I stood in the center of the living room, pressing a hand to my stinging face as I looked around.
Every trace of the life I'd shared with my wife had been stripped away. The furniture, the layout—all of it was different.
Even the preserved flower arrangement on the wall cabinet—the symbol of our love—had been torn down and replaced with something draped in red cloth.
My mind went blank.
Kathleen... might really not be my wife.
Because my wife had made me a promise: only the day the preserved flowers wilted would be the day she stopped loving me.
But preserved flowers never wilt. And my wife would never stop loving me.
I turned away, hollow inside. Amid the cheering crowd, Cyril slid a ring onto Kathleen's finger and kissed her.
A bitter ache flooded my chest. Heat crawled up my spine.
Before I could make myself leave, I stole one last glance over my shoulder.
Kathleen was at the dining table, and the small gesture she made sent a violent tremor through my eyes.
I was certain—Kathleen was my wife.
I rushed over, seized the wedding band on her ring finger, and wrenched it off. The ring hit the floor with a sharp crack.
I clasped both her hands in mine and looked her dead in the eyes.
"Kathy, listen to me. You really are my wife."
"When I used to make this dish for you, I'd always slip in tiny pieces of minced ginger—so small nobody else would ever notice, let alone pick them out. Only my wife would know that detail. Everything about what you just did proves you're her."
Kathleen tried to pull her hands free. I held on for dear life.
She struggled once, twice—couldn't break loose.
Flushed with humiliation and fury, she raised her hand and slapped me across the face.
"Get out!"
I didn't get angry. I smiled.
There was nothing in this world more miraculous than the person you loved—the person you'd lost—coming back to life.
I grabbed Kathleen's arm and started for the door. Cyril charged over and yanked her back.
He scooped the ring off the floor and shoved it in my face.
"Francis, I already told you—Kathleen is not your dead wife. She's my fiancée."
"She wears my ring because she's mine. What gave you the right to knock it off her finger?"
"How much do you want?" I said.
Cyril jabbed a finger into my chest.
"This ring cost three hundred grand. Limited edition—only one in the entire country."
"Took me the better part of a year to secure it. You owe me at least a million."
I stood my ground, took Kathleen's hand, and walked toward the door.
"Money's not a problem. I just don't have that much on me right now. The moment I get back, I'll wire it to you."
"A million? I could pay you ten million and not blink."
"Now step aside. I'm taking my wife home."
Cyril lifted his foot and kicked me square in the chest.
"Francis, do you actually think I'm stupid?"
"Three years ago, when you were still running your business, you didn't even have ten million in cash. You think a stint in prison changed that?"
The kick sent me crashing into the wall. Above my head, the red-draped object on the cabinet swayed, threatening to fall.
Several hulking men with full-shoulder dragon tattoos rose from the couch, cracking their knuckles as they closed in around me.
I hauled myself up and spoke plainly.
"Cyril, I'm telling the truth. I'm the son of Sean Gilbert—the richest man in Havenport."
"Let me take Kathleen for a verification test first. The second it's done, I'll put ten million in your hands."
I wasn't lying to them.
Havenport's wealthiest man really was my father.
It was a secret known only to those in the highest circles of society.
My relationship with my father had been strained for as long as I could remember. Every plan he laid out for my life, I despised. When I couldn't take it anymore, I ran away from home as a teenager.
While I was in prison, he'd offered me a deal—my ten-year sentence reduced to three, in exchange for coming home and taking over the family business.
But after I got out, I never honored that promise. So he froze every bank account I had.
