Chapter 7

Ivy

Life hadn't changed much since that day at the shooting range.

Sebastian's daily routine was remarkably regular. He'd have breakfast around seven in the morning, then handle some business matters, and would leave the house no later than nine. When he'd return in the evening was anyone's guess. The day before yesterday, he'd mentioned he'd be late—I'd stayed up past midnight and he still hadn't come home. These past two days, though, he'd been back for dinner. Perhaps he'd finished whatever had been keeping him out.

Right now, at this very moment, I sat in the living room scrolling through my phone, my finger swiping across the screen as I went through those names again. After the wedding, I'd received quite a few messages—whether from close friends or distant acquaintances, they were mostly faces I'd seen at the reception that day. The words were remarkably similar, variations on "congratulations" and "let's get together soon." I'd picked out the ones from particularly close contacts and replied with "thank you," leaving the rest untouched.

Jane, as always, kept sending Vivian memes and funny short videos. She hadn't stopped even after the wedding, as if that whispered conversation that day had never happened. And Chloe... was unusually quiet.

Her chat window had stopped at the night before the wedding. She'd sent a "Ready?" and Vivian had replied with an emoji—a cat curled into a ball with its paws over its head, indicating she was nervous as hell. The timestamp was right before Vivian had called me over.

Nothing since then.

I scrolled through their previous chat history. Chloe and Vivian had talked almost every day. Sometimes arranging to meet up, sometimes sharing gossip, sometimes just exchanging emojis and emoticons, teasing each other.

Several days without talking?

That wasn't normal.

When Marta came over with tea, she glanced at me and set the cup on the coffee table within easy reach, saying nothing.

After these past few days of careful observation, I could confirm several things.

First, Margaret had told Marta about my being a substitute. When I'd first realized this, I'd been quite nervous. Fortunately, Margaret hadn't sent her to gather evidence against me, but rather to help me more convincingly play the role of "Vivian."

Second, Margaret wouldn't expose me in public. This made sense—she'd tacitly accepted my existence as a substitute at the wedding. If she chose to expose me, the Clairmont family's reputation would collapse, and the Sinclair family would demand accountability.

Marta was helping me simply because Margaret had instructed her to. And Margaret had sent her largely because Vivian had run away now, and I needed to maintain the substitution until Vivian chose to return on her own. During this period, my being alive had utility value for the Clairmont family.

I picked up the teacup and took a sip.

A notification chimed from my phone.

I glanced down at the screen. In the notification bar lay a message from an unfamiliar ID—the ID was automatically generated gibberish by the app, and Vivian had only given it the note "R."

I looked at the message preview.

"You haven't replied to me yet. Tomorrow at the latest."

I scrolled up through the chat history. The chat log was blank—it appeared Vivian had cleared all the records, either before she left or perhaps she'd had a habit of regularly deleting them. This message had just arrived.

R?

Who was this now? I didn't reply immediately.

I exited the messaging app and opened the email.

If Vivian had cleared the chat records, the scope of her cleanup shouldn't be limited to just one app. If she'd prepared thoroughly enough, she should have wiped all traces from the phone—after all, this was the tool she'd left for me, her substitute. There shouldn't be anything in it that could make others suspicious.

But she'd left too hastily. Time had been limited. She might not have cleaned everything.

I clicked into the inbox and scrolled down. Most were subscription emails, brand promotions, bank notifications—Vivian's daily emails were more numerous than I'd imagined. She'd even subscribed to monthly magazines from several luxury design brands.

I continued scrolling.

Down to the day before the wedding.

This one.

The sender's email address was also a string of gibberish, and this address had also been noted by Vivian as "R."

I opened the email. The body was blank, with an encrypted file attached. The preview showed no content.

I remembered that when I'd been going through Vivian's notes a few days ago, there'd been one titled "Key" containing a string of characters. I'd thought at the time she'd randomly saved some password, but now it seemed it might be for this.

I downloaded the attachment, dropped it into a decryption tool, and entered the Key.

Decryption successful.

The body contained only one line:

"Parting is such sweet sorrow, that I shall say good night till it be morrow."

—R

Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet, Act 2, Scene 2—the words Juliet says to Romeo when parting. Did these two need to be this archaic in their romance?

This R was definitely Robert.

The question was: did he know Vivian had already planned to run away?

Looking at that recent message, he was still waiting for her reply. Probably didn't know about Vivian's plan yet. Could he not have seen Vivian?

Wait!

By normal logic, if he didn't know where Vivian was, he should be asking "where are you" or doing something more extreme, showing up at the door. Unless...

He'd already seen Vivian in person and knew the phone wasn't in her hands!

Was he testing me?

Regardless of the sender's purpose, both this email and that message couldn't be kept—they had to be deleted. If Sebastian's people discovered this message, Vivian would be branded with the crime of infidelity, and then it would all be over anyway.

I deleted both the attachment and the email, even checked the recycle bin, cleaning everything thoroughly. I also checked the phone's location settings and other privacy features, confirming they were turned off.

Only then did I relax, placing the phone face-down on the coffee table.

