The day he found out the truth, Ashton—the man who was always cold, quiet, and impossibly composed—went out and had a beauty mark tattooed onto his face. When I went to pick him up, he greeted me with a smile that didn't reach his eyes and pressed me for an answer. "Vivian, do I look like him now?" "Viv, isn't it a perfect match?" "Vivian, have you never read a goddamn romance novel? The ones with the stand-in? Why won't you just use me as his replacement...?" "Just use me as him... please...?" 1 It was my best friend who sent me the video of Ashton taking a woman to a hotel. I set down my paintbrush, rubbing the ache out of my neck before I finally freed up a hand to check my phone. 【Viv, baby, is this your husband?! He’s… he’s cheating?!】 I scrolled up and tapped on the first video. The man in it was unmistakably Ashton. That aura of cold, aristocratic grace was impossible to miss. He was shielding the woman beside him with an air of intimacy, the two of them moving quickly into the hotel lobby. My friend’s messages kept flooding in, one after another. I stared at the screen, a strange thought bubbling up in my mind— So, the tropes in those trashy romance novels were real after all. Paparazzi really do stalk CEOs for their sordid affairs, then leak the story. But weren't they afraid of being blacklisted and ruined? I guess the novels don't get everything right... I was lost in thought when I heard Mrs. Gable, our housekeeper, call up from downstairs. "Mr. Thorne, you're home! Ma'am, the mister is back." I covered my canvas and walked to the door of my room. Ashton was indeed back. He slipped off his shoes, handed his jacket to Mrs. Gable with a slight nod, and then his eyes lifted to meet mine. I immediately plastered a bright smile on my face, but before I could even say a word, his gaze slid away. He walked past me, up the stairs, and disappeared into the bathroom in his study. Cold, as always. The moment the bathroom door clicked shut, my smile collapsed. My relationship with Ashton was… complicated. I had been the one to pursue him. He didn’t love me; in fact, you could say he despised me. People called him a block of ice that could never be thawed. He only married me because I was obedient. I never caused a scene over the women he was linked with in the tabloids, and I never interfered in his business. Two years of marriage, and aside from our physical compatibility, he knew next to nothing about me. But even so, Ashton always came home, no matter how late his business dinners ran. He never spent the night out. And though he didn't love me, he never skimped on material things. A supplementary credit card, jewelry, designer bags—I wanted for nothing. I chalked it up to his impeccable upbringing. The sound of the shower began to fade. To avoid the inevitable awkwardness, I decided to head back to my room. Just then, Mrs. Gable brought me a bowl of soup, her face wreathed in a kind smile. "Ma'am, the mister smells strongly of alcohol. When he comes out, could you give this to him? It will help him feel better." I glanced at the steaming bowl and offered a polite smile in return. "Of course. Thank you, Mrs. Gable." I carried the soup into the study and had just set it on the desk when the bathroom door opened. Ashton emerged with only a towel wrapped around his waist, his hair still dripping. Droplets of water traced paths down his chiseled chest, disappearing into the towel. His eyes were misty, the corners tinged red from the alcohol. As he looked up at me, he was the very picture of temptation. While I was sizing him up, his gaze was locked intensely on me. I scratched my head, ready to make my exit, but he spoke first, his voice a low rasp. "What's the soup?" "Oh," I snapped back to reality. "It's to help with the hangover." He began to dry his hair as he walked closer. "You made it?" I shook my head. "No, Mrs. Gable did." His lips tightened, and he said nothing more. The silence between us stretched, thick and awkward. I swallowed hard. "Well, if there's nothing else, I'm going to bed." He continued to slowly rub his hair with the towel, still silent. I turned to leave. My fingers were just about to brush the doorknob when a strong arm snaked around my waist. Before I could react, the world spun. I was pinned against the desk, sending a cascade of documents fluttering to the floor. A sharp gasp escaped me, and then I felt