She Faked Her Death And Returned As A Legend

A message. Attached were six photos.

Tangled underwear. Tightly interlaced fingers. Bedsheets twisted into knots. Blurred silhouettes in a steamed-up bathroom mirror...

This wasn't the first time Genevieve Clarke had received a taunt like this.

The hand gripping the other woman's wrist, so tight it looked like it wanted to dig into her flesh-she recognized it instantly. It belonged to Julian Sterling, her husband of four years.

She glanced at the timestamp on the photos. Their wedding anniversary.

Julian had told her they would celebrate together that evening, yet he'd been gone for three days straight. His assistant had sent a message. A last-minute business trip, it said.

Urgent. Urgent indeed. Desperate, more like it.

She let out a bitter, humorless laugh and closed the message thread. Scrolling through her contacts, she dialed a number.

The call was answered immediately.

"Genevieve..."

"Fiona, I've found a volunteer for the sequestered research program."

"Who?"

"Me."

Dead silence on the other end. Then, Fiona's voice sharpened. "Don't be ridiculous. You know the rules. Once you enter the program, you're locked in until it's over. No leaving, no outside contact. If you join the research team, your identity is erased. Every record, gone. You'd be re-registered under a new name and legally declared a missing person. Are you really ready to throw away your life here? To throw away Julian?"

Genevieve looked at the wedding photo on the wall.

Happiness radiated from both their eyes, almost spilling from the frame.

His vows echoed in her mind. All those sweet memories, once so precious, now felt like a cruel joke.

"I've made up my mind. I'll be there tomorrow to sign the papers."

She hung up before Fiona could argue.

Downstairs, the sound of tires on gravel. Moments later, Julian's tall, athletic figure strode through the door. His well-defined hands yanked off his black tie as he headed straight for the bathroom.

His jacket, tossed carelessly onto the coat rack, carried the scent of VRA's latest fragrance-Inferno.

It stood for heat. Passion.

Everything she wasn't. So bland. So uninteresting.

Julian took a quick shower and emerged wrapped in a grey bathrobe.

The belt hung loose, revealing sculpted pecs and a taut abdomen. Damp hair fell across his forehead, the moisture making his dark eyes seem even deeper and colder than usual.

Eldest son of the Sterling family. A prince of finance. Julian's appeal-in both looks and wealth-was undeniable.

But as much as he'd once made her heart flutter, the sight of him now just made her sick.

"What are you staring at? Can't get enough?"

Julian draped an arm lazily around her waist, his voice a sexy rasp. "Miss me?"

As he spoke, his hand slid down the curve of her hip. Her skin crawled at his touch.

Genevieve sidestepped, evading his hand.

Julian's arm froze in midair. A faint frown creased his brow.

"What's wrong? Are you mad at me?"

Genevieve steadied herself. She wouldn't stoop to a confrontation. That was beneath her.

Swallowing the ache in her chest, she bent down and retrieved a small lockbox from the nightstand drawer. She held it out to him.

"A gift for you."

Inside were the signed divorce papers. Her final gift.

"You can only open it if you guess the code."

Julian barely glanced at it. To him, it was just another one of her silly little games-the kind of thing she used to do to get his attention. Utterly uninterested, he took the box and tossed it onto the table. Then he reached out, pulled her into his arms, and rested his chin in the crook of her neck, nuzzling her gently.

"You're the best gift I could ask for."

Genevieve flinched. Julian paused, then let out a low chuckle.

"Work got crazy, and I missed our anniversary. You're upset, aren't you?"

He pressed a kiss to her cheek, then released her and walked to the coat rack. From his jacket, he retrieved a square box, flipped it open, and held it out to her.

"Do you like it?"

Inside lay a vintage gold hairpin-an elaborate piece, intricately filigreed and set with a deep green emerald.

"I bid on this specifically for you. You love things like this, don't you? Try it on."

His tone was commanding, yet laced with a doting affection.

Once, a gesture like this would have made Genevieve melt.

Everyone in Silveridge knew Julian was a devoted husband.

Genevieve had believed it, too.

If it weren't for the photo on her phone, she would have been overjoyed.

A mixed-race girl in her early twenties, head tilted back, eyes half-lidded in seductive abandon. Her long, wavy hair was loosely pinned with that same emerald gold hairpin, exposing a delicate neck covered in kiss marks.

"It's one of a kind. You don't like it?"

He reached out and gently lifted a strand of her hair.

The slight roughness of his callused fingers brushed against her skin-a gesture heavy with sensual suggestion.

Genevieve was at her limit. She wanted to grab that hairpin and drive it straight into his heart.

When she lifted her eyes, they were cold, all her usual gentleness gone.

"Is it really one of a kind?"