I picked up the teacup. The temperature was just right.

The doorbell rang. Marta went to answer it. I heard her exchange a few words with someone in the foyer, then footsteps—lighter than Marta's, sounding like Willow's voice.

I looked up. It was indeed her.

Willow wore a sharp black suit, glasses perched on her nose, carrying a briefcase. Her gaze swept across the living room first, spotted me sitting on the sofa, then she walked in.

"Mrs. Sinclair, sorry to disturb you."

"What is it?"

"I left a document behind when I was here yesterday. Mr. Sinclair needs it. I came to retrieve it."

She walked to the coffee table without sitting down. Her eyes moved from the sofa to the floor-to-ceiling windows, then to the staircase leading to the second floor, finally returning to my face.

"Are you home alone?"

"Marta's in the kitchen."

"Oh..." Willow nodded slightly, glancing at the staircase again.

My heart started pounding. Her timing was too delicate.

I'd just finished deleting Vivian and Robert's records minutes ago, and she'd appeared, claiming to retrieve documents. The coincidence seemed too convenient. Especially considering her work involved information management, this kind of coincidence in a mission typically meant being monitored.

"Actually," she said, her tone lighter than before, "it's not entirely about retrieving the document. Mr. Sinclair asked me to inform you of something."

I held the teacup, watching her.

"What is it?" I asked.

"Starting next week, I'll be assisting you with family affairs. Mr. Sinclair's thinking is that you've just arrived, and you're not familiar with people on the Sinclair side yet. Some occasions require someone to accompany you."

"Accompany me?"

"You can think of it as an assistant, or a secretary." She reached over to set her briefcase aside. "For occasions you attend, I'll filter the guest list for you first. People you need to know, I'll provide you with their information in advance. Places it's inconvenient to go, I'll decline for you."

She paused.

"Affairs on the Sinclair family side are complicated. Many relationships can't be sorted out just by meeting and greeting. Some people are friends, some only look like friends. You've just arrived. Having someone familiar with the situation by your side will save you a lot of trouble."

What she said wasn't wrong.

Assistant? Or monitor?

Probably both.

But I had no way to refuse. A wife who'd just married into a wealthy family refusing the assistant her husband sent? That itself would be suspicious.

"Sure," I said, trying to make my tone sound light, "having someone along is always reassuring."

Willow stood by the coffee table, not rushing upstairs to get the document.

"There's one more thing."

She paused.

I felt a sharp pain in my stomach.

Something bad was definitely about to happen.

"At the wedding, I heard some things. About your... ex. I hope you've already moved on."

Robert.

I set down the teacup.

She moved closer to me, lowering her voice. The distance between us was unusually close—I could almost feel her breath.

"Perhaps you don't trust me that much," she said, "but I'll still remind you—the Round Table has many eyes. Be careful in all things."

She straightened up, restoring normal distance.

"I'll go get the document. You just sit."

She turned and went upstairs. Her footsteps paused at the top of the stairs, then came the sound of her pushing open a door—probably the study. I sat on the sofa without moving. She stayed upstairs for just a few minutes. When she came down, she carried a document folder. As she left, she nodded at me, said nothing more, and walked straight to the foyer.

Only then did I set down the now-cold tea.

The phone notification sounded again.

Chloe had finally sent a message.

Chloe: You've been really strange lately.

I stared at that line for several seconds. How would Vivian respond? Would she admit it? Or would she play dumb? Based on the impression from the chat history—Vivian never pretended with close friends. She'd either say directly "Yes, I'm annoyed" or send a string of emojis to brush it off.

Except when facing Chloe.

I typed several words—"Really? How am I strange?"—unsuitable. Deleted it. Typed several emojis—didn't look right either. Deleted again. Finally I sent this:

Vivian: Strange how?

Chloe: You didn't say anything at the reception. I thought you were just nervous. Now you're not even sending memes!

Chloe: You haven't chatted with me in days!

Vivian: I really haven't been in the mood to send those lately.

Vivian: Besides, you haven't messaged me either, have you?

Chloe: Is it because of the wedding?

Vivian: Yes.

Vivian: I don't know anyone on Sebastian's side. Every day I'm just trying to adapt.

Chloe: You know that's not what I'm talking about.

Chloe: What you said that night—you haven't forgotten, have you?

The night before the wedding?

What had Vivian told her?

Chloe: Seriously, what did Robert do?

Chloe: To actually make you choose to marry Sebastian

Chloe: Did that bastard cheat? Or did he do something to hurt you?

Now I understood. Chloe thought Vivian had been hurt by Robert, which was why she'd chosen to marry Sebastian. But the truth was, Vivian had run away because of Robert, and I was the one who'd married Sebastian. I didn't know what Vivian had told Chloe the night before the wedding. Clearly she hadn't revealed her escape plan to Chloe.

Obviously! I couldn't not reply to her, but I also couldn't admit I wasn't Vivian. Forcing together an explanation would be easily discovered.

How should I respond?

Vivian: It's too complicated. Let's meet up in a few days and talk then!

Send.