the wet heat of Ashton's lips on my neck. I froze for a second, then instinctively tried to push him away. "I—I haven't showered yet..." He pressed closer, capturing my lips with his, his words muffled. "Doesn't matter. You smell incredible." Trapped beneath him, a tear escaped the corner of my eye, and I squeezed my eyes shut. In my mind, Ashton was almost always calm and self-possessed, his emotions locked away where no one could read them. Most people feared him. But there were times when he lost control. Like now. Dawn was breaking; I had no idea how much time had passed. I couldn't hold back any longer and began to sob quietly against his shoulder. His eyes were bloodshot. He gripped my waist, turned me over, and whispered against my ear, his breath hot. "One last time..." In a daze, I blindly wiped at the tears on my face and cursed, "You bastard..." And through the haze, I thought I heard him let out a low, soft laugh. 2 After what felt like a long, deep sleep, I slowly became aware of a voice nearby. I forced my heavy eyelids open and saw Ashton, bare-chested, talking on the phone out on the balcony. He was usually a man of few words, his tone clipped and cool. But now, his voice was honeyed with a tenderness I’d never heard. "Okay, I'll come see you in a little bit. You be a good girl for me, alright? Yes, that's my good girl..." That gentle tone... I stared at his back, a familiar ache blooming in my chest. My mind felt fuzzy, and his name slipped from my lips before I could stop it. "L... Liam..." Hearing me, the figure on the balcony turned. In the soft light, I saw him clearly. It wasn't Liam. It was Ashton. Of course, it wasn't Liam. Liam died a long time ago. How could I forget again? Ashton glanced at me once before turning back to his call. Ignoring the soreness in my body, I slid out of bed and went into the bathroom. Ashton was never one for restraint in these matters, and every time, I felt like I'd been run over by a truck. He was still on the phone. After my shower, I went into the walk-in closet. By the time I was dressed and had put on some makeup, Ashton had finished getting ready too. I quickly tied my hair back and went downstairs to my studio to retrieve the commissioned painting I finished yesterday. Ashton usually left for work early, but today, he was still by the door, on another call. This one was about business. Carrying the large canvas, I tried to tiptoe past him, not wanting to disturb him. But just as I passed, he ended the call. His gaze landed on me with unnerving precision. "Going out?" he asked, his tone flat. I paused, then nodded. "Mhm." He looked away, adjusting his tie. "Where to?" I gestured with the painting in my hands. "Delivering a commission." He fiddled with his phone. "Is it far?" "A little, I guess." Another long silence stretched between us. He spoke again. "How far is 'a little'?" I blinked, unsure how to explain. I decided to change the subject. "Aren't you leaving yet? You'll be late for work." His lips pressed into a thin line. He fell silent again. I watched the icon for my ride-share creep closer on my phone's map. I looked up, about to say goodbye. But he spoke at the exact same moment. "How are you getting there? Do you need..." "My ride is here, I've got to go..." Our words collided in the air. He froze for a second, his expression instantly souring. I scratched my head. "What were you saying? Do I need what?" He ignored me, turning on his heel and getting into his own car. He slammed the door shut and sped away. He seemed angry. I shook my head, hugged the canvas tighter, and hurried into my waiting car. The client picking up the painting was a student from a nearby university. The young man was thrilled with my work, praising it effusively before ordering a mountain of desserts. "Vivian, you're so young, I can't believe you're this talented! Could you teach me? I'll pay for lessons!" I took a sip of my coffee and pushed the plate of sweets a little farther away. "I've been painting for many years." The boy propped his chin on his hand, his eyes wide. "How many is 'many'?" I was about to answer when I felt a tug on my skirt. I looked down to see a little girl with adorable pigtails staring up at me. When she saw I was looking, she stood on her tiptoes, grabbed my hand, and her voice trembled as she said, "Mommy, Mommy, are you leaving me and Daddy?" I froze. My eyes