Chapter 5 Swapping Beams and Replacing Pillars

Emily's POV

A muffled thud came through the earpiece, followed by the harsh sound of fabric rubbing violently.

From experience, I instantly pictured the scene in the hallway—Bruce must have pinned Zara against the wall.

"You're quite the flirt, aren't you?" Bruce's breathing grew heavier, his tone laced with undisguised desire. "Don't you know Emily's position in the Howard family?"

Not only was Zara unafraid, she let out a seductive little gasp, as if leaning close to his ear: "What position does she have, Bruce? Is she like some pretty antique on display at home that no one's allowed to touch?"

Bruce let out a low, mocking laugh without denying it.

Then came a mess of footsteps and the sound of a door lock turning. They actually pushed open the door to the empty hospital room next to mine.

Just one wall away, Zara's giggling in his arms sounded like poisoned needles, densely piercing my eardrums.

I gripped the corner of the bedsheet tightly, my knuckles turning a ghastly white from the excessive force. I squeezed my eyes shut, desperately trying to suppress the rage churning in my chest.

Just then, my phone screen lit up on the sink.

It was an encrypted email from Douglas. As always, clean and efficient, no nonsense—just dozens of photos with timestamps and hotel records.

All the different women Bruce had taken to hotels over these eight years, crystal clear.

I scrolled through coldly, my gaze freezing on the earliest photo—from seven years ago.

In other words, out of our eight years together, only the first year had he loved me wholeheartedly.

I pulled my lips into a mocking smile, my eyes full of bleak self-ridicule. That year, we hadn't even officially gotten together yet. Maybe it was just because he hadn't completely manipulated me yet, so he was willing to put all his energy into pretending to be devoted.

My phone vibrated again. Douglas sent two more messages:

[This is all I could find. Can't dig up any solid evidence from before.]

[But I really admire you, Lily. You, the elite assassin with the keenest intuition in the entire organization, and yet you've been played for a fool for seven years... I guess that's what they mean when they say love is blind.]

I didn't reply, just silently turned off the screen.

My thoughts uncontrollably dragged me back to the past. How could I have been completely oblivious these eight years? The inexplicable perfume on his clothes, coming home late at night... It's just that before, I forced myself to believe that excuse about "men prioritizing their careers, socializing is unavoidable." Even Elizabeth always comforted me with the same words.

But I never imagined my unconditional trust would become Bruce's leverage to humiliate me so brazenly.

The sounds in the earpiece grew clearer.

"Bruce... faster, go faster..."

"Bruce, why couldn't I find Emily's resume when I went through the company's personnel files? Are you deliberately hiding her to prevent us from contacting each other privately?"

"Emily's different from you all." Bruce's voice carried the hoarseness of lust, yet he still had the nerve to say such things. "She's innocent, she needs protection."

"Bruce, you're so devoted... then just ravage me..."

Accompanied by the increasingly shameless sounds from next door, I stared deadly at that pale white wall.

Should I rush over, kick the door open, and just let everything explode? With my skills, within ten seconds, I could ruin them both, even make them bleed on the spot.

But I hesitated.

Not out of cowardice, but because that dull pain of shattered faith had nailed my legs in place. This agony of being stabbed in the back by someone so close was even a hundred times more intense than the hellish deprivation training I'd endured at the assassin camp years ago.

If I hadn't met Douglas, Bruce might have remained the perfect fiancé in my eyes forever.

But I was still clear-headed, cruelly mocking my own naivety—I'd rather painfully face the bloody truth than live like an idiot in false lies!

On one side was Elizabeth's kindness, on the other was that calm assassin deep inside me shouting—what's worth holding onto about a cheating scumbag?

I clutched my head in pain, until through the earpiece came Zara's increasingly brazen demands.

"Bruce, that 'Aurora' necklace you're planning to give Emily tonight, I want it too."

"Stop it." Bruce said breathlessly, "That's a testament to eight years of feelings. Have you been with me for eight years?"

"It may not be eight years, but I promise—every single day with me will leave you in absolute ecstasy..."

The earpiece fell into about half a minute of silence.

"You're a killer little flirt."

"Stop it, don't change the subject. Are you going to give it to me or not?" Zara wheedled. "How about this? You give it to Emily tonight as planned, coax her not to wear it. Then tomorrow you secretly take it out and give it to me, and swap in an identical fake for her. How's that?"

Hearing that triumphant tone in her voice through the earpiece, my stomach churned again.

"Such an expensive gift—she definitely won't bear to wear it anyway. What a waste just sitting there. Why not let me carry that meaning, let me feel your 'love' for Emily too?"

This time, Bruce didn't immediately object.

I knew him too well. After eight years together, this kind of silence made him feel tempted.

I closed my eyes in pain, wanting to rip off that disgusting earpiece. I raised my hand several times, but it fell back down limply in the end, like my dead eight years of youth.

I used to think I was absolutely decisive, born to be an assassin. When I watched dramatic TV shows before and saw the female lead discover her man cheating but still couldn't bring herself to leave immediately, I always thought it was insulting to intelligence.

But when I faced the same situation myself, I finally understood that bone-deep pain simply couldn't be calculated with reason.

My eyes stung, and when I reached up to touch them, my fingertips were stained with warm tears.

I couldn't even remember the last time I'd cried. Maybe it was ten years ago, when someone broke my ribs in that underground illegal boxing ring.

Just then, my phone's urgent ringtone abruptly shattered the deathly silence in the hospital room.

I glanced at the caller ID—it was Daniel Wilson, a colleague from the design department.

I took a deep breath, wiped away my tears, cleared my throat, and answered the call.

As soon as I picked up, his voice came through, so excited it was distorted: "Emily! We won! The advertising campaign you designed for our company won first place at the Art Directors Club Annual Design Awards! Not only that, the committee said this campaign will be included in global graphic design textbooks!"

"Emily, you're amazing! Just like you said, only when your heart is full of love can you create work that moves people so much!"

"Oh, and Emily, the committee just emailed saying the ad campaign needs an official name. Didn't you instruct before that if we won, you wanted to name it after Mr. Howard? I've already filled in Mr. Howard's name and submitted it to the committee!"

My heart jolted violently, and I quickly interrupted him: "Wait! You already submitted it?!"

"Yeah, I submitted it to the system half an hour ago. What's wrong, Emily?" Daniel sounded confused. "From your tone..."