Chapter 7

Eugene stood paralyzed in his mansion's doorway, staring at the wedding decorations he'd hung with such care, a stark reminder of the joy that had filled his face just days ago. Inside, the house blazed with wedding finery—silk ribbons draped from crystal chandeliers, rose petals scattered across imported marble—what should have symbolized love now felt like fresh blood on his conscience. His chest constricted, forcing him to brace against the wall, gasping for air.

His phone buzzed: "Miss Montgomery has returned to the family estate in Boston." With trembling fingers, he dialed my number, only to be greeted by the cold voice of disconnection. Rage and desperation erupted as he kicked a stack of wedding boxes. Gold bars cascaded across the floor like a fallen king's treasure, each bearing the prestigious Montgomery Industries seal. Papers fluttered down like autumn leaves. His hands shook as he read the titles:

"Transfer of Montgomery Holdings – Estimated Value: $2.4 Billion" "Deed to Montgomery Commercial District – Annual Revenue: $890 Million" "Montgomery Harbor Estate Transfer – Property Value: $375 Million"

Each document represented millions—my dowry, the heritage of a Montgomery heiress. The truth hit him like a physical blow: I had planned to reveal my identity during our wedding, trusting him with not only my heart but my legacy.

Memories flooded back—every time Thorne Industries faced a financial crisis, mysterious investors had appeared. Now he understood. I had been there all along, silently supporting him, believing in him.

Eugene shredded the contracts in a frenzy of denial, his voice breaking as he screamed into the empty house: "I loved Victoria, not the Montgomery fortune! I only wanted my Victoria!"

Eugene's calls to my phone met only silence, his messages vanishing into a digital void. Panic—an emotion foreign to his carefully controlled world—clawed at his chest. His phone vibrated. The doctor's carefully measured voice filled the room: "Mr. Thorne, I must stress again—Miss Victoria's condition was already fragile. The corneal transplant and hysterectomy in such rapid succession… her body is severely compromised. Without proper care, we could lose her."

The words hit him like physical blows. He had nearly killed me in his blind devotion to Claire. The security footage from his assistant arrived next—security footage from the bridal suite. Eugene watched as the hidden man emerged from behind curtains, violently tearing at my clothes.

"Find him," he commanded, then after a pause, pain lacing his voice, "And investigate Claire." His gaze swept across the wedding photos lining the walls, countless moments of what he'd thought was pure love. His fist connected with the wall, blood seeping from split knuckles. "Victoria, I'll bring you back," he whispered to their smiling faces. "You promised never to leave me, no matter what."

"Eugene! Oh God, you're bleeding!" Claire's soft hands caressed his bloodied knuckles as she pressed herself against him. "I can't believe Victoria was a Montgomery heiress. She never trusted us enough to tell us… maybe she never really cared for either of us." She tilted her face up to his. "She clearly didn't want to be your bride." Her lips brushed his, cold as winter. "But I do. Let me be your wife."

His phone buzzed again. The assistant's evidence appeared on screen—photos, videos, damning proof. Eugene opened a video; Claire's voice was crystal clear: "Forge the medical records showing I'm going blind. I want Victoria's corneas." "You know exactly what needs to be done, don't you?"