A Love 32 Years Apart

In the Past

"More suspiciously, Antonio died within three days after the proceedings were final. I will need you to explain the circumstances around your divorce and its settlement, Ms. Tillman." Caleb flipped the file to the page he wanted.

When they first got their hands on the report, Caleb's colleagues suspected that Jessica Tillman might've put a spell on Clarence somehow. Clarence was a billionaire. Yet, he did not sign any prenups before the marriage. He gave everything to his ex-wife during the settlement.

"He must be mad," they said.

I kept quiet, but I was clenching my dress tightly.

Greg looked at me a little fiercely. "We'll need you to work with us here, Ms. Tillman."

I was shivering, but I said loudly, "Because he cheated on me! The cheater gives the betrayed everything they have! That was the condition, and he said yes! Do you have a problem with that?"

Caleb quickly went through the report. The news outlets would've had a field day with a financial entanglement of this scale. Greg looked at his colleagues, but they shook their heads.

"Ashington's courthouse did not receive any divorce requests lately. You did it out of court?"

I looked away. "We got an attorney for it."

Greg fell silent for a moment. "Clarence said yes, you said?" he asked.

I rolled my eyes. "Who do you think signed the papers?"

The officers had nothing to say to that. I did not blame their incredulity. I did want Clarence's money, but I wasn't expecting him to give me everything he had.

I suspected that this was just a part of his wealth. He probably gave everything else—and it must be a huge chunk—to that mistress he had.

The interrogation went on for a while, but finally, I was released.

Back in the interrogation room, a confused Caleb asked, "Greg, do you really think a rich business owner would kill himself just because he saw his ex-wife having a party with 25 supermodels at home?"

Greg frowned. "I don't think so."

"But that's what happened."

"Or so we think. No matter. When we get the content of the call, we'll know what Ms. Tillman told Clarence."

I got back home and strode to my bedroom; then I rummaged through my cabinet for my wedding photo. The glass cut my finger, and drops of blood fell on Clarence's wilting face. I tried to wipe the blood off, but my wound got worse. In the end, the blood got smeared everywhere.

For some reason, I saw Clarence through the veil of my blood, but it was the state of his body—bloated and grotesque. I scrambled backward. It was almost as if I didn't know the man in the photo anymore.

His graying hair was blotted out, but there were wrinkles on his smiling face. He didn't look like this when I first met him.

Clarence went to the gym regularly. He was sharp, his muscles were taut, and he would dye his hair black all the time. If it weren't for the wrinkles on the corner of his eyes and the storied look in his gaze, people would think he was in his thirties.

I was eighteen when we first met, and I worked at a bar on the beach. Clarence's friends escorted him into the bar. I saw the watch he was wearing. It was a Rolex, and that thing cost a house.

All the ladies had their eyes on him like he was prey, but I was faster. I sashayed over to him and served him bottles of expensive liquor. Younger men were always stingy with their money, but older men were the opposite.

Although I hadn't worked here long enough, I knew I could get enough commission from the liquor sale alone to last me a month. I sat closely with Clarence and bent over a little, revealing my cleavage to him.

"Fancy a glass, sir?"

A frown creased Clarence's forehead, and the look in his eyes went dark.