Chapter 1

The day my husband won the prestigious National Architecture Award, I attended the ceremony as his spouse.

On stage, the host asked him who he wanted to thank the most.

He pointed the trophy toward the audience, his eyes filled with deep affection.

"The person I want to thank the most is Luna Shaw from our team. She is my muse and the very soul of my design."

The crowd erupted into thunderous applause.

I sat in the audience, squeezing my phone so hard my knuckles turned white.

Luna was my husband’s junior assistant—and a student I had personally sponsored years ago.

For five years, they had stood on that stage together.

Meanwhile, I had abandoned my own career to manage our home.

I gave him my everything, only to be completely erased from his acceptance speech.

And erased from his life.

I sat frozen in the audience as the crowd dispersed for the afterparty.

After what felt like an eternity, he finally remembered my existence, sending me a text like it was some kind of charity.

“Babe, don’t overthink it. I only said that on stage to build hype for the project. It’s just for work.”

“I have to attend the afterparty, so I’ll be home late. Take a cab back by yourself.”

Two texts. Not a single drop of actual care or concern for me.

My chest tightened with a bitter mix of emotions. I didn't want to see another notification from him.

Just as I was about to turn off my phone, another message popped up.

“Chloe, we have a board meeting tomorrow morning. We’re all looking forward to your return.”

Return to the industry?

I looked at the empty stage and made my decision in silence.

On the cab ride back, the driver kept glancing at me through the rearview mirror.

I could only imagine how pathetic I looked—red eyes, ruined makeup.

He didn't pry. He just silently handed me a packet of tissues.

"Thanks," I mumbled, my voice hoarse.

I subconsciously rubbed my phone case. It was a custom design I had made five years ago, featuring our initials, C and J, intertwined like elegant vines.

Now, that intertwining felt more like a chokehold.

The car radio was broadcasting the local evening news.

“...Tonight, Julian Vance, a renowned professor of architecture at State University, was honored with the Lifetime Achievement Award. During his acceptance speech, Professor Vance gave a touching tribute to his core team member, the brilliant young designer Luna Shaw, calling her his muse and professional soulmate...”

The host's voice was filled with excitement, as if they were witnessing some legendary love story.

Another guest speaker chimed in.

“Absolutely. A pure, intellectual connection like theirs is so rare. In fact, I heard that to give his muse the best creative environment, Professor Vance practically turned his own home into Luna’s private studio.”

A wave of intense nausea hit me.

My home. Turned into another woman’s private studio.

"Please pull over," I said, my voice eerily calm.

The moment the car stopped, I threw open the door and dry-heaved into the bushes by the sidewalk. Nothing came out.

Right then, Julian’s Snapchat call rang. I tapped accept, and his familiar, gentle voice filled the air.

"Chloe, where are you? Don't be mad. That was all just PR. You know you're the only one in my heart."

Before I could even process the hypocrisy, he sent a voice note right after.

"I had Luna wait for you at the house. She’s a huge fan of yours and always wanted to learn your recipes. Don't give her a cold shoulder when you get back. She's young, sensitive, and very sweet."

The sheer absurdity of it shattered my sanity.

He wanted that woman waiting in my house, and he expected me to smile and welcome her so I wouldn't scare her off.

He had never viewed our house as our home.

It was his territory, and I was just his obedient pet.

As I was typing a reply, a notification banner popped up at the top of my screen.

[Home Server Alert: Unauthorized Login Detected.]

This was the private server I had personally built five years ago to store all my architectural designs.

For security, I had set up high-priority alerts for any access.

With trembling fingers, I opened the admin app.

The logs clearly showed that ten minutes ago, a guest account named "LunaShaw" had accessed a folder I had encrypted five years ago.

My heart stopped.

That folder contained all the raw drafts, inspiration notes, and unpublished blueprints from my career before I got married.

My hands shook as I clicked deeper into the directory.

A subfolder named "Eye of the Cosmos" had been opened.

Every single sketch and data model in that folder was the core concept of the project that had just won Julian his award tonight.

The "soulful design" he credited to Luna had originated right here.

In my files.

I quickly logged into Julian's student-run WhatsApp group. I had always had access, though I never checked it.

The group chat was throwing a massive digital party, filled with cash-transfer gifts and congratulatory messages.

"Professor Vance is a genius! Luna is amazing!"

"It's all thanks to Luna reorganizing those old archives. She literally turned trash into magic!"

"Exactly! The original designer's thinking was so stiff and outdated. Luna’s reconstruction is what gave it life!"

These students had all visited my home, eating the dinners I cooked for them while acting so polite.

And now, the "outdated original designer" they were mocking was me.

The blood rushed to my head.

Just then, Julian sent a massive digital red envelope to the chat, followed by a message.

"Let's not put anyone on a pedestal. Luna has natural talent, but she still needs to master the basics. As for the past, let’s leave it in the past."

With one casual sentence, he dismissed my entire youth and life’s work as nothing but "the past."