Chapter 1

On the night of our fifth wedding anniversary, Julian Reed knelt on one knee, fastening a new diamond necklace around my neck.

"My dearest, you're my life," he whispered, kissing my earlobe, his voice as soft as melted honey.

I scoffed, remembering the document I'd just seen.

Elara Vance Psychological Destruction Plan.

His handwriting was on it: "Year five, self-awareness completely stripped. Initiate final phase."

"Julian," I cupped his face, gazing earnestly into his deeply affectionate eyes. "What would you do if someone destroyed the thing you love most?"

His eyes didn't flicker. "I'd kill them."

I nodded, pulling a knife from behind my back, and smiled as I asked,

"What if it was you?"

Elara Vance POV

In the fifth year of my marriage to Julian Reed, I found a top-secret psychological evaluation report in his private safe.

The cover bore a bold title: Elara Vance Psychological Destruction Plan.

I had only meant to find his passport to book two tickets to Iceland as a surprise for our fifth anniversary. The safe's password was my birthday, and it opened with a casual try.

But there was no passport, only this thick stack of documents.

My hands trembling, I opened the first page.

Julian's familiar, sharp handwriting filled the pages, every sentence like a poisoned blade.

"Year one: She trusts me completely. Her fear of abandonment has been entirely suppressed by my fabricated, unconditional affection."

"Year three: She has left the orchestra. Her social circle has been wiped clean; she has nothing but me."

"Year five: Dependency reached one hundred percent. Self-awareness stripped. Final phase can be initiated – complete emotional deprivation and social ruin."

My mind exploded, leaving only a sharp ringing in my ears.

All of New York knew Julian Reed was completely obsessed with his wife.

He would drive across half the city on a freezing winter night just because I mentioned wanting a strawberry cake from the upscale bakery across town, making sure it was the first thing I saw when I woke up.

If I accidentally cut my finger while practicing cello, he would tear up, taking my hand in his mouth as if the wound was in his own heart.

He even bought an entire island, naming it after me, claiming it was his worry-free paradise built just for me.

He would always whisper in my ear, "Darling, the outside world is too complicated. You just need to hide under my wing and be my little princess."

So, I willingly gave up my position as principal cellist, cut off contact with my friends, and lived like a bird in a gilded cage.

But now, these documents brutally revealed that every romance, every profound display of affection over these five years, had been a precisely calculated psychological trap.

At the end of the file, a woman's photo was clipped.

It was Chloe Davis.

Five years ago, the talented cellist Chloe Davis's reputation was destroyed by a sudden bullying scandal. She ended up with permanently damaged legs in a car accident during a rainstorm.

And the "biggest beneficiary" of that scandal was me, who took her place as principal.

I had always thought it was just an accident, until I saw a sentence Julian had written on the back of the photo:

"She took Chloe's stage and her legs. I will take her soul."

The sound of the lock turning suddenly echoed.

My body stiffened. I frantically shoved the documents back into the safe and slammed the door shut.

The next second, the study door opened.

Julian, dressed in a custom suit, held a bouquet of rare "crushed ice blue" roses. He walked in against the light, the tenderness in his eyes capable of drowning anyone.

"Elara, why are you sitting on the floor? The marble is cold; you'll get sick."

He strode over, casually placed the flowers on the table, and effortlessly lifted me, his movements practiced and careful, as if I were a fragile, rare treasure.

He lowered his head, pressing his warm lips to my forehead, his voice deep and doting, "Happy fifth anniversary, darling."

I leaned against his broad, warm chest, breathing in his familiar cedar scent, feeling as if all the blood in my body had frozen.

I looked into those deeply affectionate eyes.

For five years, I had seen stars and oceans in those eyes, a unique, unconditional love.

But it turned out they were just a mirror, reflecting his cold-blooded intent to kill.

"Why are you trembling?" Julian frowned slightly, his large hand enveloping my icy fingers, a perfectly timed flicker of concern in his eyes. "Was the window not closed properly? I'll go heat you some milk."

He placed me on the soft cashmere sofa and turned towards the kitchen.

I watched his retreating back.

He rolled up his shirt sleeves, his long fingers moving deftly, his profile looking so charming in the warm yellow light.

This man had woven an airtight net with the most extreme tenderness.

He had groomed me into a useless shell who couldn't live without him.

And then, he was preparing to push me off a cliff with his own hands.

I bit down hard on my lip until I tasted blood, just to stop myself from screaming.

I remembered when I was eighteen, I’d bled my finger practicing cello, and he’d cradled my hand in his, promising to protect me. I remembered on our wedding day, he swore before the priest that I was his only belief in this life.

It was all fake.

He never wanted to love me; he wanted to elevate me to the highest point, only to let me fall and shatter into a million pieces.

Extreme pain, I realized, was silent.