Chapter 1 Breakup

At the top of a luxury smart apartment building in the heart of Ariville, on the 32nd floor. Before the expansive French windows, two bodies lay tangled. Outside, the autumn breeze blew gently, yet inside, it felt as though the room had been set ablaze. The heavy rain had just begun to subside. The bathroom light flickered on. Within moments, the glass window fogged up, blurring the edges of a tall, muscular silhouette as it moved under the cascading water of the shower. Meanwhile, on the big bed outside the bathroom, Xena Wheeler lay sprawled, her limbs heavy and weak. Her face was flushed, the redness lingering long after the heat of the moment had passed. An overwhelming emptiness settled within her, and in that quiet, painful clarity, she understood that what had seemed like a union of souls was nothing more than a one-sided desire. "We should break up." Xena watched as Philip Barnum walked out of the bathroom, leisurely putting on his pants, and made up her mind to speak to him. Anyone with half a mind could hear the frustration and sadness veiled beneath her calm words. Upon hearing this, a hint of a frown formed on his brow. "You don’t want to be with me anymore?" His dark, damp hair clung to his forehead, beads of water dripping slowly down his chiseled abs. The man before her was the epitome of irresistible allure, with his sharp, sculpted features and an almost otherworldly magnetism. "Honestly? I’ve wanted to end this for a while." She turned her gaze away, not wanting to look at that devilishly handsome face again. She was afraid that if she looked again, she might lose all her resolve and stay, despite everything. "Oh? Then, why did you wait until now to speak up?" His voice was cold, without a hint of emotion, as he effortlessly slid his expensive watch onto his wrist. Her heart tightened painfully at his detached demeanor. "Do you think being a mistress means I have to quit before moving on? So, you’ll have time to interview your next candidate?" Her words dripped with bitterness. He looked at the woman half-naked and wrapped in a blanket. Sorrow and vulnerability were written all over her face. His throat involuntarily tightened as he swallowed. He gently pulled her slight shoulders into his embrace. "I’m just concerned about you." Normally, if this were any other time, she would have resisted him, and the cycle of desire would have pulled them both in again, as it always did. But this time, she turned her face away, avoiding his kiss, her teeth sinking into her lower lip with force, as though trying to restrain the emotions swirling within her. He noticed the shimmer of unshed tears in her eyes and released his hold on her. Just then, his phone rang from his pocket. The soothing notes of the D-major Canon filled the air, but instead of its usual calming effect, it sounded jarring and intrusive in the tense atmosphere. He sighed, impatience flickering across his features as he pulled out the phone. But when his eyes landed on the caller ID, his expression softened immediately. He straightened his expensive shirt, smoothing out the slight crease, and adopted his usual cool, composed demeanor. "This apartment is yours," he said casually. "I’ll have Mr. William, my secretary, transfer the rest to you." With that, he answered the call, turning his back to her as he walked out. Xena could faintly hear him calling softly into the phone. It was the name 'Zena.' As expected, he only shows such tenderness to that woman, she thought. In the quiet aftermath, Xena remained still. Her body curled up into itself and her head pressed against her knees as her tears fell. For three years, he had never once spoken about what they were to each other. She had never asked, either. Everyone in Ariville knew that Philip, the leader of the renowned Barnum Group, was a top-tier bachelor. But there were rumors swirling around him—whispers that he was a staunch believer in never marrying, and some even suggested he might be gay. Only Xena knew that he wasn’t gay. In private, he was anything but restrained with her, sometimes so intense that he could barely be satisfied even after seven times in one night. Indeed, in these three years, she was the only woman in his life. He was fastidious, his preferences bordered on obsessive, and he could never tolerate anyone who didn’t meet his standards of cleanliness and discretion. Xena checked both boxes—she was neat, unassuming, and never created unnecessary trouble or stirred up drama. This spared him a lot of trouble. From the beginning, he had been clear with her. He told her he liked her because she was compliant and knew her place. But he also warned her he would never marry her, and if she ever wanted to leave, the door was open. But she loved him with a devotion so humble it bordered on self-erasure. To him, though, his affection for her was like his fondness for that row of expensive, custom-made shirts in his wardrobe. They were comfortable and preferred for certain occasions, but by no means indispensable. For the longest time, she believed she would continue to spend time with him like this without regrets. That was, until last night. Philip had come home uncharacteristically drunk, contrary to his usual self-control. She had struggled to keep his tall figure upright while guiding him carefully until he collapsed onto the couch. When she was wiping his face and cleaning him up, his hand suddenly grabbed hers. In a voice rough with emotion, he murmured a single name, "Zena…" He gripped her wrist so tightly it hurt until she had to pry his hand loose. When she finally pulled away, a red ring marked her pale wrist. In that movement, his phone slipped from his pocket, landing face down on the carpet. The unlocked phone screen glowed softly against the rug. Philip had always been strict about boundaries, and she respected them. But tonight, as she looked at his phone lying there, curiosity overtook her. For the first time, she couldn’t resist. She reached for it and glanced at the screen. 'Phil, I’m planning to return to the country.' A woman had sent him this message. Philip hadn't replied to her message yet. Xena's hands trembled as she opened the woman’s profile picture and scrolled through her posts. The woman in the photos bore a faint resemblance to her, with similar eyes and brows, but there was an undeniable elegance and allure that Xena could hardly overlook. And the name he had saved her under was "Zena." This woman named "Zena" was also in the same group chat as Philip's closest friends. Not only did she have a good chat with his friends, but his friends had even started planning a "welcome home" party for her. It was like welcoming the return of Philip's real girlfriend. However, they knew about Xena's existence. This blatant comparison made her feel like a rat hiding in a dark sewer, afraid of being seen. That night, with a mix of shame and bitterness, she obsessively scrolled through the woman’s posts, combing through each photo, each caption, over and over again. She was a captivating and enthusiastic woman, and she even shared a recent award she had won in an international ballet competition on her social media feed. This woman was dazzling, extraordinary, someone who made Xena feel small just by existing. She kept scrolling until her fingers ached and her mind numbed due to the bitterness. Only then did she put down his phone. In that moment, she understood. She realized why, years ago, despite being surrounded by admirers, Philip had chosen her. It wasn’t about her; it was that resemblance she shared with his lover. That faint similarity had been enough for him to keep her around for three years. The irony stung. Even their names were homophones. Each time he calls my name in the heat of passion, does he truly see me, or has he been looking at someone else’s face? she wondered. She had once believed it was his aversion to marriage that had kept her hanging on, foolishly loyal, for three long years. But it turned out that it wasn’t she who had been degrading herself, it was that her place in his life had never really existed. She naively hoped that if he asked her to stay, even the slightest hint of hesitation or regret, she would stay. How amusing! She slipped on her clothes and sat on the couch for a brief moment. Just then, William Gardner stepped into the apartment, clutching a folder of documents. Without a word, he took out the items from a file bag and meticulously laid them out on the coffee table in front of her: a check, property deeds, car keys, and various asset documents. "Miss Wheeler," he said, his tone impersonal but respectful, "here are the deeds to this apartment, the keys to the Mercedes S-Class, and an additional check for three million from Mr. Barnum. Please take a moment to look them over. Mr. Barnum instructed me to ensure that if there’s anything else you desire, you need only ask. He intends to fulfill any of your requests." The apartment alone, situated in a prime location downtown, was worth tens of millions. As expected, he had never held back when it came to providing her with material things.