Chapter 3

3

Caleb signed the agreement on the third night.

I watched him sign―his brow furrowed slightly, the corners of his mouth twitching downward.

I knew that expression. In my past life, he made that face every time I asked about the company accounts. It wasn't guilt. It was annoyance. Like I was a bothersome employee wasting his time.

“Lydia.” He set the pen down. “We’re married now. Don’t you trust me?”

I tucked the agreement away and smiled.

“Of course I do. I just want to share the burden. Look at you, you’ve got dark circles under your eyes from worrying about the company.”

He paused. He probably didn't expect that reaction.

“Don’t worry about the business,” he patted my shoulder. “Just stay home and be Mrs. Sterling. I’ll handle everything outside.”

I’ll handle everything.

He said that to me many times in my past life.

Every time he said it, he was funneling money away behind my back.

By the day I died, the only thing in my name was a run-down studio I couldn't even afford the fees for. Meanwhile, he and his mistress lived in a three-thousand-square-foot penthouse. He drove a Porsche. He had nine figures in the bank.

“Okay,” I said. “Whatever you say.”

But I didn't stay home.

On the fourth day, I went to the Secretary of State’s office. I secretly made copies of every registration document, from the front desk to the finance department.

On the seventh day, as a shareholder―holding forty-nine percent equity―I officially entered the company.

Caleb looked terrible. But he had no reason to stop me.

I went to the finance department. I sat in the corner cubicle.

The girl in the next cubicle was named Grace. She wore thick glasses.

In my memory, she quit after six months. Before she left, she told me privately that the books were off, but I didn't take her seriously.

In this life, I approached her on my third day.

“Grace. Those reimbursement receipts you were handling―can I see them?”

She blinked. “Why do you… want to see those?”

“I’m a shareholder.” I smiled. “Shareholders have the right to inspect financial records.”

Her hands shook as she brought over a stack of receipts.

I flipped to page three. Page twenty-seven. Page fifty-six. With every page, my hand got steadier.

Out of fifty-six receipts, forty-three were fake.

Office supplies―paid to a company called “Skyline Trading.” I checked the records. The legal representative: Skylar Reed.

Travel expenses―Caleb reimbursed five thousand dollars a month for “business trips.” But the flight info was blank. The hotel invoices didn't match his travel dates.

Entertainment expenses―the largest was twelve thousand dollars. The menu listed a dinner for twenty people. But the company directory showed we only had nine employees at the time.

I copied the receipts. I put the originals back and tucked the copies into my bag.

“Grace,” I said. “Thank you. From now on, show every receipt to me first, then to Caleb. Can you do that?”

She looked at me. Behind her glasses, her hesitation turned into a strange kind of resolve.

“…I can.”