Chapter Five

Pushing open the heavy teak doors of the penthouse duplex near Central Park, I was met with a suffocating silence.

Every piece of furniture was crafted by top Italian artisans, a million-dollar Swarovski crystal chandelier hung overhead, and even a single rug cost seven figures. Eleanor had proudly called it "New York's most perfect fortress." But in my eyes, it was nothing more than a cold tomb filled with lies and betrayal.

Without turning on the lights, relying on five years of muscle memory, I walked straight to the door at the end of the corridor in the dim light.

That was Lily's room.

I had no time for grief now; I had to take Lily away from this disgusting place completely.

I opened the closet and took out Lily's small clothes one by one, folding them neatly and placing them into my black suitcase. The pink tutu she wore for her third birthday, her favorite pair of teddy bear-soled shoes with barely worn soles, and the overly loose hospital gowns I had to buy because of her long-term bedridden state.

My movements were gentle, as if with each touch I could feel the soft warmth of my daughter's body.

After packing the clothes, I went to the bookshelf. There were more than a dozen beautiful photo albums there, recording every smiling moment of Lily from birth to before her car accident at age six .

I packed all the albums into a box without missing a single one.

Then, I began to patrol the room, like a ruthless cleaner, stripping away every trace of my daughter's existence from the walls and tables. I peeled off all the drawings Lily had made on the walls; I took the solo photo of Lily that had always been on the bedside table, and then casually threw the expensive sterling silver frame into the trash can; I even used tools to remove the wooden board covered with markings from the height wall.

Ten minutes later, I went into the living room, the master bedroom, and every corner of the house.

"Click."

I took the last family photo from the dressing table in the master bedroom. In the photo, Eleanor, ten years ago, was pregnant, smiling as if she was really looking forward to the arrival of this life. I coldly tore off her half, threw it on the carpet, stomped on it, and carefully tucked the remaining half, the one with Lily and me in it, into my pocket.

In this house, there was no longer a single photograph of Lily, no single toy of hers, not even a thread that carried her scent.

Everything was completely emptied. Only the stark color of the removed frames remained on the walls, and the faint scent of green apples in the air was completely dispelled by the cold wind.

Eleanor, since you consider Lily a discarded object that can be erased and replaced at will, then from now on, you are not only unworthy to be her mother, you are not even worthy of looking at her photograph. All the records of Lily's growth and beautiful memories, I took them all. All that remains for you is this expensive yet deathly air.

I zipped up my suitcase. It wasn't large, and surprisingly light, yet it contained my entire life and faith from the past ten years .

After placing the suitcase in the entryway, I walked towards the huge marble island in the master bedroom. It was time to prepare an unforgettable tenth wedding anniversary gift for my "good wife. "

I took out a luxurious jewelry blind box from my backpack, made of top-quality calfskin and dark red velvet, just like the one King Charles wore. This was the gift wrapping style Eleanor had hinted at wanting; she always loved this kind of ornate, old-money-esque packaging.

I opened the box.

First, I placed inside a flawless, undisputed divorce agreement.

In the property division section, I used the most ruthless financial legal clauses I'd ever used on Wall Street—I declared that I was relinquishing all of Eleanor's debts and joint liability for bankruptcy, and that the funds I had transferred were legally laundered as my premarital hidden assets. On the last page of the agreement, I had already signed "Arthur Herman," the handwriting bold and cold. This was an irrevocable judgment.

Next, I folded the yellow receipt with the glaring red stamp from the Comman Fertility Center:

[Medical and Biochemical Waste Disposal Receipt]. I laid it flat on top of the divorce agreement. This is the sterilization certificate I crafted for her myself, the knife I used to sever Lily's false fantasy of "becoming a good mother again."

Finally, I pulled a perfectly black, concealed USB drive from my pocket.

This USB drive was the "ultimate bomb" I'd unearthed over the past three days using every hacking technique I could muster. It contained not only high-definition videos of Julian and the attending physician boasting in the wine cellar about "how to use fake severe heart failure records to swindle a rich woman's sympathy and extract exorbitant sums of money"; not only vicious recordings of him secretly mocking "that dead little bastard was a perfect part of my body"; but also detailed transaction records of Julian's smuggling of Eleanor's assets on the overseas black market.

I carefully placed the USB drive in the center of the yellow receipt, as if setting a fuse for a nuclear fusion explosion.

I closed the lid.

With a gold ribbon, I tied this blind box, filled with revenge and cold-bloodedness, into a perfectly executed bow.

" Happy 10th Anniversary. Go to hell and enjoy your love, you scum."

After everything was prepared, I paid someone to expedite the delivery of the jewelry box to Windsor Manor.

Then, without looking back, I picked up the suitcase full of Lily's belongings and walked out the door. The sound of the lock clicking shut echoed in the corridor, as if I had personally driven the final nail into a giant coffin.

...

Two hours later, at JFK International Airport, VIP security checkpoint.

New York's first snow had turned into a flurry of snowflakes, and outside the airport's glass facade, this bustling steel jungle was shrouded in a pale and chaotic white.

"Sir, your boarding pass and passport." The security officer handed me the documents with both hands. "Boarding for your flight to Stockholm is about to begin. Have a pleasant journey."

"Thank you."

I took the documents and clipped them to a one-way ticket.

