Chapter 1: The Paper Wife

The end of my marriage didn’t start with a scream or a slammed door. It started with a clumsy elbow and a spilled latte.

I was standing at the counter of the City Clerk’s office in Manhattan, tapping my fingers on the granite. I needed a certified copy of our marriage license for a visa application—Julian and I were supposed to go to Italy for our seventh anniversary next month.

“Oops! Oh god, I am so sorry,” the clerk muttered, grabbing a wad of brown paper napkins to blot the coffee spreading across the desk.

“I’m such a klutz today.”

“It’s fine,” I said, checking my watch. Julian would be expecting me for dinner.

“Just print a new one, please.”

The clerk, a woman named Brenda with tired eyes and chipped blue nail polish, typed my social security number into her terminal. She frowned. She hit backspace, typed it again. Then she looked up at me, her expression shifting from annoyed to confused.

“Ma’am? I can’t print a marriage certificate for you.”

“Why not?”

“Because,” Brenda turned the monitor slightly so I could see.

“According to the State of New York, you’re single.”

I let out a dry, incredulous laugh.

“That’s a glitch. I’ve been married for three years. My husband is Julian Shen. The CEO of Shencorp? We came right here. Maybe you weren’t working that day, but—”

“I see Julian Shen here,” Brenda interrupted, her voice dropping a decibel.

“But he’s not married to a Chloe Nan.”

The air in the room seemed to vanish.

“Excuse me?”

“Mr. Shen is listed as legally married,” Brenda read from the screen, “to a Ms. Tiffany Chao.”

The name hit me like a physical blow to the stomach. Tiffany.

The “childhood friend.” The fragile, doe-eyed woman Julian had sworn was like a sister. The woman who had been living in our guest house for the last six months because she was “going through a hard time.”

“That… that has to be a mistake,” I whispered, gripping the counter to keep my knees from buckling.

“Tiffany is his friend. I’m his wife.”

“Honey,” Brenda looked at me with a pity that burned worse than the coffee would have.

“The system doesn’t make mistakes like that. The license was signed three years ago. You want me to print that one?”

I drove home in a haze. The city lights of New York blurred into streaks of red and gold. I didn’t cry. I was too stunned to cry.

When I walked into the penthouse—our penthouse, the one I had decorated, the one where I picked up his socks and cooked his meals—Julian was in the living room. He was pouring a glass of scotch, looking immaculate in his charcoal suit. He smiled when he saw me, that devastating, charming smile that had hooked me when I was nineteen.

“Hey, babe,” he said.

“Did you get the papers? Italy is going to be—”

“I saw the license, Julian,” I said. My voice sounded hollow, like it was coming from someone else.

He paused, the glass halfway to his mouth.

“What license?”

“The one that says you’re married to Tiffany.”

The silence that followed was deafening. I waited for him to deny it. I waited for him to tell me it was identity theft, a prank, a clerical error.

Instead, he sighed. He took a sip of his drink and set it down on the coaster.

“Chloe, you have to understand,” he said calmly.

“Tiffany was in trouble. Her visa was expiring. Her family in Shanghai cut her off. She was going to be deported.”

“So you married her?” I screamed.

“We stood at the altar, Julian! We said vows!”

“We did say vows,” he said, stepping toward me.

“And I meant them. In my heart, you are my wife. The paper is just… legal strategy. It’s a transaction. It keeps her safe. You know how weak she is. She couldn’t survive on her own.”

“You made me a mistress,” I shook my head, backing away.

“For three years, I’ve been playing house, thinking I was your wife, while legally I’m nothing.”

“You’re not nothing,” he snapped, his patience fraying.

“You’re the woman I love. Tiffany is just… duty. Why are you making this about you? Can’t you be compassionate? She has nowhere else to go.”

At that moment, the door to the guest wing opened. Tiffany walked in. She was wearing my silk robe—the one Julian bought me last Christmas. She looked pale and delicate, clutching a mug of tea.

“Julian?” she whispered, her voice trembling.

“Is everything okay? I heard yelling. It’s hurting my head.”

Julian’s face softened instantly. He turned away from me, rushing to her side.

“It’s okay, Tiff. Chloe is just… confused. Go back to bed. I’ll bring you your medicine.”

“I’m scared,” she whimpered, glancing at me with eyes that looked innocent but held a flicker of triumph.

