said.

Hastings' gaze returned to me.

"Your mother mentioned you to me before. I remember you loved equestrian sports as a child. Is the stable still running?"

Vivian had posted photos from the stable on Instagram just last week. I remembered that post.

"Yes, it is."

"Come visit the estate sometime," he said. "Cordelia's horse has been acting up lately. She needs a good rider."

It didn't sound like an invitation—more like I had no choice but to accept.

"All right," I agreed.

Cordelia spoke then, looking at her husband before smiling at us. "Don't listen to Michael. My horse is just getting older and a bit temperamental."

She glanced at Michael again. He didn't respond. My palms were sweating.

Don't overthink it. This is just small talk.

"You're newlyweds—rest well. Come visit after you've settled in."

With that, Cordelia took Michael's arm and they disappeared into the crowd.

I watched their backs fade into the throng. Sebastian stood beside me. I looked up at him—he didn't seem tense at all.

"Michael rarely attends weddings," he said.

The reception continued. Sebastian beckoned a waiter, took two champagne flutes from the tray, and handed one to me.

"A drink?"

I accepted the glass.

He raised his, clinking it gently against mine.

I took a sip. The champagne was crisp and refreshing, the sweetness perfectly balanced with effervescence.

"Many people are watching," he said, looking at me. He paused. "But you did very well today."

I finished the champagne in my glass and involuntarily looked at him again. My cheeks felt warm—perhaps from the alcohol. I couldn't tell.

I rarely drank. During missions, alcohol could lead to mistakes, and mistakes usually meant death. But today, in this setting, not drinking would have been more suspicious.

One glass shouldn't cause problems.

By the time the reception ended, it was nearly eight o'clock. The sky had darkened considerably. The terrace outside the hall was illuminated by warm lighting, where some guests still lingered in conversation as the sea breeze swept past.

A car waited by the curb. The driver opened the door. I bent to enter, and Sebastian climbed in from the other side. The interior was quiet.

He loosened his tie and leaned back against the seat, turning his head to look at me. "How do you feel?"

"Fine. It's been a long day."

"Don't pay too much attention to what people say. They're just curious." His tone was casual, as if speaking to someone familiar. This allowed me to relax slightly, even though we'd known each other for less than a day.

The car drove for about twenty minutes before passing through the wrought-iron gates. Through the window, I could see a villa. We got out.

Sebastian walked ahead, draping his jacket over the sofa and moving to the island counter. A vase of fresh-cut flowers sat on top.

"The master bedroom is upstairs on the left," he said. "Go ahead and rest."

He didn't follow.

I wished him good night and headed upstairs.

The stairs were carpeted in a dark color. I found the door on the left side of the hallway and pushed it open. I changed out of the dress and into sleepwear, then sat on the edge of the bed for a while.

Silence.

No sound from downstairs. I lay down, facing the ceiling. The lamp on the nightstand was still lit.

What would newlyweds do?

At the thought, my heart beat a little faster. I'd had too much to drink tonight. I wasn't sure what would happen next or how I should react. Vivian hadn't briefed me on this part at all—it wasn't something I could control.

Nervous.

More nervous than facing the Hastings.

I pulled the blanket up a bit.

Footsteps sounded from downstairs, gradually climbing the stairs, drawing closer.

Sebastian had changed into dark sleepwear. He walked directly to the other side of the bed, pulled back the covers, and lay down.

I froze completely, not daring to move.

Did I need to do something?

After a long while, I finally exhaled in relief.

He didn't move closer.

Thank goodness!

Nothing happened!

I turned over, facing away from his side. I stared at the lamp still glowing on the nightstand.

I hadn't expected that gaining a Round Table-sanctioned identity would happen this way.

Under normal circumstances, I could only hope to work for a specific Round Table family, betting all my abilities and loyalty on them, slaving away for decades, only to most likely end up with no identity at all. The reason was simple—the Round Table needed these identity-less "assets" manufactured by the "Factory."

Thinking about this wedding now...

I'd saved for years, completed dozens of assignments, and still didn't have a fraction of what I needed for my ransom. Yet a fake wedding solved everything.

Lane must have calculated this step all along. But what was he really after?

Not that I had any choice.

If I'd refused Vivian back then and watched the Clairmont family fall while the Round Table's power structure shifted, what could I have done?

Return to the "Factory" and keep grinding?

Saving enough for ransom would take over a decade, and whether I'd even survive that long in this line of work was questionable.

As for defecting?

The Earth was only so big, identity documents were required everywhere, and getting proper documentation without the "Factory" was impossible. Besides, there was a category of high-value bounties among intermediaries specifically for hunting down "assets" attempting to flee—rewards high enough to tempt any professional. You'd have people eyeing your head wherever you went, unless you were exceptionally hard to kill.

Of course, there were lucky ones who survived fifty years until retirement, but in our line of work, early death was the norm—either during missions or while being hunted down... Saving money was actually more reliable than waiting out the years. At least before dying, you could check your account and know exactly how far you were from freedom.

Thinking of it this way, I was at least fortunate.

I reached over and turned off the lamp.

Come to think of it, my equipment was still at the Clairmont estate—especially that SIG SAUER P230 in Vivian's room, and that capsule filled with poison...

I'd need to find time to go back and dispose of them.