She Faked Her Death And Returned As A Legend

As if assuming she couldn't understand, Julian didn't even bother to hide his screen. He tapped out a quick reply: "On my way."

He then turned off the screen.

"Gen, something urgent came up. There's nothing you can do, so please don't make a scene. Don't make this difficult. Be good."

His warm hand rubbed the top of her head. Genevieve watched Julian hurry away and did nothing to stop him.

Her heart had been broken so many times that the pain had finally gone numb.

She returned the documents to the Veridian Institute for archiving, then drove home.

For three days straight, Julian didn't come home.

Nor did she try to contact him.

While waiting for her application to be approved, she kept herself busy sorting through the remnants of their life together.

The storage room was packed with memories.

The letter he wrote after they first confessed their feelings. The clumsy clay sculpture from their first date. The heart-shaped rock they'd found while watching a meteor shower in the mountains. And stacks upon stacks of photo frames.

Polaroid cameras, from the very first model to the latest, were all lined up in a row.

She had always cherished these memories, imagining them looking back on these things together when they were old and gray.

Now, it was all a joke. She tossed every last item into the fireplace and watched it all burn to ash.

As for the expensive gifts—the diamonds, watches, and necklaces, including her wedding ring—she photographed them and sent the pictures to a luxury reseller.

It wasn't until the jewelry cabinet was completely empty that the reality hit her with a jolt: All those vows had been worthless. In the face of betrayal, love was the cheapest commodity of all.

Five days later, her application was approved.

She had ten days before the sequestered research program began.

She changed her clothes and went to a department store to buy some necessities. As she came down the escalator with her shopping bags, she spotted a sickeningly perfect scene of domestic harmony at the jewelry counter on the ground floor.

Her mother-in-law, Grace Sterling, who had always looked down on her, was now looping her arm through Isabelle, her face beaming.

And her husband, who hadn't been home in five days, was gazing adoringly as he helped her try on a luxurious diamond bracelet.

The three of them looked so close, as if they were the real family.

Clearly pleased, Grace praised Isabelle's taste, then grandly pulled out a black card to pay.

Genevieve found it bitterly ironic.

That card was hers.

She had funded the card herself. Because she was close friends with the brand's director, she received the maximum discount and advance previews of new collections.

She'd originally gotten it as a gesture to please Grace, a desperate attempt to improve their relationship. Now, her mother-in-law and her husband were using it to spoil his mistress.

She strode forward and snatched the card from the sales associate's hand.

"Sorry, this card is no longer valid."

The sales associate looked bewildered.

"Ma'am, this is our brand's VVIP Card. It doesn't expire."

"Really?"

With a sharp snap, Genevieve broke the card in two and tossed the pieces into a nearby trash bin. "How about now?"

Furious, Grace raised her hand and slapped her hard across the face.

Slap! The solid impact landed on Genevieve's face.

"What is wrong with you? Have you lost your mind? You're an embarrassment!"

The Sterling family was prestigious.

Julian was a celebrated financial prodigy, a golden boy of the elite.

From the moment they started dating, Grace had treated her with nothing but cold words and sarcasm. After the marriage, it had only grown worse. Nothing Genevieve did could ever earn so much as a smile from the woman.

She hadn't wanted to put Julian in a difficult position, so no matter what Grace did, she never fought back or told him.

She had endured it all because she loved that man.

But she refused to endure it for a single moment longer.

Slap! Slap!

Two sharp slaps landed squarely across Julian's face.

The onlookers all gasped and covered their mouths in shock.

This was Julian, after all.

A man practically worshipped in the financial news, now being slapped in public.

"Genevieve!"

Grace rolled up her sleeves, ready to strike again.

Genevieve lifted her chin, her eyes cold and fearless.

"You hit me once, I slap him twice. Go on. Try me."

"You—you—"

Grace clutched her chest, trembling with fury.

"Julian, look at her! She's acting like a complete shrew!"

Genevieve turned to the man, her smile icy.

"Did I deserve to hit you?"

Julian worked his jaw, his expression dark, and stepped forward to take her hand, keeping his voice low.

"Gen, if you've vented enough, let's not make a scene, okay?"

Beside them, Isabelle suddenly threw herself into Julian's arms. She grabbed his hand, pressing it against her waist as she began rattling off a stream of complaints in Ferolian, calling Genevieve crude and savage.

With every "darling," she pressed herself against him as if she had no bones, practically melting into his body.

Julian soothed her in Ferolian.

Their intimate exchange was so absurd Genevieve wanted to laugh.

Then, in equally fluent Ferolian, the words came from her own lips, her accent nearly flawless.

"Since you were shameless enough to become someone's mistress, don't act like the innocent victim. You had the nerve to seduce someone's husband into bed, but you don't have the guts to admit it? If Ferolian doesn't work, try English, German, Japanese. I speak sixteen languages—choose whichever you like. If I can't out-insult you, I'll admit defeat."

Isabelle's face flushed scarlet.

She clearly hadn't expected Genevieve to speak Ferolian.

Hadn't Julian said she was just some ordinary office worker?

Julian's expression turned grim, his voice strained.

"Gen, when did you learn Ferolian?"

A sharp pain surged through her chest.

She smiled with utter sarcasm.

"Darling, you really do love me, don't you?

Enjoy your shopping. I won't disturb you any further."

With that, she turned and left.

Julian started after her, but Grace and Isabelle each grabbed one of his arms.

"Julian, divorce that bitch! That lowlife dared to hit you."

She had said such things many times before, and he had never cared. But for some reason, this time the words grated on him.

"That's my business."

Julian shook off their grip and hurried after her.

He caught up with Genevieve just as she reached her car.

"Gen."

The warm grip on her wrist felt like the flick of a viper's tongue. It was sickening.

Repulsed, Genevieve shook him off.

"Not going to keep your little sexy kitten company, Julian?"

His expression soured instantly.

"Isabelle is just a friend to me. Why are you getting so jealous over nothing? Do you have to be this petty? Did you have to embarrass everyone on the street?"

Genevieve laughed, the sound dripping with disbelief.

So now it was her fault.

"So what you're saying, Julian, is that the next time I catch you—even if I find you both in bed—I should prioritize the Sterling family's reputation? Perhaps I should pull the curtains for you and stand guard outside the door?"

Julian's grip on her tightened, the fire in his eyes threatening to burn her to ash.

"I told you, she's like a little sister!"

"Ha. 'Little sister'?"

Genevieve looked at him with pure contempt.

Then a hint of seduction crept into her gaze.

"In that case, I'll find myself a 'big brother.' I'll do everything with him that you and Isabelle do. And you won't get jealous or petty either, right, darling?"