Chapter 1

Prologue

To clear his precious first love, Chloe, my husband committed perjury on the witness stand.

He had no idea his lie cost my father his life.

Under his relentless pressure, I signed the settlement waiver. At the same time, I signed an agreement to fake my death.

In thirty days, I would vanish from this world completely.

When Chloe wore my clothes, moved into my bedroom, and forced me to put on a maid's uniform, I just smiled and took the clothes.

Shield her all you want, Ethan.

When the news of my death breaks, I can't wait to see if you can still proclaim her innocence with a clear conscience.

Harper’s POV

"Ms. Harper, here is your customized plan to fake your death."

Inside the car, the man in the passenger seat handed me an agreement.

"Ms. Harper, please confirm the details."

"In thirty days, when the plan goes into effect, we will execute it using a homicide scenario. Irreversible evidence of death will be left at the scene. Once signed, Harper will cease to exist in New York."

Outside the tinted window, blinding camera flashes lit up the courthouse steps.

Dozens of mainstream media outlets pointed their lenses at the doors.

Ethan stood tall in a tailored suit, draping his wool overcoat around the shoulders of the woman beside him.

Chloe’s eyes were red, and Ethan used one arm to shield her from the flashing lenses, his face cold and resolute.

The car's dashboard screen streamed the live audio from the steps with zero delay.

"Mr. Vance, as the key witness in this case, you testified under oath that Ms. Chloe was with you the entire evening. Does this completely clear her of the charges regarding negligent freezing death?"

Ethan faced the microphones, his gaze steady, his voice crisp:

"Chloe was with me in the banquet hall from beginning to end. She never set foot in the back kitchen's walk-in freezer. She is completely innocent. The Vance Group will exhaust all legal resources to hold the rumor mongers accountable."

Inside the car, flashes of light refracted through the rain, washing over my pale face.

Rumor monger.

The vicious slanderer he spoke of was his legal wife of three years.

And the innocent woman he cradled in his arms was the real killer who had locked my father in a deep-freeze locker all night.

"Ms. Harper?" the contact beside me prompted softly.

I pulled my gaze back, fighting down the burning rage clawing at my chest.

Looking down, I pulled another document from my purse—the one Ethan had shoved at me in the lounge an hour ago.

He wanted me to sign a settlement waiver, forgiving the killer.

His cold voice still echoed in my ears:

"If you don't sign, your father's body will be processed as unclaimed and sent straight to the incinerator."

"Chloe took a blow for me a year ago. I owe her my life. I have to protect her, even if it means going against you."

I closed my eyes for a second. When I opened them, I had a pen in hand.

It was the fountain pen Ethan had held my hand with three years ago on our wedding day, using it to write our vows. It was his token of love.

Now, with that very pen, I signed both documents.

The first was the Settlement Waiver. Signature: Harper.

The second was the Entrusted Protocol for Staged Death. Principal: Harper. Countdown: Thirty days.

I tossed the pen out the window into the rain.

"The deposit has been wired from my private account. It’s my lawful share of marital assets, more than enough to cover your final balance."

I handed the agreement back, my voice completely flat. "Make the scene look real in thirty days. Don't let him find any flaws."

The man took the papers and handed me a pristine burner phone. "As you wish. We move in thirty days sharp."

I pushed open the car door, popped an ordinary black umbrella, and stepped into the freezing downpour.

I turned back to look at that man one last time.

On the courthouse steps, Ethan was already escorting Chloe into the back seat of his Maybach.

The sleek black vehicle roared past me, splashing dirty puddle water across the cuffs of my pants.

My phone buzzed in my pocket.

A text from Ethan:

"Chloe was terrified by the reporters and has a fever. I'm taking her home to rest. I'll make the guarantee call to the morgue later. Be reasonable. Stop throwing tantrums."

The morgue's cremation cutoff was three o'clock sharp.

Standing in the rain, I glanced down at my watch: 2:45 PM.

By regulation, once a criminal case closed, family members had until 3:00 PM to pay the deposit and provide a release guarantee.

Otherwise, the body was automatically swept into the daily 3:00 PM batch of unclaimed public cremations.

Once rolled into the furnace, the ashes were sealed directly into the communal vault wall. Families couldn't even retrieve an urn.

From the courthouse to the city morgue, the drive took at least forty minutes in this downpour.

Without Ethan’s guaranteed call to put a hold on the system, only fifteen minutes remained before the automated incinerator locked in.

He knew the rules. Yet, for Chloe, he shoved my father into the abyss.

I curled my lips into a bitter smirk, permanently deleted the message, and blocked his number.

I walked to the curb and hailed a yellow cab.

"City morgue, please."

I knew I wouldn't make it.

But as his daughter, I had to be there to witness the cold, bitter end.

Tires sliced through standing water, merging into the crawling traffic.

The cab pulled up to the morgue gates.

The clock read 3:20 PM.

Twenty minutes too late.