“Don’t be,” Julian said, wrapping an arm around her—the arm that was supposed to protect me.

“I’ll handle her.”

Handle me. Like I was a problem. Like I was an employee.

“I’m leaving,” I said.

Julian didn’t even look back.

“Don’t be dramatic, Chloe. You have nowhere to go. We’ll talk when you calm down.”

He walked her back to the bedroom, closing the door softly. I stood alone in the million-dollar living room, realizing that the man I had worshipped for seven years was a stranger.

Chapter 2: The Fracture

I didn’t leave that night. I was pathetic. I stayed because I kept hoping he would fix it. I kept hoping he would wake up and realize that I was the one he couldn’t live without.

But the humiliation only got worse.

Two weeks later, Julian texted me: “Make sure you’re ready by 7. I have a surprise. Dress up.”

My heart leaped. This was it. He was going to apologize. He was going to tell me he had filed for divorce from Tiffany.

I put on my best black velvet gown. I did my hair. I waited in the lobby. His driver, Leo, picked me up.

“Where are we going, Leo?”

“Carnegie Hall, ma’am. Mr. Shen rented the private suite.”

A private concert. It was grand. It was romantic. It was Julian.

But when the car pulled up, Leo didn’t open the door. He looked in the rearview mirror, embarrassed.

“Ma’am… Mr. Shen just texted. He said… he said you should wait here.”

“Wait here? In the car?”

“He said he needs a moment.”

I waited for twenty minutes. Then thirty. The rain started to drum against the roof of the sedan. I couldn’t take it anymore. I got out.

“Ma’am, please!” Leo called out, but I ignored him.

I walked up the steps to the side entrance where I knew the VIPs entered. The security guard recognized me and let me pass. I walked down the plush corridor toward the private box.

I heard the music before I saw them. A cello, mournful and sweet.

I pushed the heavy velvet curtain aside.

The box was empty of an audience, save for two people. Julian sat in the front row. Next to him was Tiffany. She was wearing a white dress that looked suspiciously like a wedding gown. She was leaning her head on his shoulder, and he was holding her hand, stroking her fingers gently.

He looked at her with a look of adoration I hadn’t seen directed at me in years.

I took a photo. My flash went off.

The music stopped. Julian whipped his head around. When he saw me, his face twisted in anger.

“What the hell are you doing?” he hissed, storming up the aisle.

“You told me to dress up,” I said, my voice shaking.

“You told me to come.”

“I told you to wait!” He grabbed my arm, hard.

“Tiffany has been depressed. She needed cheering up. This is her favorite cellist. I couldn’t have you in here ruining the mood with your jealousy.”

“Jealousy?” I laughed, a broken sound.

“I’m your—”

“You’re embarrassing me,” he cut me off.

“Go home.”

I pulled my arm free and ran. I ran out into the rain, ruining my shoes, ruining the dress. I hailed a cab and went to a cheap motel in Queens. I couldn’t go back to that penthouse.

But Julian wasn’t done with me.

The next morning, I got a frantic call from Tiffany.

“Chloe, help me! Please!” she was screaming into the phone.

“I’m at the old shipyard. These men… they say they want money. Julian isn’t answering! Please!”

I should have hung up. But I was stupid. I was conditioned to save her because Julian loved her.

I drove to the location she sent. An abandoned warehouse district.

When I ran inside the dusty, cavernous building, I saw Tiffany tied to a chair in the center of the room. She was crying.

“Tiffany!” I ran toward her.

But as soon as I got close, she smiled. It was a cold, reptilian smile.

“You’re so predictable, Chloe,” she said, dropping the act. The ropes around her wrists were loose. She slipped them off easily.

“What is this?”

“Julian needs a reason to finally kick you out,” she said, standing up. She picked up a jagged rock from the floor and dragged it across her own arm, drawing a thin line of blood.

“And hurting his ‘wife’ is the perfect reason.”

“You’re insane.”

“I’m winning,” she whispered. Then she screamed. A blood-curdling scream. “HELP! CHLOE, STOP! PLEASE DON’T HURT ME!”

The warehouse doors banged open. Julian sprinted in, followed by three security guards.

He saw the scene: Tiffany cowering on the floor, bleeding. Me standing over her.

He didn’t ask questions. He didn’t look at my confused face.

