“Miss Kearsley, your marriage certificate is fake.”

The hostess slid the document back across the counter, a hint of mockery hidden in her voice.

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely.”

“I have no reason to bring a fake certificate to a restaurant and cause trouble,” I said, frowning.

“Maybe you’re after our anniversary special for married couples.” She smiled calmly.

I had no idea the restaurant even had that kind of promotion.

I chose this place only because Dickon once told me the rooftop terrace here was the closest place to the stars in all of Winston.

Our third wedding anniversary was still ten days away. He had said he would be in New York on business that day, so I had booked a table early, hoping to surprise him.

“I’m not here for a discount. If you’re accusing me without proof, I can file a complaint.” I picked up the certificate, my voice turning cold.

The hostess tapped a few keys, then turned the screen toward me.

“After entering Mr. Spencer’s information, the system pulled up his reservation. He did book an anniversary dinner for two tonight.”

My shoulders loosened slightly, and a small, foolish spark of hope rose in my chest.

“He prepared a surprise too?”

“But…” The hostess paused. “The woman listed on the reservation isn’t you.”

My eyes fell on the spouse column.

Loretta Elmore.

It felt as if a boulder had slammed into my chest.

Loretta.

I had shared a bed with her countless nights, whispering secrets until dawn. I had given her my ugliest tears. I had told her every private conflict between Dickon and me without holding anything back.

And now her name was sitting in my husband’s spouse column.

“They’re upstairs in the rooftop garden celebrating their anniversary,” the hostess added softly. “The notes clearly say it’s an anniversary date.”

I said nothing.

I turned and ran toward the stairs, my heels striking the steps hard, the sharp sound echoing in the stairwell.

Impossible.

It had to be a system error.

Dickon was the husband I had loved for three years. Loretta was the best friend who had known my heart since childhood.

Those two names should never have been tied together like this.

The terrace door was half-open, and the soft sound of a violin floated out.

I hid behind the door, my eyes fixed on the scene beyond it.

Starlight. Roses. Candles. Champagne.

Then I saw them.

Dickon stood in a sharp black suit, tall and dazzling under the lights. Loretta wore a cream-colored dress and leaned against him, smiling softly. His hand rested firmly on the small of her back.

That distance, that touch, that ease between them—none of it belonged to ordinary friends.

Behind them, a huge screen glowed. Gentle music flowed around them, and the title on the screen read:

Afterglow.

Then the photos began to play, one after another.

The first was a picture from a cruise.

I had that photo on my phone too.

Only in my version, there were three people in the frame.

In this version, I had been completely cut out.

I stared at the screen, suddenly feeling the whole thing was absurd. I had planned that entire cruise. The white dress Loretta wore in the picture had been a gift from me.

Yet in this carefully edited memory, not even the edge of my sleeve remained.

Next came a candid shot of Loretta in profile. She was holding her phone and smiling faintly, while Dickon stood not far away.

More photos of just the two of them flashed across the screen.

At first, they looked a little stiff, like two people just beginning something. Then gradually, they became relaxed. Intimate.

Restaurant dates. Ski trips in the mountains. Laughing together. Warm, private moments that belonged only to them.

Every single image felt like a slap across my face.

I had believed Dickon was busy with work.

But now, frame by frame, the truth was laid out in front of me.

I had been kept in the dark the entire time.

The passenger seat—Dickon once said it belonged only to me.

So that was what “only me” meant.

It had never included Loretta.

My fingers tightened around the door handle bit by bit, the cold metal biting painfully into my palm.

The images became even more unbearable.

A kiss beneath the sunset.

The two of them laughing in bed.

Then a private photo taken after intimacy—Loretta curled in Dickon’s arms, both of them half-dressed.

Nausea rose in my throat.

My back hit the cold doorframe hard, and a chill spread through my whole body.

The final photo froze on the screen.

Dickon was down on one knee, slipping a diamond ring onto Loretta’s finger.

Before the image even faded, the real Dickon knelt on one knee with a bouquet of red roses in his hands.

“Mrs. Spencer,” he said, looking up at her, “you are beyond beautiful tonight. Marrying you three years ago was the best decision I ever made. I know you’ve suffered these past three years. For the rest of my life, I’ll be by your side.”

Loretta took the bouquet and threw herself into his arms.

They held each other.

Then they kissed.

