Blog

Chapter 1: The Return of the Goddess

My husband’s ultimate “one who got away”—his unattainable first love—had just returned to the country.

The very first thing I did wasn’t to cry. I didn’t throw a dramatic tantrum. I certainly didn’t grab his expensive collar and ask a pathetic, heartbreaking question like, “Do you still love me?”

No. The first thing I did was open my massive, walk-in closet, pull out my heavy leather suitcase, and eagerly start packing. I packed my silk clothes as if I was terrified that if I was even one minute late, the money would sprout legs and run away from me.

Because right as I was grabbing my dresses, a very specific, undeniable thought flashed through my sharp mind: The prenuptial agreement. If I stayed married to the notoriously cold, breathtakingly handsome CEO of the Sterling Group for exactly one more year, the company would officially go public. According to my ironclad contract, I would walk away with a guaranteed payout of fifty million dollars.

Fifty. Million. Dollars.

I stood in the middle of the luxurious dressing room, hugging my six-figure dress against my chest, completely stunned for three seconds. Then, only one single, crystal-clear thought remained in my head: Fifty million. I didn’t care if his gorgeous first love had fallen straight from the heavens. Even if she was a literal goddess, he would have to wait until that massive check cleared into my bank account before he could leave me for her.

My name is Seraphina.

Three years ago, my family almost went completely bankrupt. Right at that exact time, my husband’s childhood sweetheart decided to go abroad to study art in Paris.

I married him in an arrangement that everyone in high society fully understood was a business transaction. My family desperately needed cash to survive. His family desperately needed a wife who was beautiful, sensible, obedient, and absolutely would not cause any public scandals. He needed someone who could perfectly fill the void when his wealthy grandmother fell seriously ill and demanded to see her beloved grandson get married.

To put it very simply, I was a highly-paid, extremely beautiful stand-in.

And as a professional stand-in, I had to possess the strict ethics of a stand-in. No romantic fantasies. No jealousy. No foolishness in developing what the world called “true love.”

I have done my job flawlessly these past three years.

My husband, Alexander, has treated me very well. He gave me an unlimited black credit card, a sprawling penthouse, luxury cars, and the right to use his powerful name to walk around in the city’s most elite circles without anyone daring to look down on me. He was incredibly generous; he bought me whatever I liked, as long as I behaved perfectly and never overstepped my boundaries.

Of course, in return, he was always appropriately, chillingly cold.

During the day, he was the aloof, untouchable CEO. He possessed a sharp, striking, masculine beauty—piercing dark eyes, thick hair, and a flawless jawline—and a single glance from him was enough to silence a boardroom. At home, he was even more like a walking, gorgeous ice statue. He spoke very little. At most, he would only hold me close when he needed to play the role of a loving, perfect couple in front of his demanding family.

But what about behind closed doors?

The truth is, the more ascetic and cold a man appears on the outside, the more easily he can drive a woman absolutely crazy when he finally takes off his shirt.

I remember our wedding night very clearly. That untouchable man’s beautiful face had turned bright red. As soon as I pinned him down on the silk sheets, he clutched the bedding tightly. His voice, hoarse and surprisingly trembling, asked me why it didn’t feel like the books he had read.

At the time, I thought I had misheard him. Later, I learned the hilarious truth: the ice-cold, genius CEO had secretly tried to teach himself all sorts of romantic things from books, resulting in a massive, awkward gap between theory and practice.

I laughed at him for a long time because of that. He was sullen and embarrassed for three days. But on the fourth night, he came to my bedroom door holding his pillow. His face was icy cold, but his voice was incredibly pitiful as he asked if I could please teach him again from the very beginning.

In short, my life for the past three years has been very good. I had money, beauty, and fame. My gorgeous husband doesn’t love me, but at least I have a flawless face, a perfect figure, and zero financial worries.

I had originally planned to stay peacefully as the CEO’s beautiful wife for a few more years, accumulate my massive capital, and then leave gracefully.

But today, the one who got away returned.

Chapter 2: The Stolen Watch

Her name is Clara. She is his childhood sweetheart. She was implicitly acknowledged by all of his wealthy friends as the ultimate, flawless golden girl. Before marrying me, everyone in high society thought Alexander would eventually marry her. It was just a pity that when his grandmother was most seriously ill, Clara selfishly went abroad to study, and did not return for three years.

And then I appeared, perfectly fitting into the empty void of his life.

This afternoon, I only intended to browse social media and order a new set of diamond jewelry. Unexpectedly, the very moment I opened my phone, I saw his best friend post a picture with the caption: “The goddess has finally returned.”

I zoomed in on the picture.

The picture showed a small, elegant banquet table at a private club. Clara sat right in the middle. She was breathtakingly beautiful, with long, flowing hair and a delicate white dress, smiling gently like a warm spring breeze.

Alexander sat right beside her. His dark, handsome head was slightly tilted toward her. His large, masculine hand rested lightly on the back of the chair behind her. From the angle of the photo, it looked exactly like he was deeply, intimately protecting her.

But what caught my eye was Clara’s wrist. She was wearing a limited-edition, incredibly rare luxury watch.

I recognized it instantly. Because just last month, I had coquettishly begged Alexander to buy me that exact watch. He had coldly said he would buy it for me later.

And now, it was resting on her wrist.

A sharp, painful click echoed in my head. I don’t know if my logic or my pride snapped first. I only knew that by the time I came to my senses, I was standing in my dressing room, dragging my suitcase to the floor.

I started folding my clothes, taking deep breaths, trying to suppress the nagging, painful discomfort in my chest.

From my deep understanding of high-society manipulation, the easiest thing for a stand-in wife to do is fall into delusion. Thinking she was different. Thinking she could become the official wife. Thinking that if she just tried a little harder, the cold billionaire would truly love her.

Then, as soon as the beautiful first love returns, the stand-in frantically searches for a way out. She gets kicked out of the house, leaving empty-handed. At best, she suffers physical and mental ruin. At worst, her family faces bankruptcy again.

I am a highly intelligent woman. I absolutely cannot die like that. So before things escalate to the point of heartbreak, before I develop any inappropriate, foolish feelings, I must secure my bag. That fifty million dollars is simply too tempting to lose.

I folded two more dresses, nodding to myself in the mirror. A smart woman knows when to be generous, I thought. I just need to pretend to be generous, obediently wait another year, and when the money is in my hands, I can find ten obedient, handsome young men to entertain me if I want.

Yes, fifty million dollars. Ten handsome men. What more could I possibly want?

I slowly put the dress down.

Just then, the heavy bedroom door opened. Alexander walked in.

He was still wearing the same impeccably tailored, dark suit he wore when he went out. His silk tie was slightly loosened. His strikingly handsome face was so cold it seemed as if he had brought the freezing night air into the room with him.

His dark gaze swept over the open suitcase on the floor, and then fell heavily on my face.

His voice was very deep, very soft, but for some reason, it sent terrifying chills down my spine.

“You want to leave?” Alexander asked.

(Click ‘Next’ to continue)