Chapter 3

My consciousness drifted in rage, returning to where it all began.

I remember that afternoon a year ago when Theodore came home from the office, his eyes gleaming with undisguised admiration: "Just signed a new actress. Ambitious but incredibly talented. I think you'd like her."

I was in the kitchen preparing dinner, casually asking, "What type?"

"Lydia Crowe. She reminds me a lot of you when you were younger." He wrapped his arms around me from behind, his chin resting lightly on my shoulder. "Just as smart and resilient. I can't bear to let her take on low-quality roles."

Like me when I was younger?

Looking back now, that was the first warning sign. But at the time, I just smiled, thinking he was complimenting me.

Over the next few months, Lydia's name became a frequent presence in our conversations.

Eleven o'clock at night, Theodore's phone rang.

"What's so urgent this late?" I looked up from my legal documents.

"Lydia says some creep is stalking her. She needs me to pick her up." Theodore was already putting on his coat. "It's not safe for a girl to be alone."

"Tell her to call the police," I frowned. "Or get an Uber."

"Eveline, she's new to the industry. She doesn't know how to handle these situations yet. I'm her agent—I have a responsibility to protect her."

I watched his hurried figure disappear out the door, unease stirring in my chest for the first time.

At the celebration party for her successful signing, Lydia got drunk and publicly kissed Theodore's cheek: "Thank you, my mentor!"

The producers in attendance whooped and cheered. I stood to the side, feeling everyone's suggestive gazes.

"She's just overexcited," Theodore said awkwardly, pushing her away while shooting me an apologetic look.

But I noticed he didn't push her away very hard.

The worst was that Beverly Hills mansion party. Lydia deliberately showed up wearing the same Valentino dress as me—the same deep red, the same V-neck design.

"Oh my God, we're matching!" She covered her mouth in feigned surprise. "Though I think it looks more youthful on me."

Guests whispered among themselves, their eyes darting between us. Theodore stood nearby, his face a mask of mortification.

"It's fine," I forced a smile. "Red suits you."

But in that moment, I had already declared war in my mind.

In the car ride home, I finally exploded.

"Can't you see she's provoking me, Theodore?"

"Eveline, she's just new to the industry and lacks boundaries." Theodore rubbed his temples, clearly irritated. "You were impulsive when you first started practicing law too. You should understand her better than anyone. Why are you competing with her?"

"Competing with her?" I couldn't believe it. "She's openly declaring war on me, and you're saying I'm competing with her?"

"She's only twenty-four! What's there to compete about?"

So in Theodore's eyes, Lydia always had reasons to be forgiven, while I always had to be mature and understanding.

"Either you drop her, or we separate."

Theodore slammed on the brakes, pulling over to the side of the road. He turned to face me, his eyes filled with disappointment and confusion.

"Eveline, when did you become so distrustful of me?"

From that point on, our relationship deteriorated rapidly.

Frequent arguments made the atmosphere at home rigid as a freezer. Theodore refused to drop Lydia, and I couldn't bring myself to file for divorce.

Insomnia became the norm. I lay in bed listening to Theodore's even breathing, remembering those sweet moments from our youth—those snowy nights at UCLA Law School when he'd wait for me after class, his gaze focused and tender.

Self-doubt spread like a virus. My work efficiency plummeted, and the partners began giving me sideways glances.

But my instincts told me I wasn't wrong.

The day I got diagnosed, Los Angeles hit 104°F, and the hospital's central air conditioning was broken.

I gripped that pancreatic cancer diagnosis, my palms sweaty. I wanted to call Theodore, but received an "In a meeting" auto-reply.

Never mind. This kind of news wasn't suitable for a phone call anyway.

I bought an iced latte from the hospital café, planning to collect myself before going home.

Then I saw them.

Through the glass window, Theodore was tenderly smoothing Lydia's disheveled hair. She leaned against his chest, the two of them whispering intimately in a way that made me sick.

Under Los Angeles's blazing 104-degree sun, I felt ice-cold, trembling uncontrollably.

My phone screen still showed Theodore's "In a meeting" auto-reply.

So this was his meeting.

I charged inside.