I shrank back into the shadows as tears poured down my face. The whole world blurred.

Again and again, I tried to lie to myself.

I forced myself to believe I had mistaken them for someone else.

But everything before me was cruelly clear.

The marriage I had spent three years protecting had turned out to be nothing but a fake certificate.

I wiped away my tears.

I wanted the truth.

I wanted to walk up to them and ask why they had lied to me like this.

But before I could move closer, Loretta suddenly took something from her bag and held it up in front of Dickon.

Dickon stared at it for a long moment.

Then pure joy swept across his face.

“I’m going to be a father!”

His voice rang across the entire terrace, as if he wanted the whole world to hear the good news.

“Loretta, I’m going to be a father!”

He lifted her into his arms and spun her around.

My body went rigid.

It was a pregnancy test.

I had bought box after box of them. Each time, I had waited with a heart full of hope.

Each time, I had been left with disappointment.

In that moment, every last bit of luck and fantasy died inside me.

I no longer had the strength to confront them.

I forced myself to calm down, walked to the corner at the end of the stairwell, leaned against the wall to steady myself, and made a verification call.

“Help me check Dickon Spencer’s marriage registration.”

A short while later, the call came back.

“Miss Kearsley, we’ve completed the check. Mr. Spencer legally registered his marriage three years ago on June 6th.”

I lowered my eyes to the certificate in my hand.

The date on my fake certificate was June 16th.

Ten full days later.

“Who is the spouse?” My voice trembled.

“Loretta Elmore.”

After I hung up, the violin music rose again from the terrace.

Only then did I finally see reality for what it was.

Two hours later, I parked outside the Spencer mansion.

Dickon’s car pulled into the courtyard.

The moment Loretta got out, Mrs. Spencer stepped forward and pulled her from Dickon’s arms, her gaze going straight to Loretta’s stomach.

“Careful, sweetheart. Dickon told me you’re pregnant. I still can’t believe it.”

Loretta smiled faintly.

“Mrs. Spencer, it’s still early. Please don’t be too nervous.”

“How could I not be excited? This is the Spencer family’s first grandchild. Our bloodline. Our future.” Mrs. Spencer smiled warmly.

I sat in my car, my hands locked around the steering wheel.

“If Zoey finds out, she’ll be heartbroken,” Loretta said softly. “After all, she did save Dickon.”

The smile on Mrs. Spencer’s face faded a little.

“Yes, she did save Dickon in that car accident three years ago. That’s why we’ve tolerated her until now. But the doctors said it would be difficult for her to conceive. I told Dickon from the beginning that the Spencer family could not risk a legal marriage on her. We only gave her a place because of public opinion. You’ve suffered because of that.”

“I haven’t suffered,” Loretta said gently. “As long as I can be with Dickon, I’m satisfied.”

Mrs. Spencer held Loretta’s hand, her voice softening again.

“Now that you’re carrying his child, you are the legal Mrs. Spencer. You are the only woman who can give this family an heir.”

Dickon stood beside Loretta and pulled her closer.

Inside the car, the old scar on my abdomen began to ache.

Back then, a steel pipe had pierced through me during the crash. I had used every bit of strength I had to protect Dickon.

And in return, all I had received from beginning to end was a carefully planned lie.

My phone suddenly vibrated.

The caller ID read: Mr. Wright.

I answered.

On the other end was Mr. Wright, the head of Winston’s powerful Wright dynasty. We had met only once, during a partnership meeting with Tienwell Group.

“Miss Kearsley,” he said, “I assume you’ve already discovered the truth about your marriage certificate.”

“You knew from the start. So the marriage alliance you suggested before was real?”

“A marriage alliance concerns family interests. I don’t joke about that.”

“I can cooperate,” I said. “But if the Wright family wants my resources, then I want a public identity and a real platform to grow. I want to take back everything the Spencer family owes me. Let me make one thing clear first—I will never be a tool for producing heirs. My body, my career, and my assets will all remain under my control.”

“There are plenty of women willing to bear children for the Wright family,” Mr. Wright said. “And if you want, I can arrange an appointment with the best specialist—”

“I accept the marriage alliance.”

I cut him off and looked at the Spencer mansion, the place I had once poured everything into.

My voice was calm.

“But I want a grand wedding. One that shakes the entire city and takes over every headline.”