Chapter 2

Seraphina's POV

The investigator delivered the results two days later.

A plain manila envelope containing typed dossiers and a stack of glossy photographs.

Chloe Taylor, twenty-one years old, breakout fashion model.

Three months ago, backstage at a designer runway show, a heavy lighting truss had suddenly collapsed. Julian had rushed in and pulled her out from beneath the falling steel.

Ever since that night, he had signed her as the primary brand ambassador for his luxury malls, showering her with magazine covers and brand sponsorships, filling her calendar to the brim.

Reading those words, a bitter laugh escaped my lips.

That was exactly how we had started.

Years ago in a photography studio, a heavy light stand had toppled over. Julian had thrown himself over me, taking the blow on his shoulder and leaving himself bruised and bleeding.

The exact same move. The exact same beginning.

I flipped through the photos attached to the file, studying them one by one.

Chloe’s brows, the subtle curve of her lips when she smiled—she looked seventy to eighty percent like me.

Even her habit of tilting her head slightly when posing was identical.

Julian didn't love me. He loved a specific blueprint.

Whoever fit that blueprint received his devotion.

I was just the first one who happened to show up. The moment another woman with that exact same face arrived, he could swap me out without hesitation.

All that talk of eternal devotion and unshakeable love had just been a lie I told myself.

I returned to our shared villa.

Everything inside looked unchanged.

The limited-edition film camera sat quietly on the bookshelf, its lens wiped spotless.

I pulled out the photo album tucked beneath the coffee table. Inside was the very first photo shoot we had worked on together. In the picture, I was crouching on the floor adjusting the aperture, and he was standing beside me, looking down at me with pure affection in his eyes.

I remembered the day he placed that camera on the shelf. He had hugged me from behind and whispered that this was where our forever began.

I remembered the photo he sent me later—holding that very album against his chest, chin resting on the cover, telling me it made him feel like I was still there.

Back then, I was staying up late overseas finishing project deadlines. When I saw that picture, my eyes welled up, and I sent him a heart emoji.

I had saved that picture to my phone. Whenever the homesickness hit, I would pull it up and look at it, convincing myself I could survive just one more day.

That evening, the front door clicked open.

Julian walked in. Seeing me sitting quietly on the couch, he froze for a split second before a wide smile broke across his handsome face.

He slipped off his tailored coat and walked toward me, asking why I hadn't given him a heads-up, asking if I was hungry, asking if he should have the chef prepare dinner.

He reached out to brush my hair.

I leaned away, dodging his hand, and looked up at him with dead, steady eyes.

"I know everything."