“I warned you,” he roared. The sound was animalistic.

He crossed the distance in two strides. He didn’t just push me. He grabbed a rusting metal pipe that was lying on a workbench.

“Julian, no! She did it her—”

CRACK.

The pipe slammed into my side.

The pain was white-hot, instant, and blinding. I felt the bones in my ribcage give way. The air left my lungs. I crumpled to the dirty concrete, unable to breathe, unable to scream.

He stood over me, chest heaving, the pipe still in his hand.

“You touch her again,” he spat, “and I will bury you.”

He dropped the pipe. It clangored on the floor next to my head.

He knelt down and scooped Tiffany up in his arms.

“Shh, baby, I’ve got you. I’m here. Did she hit you?”

“She was crazy, Julian,” Tiffany sobbed into his expensive suit.

“She said she wanted me dead.”

“I know. I know.”

He carried her out. He walked right past me. I was gasping, tasting blood, my vision tunneling. He stepped over my legs like I was a piece of garbage.

He left me there.

Chapter 3: The Ghost

I don’t remember how the ambulance got there. I think the security guard, Leo, called them. He was the only one who looked at me with regret.

I woke up in a private hospital room. The sunlight was harsh. Every breath felt like a knife twisting in my chest.

A man in a white coat was checking my chart. He wasn’t one of Julian’s usual concierge doctors. He looked younger, sharper. American.

“I’m Dr. Bennett,” he said, seeing my eyes open.

“You have three broken ribs, a punctured lung, and a hairline fracture in your left wrist. You’re lucky to be alive, Ms. Nan.”

“Where is he?” I rasped.

“Mr. Shen?” Dr. Bennett’s face hardened.

“He stopped by while you were in surgery. He paid the bill in full. He left this.”

He handed me an envelope.

Inside was a check. For five million dollars. And a note, scrawled in Julian’s handwriting:

Go somewhere far away. Don’t come back to New York. This is for the best.

I stared at the check. It was “hush money.” It was severance pay for a marriage that never technically existed.

Something inside me snapped. The last thread of love, of hope, of the girl who believed in “forever”—it just severed.

“Dr. Bennett,” I said, my voice gaining a strange, cold strength despite the pain.

“Is there a police officer here?”

“I can call one. Do you want to report domestic assault?”

“No,” I said.

“I want to report a death.”

He looked confused.

“Whose death?”

“Mine.”

I didn’t die physically. But I killed Chloe Nan.

I used the money—Julian’s money—to hire the best lawyer in the city, a woman known for making people disappear. We filed for an emergency protective order and a petition for identity change under the Victim Safety Act.

Because the assault was severe and documented, and because I had evidence of Tiffany’s threats (which I had unknowingly recorded on my phone in my pocket during the confrontation), the judge granted it immediately.

I liquidated my own assets. I donated my clothes to charity. I burned the photos of Julian and me in a metal trash can in an alleyway.

I became Lynn Sterling.

I spent six months in physical therapy, learning to breathe again without flinching. I spent the next two years in Zurich, working for a ruthless venture capital firm. I learned how to eat companies alive. I learned how to smile without showing my eyes.

I watched Julian from afar. I saw the news. Shencorp Stock Stumbles. Rumors of Marital discord between Julian Shen and Tiffany Chao.

Apparently, once the “mistress” was gone, the “wife” wasn’t so perfect. Tiffany was a spender. She was volatile. And Julian? He looked more tired in every photo.

Three years later.

I flew back to New York on a private jet. I wasn’t in coach anymore. I was the Managing Partner of Nebula Capital, and we had our sights on a hostile takeover of a failing tech giant.

Shencorp.

The meeting was set for 10:00 AM. I walked into the boardroom wearing a white suit—sharp, tailored, expensive. The kind of white that says you don’t fear getting dirty because you don’t do the dirty work yourself.

The board members were already seated. Julian was at the head of the table. He was looking down at his papers, looking thinner than I remembered. There were gray streaks in his hair.

“Gentlemen,” I said, my voice projecting clearly across the mahogany table.

“And Mr. Shen.”

Julian’s head snapped up.

For a moment, he didn’t react. He just stared. He looked at my face—the same high cheekbones, the same eyes, but different. Harder. My hair was cut into a sharp bob. My makeup was bold.

He dropped his pen. It clattered loudly in the silent room.