An uneasy feeling coiled in Julian's gut. Something felt off, but just as his expression darkened, Genevieve's lips curved into a soft smile.

"If it's truly one of a kind, then I adore it."

She reached out and closed the box.

"I still have some work to finish tonight. You go on to bed. Don't wait up for me."

She slipped out of his embrace, clutching the box, and walked away without a backward glance.

A chill crept in through his loosened robe, and an inexplicable emptiness settled in Julian's chest.

Genevieve was definitely acting strange tonight.

Then his gaze landed on the lockbox on the table, and he relaxed.

No one in the world knew better than him how deeply Genevieve loved him. No matter what he did, she would never leave him.

Never.

His phone buzzed insistently in the pocket of his robe.

He fished it out and glanced at the screen. The explicit, suggestive messages made his throat go dry with heat.

He sat on the bed, typed a quick reply, then deleted the exchange. Tossing the phone aside, he collapsed onto the mattress.

The familiar, faint scent of his wife filled his senses, soothing his nerves and pulling him quickly toward sleep.

In the study, Genevieve photographed the hairpin and sent the image to a luxury consignment shop.

"Sell this for me as soon as possible."

She sent an account number.

"Wire the money here."

It was the general fund for the Veridian Institute.

For something so filthy, at least the money could be put to good use..

..

The next morning, when Julian woke, Genevieve was already dressed.

He propped himself up on his elbows and gestured to her.

His voice was deep and rough with sleep, laced with a gentle seduction.

"Come here. Give me a hug."

Genevieve's fingers, in the middle of buttoning her shirt, froze for a second. She took a deep breath and looked up, her eyes clear and calm.

"I have an urgent matter at the Veridian Institute, so I have to go. There's no time for breakfast-you'll have to manage on your own."

With that, she grabbed her clutch and turned away, just as she had the night before, without looking back.

Julian's hand hung in midair. A hollow feeling surged through him, and he rubbed his brow, irritated.

Before, no matter how busy she was, Genevieve would always have breakfast ready. She'd wake him when it was perfectly warm, acting like a spoiled kitten as she begged for a hug and a goodbye kiss.

What the hell was wrong with her today?

"Genevieve."

His voice sounded from behind her just as she opened the door. It cut through her, so sharp it stole her breath. The pain was so sudden, so intense, she could barely draw air.

She turned, her expression perfectly composed.

"Yes?"

He studied her for a few seconds, but seeing nothing amiss, he decided he was just being paranoid.

"Even if you're busy, make sure you eat. And don't stay up too late. The Beacon Project has hit some complications, so I'll be swamped for the next few days. You don't have to wait up for me."

"Okay."

Genevieve gave him a small smile.

Bathed in the morning light, her eyes bright, she looked just like the girl who had captivated him at first sight.

A tremor went through him, and his tone gentled even more.

"Once things settle down, I'll take you to Serenity Isle for a few days. We'll make up for the honeymoon we never had."

It felt like salt being ground into the gaping wound in her heart, raw and bleeding.

When they were planning their wedding, Genevieve had mapped out countless travel routes. She'd made him promise that on every anniversary, they'd pick a new destination for a honeymoon trip, so their love would never fade.

But just days ago, Julian had taken another woman to Serenity Isle. The photos of them tangled in bed were still on her phone.

She lowered her eyes and replied softly, "Sure. Once things settle down."

With that, she turned and walked out the door.

Not a trace of warmth remained in her eyes.

This time, Julian would be the one waiting.

Genevieve drove a plain, unremarkable black sedan into the Veridian Institute compound.

She'd barely stepped into the building when Fiona Fletcher, her colleague and friend, grabbed her arm.

"You actually came to sign the papers? What is going on? You never answered my messages. This isn't a game, Gen. Even if you were serious about this, you should have talked to Julian first."

Genevieve felt a sharp sting behind her eyes, the sudden, threatening burn of tears.

Without a word, she pulled out her phone, opened WhatsApp, and handed it to Fiona, the chat already open.

Provocative messages and photos, sent over more than just one day. The photos themselves were beyond indecent.

Fiona barely glanced at the screen before shoving the phone back as if it were toxic. Her face flushed with rage.

"That son of a bitch! If it weren't for your patents, his precious company would never have gotten this big. And now he has the nerve to cheat on you? No. You're coming with me. I'm going to tear him apart."

"Don't." Genevieve raised a hand to stop her.

"What do you mean, 'don't'? He treats you like this, and you're just going to let it slide?"

"Not a chance."

Genevieve slipped her phone back into her pocket. Her eyes were cold and sharp as splintered ice. "A public showdown is too good for him. I want him to pay for what he's done."

Fiona knew Genevieve well.

She was a brilliant researcher with a kind heart, but she never tolerated betrayal. Once someone crossed her line, she would strike back without mercy.

