Chapter 3

Abigail's POV

I sat alone in the darkness of the mansion, surrounded by expensive furniture that never gave me a sense of belonging. The only light came from the city skyline outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting long shadows across the floor. Three years of marriage, and here I was—alone again on a Friday night.

He must be with her right now. I gazed out the window, images of them together forming in my mind, probably at that new restaurant downtown, or perhaps the one with the terrace overlooking the harbor.

I glanced at my phone—11:36 PM. No messages, no missed calls. I no longer expected any.

Three years ago, after the absurd farce carefully orchestrated by my father, Nicholas and I found ourselves trapped in a transaction disguised as marriage. He needed to fulfill his grandfather's wish for him to settle down; I needed to help Bruce avoid imprisonment and leave the country to escape trouble. Everything was just a transaction, nothing more.

But that first year... God, that first year almost made me believe we could spend a happy life together. Surprisingly, Nicholas had been gentle and considerate. He would bring me coffee in the mornings, ask about my day, and so on.

Before I knew it, I had committed the fatal mistake of arranged marriages: I fell in love with my husband.

Then came our second wedding anniversary, and everything stopped abruptly. The dinners disappeared, conversations diminished. Those subtle physical touches also vanished without a trace, as if they had never existed. Nicholas became like a ghost in his own home, only returning to sleep or change clothes.

I repeatedly wondered what I had done wrong. Was I too needy? Too distant? Or too... something? The harder I tried to find my mistake, the more elusive the answer became. Eventually, I simply gave up trying and accepted the coldness of this marriage as normal.

Six months ago, when Olivia Smith appeared in the society pages with her arm linked with my husband's, everything made sense. "Business mogul Nicholas Jackson smitten with perfume genius," the headlines declared. In the photos, they smiled at each other at charity galas, emerged side by side from five-star restaurants, and boarded his private jet together for vacations.

The tabloids called her his girlfriend. Nicholas never denied it.

I scrolled through my phone to find their latest photo from a perfume launch event last week. The way Nicholas looked at her was something he had never given me, even during our best days.

Why continue this charade? I asked myself for the thousandth time. After all, our marriage was a secret—Nicholas had insisted on it from the beginning. We never attended public events together, wedding rings stayed locked in jewelry boxes most of the time, and we each maintained separate social circles. For him, it was the perfect arrangement, having both a secret wife at home and a charming girlfriend for the cameras.

Perhaps I should set him free. Our marriage began as a business transaction—why not end it the same way? Bruce was about to return to the country, and Nicholas had fulfilled his part of the promise. Besides a marriage certificate and George's good wishes, what else was holding us together?

Because you still love him, you pathetic fool.

This thought stabbed me with its cruel honesty. Despite everything, deep down I still stubbornly hoped that the Nicholas from our first year would someday return.

The phone suddenly rang, breaking the silence of the night. George's name flashed on the screen, and I took a deep breath before answering.

"Grandpa."

"Abby, dear! How are you this evening?" His voice was warm and kind, full of concern—the only genuine warmth I had received from the Jackson family in years.

"I'm fine, just relaxing at home," I lied smoothly.

"Your third anniversary is coming up next week. Do you and Nicholas have any special plans?"

An invisible knife twisted in my chest. "Probably just a simple dinner like last year. Nicholas is busy with a merger."

Silence on the other end for a moment. "I see. You know, Abby, you've always been a blessing to our family. I just want to make sure you're happy."

"Thank you, Grandpa. That means a lot to me."

"Take care of yourself. And remind that grandson of mine to slow down his pace of life."

After hanging up, I stared at the dark ceiling. George was the main reason Nicholas agreed to marry me. Three years ago, his poor health made his wish to see Nicholas settled down particularly urgent. Now, he was the only one who treated me as family rather than an intruder. Nicholas's mother Victoria made no secret of her belief that I was a calculating woman who schemed her way into her son's life. Emily, his teenage sister, seized every opportunity to remind me that I would never belong in this family.

A sudden, sharp pain squeezed my chest, making it hard to breathe. I clutched at my shirt, trying to steady my breathing. These episodes had been happening more frequently lately—unexplained dizziness, heart palpitations, and fatigue. Perhaps I really did need to see a doctor.

The sound of the front door opening came through, and light flooded into the hallway. Nicholas's footsteps echoed across the floor, then the living room lights came on.

"Why are you sitting in the dark?" His tone was flat.

I squinted at the sudden brightness. "Just thinking." The pain subsided, but its lingering effect still left me feeling weak.

"Are you unwell?" He frowned, noticing my hand still pressed against my chest.

"A little. I've been having chest pains and dizziness lately. I think I need to see a doctor." I hesitated for a moment, then added, "Could you come with me tomorrow?"

Nicholas glanced at his watch. "Impossible tomorrow. I have meetings scheduled until 7 PM, then dinner with an investor."

I nodded, swallowing the disappointment I shouldn't still be feeling.

He sat down beside me on the couch and suddenly pulled me close. "Have you forgotten what day it is?"

I was stunned for a moment before realizing. "Oh. Ovulation day."

Nicholas nodded, his hand already sliding up my thigh. George's greatest wish was to see a new generation of the Jackson family before his health completely failed. This was Nicholas's unfailing monthly ritual, despite his cold, stranger-like demeanor at home the rest of the time.

As I gently pulled away, bitterness rose in my throat. "Does your girlfriend know about your wife's existence?"

His hand stopped in mid-air, his eyes suddenly sharp. "What did you say?"

"Olivia," I looked directly into his eyes, pronouncing each word deliberately, "does she know that Mrs. Jackson exists?"