chapter3

Sebastian's suitcase stood in the foyer Friday morning. He put on that custom suit, kissed my cheek, his breath carrying the scent of mint mouthwash.

"Back Sunday night." He said, fingers trailing across my shoulder. "Don't miss me too much."

"Safe travels." I heard myself say, voice steady as a stranger's.

The door closed. I listened to the footsteps fade, then walked to the closet.

From the bottom drawer, I pulled out a box containing things I'd ordered online last week: plain black-framed glasses, a shoulder-length brown wig, and an oversized cream-colored knit sweater.

I changed into simple jeans and flats. The woman in the mirror looked ordinary, like a recent graduate with eyes tired from pulling all-nighters on papers.

When I arrived at the gallery, several luxury cars were already parked outside. Staff in black suits checked my credentials, glanced at the somewhat cheap canvas bag on my shoulder, nodded, and let me in.

My heart pounded like a drum.

Inside, it was crowded, the air mixed with champagne, perfume, and pretentious conversation.

Colorful abstract paintings hung on the walls, but I didn't look at any of them. My gaze swept the room like radar.

Then I saw her.

Lilith stood in the center of the exhibition hall, wearing a silk slip dress, smiling like she truly owned the place.

She held a champagne glass, talking with two well-dressed women.

I quietly moved behind a decorative column, just steps away from them, slowly reaching into my canvas bag, touching the small camera disguised as a power bank, pointing the lens in their direction, and pressing the hidden record button on the side.

"Oh, this space? Sebastian insisted on buying it." Lilith's voice came through clearly, with a deliberately subdued boastfulness. "He said the old place didn't match my 'talent.' Men, you know, always want to give you the best."

One woman giggled.

"He's so thoughtful. What about his wife at home? Doesn't she suspect anything?"

Lilith pursed her lips, gently swirling her glass.

"Elara? She's just a boring vase, Seb's respectable decoration. What does she know about art? She only knows how to be a perfect wife who never makes mistakes."

She lowered her voice, but the contempt in her tone pricked like needles.

"Sebastian says she's very 'stable,' never asks questions. Honestly, women like that are easiest to handle—give her a title and she's satisfied."

My nails dug into my palms, the pain keeping me alert.

"What about the child?" another woman asked. "What's he planning to do?"

"Jackson is our future." Lilith's voice softened with maternal pride. "Sebastian has planned everything for him. Of course, we still need to keep a low profile now, since the company's going public and image is important..."

Just then, a door on the inner side of the exhibition hall opened.

Sebastian walked out.

He wore casual linen shirt and pants, looking relaxed and at ease.

He hadn't gone to any "executive retreat" at all. He walked straight to Lilith, his arm naturally wrapping around her waist, kissing her cheek.

"What's making you so happy?" he asked, his gaze sweeping over the two women, his face bearing the familiar, charming smile.

"Praising your good taste." Lilith nestled against him, looking up with a smile. "For giving me such a wonderful gallery."

"You deserve it." Sebastian looked at her, the focus and tenderness in his eyes making my stomach churn.

That was a look I hadn't seen in a long time.

He turned to the two women, beginning to discuss the gallery's "artistic vision," his tone confident, commanding the room.

I stood in the column's shadow, my blood seemingly turning to ice shards.

The camera worked silently in my bag, recording his every expression, every lie.

I saw how his fingers unconsciously caressed the fabric at Lilith's waist when he spoke. I saw the undisguised smugness and possessiveness in Lilith's eyes when she looked at him.

They looked so well-matched, so... real.

And I stood here like a pathetic ghost, spying on a life that should have been mine being performed by another woman.

Enough. I had enough evidence.

I turned off the camera, head down, slowly moving toward the exit. I felt the air becoming thin, almost unable to breathe.

Just as I was about to reach the door, a waiter approached.

I stepped aside to let him pass, my steps slightly faltering.

In that instant, I nearly bumped into someone.

I jerked my head up.

Sebastian stood less than half a meter in front of me. He was probably going to get wine, just passing through.

His gaze unconsciously fell on my face, brow slightly furrowing, those blue eyes I once loved flashing with confusion.

My breathing stopped. Time stretched. I could smell his familiar aftershave, mixed with Lilith's perfume.

He looked at me. Me behind the glasses, me under the wig, this strange, pale "intern reporter."

His brow furrowed more, his eyes examining, searching.

My blood froze.

Just then, Lilith called from across the room in a sweet voice: "Seb, darling, come here!"

Sebastian's gaze moved from my face, the confusion in his eyes quickly dissipating, replaced by his usual gentle patience.

He nodded slightly at me, as if apologizing for almost bumping into me, then turned without hesitation and walked toward Lilith.

He didn't recognize me.

He didn't even spend another second trying to recall this somewhat familiar face.

Sebastian Thorne, you couldn't even recognize your own wife.

What you see is always only what you want to see—the decoration.