Just like every night before I knew about his betrayal, I lie down in bed—but this time, I make sure to keep as much distance as possible from Oliver, trying to avoid even the slightest contact. The mere thought of his touch makes me feel sick.

"Why are you lying so far away, Giselle?" he complains as the mattress sinks under his weight.

"I-I don’t want to hurt you. I know your ribs are still sore."

"I don’t care. Get closer," he orders. Just to keep him from suspecting anything, I scoot closer until we’re just inches apart. But it’s not enough—he wraps an arm around my waist and pulls me tightly against his body.

[…]

For the next two days, Oliver insists I stay by his side every moment. And just when I think I won’t be able to sneak away to meet this Nathan guy, Paulette shows up at the house—giving me the perfect excuse to get away from the ever-watchful Lefebvres.

"Are you done eating?" Oliver asks me.

"Yes, I’m going to help—"

"Go to the bedroom and stay there until I come get you."

"But—"

"Stop arguing and do as I say. Paulette and I need to go over some things in the study. Don’t interrupt us," he warns me, and I nod slowly, biting back my words.

When I glance at his assistant, I catch her smirking at me with thinly veiled amusement. I inhale quietly, rise from the table, and leave the dining room, leaving the Lefebvres behind—undoubtedly plotting something against Dubois.

Once I’m out of sight, I dash up the stairs and lock myself in the bedroom, pacing restlessly as I try to figure out how to get away from them. After a few minutes, I grab some of the money Oliver leaves me for errands, open the door carefully, and peek out. No sign of his ever-present nanny, thank God.

I hurry downstairs, but as I head toward the study, the older woman appears.

"You can’t go in there. My boy Oliver and his parents are in a meeting with Miss Paulette."

"In that case, I’ll step out to the garden for a bit," I say.

"Do whatever you want. Just don’t go near that room."

I don’t answer. I turn on my heel and nearly sprint out of the house. As soon as I’m past the gates, I finally breathe freely. Without wasting another second, I head straight to the meeting spot, hoping Nathan agrees to my proposal—to help me divorce Oliver and get revenge on him and his family.

After several minutes, I reach the location and wait… twenty minutes go by. Just as I’m about to give up and head back to endure the Lefebvres until the company’s anniversary event, a sleek luxury SUV pulls up beside me. I recognize the face in the driver’s seat and can’t help the wave of relief that floods through me.

"Get in," he says coldly.

Nathan

"Did you do what I asked?" I ask Kalet as soon as he walks into my office.

"Yes, about checking the composition of that perfume, the witch's brother is already on it..."

"Kalet!"

"And the other thing… not much out there about her, but I did dig up a bit. She keeps a low profile," he says, completely ignoring my glare.

"Her parents died years ago in a fire. She was an only child—no other known family, at least not around here. Studied chemistry, but never practiced. Or at least that’s what they want us to believe."

"Why do you say that?"

"Because after her parents died in that accident, she married that bastard Lefebvre—and that’s when his company started to take off."

"Because they’re stealing our products," I growl.

"I agree. But even the products they’ve released that aren’t ours have done pretty well in the market. That’s why I think she’s the mastermind behind them. I mean, do you really think Oliver could come up with anything like that? The guy can’t even string a sentence together, let alone create something useful."

"And what did you find out about their marriage? How bad is it between them—besides what we already know about her lover?"

"They put on a good show in the beginning. Newlywed bliss and all that. She used to attend every event with him. But little by little, she stopped going out. It’s like she became a prisoner in that house."

"Even his parents and his mistress were more present than she was. It’s like he’s ashamed of her. And don’t tell me it’s because of how she looks—I doubt anyone forced him to marry her."

"I wasn’t going to say that," I snap, irritated.

"You made it pretty clear that day you think she’s ugly."

"And she is."