Chapter3: Newlywed Game
1047words
"Ethan Howard," Alexander stood behind me, looking at the screen, "your former fiancé. Interesting choice."
"His company has deep cooperation with Sinclair Pharmaceuticals," I explained, my fingers dancing across the keyboard, "they rise and fall together."
Alexander poured two glasses of whiskey, handing one to me: "A toast to your first revenge."
I took the glass, but didn't drink immediately: "How are you so sure this is revenge?"
"Your eyes." Alexander took a sip of his drink, "Every time you see Sinclair or Howard's name, your pupils dilate slightly, like a cheetah locking onto its prey."
I remained noncommittal, downing the drink in one go. A warm sensation spread through my throat, making me feel dizzy.
"What did you put in the drink?" I asked alertly.
Alexander shook his head: "No need. You've already had three glasses, enough to make you tipsy."
I stood up, deliberately staggering a little. Alexander immediately steadied me, his arm wrapping around my waist.
"Careful," his voice sounded next to my ear, "the carpet is slippery."
I leaned against his chest, feeling his strong heartbeat: "I thought you didn't like physical contact."
"An exception." Alexander helped me to the sofa, then handed me a glass of water, "Drink this."
I took the glass, casually asking as if it were an afterthought: "Your study is always locked, what secrets do you keep in there?"
"Curiosity killed the cat, Miss Sinclair." Alexander smiled, his eyes flashing with a warning light.
That night, I pretended to be asleep, and after Alexander left the bedroom, I quietly got up. I took out the password cracker Lydia had given me from the hidden compartment in my suitcase—a seemingly ordinary lipstick tube that concealed cutting-edge decoding technology. My heart raced, and my fingers trembled slightly. Alexander Knight was no ordinary person; if he discovered I was prying into his secrets...
I shook my head to dispel the thought. There was no turning back now.
The corridor was silent, with only a faint light coming from the study in the distance. I held my breath, moved along the wall, avoiding floorboards that might make noise. Arriving at the study door, I aimed the "lipstick" at the electronic lock and pressed the top button. The device emitted an almost inaudible hum, and seconds later, the lock made a slight clicking sound.
I pushed open the door, quickly slipped inside, and gently closed it behind me. The study was larger than I had imagined, with bookshelves covering three walls and a spacious redwood desk in the center. The air was filled with the scent of leather, old books, and some woody fragrance.
My eyes quickly scanned the room, searching for possible safe locations. Bookshelves? Floor? Desk? I recalled Lydia's advice: "Rich people always like to hide their secrets behind artwork."
Sure enough, there was an abstract painting hanging behind the desk, with slight signs of use around its edges. I carefully moved the painting aside, revealing a safe embedded in the wall. Using the decoder again, I held my breath and waited, each second feeling like a century.
Finally, the safe opened. I quickly flipped through the documents inside, my heartbeat thundering in my ears. Most were business papers, until I discovered an old folder containing a stack of yellowed newspaper clippings.
I drew out the first clipping and read it in the lamplight. A report from The Times, 1943, with the headline "Tragic Accident Claims Young Woman's Life." The woman in the photograph—my fingers trembled involuntarily—she bore a striking resemblance to me, the same eyes, the same curve of the mouth.
"This can't be possible..." I murmured, looking through more clippings. They were all about this woman's death, from different eras, different newspapers. Why would Alexander collect these? What connection did I have with this woman who died nearly eighty years ago?
"Found something interesting?"
A voice came from behind me, and my blood instantly froze. I spun around, nearly knocking over the lamp. Alexander stood in the doorway, holding two cups of tea, his expression inscrutable. He didn't show anger, but rather a strange kind of expectation.
"You knew I would come," I said, struggling to control the tremor in my voice while quickly assessing escape routes.
Alexander came closer and handed me a cup of tea: "I know you're pretending to be drunk. I replaced the alcohol in the champagne with a sobering agent."
I took the teacup and looked at him: "Why collect these newspaper clippings? Who is this woman?"
"Everyone has their own collection preferences." Alexander avoided answering as he sat down in the armchair across from me. "Now, tell me your real purpose, Vivian. No one would ask to marry me without reason."
I took a sip of tea, feeling warmth flow through my body, contemplating how to respond. He knew more than I had imagined, but I couldn't easily reveal my cards.
"Perhaps I just need a powerful ally," I finally said, my fingers gently tracing that face that resembled mine, the questions in my mind more numerous than before entering the study.
"Or," Alexander leaned closer to me, "you need a soul as dark as your own."
Our gazes met in the dim light, and we each saw the secrets hidden in the other's eyes. For the first time, I felt that Alexander Knight might be more dangerous than I had imagined, and that he understood me better than I thought.
Back in the bedroom, I lay on the bed, thinking about today's discoveries. Why did those newspaper clippings disturb me so much? Who was that woman who resembled me? How did Alexander know so much about my plans?
This marriage was becoming more complicated than I had anticipated. But I couldn't back down; the path to revenge had been laid, and I had to continue. Whatever secrets Alexander held, as long as he could help me achieve my goal, I was willing to cooperate with him.
After all, in this cold world, allies are more important than truth.
