A Safe Full of Damnation

"Bearer bonds?" Spencer's breath hitched.

"Only problem is," I said, pausing to let out a theatrical sigh, "the bonds have a three-year lock-in period. Can't be cashed early. And you know my father—always the showman. His will states that a direct blood relative has to guard the safe at the estate for three years straight. Otherwise, the whole fortune is cursed."

A fanatical gleam ignited in Spencer's eyes.

Three years in a rundown estate in exchange for an unimaginable fortune.

He looked at me as if I were a colossal fool, sitting on a mountain of gold and about to hand it over.

I lowered my eyes and said softly to Spencer, "I'm about to be sent to Aria's. Who knows what will happen to me once I'm there?"

My tone grew heavy. "I can't protect that money. We're brothers, Spencer… so consider it my gift to you."

The wariness in his eyes vanished completely, replaced by pure, scorching greed.

"Don't worry, Rhys," he said, giving my shoulder a pat that was meant to feel sincere. "I'll take good care of that money for you. And when you get to the Crestwoods'... just try to be patient."

That afternoon, Spencer packed his bags and eagerly set off for Maine, under the guise of "guarding the inheritance" for my father.

Though Genevieve and Philip were puzzled, they couldn't sway him and had no choice but to let him go. In their eyes, what could a rundown estate in the middle of nowhere possibly hold of value?

I stood at an upstairs window, watching Spencer's car vanish into the rain as the ghost of a smile touched my lips.

There was indeed something in that safe—but it wasn't bonds.

Inside was my real birth certificate and all the evidence my father had left behind—enough to prove every one of Genevieve's crimes.

In my past life, I had almost gotten my hands on it. But before I could act, they forced me into the marriage with Aria, and my plan for revenge was cut short.

This time, I would let that fool guard the evidence for me.

Once I dealt with Aria, I would expose everything.

A week later, after Aria and I completed the legal formalities, a black Rolls-Royce delivered me to her estate on Long Island.

The housekeeper opened my car door, her face a blank mask, and gestured me inside.

"Miss Crestwood is waiting for you in the study upstairs."

I nodded and followed her.

The first time I came here, my palms were sweaty, and my every step was fraught with trepidation. But now, walking down this familiar hallway again, my heart was perfectly calm.

The study door opened, and there she was—Aria.

She was dressed in a sharply tailored custom suit, sitting in a high-tech wheelchair with a soft cashmere blanket draped over her legs.

Sunlight streamed through the massive floor-to-ceiling windows, yet it did nothing to warm the chill in her eyes.

"So, you're the son Genevieve sent?" she began, her voice a low, sharp monotone.

"Yes," I answered calmly.

She finally looked up, her gaze filled with undisguised contempt.

"Don't think I don't know you're just a substitute," she said. "I thought she would have parted with her precious son."

I remained silent, just looking at her.

Her weakness and injuries were all a performance.

In my past life, her act had deceived me. I thought she was a broken, pitiful woman and tried to thaw her icy exterior with kindness.

In return, all I received was a humiliation deeper than I could have ever imagined.

"Get out," she said, waving a dismissive hand. "Stay in the guest room. Don't let me see you. You're an eyesore."

This was our wedding night.

It was exactly the same as in my previous life.

But this time, I didn't panic. I didn't even look away. I met her cold gaze and said calmly, "Miss Crestwood, I think we need to talk."

The staff outside the door shot me glances of mixed pity and contempt.