instinctively shot up, and I caught a fleeting glimpse of a familiar figure in a suit disappearing around the corner. Across the table, the student sputtered, spraying coffee everywhere. "V-Vivian, you're married?" I managed a small smile and a nod. "Mhm." He looked down, crestfallen. "Oh. You'd never know. You look so young..." The little girl was still tugging at my hand. "Mommy, let's go home. Daddy misses you so much he's been crying. He cried a lot." I stood up, said my goodbyes to the student, and led the little girl outside. "Sweetie," I asked, "who told you to do that?" She looked up at me. "A handsome man. He gave me five hundred dollars and told me to call you Mommy really loud in front of that other guy. He said he'd give me more if I was loud enough." I knelt and patted her head. "You did a great job. Go on and play now." She skipped away happily. I pulled out my phone and texted Ashton: 【Was that you?】 He replied instantly: 【I have no idea what you're talking about.】 3 The online gossip about Ashton and the mystery woman was escalating. At first, people were shaming the woman for being a homewrecker. Now, they were mocking me for being unable to keep my man. Through it all, the internet seemed obsessed with me and her. Ashton, the one who started it all, had somehow managed to become invisible in his own scandal. I sighed, turned off my phone, and focused on my painting. Over the years, when I had commissions, I painted for clients. When I didn't, I painted Liam. Under my brush, Liam became more and more vivid. The truth was, Ashton didn't look that much like Liam. But there was something about the way he stood, the way he carried himself, that felt like him. The reason I agreed to marry Ashton was because the first time I looked up at him, for a fleeting moment, I thought Liam had come back for me. I gave a self-deprecating laugh just as my phone rang. I answered, and my friend’s shriek nearly deafened me. "Viv! Check the trending topics, right now! Your husband! Aaaah, he's so hot!" I hung up, my curiosity piqued. I opened my phone and saw the number one trending topic. #AshtonThorneShattersBreakupRumorsWithLateNightPhotoOfSleepingWife,He’sSoInLove# Below it was a photo Ashton had posted in the middle of the night. A candid shot of me, asleep. It was blurry, showing only half of my face, but anyone who knew me would recognize me instantly. Ashton's caption was a single red heart emoji. So cheesy. It looked like something an old man who just learned how to use a smartphone would post. The thought made me chuckle. My friend messaged me again: 【Baby, are you totally melting right now?】 Hearing the excitement in her voice, I snapped back to reality and replied calmly: 【The scandal was affecting Thorne Industries' stock. It's just a standard PR move. Anyway, I have to go, I'm on a deadline.】 After closing her chat window, I noticed that Ashton had sent me a message five minutes earlier, but he'd retracted it. Probably a mistake. I silenced my phone, tossed it aside, and immersed myself in my work. When I next looked up, the sky outside was dark. I stretched, my back aching, and picked up my phone. I saw a message from Ashton, sent six hours ago. 【Dinner tonight.】 I glanced at the time. It was already 11:30 PM. I’d only just seen it. 4 I had a strong feeling that Ashton was going to be furious. But then again, maybe not. In all the time I'd known him, he'd never really cared about me. Dinner was probably just another PR move to lend credibility to his post from earlier. I carefully typed out a reply: 【Sorry, I was working and didn't see my phone. Still on for dinner?】 I hit send, and immediately, a red exclamation mark appeared next to my message. Ashton had blocked me. I stared at the red symbol, my mind blank. Was he throwing a tantrum? I couldn't figure out why. But... the way Ashton acted when he was upset was so much like Liam. I clutched my phone, squeezing my eyes shut. Suddenly, the phone vibrated. Startled, my thumb slipped and tapped the red exclamation mark again. The message swirled for a moment and then, somehow, it sent. Only ten minutes had passed since I'd discovered he'd blocked me. He must have unblocked me in that time. The moment the message went through, he replied. That was one thing about Ashton—he always replied instantly. 【Come to Apex.】 