Wife's Vanishing Act

Three years after my wife's and daughter's deaths, they came back from the dead.

Turns out, my wife hadn't died at all. She'd faked it and married the son of the richest man in Notingdun City. Ever since then, she'd stepped into the glamorous life of a wealthy socialite.

When I uncovered the truth, the shock hit me like a bolt of lightning. I confronted her face-to-face.

She didn't even flinch. Instead, she sneered, "You think a penniless man like you deserves to be my husband? I've remarried and taken on a new identity. Stay out of my life, or don't blame me for what happens next."

Her words cut deep. Even our daughter turned her back on me.

Crushed, I let go for good.

But not long after, she came back regretful and begged me to remember the vows we made on our wedding day: to never leave, never forsake.

I looked at her and laughed coldly. "Yes, I did make that promise once. But sadly, my wife died three years ago."

It was the third year after the death of my wife and daughter.

That was when my biological parents came to find me and officially acknowledged me as their son.

I boarded a flight with them to return to Notingdun City.

No sooner had we arrived than I was ushered into my father's car to attend a dinner party hosted by one of his friends.

At the party, I stood in a corner, holding a wine glass, my face expressionless. The glittering crowd and lively chatter couldn't stir even a flicker of interest in me.

"Hey, isn't that Mrs. Peyton?

"Look at her outfit. Must be worth over hundreds of thousands, easily."

"She's so lucky. If only I could marry into a wealthy family like that."

The gossip buzzed all around me, and I caught it despite my apathy.

Curious, I glanced toward the entrance and instantly froze.

A woman in a designer gown stepped in, her figure draped in jewels, smiling radiantly as she waved to the guests.

That face... was identical to the wife I'd thought died three years ago.

Hilary Stone was alive?!

Thinking I must be hallucinating, I pinched my thigh so hard it turned red. But the sharp pain confirmed it—this was real. My eyes burned red, my heart tossed like a stormy sea.

I set down my glass and strode toward her without hesitation.

But before I could call her name, a tall man suddenly stepped into my line of sight.

He wrapped his arm around Hilary's waist, leaning in close.

"Hilary darling, what took you so long?" he asked gently.

Their intimate exchange rang in my ears. I froze mid-step, eyes locked on them.

"It was Lily. She wouldn't let me leave. Took me forever to coax her into letting go."

The words struck like lightning to my skull. I stood behind them, stunned, studying the pair.

Then I saw his face. My breath hitched.

He was Ross Peyton, Hilary's