Fiona didn't argue. They walked back to the office side-by-side.

The paperwork was simple-it moved through several quick approvals and now only needed a final review.

Before she could leave, a last-minute task came through: attend an academic lecture and pick up the conference materials.

3:30 PM.

Zenith Hotel.

The lecture had just ended. Genevieve was walking out of the hall, file folder in hand, and heading for the parking lot when she heard a familiar low laugh.

"Don't be difficult. Behave yourself."

She froze. Every muscle in her body went rigid as her head snapped toward the sound.

Julian had his arm around a woman with long hair and a slim waist, guiding her into the hotel. The woman's cloying voice was a soft plea. "I miss you. So, so much."

As she spoke, she hooked her arms around Julian's neck and kissed him, her red lips moving from his earlobe down to his throat.

He chuckled, a low, dark sound, his eyes full of indulgence. His hand pressed into the small of her back, pulling her closer with an urgent, undeniable need.

The sight was a physical blow, a sharp pain that seemed to sear right through Genevieve.

So the woman had followed him here. And they couldn't even wait for nightfall, sneaking off to a hotel in the middle of the afternoon.

Through the revolving door, Julian's gaze suddenly met Genevieve's.

His eyes were dark, clouded with unspent desire.

Hers were arctic and empty, holding a cruel, self-mocking calm.

The air between them turned heavy. The woman in Julian's arms spotted Genevieve, too. A smirk curled her red lips, and without breaking eye contact, she deliberately pressed another kiss to Julian's mouth.

This one was firm, deliberate-an unmistakable claim.

A wave of nausea rolled through Genevieve. Refusing to watch a second more, she turned away with a cold, humorless laugh.

The second she pulled her car door open, a hand shot out from behind, slamming it shut. Julian had caught up to her. He was slightly out of breath, and the cloying, fiery perfume clinging to him was sickening.

"Let go!"

Genevieve yanked with all her strength, but the door wouldn't budge.

In the next instant, an arm circled her waist and shoved her into the back seat. Julian slid in right after her, his handsome face tight with urgency, a volatile flicker in his dark eyes.

"Genevieve, I can explain."

With no way to escape, Genevieve only edged further away, her voice dropping to an icy calm.

"Wipe the lipstick off your mouth before you speak to me."

Julian's expression darkened. He instinctively raised a hand to his lips, a flash of panic in his eyes before it vanished.

"The Beacon Project hit a snag," he began, his voice rushed. "I've been stressed about the investment. I contacted the Regulus Group. Isabelle Sullivan is the daughter of one of their board members. She's here to study, and they asked me to look after her. Her English is terrible, and she'd had a little too much to drink. I was just dropping her off at the hotel."

His voice softened to a coaxing, syrupy tone. He leaned closer, trying to charm her the way he always did when things were tense.

"You know how people from Ferolia are-more openly affectionate. I promise, I'll be more mindful of boundaries from now on. Don't be mad, okay? How about I make it up to you with a kiss?"

Genevieve raised her eyes. The chill in them was absolute, yet her voice remained eerily steady.

"Is taking such 'close personal care' of her a condition of their investment?"

There was no shouting, no hysterical interrogation.

She didn't need to raise her voice. Her quiet calm was more impenetrable than any wall of anger, and that one cold question made his entire elaborate story sound hollow and pathetic.

A familiar frustration washed over Julian. He tugged irritably at his tie.

"Genevieve, this was for work. Can you stop being so childish?"

Genevieve found the accusation so absurd it was almost funny.

She hadn't even thrown a tantrum.

Did he need her to shove the obscene photos from her phone in his face before it would count as making a scene?

The years of affection now felt like a fresh wound, burning hotter than any rage.

"Julian, if you're tired of this marriage, just say so. I'll give you a divorce. I won't cling to you."

Why did he have to treat her like a fool? Why lie to her face like this?

The moment the words left her mouth, his hand clamped down on her shoulder.

Julian's eyes turned frighteningly dark. "Don't ever say that word. We agreed. Whatever problems we have, we solve them. We don't talk about divorce."

Solve it?

He was cheating on her, sleeping with someone else. How, exactly, were they supposed to solve that?

Genevieve felt trapped, as if any move she made would only leave her more wounded.

A sudden ringtone shattered the suffocating silence. Julian's face was a stone-cold mask as he pulled out his phone, glanced at the screen, and declined the call.

But Genevieve had already seen the caller ID: My Sexy Kitten.

Before he could put the phone away, the screen lit up again.

This time, a WhatsApp notification popped up. The contact: Hot Stuff <3.

"Honey, I got hurt. It really hurts."

"I can't do this without you. Come back quick."

"It's bleeding. Am I going to die?"

Three messages in a row. All in Ferolian.

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?"