The moment Theodore saw me, his eyes filled only with panic and shock. "Eveline? How did you—"

"This is what you call a purely professional relationship?" I grabbed the hot coffee from the table and threw it directly at his face.

"Ah!" Theodore screamed, scalded, squeezing his eyes shut and clutching his face in agony.

"You crazy bitch!" Lydia immediately rushed over, grabbing her iced latte and splashing it at me. "How dare you hurt him!"

Cold coffee liquid streamed down my hair and face. I remembered how, when we were young, Theodore would stand up for me when I was wronged. Now, another woman was protecting him.

Rage completely ignited within me. I lunged at Lydia, grabbing her hair.

"Slut! You destroyed my marriage!"

"You couldn't keep your man yourself!" she shrieked back, her nails leaving bloody scratches on my face.

Coffee cups shattered on the floor as customers around us pulled out their phones.

"Look! Live wealthy family drama!"

"Isn't that Theodore Blackwood?"

"Oh my God, wife versus mistress street brawl!"

Just as our fight reached its most intense, Lydia suddenly cried out and deliberately fell to the ground.

"My stomach hurts!" She clutched her abdomen, tears instantly streaming down her face.

Without hesitation, Theodore pushed me aside and lifted Lydia, anxiously checking her over.

"Are you okay? Are you hurt?" His concern was so real, so urgent.

Just like he used to be with me.

"Theodore..." I staggered backward. "You..."

He turned to look at me, his expression complex. "Eveline, this is all my fault. But Lydia is carrying my child. You could hurt her doing this... Stop making a scene, please?"

The world collapsed in that instant.

I remembered how, due to an early miscarriage, doctors said I could never conceive again. And this bitch had easily obtained what I could never give him.

"A child..." My voice trembled beyond recognition.

Theodore looked at my pale face, a flash of heartbreak in his eyes, but it was quickly replaced by his protective instincts toward Lydia.

"I'm sorry, Eveline. But now isn't the time to discuss this."

Sudden sharp pain shot through my abdomen, and my back began to ache dully. My lips, bitten by myself, filled my mouth with the taste of blood.

The gossip around us grew louder:

"This woman looks pale and tired—not as young and pretty as the mistress."

"Men just love novelty. This wife is obviously past her prime."

"The mistress is smart—getting pregnant secures her position."

Lydia was tightly protected by Theodore, while I was completely exposed to the cameras and gossip.

I bit my lip hard, telling myself: Don't cry, don't humiliate yourself in front of these people.

But tears still betrayed me, streaming down.

As Theodore left with Lydia in his arms, he glanced back at me once. That look held guilt, reluctance, but more than anything, helplessness and relief.

As if I were a burden he couldn't shake off, and now he'd finally found an excuse.

I stood there, watching their retreating figures, still clutching that pancreatic cancer diagnosis in my hand.

That evening, Theodore came home.

I locked the bedroom door, refusing to see him. He sat outside the door, talking continuously.

"Eveline, open up. Let's talk."

I didn't respond.

"The child was an accident. I was drunk that day, and she reminded me so much of you that night..." His voice was soft, tinged with exhaustion.

"She reminded me of you when you were young... I just wanted to protect her, but I never intended to betray our marriage."

Such familiar phrasing. Such hypocritical excuses.

"Lydia is an innocent girl who's carrying my child. If I don't take responsibility, how will she survive in this industry?"

"After the child is born, I'll give her a large sum of money to leave Hollywood and start over. We can raise the child together—this way my mother won't pressure you about having kids anymore."

Hearing this, I almost laughed out loud.

He actually wanted me to accept this child.

"Eveline, I'll never divorce you. I'll spend the rest of my life making it up to you. Open the door, please?"

I didn't open the door.

That night, separated by a door, we became complete strangers.

Over the following days, Theodore came to find me daily. But because Lydia always followed to cause trouble, he stopped visiting for the "child's safety."

Instead, he sent lengthy daily texts, trying to placate me with false promises of a beautiful future.

"Once the child is born, the three of us will be a family..."

"I've already thought of names for the baby..."

"You'll be the most gentle mother..."

But this wasn't my child, and I wouldn't live to see it anyway.