I pretended not to notice Jackson's searching gaze.
He held out until he couldn't anymore, then picked up his glass and walked over.
"Mrs. Stephens."
Jackson spoke with easy confidence. "I just overheard your conversation with Mr. Zhang. The Southgate project in Seaview City — you gave that to me."
I gave a faint nod.
"I did."
"Why would you help me?"
A flicker of confusion crossed his eyes.
"There were plenty of people competing for that project, and I wasn't exactly the frontrunner."
I smiled lightly, resting my chin on my hand.
"Because you remind me of someone I used to know, Mr. Gilbert."
Jackson froze. A flash of shock passed through his eyes.
He had to admit — ever since Millicent had let slip that remark about Sophia Simmons bearing some resemblance to Lucille Harding, his mind hadn't been able to settle.
Lucille...
Could it really be you?
If it's not you, why would you help me out of nowhere?
And then, watching me prop my chin on my hand and gaze at him like that —
A storm tore through him.
The face was wrong. It wasn't Lucille Harding's face.
But those little gestures, that look in my eyes — for one disorienting moment, he could have sworn she was standing right in front of him again.
I smiled and spoke first, steering the conversation somewhere entirely different.
"You and Mrs. Gilbert don't have children yet?"
"No."
Jackson's eyes locked onto mine, deep and unwavering.
"I once promised my ex-girlfriend that if I ever had children in this life, it would only be with her."
My lips curved into something that wasn't quite a smile. "Oh? How devoted of you, Mr. Gilbert. But tell me —"
"How did she become an ex-girlfriend?"
Jackson went quiet.
"She passed away."
"I loved her. More than I've ever loved anyone. I thought we'd have a home together soon."
"But that year, something happened to her family. They lost everything overnight. Her parents divorced. She couldn't take the shock, got into a car accident, and her life ended forever in the summer she turned twenty-four."
Liar.
I swallowed the disgust rising in my throat. The smile on my face didn't waver — flawless, impenetrable — as I watched him.
Men were such vile, slippery creatures.
He was the one who betrayed me first, and yet here he was, performing grief like a widower at a funeral. All the sympathy, all the admiration for his so-called devotion — he'd collected every last drop.
And me? I got nothing. Just the word tragic stamped on my name, and then I was forgotten.
"What a shame."
I rose from my seat.
"Excuse me. I need to use the restroom."
The moment I turned to leave, a hand closed around my wrist.
"Wait."
Jackson's throat bobbed. His gaze softened as he looked at me.
"Mrs. Stephens, you and her... you really do look alike."
That look in his eyes — so familiar, so full of tender longing.
As if he were staring right through me, seeing someone else. I knew exactly who he was seeing.
Do I look like her?
I offered a cool smile.
"There are plenty of people in this world who resemble each other. Call it fate, I suppose."
I glanced down at his hand, still wrapped around my wrist.
Jackson noticed too. He released me in a hurry, as if he'd been burned.
The gala certainly was lively tonight.
Jackson had barely finished talking to me when Millicent appeared, right on cue.
"Mrs. Stephens, I just saw you chatting with my husband. What exactly were you two doing?"
Her expression was guarded, her eyes sharp.
"I know Jackson has always been impressive — handsome, successful. Plenty of women out there have their eyes on him."
"You're Arthur Stephens' wife, Mrs. Stephens. I'd strongly suggest you don't get any ideas you shouldn't be having."
Oh, I was well aware.
When Jackson had grabbed my wrist in that moment of impulse just now —