“Chloe?” he whispered.

The other board members looked around, confused.

“I’m afraid you have me confused with someone else,” I said, sliding into the chair opposite him. I didn’t blink.

“My name is Lynn Sterling. I represent Nebula Capital. And as of this morning, we own 51% of your debt.”

Julian stood up, his chair scraping back violently.

“It’s you. My God, A-You… I looked everywhere. I went to the police. They said you didn’t exist.”

“Mr. Shen,” I said, opening my briefcase.

“Please sit down. We have business to discuss. And looking at your Q3 financial reports, you aren’t in a position to be hysterical.”

He stared at me, his eyes searching for the girl who used to bake him cookies, the girl who begged for his attention in the rain.

He didn’t find her.

I smiled. It was the smile of a predator looking at wounded prey.

“Now,” I said softly. “Shall we talk about the price of your surrender?”

Chapter 4: The Dismantling

The hostility in the boardroom wasn’t just financial; it was suffocating. Over the next hour, I systematically dissected Julian’s company. I pointed out the inflated assets, the hidden debts—debts incurred by “consulting fees” paid to shell companies registered in Tiffany Chao’s name.

“You’ve been bleeding cash, Mr. Shen,” I said, projecting a graph onto the wall.

“And curiously, it’s all funneling into offshore accounts in the Caymans. Accounts linked to your… spouse.”

Julian’s face went gray. He looked at the numbers, then at me.

“That’s impossible. Tiffany doesn’t know anything about finance. She’s… she’s simple.”

“She’s a thief, Julian,” I said, dropping the ‘Mr. Shen’ facade for a split second. The intimacy of his name on my tongue made him flinch.

“And while you were busy playing protector to a damsel, she was robbing the castle.”

I closed the meeting.

“Nebula Capital is freezing all assets pending an audit. You have twenty-four hours to vacate the executive suite.”

I walked out. Julian chased me.

He caught me in the hallway, grabbing my wrist. His grip was desperate, shaking.

“It is you,” he breathed, searching my eyes.

“The voice. The way you hold your pen. Chloe, stop pretending. Why are you doing this?”

I looked at his hand on my arm. Then I looked at him.

“Ms. Nan is dead. You paid for her funeral, remember? Five million dollars.”

“I did that to save you!” he pleaded, his voice cracking.

“I was angry. I was out of my mind. But I wanted you safe from the police. Tiffany said—”

“Tiffany said.” I laughed, cold and sharp.

“You broke three of my ribs, Julian. You punctured my lung. I almost drowned in my own blood on the flight to Zurich. And your excuse is ‘Tiffany said’?”

He froze.

“Punctured… no. It was just a bruise. The doctor said…”

“You didn’t ask the doctor,” I cut him off.

“You threw a check at him and walked away.”

I pulled my arm free.

“Go home, Julian. Ask your precious wife about the kidnappers. Ask her about the actors she hired. I sent the wire transfer receipts to your personal email ten minutes ago.”

I stepped into the elevator and watched the doors close on his horrified face.

Julian drove home like a madman. He stormed into the penthouse, phone in hand, the evidence I’d sent him glowing on the screen.

Tiffany was on the sofa, online shopping. She looked up, smiling.

“Hubby! You’re home ear—”

He threw the phone at her. It smashed into the cushions.

“Did you hire them?” he whispered. The rage in his voice was terrifying, but this time, it was directed at the right person.

“What?” Tiffany blinked, terrified.

“The kidnappers! The warehouse! Did you pay them to frame Chloe?”

“I… Julian, I was scared! She hated me! I had to—”

“DID YOU DO IT?” he roared, flipping the coffee table. Glass shattered everywhere.

Tiffany scrambled back, sobbing.

“I did it for us! She was in the way! You loved her too much, Julian! I could feel it! I had to make you hate her!”

Julian staggered back. The realization hit him like a physical blow. The memory of the metal pipe in his hand. The sound of my bones cracking. The look in my eyes as I lay on the concrete.

He had destroyed the only woman who had ever truly loved him, for a liar who viewed him as an ATM.

“Get out,” he whispered.

“Julian, baby, please…”

“GET OUT!” He screamed so loud his throat tore.

“Get out before I kill you!”

Chapter 5: The Kneeling

I didn’t hear from Julian for three days. I was busy dismantling his legacy. I fired the board members who had enabled him. I sold off the private jets. I rebranded the company.

