McNeil had all the trappings of old money—a privileged, aristocratic air beneath the polished veneer of a trust fund heir. The first time Victoriaid eyes on him, she was utterly captivated.


    "Go upstairs and change. We''re having dinner at Granddad''s tonight. If he sees you dressed like this, he won''t be pleased."


    Victoria smirked inwardly.


    So much for the "just the three of us going out to dinner" he''d promised. Turned


    out, they were heading back to the old family estate to see the patriarch.


    No wonder McNeil hadn''t cut her loose yet-she was still useful to him.


    "Alright."


    She didn''t argue, just made her way to the room she hadn''t set foot in for ages. The moment she habitually flung open the closet doors, Victoria was stunned.


    Her clothes-all of them were neatly arranged inside. Same sizes, same styles, nothing missing, not even a single piece of lingerie. It was as if she''d never left at all.


    But she vividly remembered packing everyst item when she walked out the door.


    Back then, McNeil''s things were the only ones left behind.


    Now, both their clothes had found their way back to their ces, side by side.


    Victoria pulled out a dress that fit her perfectly. Except for the faint scent of newness, everything was exactly as it had been before she left.


    After changing, she nced at herself in the mirror. The woman staring back was the same one who, for six years, had devoted herself to McNeil without a hint of regret.


    But this time, there was something different in her eyes-a glint that hadn''t been there before.


    Her gaze drifted to the nightstand, where she spotted a fountain pen.


    She walked over.


    It was the special disappearing ink pen she''d bought for Gwh, meant for practicing letters—a kind of pen where the writing would vanishpletely after half an hour. Gwh must have left it here thest time she was ying in the room. Victoria pocketed the pen before heading out.


    Downstairs, McNeil stood at the floor-to-ceiling windows, lost in thought, cigarette smoldering between his lips and one hand tucked into his pocket.


    The sound of Victoria''s footsteps pulled him from his reverie. He turned just as she began her descent down the spiral staircase, moving with a grace that made his breath catch.


    Her steps were light and poised. The hair she usually wore loose was now swept up, with just a few delicate strands framing her face. Pearl earrings adorned her ears, catching the light, while her bright eyes seemed to sparkle with a thousand hidden stars.


    Her figure was elegant in a knitted dress, the soft fabric tracing every curve and rippling with her movements.


    Six years as McNeil''s wife had transformed her from an innocent girl into a woman of depth and allure. Yet time had left no trace of weariness on her face.


    She was even more stunning than she''d been years ago, her beauty now touched by maturity.


    McNeil''s cigarette slipped from his lips before he realized it.


    The burning endnded on his hand, and the sting finally broke his trance.


    He snuffed the still-glowing cigarette out on the carpet with his shoe. "We''ll need a new rug."


    He strode straight toward her, reaching out as she stepped onto the final stair. Victoria hesitated for a moment, but in the end, she let him take her hand.


    It was just like their wedding day, when only the Langfords and the Turners had gathered in the old chapel. McNeil had taken her hand just like this, guiding her toward the priest, where they''d vowed-under the watchful eyes of God-to grow old together.


    "Mrs. Langford, you look beautiful tonight..."


    With a gentle squeeze, he pulled her into his arms.


    Victoria didn''t push him away, but once she found her footing, she slipped out of his embrace almost imperceptibly, keeping just enough distance between them. "I''ve always dressed like this. Perhaps Mr. Langford simply never noticed?" Every piece in that closet had been carefully chosen by her. She''d bought them only because, back when they were dating, McNeil had said he liked women who dressed elegantly-hair up, long dresses.


    That was his vision of the perfect wife, the idealdy of the house.


    Every dress, every essory she wore reflected McNeil''s taste.


    For six years, she''d loved him without a thought for herself.


    And now, after finally deciding to leave, McNeil noticed her dress—and offered apliment.


    How ironic.


    "Mrs. Langford, you really know how to spoil a moment."


    He didn''t protest her distance, but he never let go of her hand.


    "Xenia, call Miss Gwh downstairs. We''re leaving."


    Xenia had been quietly watching them from the sidelines. For some reason, the couple''s intimacy struck her as odd-more strained than tender. She couldn''t shake the feeling that instead of growing closer, they were only drifting further apart.


    She wouldn''t dare specte about her employers'' marriage. Hearing McNeil''s instructions, she quickly answered, "Yes, sir," and hurried upstairs.


    Momentster, Gwh came bounding down, only to find her parents holding hands.


    She paused, puzzled, then tried to wedge herself between them in the car, but McNeil simply lifted her and set her on his other side.


    "I''ll sit with your mother," he said. "You sit next to me."