---- Chapter 3 Harper Griffin POV: | left the hospital without a word to Adler. He had sat a vigil outside my room the entire night after I' d been treated for the burns, a performance of contrition that was both pathetic and insulting. | didn't offer a single glance of acknowledgment as | completed the discharge paperwork myself. My path forward was clear, paved with the broken glass of my past. | needed evidence. Hard, undeniable proof of Adler's infidelity to not only secure the divorce but to ensure the "betrayal clause" held up against the army of lawyers he would undoubtedly unleash There was one place in our vast, cold mansion | had never been allowed to enter. His private study on the third floor. He'd always claimed it was for "confidential business," and |, the dutiful wife, had never questioned it. Juliana had once taunted me about it, saying, "There are some parts of a man's life a temporary wife is never meant to see." The memory, once a source of humiliation, was now a map. Finding the key wasn't difficult. Adler was a creature of habit and supreme arrogance. He kept a small, biometric safe under his side of the bed, a place he assumed | would never dare to look. The faint scratches around the keypad told me ---- he used it frequently. | tried our anniversary. Nothing. My birthday. Nothing. His birthday. Nothing. Then, on a whim, a bitter, self-mocking impulse, | entered Juliana's birthday. The safe clicked open. For a moment, | just stared at it, a wave of cold washing over me. There was no pain, no shock. Just a quiet, final confirmation of a truth | had known for a very long time. The key inside was cool to the touch. | walked up the grand staircase to the third floor and unlocked the forbidden door. The first thing that hit me was the scent. Not the masculine scent of leather and old books | had expected, but a faint, floral perfume. Juliana' s signature scent. And then | saw it. It wasn't a study. It was a shrine. One entire wall was covered, from floor to ceiling, with framed photographs. Hundreds of them. It was a meticulously curated history of a life that did not include me. There was Adler and Juliana as children, building a sandcastle ona private beach. As teenagers, sharing a milkshake, his arm slung casually around her shoulder. At their high school prom, ---- her in a glittering gown, him in a tuxedo, looking at her with an adoration | had only ever seen in movies. There were photos from college, from trips abroad, from holidays. The backdrop changed, they grew older, but the one constant was the undeniable love in their eyes. The final, largest photo was recent. It had been taken on our wedding day. Adler was in his wedding tuxedo, but he wasn't looking at his bride. He was looking at Juliana, who stood just out of the frame, a bittersweet smile on her face. The photographer had captured a stolen moment, a secret conversation between two lovers on a day that was supposed to be mine. My marriage was a lie. My entire life with him was a lie. | wasn't the wife. | was the placeholder. | was the other woman. My breath hitched, a single, dry sob escaping my lips. But | didn't allow myself to break. Not now. Not here. With cold, methodical precision, | took out my phone. | photographed every picture on the wall. | photographed the perfume bottle on the desk. | photographed a stack of handwritten letters, love notes from Adler to Juliana, dated throughout our marriage. | sent every single file to my lawyer with a simple message: "This should be sufficient." "| see the little mouse has finally found the cheese." Juliana's voice, dripping with venom, made me jump. She was standing in the doorway, her arms crossed, a smug smirk on her face. ---- "I'm divorcing him, Juliana," | said, my voice surprisingly steady. "He's all yours." She laughed, a brittle, ugly sound. "Oh, please. Don't act so noble. This is just another one of your pathetic little games to get his attention. It won't work. He spent the entire night at the hospital, worried sick about you. Do you have any idea how that made me feel?" The irony was so thick | could have choked on it. She was angry because he had shown a sliver of decency toward his wife who had just suffered a miscarriage and severe burns at her hand. "He doesn't love you, Juliana," | said quietly, a sudden, piercing clarity cutting through my grief. "He doesn't love anyone but himself. You're just a beautiful possession he likes to show off. Just like his Bentley. Just like | was." Her face contorted with rage. "You bitch!" She lunged at me, her hand connecting with my cheek in a sharp, stinging slap. Then another. And another. | stumbled backward, my head ringing. She grabbed a fistful of my hair and slammed my head against the wall of photos. Pain exploded behind my eyes. The frames rattled, and with a sickening groan, the heavy shelving unit that held the shrine began to tip forward. Time seemed to slow down. | saw the massive weight of their ---- shared history falling toward me, ready to crush me. Suddenly, a blur of motion. Adler. He burst out of a hidden side door | hadn't even noticed, one that must have connected to his master bedroom. His eyes were wide with panic. He launched himself forward. For one insane, fleeting second, | thought he was coming to save me. But he shoved me aside, hard. | fell to the ground, my burned hand hitting the floor with a sickening crunch of bone. He threw his own body in front of the falling shelves, not to shield me, but to protect the photographs. To save his precious memories of Juliana. The massive unit crashed down on his back. He grunted in pain, but his arms were wrapped protectively around a dozen framed pictures of the woman he truly loved. | cradled my hand, a fresh wave of agony radiating up my arm. It was broken again, worse than before. Juliana was screaming, crying hysterically. "My pictures! Harper, you clumsy idiot, look what you've done! You've ruined everything!" Adler pushed himself to his feet, his face a grim mask of pain and fury. He didn't look at me once. His gaze was fixed on the wreckage of his shrine. | saw something on his collarbone, a faint, pinkish scar where my name, tattooed in a delicate ---- script on our honeymoon, used to be. He had removed it. Erased the last physical trace of me from his body. "I'm so disappointed in you, Harper," he said, his voice low and dangerous. And in that moment, seeing the last symbol of our bond gone, | finally, truly, let him go.