I stood before the huge floor-to-ceiling window, gazing one last time at the city that held half of my soul. Here, I once slept smartly in a suit and tie, strategizing on Wall Street; here, I heard Lily's first loud cry outside the delivery room; and here, I knelt like a dog before her tombstone in the pouring rain, watching helplessly as the butcher's knife of capital cruelly drained my daughter's blood.

I pulled out the old phone from my pocket, the one that had bound me and restricted me for five years.

I pried open the SIM card slot and, without hesitation, snapped the SIM card—bound to all of Arthur Herman's social connections and contact information—into two halves. I tossed the card and the empty phone into the nearby trash can.

Cutting everything off, leaving no room for retreat—this is the quality of a hunter laying a trap.

"Come on, Lily. Daddy will take you to see real snow." I patted the black suitcase beside me, as if soothing a sleeping child.

The plane's engines roared deafeningly, its massive fuselage slicing through the snow and soaring into the deep clouds. I closed my eyes, my body arching slightly backward with the feeling of weightlessness. For the first time, I felt the rotten mountain of a "perfect family" that had weighed on my chest for five years finally dissipate completely.

...

At the same time, in stark and absurd contrast to my cold departure, Windsor Estate, a wealthy neighborhood on Long Island, New York, was filled with luxurious lights and laughter.

Although the outside temperature had dropped to minus ten degrees Celsius, the estate was warm and cozy inside. Tens of thousands of pink Ecuadorian roses adorned the banquet hall like a royal palace.

Today was Eleanor and Arthur's tenth wedding anniversary.

This was also Eleanor's stage to once again showcase her impeccable, supreme power and perfect life to the entire New York high society after experiencing the "pain of losing her daughter."

Melodious symphonic music echoed in the hall. Eleanor wore a burgundy backless evening gown, hand-stitched by Parisian haute couture and adorned with Swarovski crystals, looking like a newly crowned queen. Holding a glass of expensive champagne, she moved among congressmen, Wall Street tycoons, and socialites, accepting their congratulations.

"Eleanor, you're absolutely radiant today," a senator's wife chuckled, raising her glass. "But Arthur? Today is your tenth anniversary. Is this stay-at-home dad still grieving over his recently deceased daughter?"

Several ladies around her whispered, their eyes filled with barely concealed disdain for this "gold digger."

A flicker of barely perceptible annoyance crossed Eleanor's eyes, but she quickly masked it with an extremely elegant, even somewhat saintly, forced smile.

"Arthur's a child at heart. He's too sentimental. Lily's accident certainly hit him hard." Eleanor gently swirled her glass, her tone carrying the pride and control of a benefactor. "But it's alright. As his wife, I certainly know how to heal him."

She paused deliberately, raising her voice a few octaves to ensure the surrounding celebrities could hear her.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I actually have some good news to share tonight. I've made an appointment at the best fertility center in New York, Coleman Fertility Center. Next week, I'll be thawing a Grade 1 frozen embryo that I prepared a long time ago. Soon, my family will welcome a brand new, healthy life. Lily's regrets will be completely made up for by this perfect new child, and it's also the best anniversary gift I can give Arthur." A

burst of deliberately flattering applause erupted from the crowd.

"Oh my god, Eleanor, you're not only a great CEO, but also a great wife and mother!"

"Arthur must have saved the galaxy in his past life to marry you!"

"Looking forward to the future heir of the Orbis Corporation!"

Hearing these compliments, Eleanor's vanity swelled to its peak. She was completely immersed in playing the role of a "merciful savior mother."

In her subconscious, as soon as this "new child" was introduced, all of Arthur's resentment, breakdowns, and questions would vanish instantly, like a comforted dog. As for the heart squeezed from his own flesh and blood, it's already safely placed in his first love's chest, isn't it? What a perfect deal.

Just then, the manor's butler, old Charlie, dressed in a sharp tailcoat and white gloves, respectfully carried an exquisite silver tray to the center of the hall.

On the tray was a dark red, luxurious calfskin jewelry blind box, the same style as King Charles's, bound with a gold ribbon.

"Madam," the butler reported in a low voice, "this was just sent by Mr. Arthur from the city by express courier. He said... he said it's a 'grand gift' he carefully prepared for you for your tenth anniversary."

The symphony in the hall stopped at just the right moment.

All the distinguished guests' eyes were focused on the magnificent box, followed by a burst of good-natured laughter and cheers.

"Looks like our full-time husband still knows how to be romantic!"

"Open it quickly, Eleanor! Maybe it's a priceless pink diamond!"

A hint of unexpected surprise flashed in Eleanor's eyes. She set down her wine glass, her long, swan-like neck held high, and walked to the tray in her high heels.

"He's smart enough to know his place," Eleanor thought to herself with a cold snort. It seemed the five million "hush money" and the upcoming "second-child surprise" had indeed worked. That good-for-nothing not only didn't cause trouble, but obediently offered her an expensive gift to appease her.

Under the dazzling light of the crystal chandelier, Eleanor extended her exquisitely manicured hand, a haughty smile on her face, and grasped the golden ribbon.

She pulled gently.

In the spotlight, on this night when she believed she controlled the pinnacle of her life, she finally opened the haute couture blind box that held her ticket to future hell.