Apex was the bar his friend Leo owned. I hated places like that, so in our entire marriage, I'd only been once. I took a cab. The hostess at the door recognized me and led me to a VIP room. She gave me a polite nod and left. The door was ajar. As I reached out to push it open, a sudden burst of laughter from inside made me jump. It was Leo's voice. "Ash, man, this scandal of yours is blowing up online. You're not even gonna explain it to Vivian? Aren't you afraid she'll get mad and divorce you? Want me to teach you how to smooth things over? First, you buy her a bag..." Ashton swirled the drink in his hand, a detached smile playing on his lips. "There's no need. She won't divorce me. And besides, I don't care what she thinks." Leo's smile faltered for a second. "No way, man. You're still hung up on Hannah?" Ashton paused, then set his glass down, his expression unreadable. "Maybe." Leo scratched his head. "Well, I guess. First loves are hard to forget." ... Listening to their conversation, I was frozen, trapped between going in and leaving. If I walked in now, it would be excruciatingly awkward. But if I didn't, where would I go? As I looked around, a surprised voice came from behind me. "Vivian? You're here? Why aren't you going in?" I tensed, gripping my purse strap, and turned to see a familiar face. "I, uh, I just got here," I stammered. "Was just about to..." At that exact moment, the door behind me was pulled open. I woodenly turned my head and met Ashton's calm, unruffled gaze. I forced a smile. "Ashton." His lips moved, as if he wanted to explain something, but no words came out. He just gestured behind him. "Come in." I took a seat one person away from him. The moment I sat down, the atmosphere in the room turned strange. They all had weird expressions, probably wondering how much I'd overheard. Finally, Leo broke the silence with a laugh. "Vivian's here! Let's play a game, huh? We'll continue the one from before. Sound good, Vivian?" I smiled and nodded. "Sure." Leo spun an empty bottle on the table. "Okay, whoever it points to has to answer three questions from one of these cards. If you can't answer, you take three shots." I was about to nod again when I saw the bottle grind to a halt, pointing directly at me. Leo rubbed his hands together, clearly trying to diffuse the tension between me and Ashton. He picked up a card and chuckled. "Alright, Vivian. Is the man you're married to now your first love?" The moment he finished speaking, I could hear my own heartbeat, a frantic thumping in my ears. Should I lie? No. I shouldn't. And I didn't want to. After a long pause, I answered truthfully. "No." The words hung in the air, making the room's atmosphere even more suffocating. Leo swallowed hard and glanced at Ashton. Ashton was slumped low on the sofa, his head down, his expression hidden. He was just fiddling with a bottle opener in his hands, seemingly oblivious to what was happening. Leo scratched his head and looked back at me, pushing on with the next question. "So, uh... have you forgotten your first love?" I blinked. My first love. Liam. The best, kindest person in the entire world. The boy who was my brother, but not by blood. The one who loved me more than anyone. The childhood friend who, after a few drinks, had shyly asked if I would be his girlfriend. The hero who gave his life to save mine. "Hey, little sprout. I'm your big brother." "Don't be scared, Viv. I'll protect you." "Viv... I'm so sorry. There were still things I wanted to tell you..." Forget him? I would never forget him, not in this lifetime. My eyelashes fluttered. I looked down at the colorful array of drinks on the table. After a long moment, a small smile touched my lips. "I'll take the three shots." As my words fell, the room was so quiet you could hear a pin drop. Then, a sharp clatter. The bottle opener had fallen from Ashton's hand. 5 I downed the three shots, one after another. I set the empty glass down, stood up, and said my goodbyes. "Sorry, I'm not feeling well. I'm going to head out. You all have fun." I grabbed my bag and left quickly. By the time I got back to my studio, it was three in the morning. Mrs. Gable had texted me an hour ago, telling me Ashton was home and asking where I was. I replied that I wasn't coming back, then turned off my phone. I kicked off my shoes and curled up in the wicker chair by the window, my eyelids heavy. As the alcohol began to take hold, I thought I saw Liam push the