On the fourth day, it rained. A heavy, relentless New York downpour.

I was leaving the office building, my new partner Lucas Bennett—the doctor who saved me, now the man who held my hand when the nightmares came—walking beside me holding an umbrella.

“There’s someone blocking the car,” Lucas said quietly, his hand tightening on my lower back.

I looked. Julian was kneeling on the sidewalk.

He was soaking wet. His expensive suit was ruined. His hair was plastered to his forehead. He looked like a ghost. He had been there for hours.

“Chloe,” he croaked when he saw me. He tried to stand, but his legs were numb, and he stumbled. He stayed on his knees.

“Chloe, I know the truth. I kicked her out. I pressed charges. She’s in jail.”

I stopped. I looked down at him. The man who used to be my sun and moon. Now, he was just a wet man on a sidewalk.

“Get up, Julian. You’re embarrassing yourself.”

“I’m sorry,” he sobbed, the tears mixing with the rain.

“I’m so sorry. I’ll give you the company. I’ll give you the money. I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you. Just… please. Come home.”

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small velvet box. He opened it with trembling hands. inside was a ring. A massive, flawless diamond.

“You always wanted a real wedding,” he stammered.

“A white dress. No secrets. Just us. Marry me, Chloe. For real this time. Let me fix it.”

I looked at the ring. Then I looked at Lucas. Lucas didn’t say a word; he just stood there, solid and warm, protecting me from the rain.

I stepped out from under the umbrella and walked up to Julian.

“Do you know why I loved you, Julian?” I asked softly.

He looked up, hope sparking in his eyes.

“Because we were soulmates?”

“Because I thought you were a good man,” I said.

“When I was nineteen, you walked three miles in the snow to bring me medicine. You were kind.”

I leaned down.

“But the man who broke my ribs because he was too arrogant to ask for the truth? That man isn’t kind. He’s a monster.”

“I can change! I have changed!”

“No,” I shook my head.

“You haven’t. You’re kneeling here not because you love me, but because you lost. You can’t stand losing.”

I took the ring from the box. Julian stopped breathing, watching me.

I walked to the storm drain at the curb. I held the ring over the dark, swirling water.

“Chloe, no… please…”

“You broke me, Julian,” I said.

“You can’t fix a shattered mirror. All you get is a reflection of yourself, cut into a thousand pieces.”

I dropped the ring.

It vanished into the sewer without a sound.

Chapter 6: The White Rabbit

Julian collapsed. He curled up on the sidewalk, weeping like a child. It wasn’t a dignified cry. It was the ugly, guttural sound of a man realizing his life is over.

Lucas stepped forward.

“Mr. Shen,” he said, his voice calm but authoritative.

“I’ve called your driver. He’s on his way. If you come near Lynn—Ms. Nan—again, I will ensure the restraining order is enforced with jail time.”

Lucas guided me back to the car. He opened the door, making sure my dress didn’t drag in a puddle.

As we drove away, I didn’t look back.

“Are you okay?” Lucas asked, taking my hand. His thumb rubbed the scar on my wrist—the hairline fracture that still ached when it rained.

“I am,” I said.

And I was surprised to find it was true. The heavy weight of hatred I’d been carrying for three years was gone. I didn’t hate Julian anymore. I didn’t feel anything for him. He was just a stranger in the rain.

“I found this in your old desk when we were clearing the office,” Lucas said. He pulled something out of his pocket.

It was a piece of candy. A White Rabbit creamy candy. The wrapper was faded.

It was the candy Julian used to give me when we were poor college students.

“One for you, one for me, sweet forever,” he used to say.

I looked at the candy. A relic of a dead past.

“Do you want it?” Lucas asked.

I rolled down the window. The wet city air rushed in, smelling of ozone and exhaust.

“No,” I said.

I took the candy and tossed it out the window. I watched it bounce once on the asphalt before we sped away, leaving it behind in the dirty street.

“I don’t like sweets anymore,” I said, leaning my head on Lucas’s shoulder.

“I prefer something real.”

The car turned the corner, merging into the endless stream of New York traffic.

Behind us, somewhere in the rain, Julian Shen was still kneeling, waiting for a wife who had died three years ago. But ahead of me?

Ahead of me, the sky was finally clearing.