door open and walk in. He leaned down and draped a coat over me, his voice gentle but chiding. "Viv, didn't you promise me you wouldn't fall asleep in chairs anymore? What if you catch a cold? You hate taking medicine..." I clung to that fleeting moment of warmth, grabbing his hand, my voice thick with tears. "What if I do fall asleep in the chair?" Liam bent lower, his cheek brushing against mine. "What can I do?" he said, his voice full of affection. "I could never stay mad at you. I'd just have to come and carry you to bed." I was laughing and crying at the same time. "Every time?" "Of course," he said without hesitation. I let go of his hand and closed my eyes, the tears flowing freely now. You liar, Liam. You never came. Not once. You're never coming back. 6 When I opened my eyes again, the sun was already bright. I moved my stiff neck, my head throbbing. I reached up and felt my forehead. I had a fever. The studio was just a place for me to paint. There was no food, and definitely no medicine. I threw on my coat and, with my head spinning, called a car to take me home. When I pushed open the front door, I saw Mrs. Gable standing anxiously outside my studio. As I bent down to change my shoes, I noticed Ashton's were still on the rack. Next to it was a toppled-over gift bag, something that looked like a purse inside. Strange. Why wasn't Ashton at work yet? Seeing me, Mrs. Gable hurried over, gesturing toward the studio and whispering, "The mister seems to be in a very bad mood. He's been in there all night. He hasn't eaten or drunk anything, and he won't say a word." "He's been in my studio all night?" Mrs. Gable nodded. A sense of unease crept over me. I left one shoe half on and rushed into the studio. The room was a disaster. Canvases and sketches of Liam were scattered all over the floor. Ashton was sitting in the chair behind my desk, his face a mask of indifference. In his left hand, he held the photo of Liam I kept in my drawer. In his right, he held a lighter, flicking it on and off, on and off. He saw me burst in and swiveled the chair to face me. A cold, mocking smile twisted his lips. "Vivian," he sneered, "this must be him, right? Your first love. You chased me, you married me... all because I look like him. Is that it?" My throat was dry. I instinctively called his name. "Ashton..." He laughed, a harsh, humorless sound. "Did you get the name right? Is it my name you wanted to say? When you look at me, do you see me, or do you see him? When we're in bed, are you pretending I'm him?" My lips clamped shut. I watched the lighter's flame dance, again and again, coming dangerously close to the photograph. My heart felt like it was about to stop. "Ashton, put the photo down." He lifted his eyelids, his dark, bottomless eyes boring into me. Not only did he not put it down, he brought the flame even closer. "So, Vivian, you can get flustered. But maybe you don't know the kind of person I am. I, Ashton Thorne, will never be anyone's substitute. I'd rather die." I watched in horror as the lighter's flame licked the corner of the photograph. A sharp pain shot through my chest. I lunged forward, snatching the photo from his hand and smothering the small flame with my bare palm without a second thought. The smell of burning flesh quickly filled the small studio. Ashton's brow twitched. For the first time, he looked panicked. He shot to his feet, grabbed my wrist, his own brows knitted in a tight knot. "Mrs. Gable, bring the first-aid kit—" Before he could finish, I swung my free hand and slapped him hard across the face. Ashton froze, his head jerked to the side. He looked stunned, almost pathetic. I seized the opportunity to wrench my hand free, clutching the photograph of Liam to my chest as if it were my lifeline. I pointed a trembling finger at the door and shrieked, "Get out! Get the hell out of my house!" 7 It was dark by the time I finally emerged from the studio. I touched my forehead; the fever had broken. I hadn't eaten all day, but I didn't feel hungry. The living room was dark, save for the pale light from the streetlamps filtering through the floor-to-ceiling windows. It wasn't bright, but it was enough. I gently closed the studio door behind me. From the darkness, Ashton’s voice, flat and devoid of emotion, cut through the silence. "Vivian, let's get a divorce."
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