Unlocking His Secret: I Saw His True Love

I have a secret: whenever my skin touches someone else's, I can see the person they love the most.

Three years ago, Anderson proposed to me to secure his family inheritance.

The moment he slid the diamond ring onto my finger, I saw myself in his heart, wearing a wedding dress.

I thought it was a mutual redemption.

Until three years later, at a charity gala, we stood with our fingers intertwined under the spotlights.

But this time, I didn't see myself.

I saw a young girl in a faded white dress. In a cramped apartment, Anderson had her pinned against the wall, kissing her desperately while her eyes welled with tears.

It turns out love doesn't just fade. It transfers.

When he left me dying on a cold operating table for that girl, I let him go completely.

Later, that arrogant man knelt in the pouring rain, begging me to touch him just one more time.

But I only found him disgusting.

The annual high-society charity gala in New York was blindingly bright with camera flashes.

As the wife of Anderson Sinclair, the head of the Sinclair Group, I held his arm. We walked the red carpet, bathed in the adoration of the city's media.

"Mr. and Mrs. Sinclair, could you step closer and hold hands, please?" a reporter we knew called out with a smile.

Anderson turned his head. A perfect, gentle warmth flickered in his deep, icy eyes.

He reached out and wrapped his long, elegant fingers tightly around my palm.

The moment our skin met, my heart skipped a beat.

I have a secret that no one knows.

Whenever I touch someone's skin, I can see the person they love deepest in their heart.

Three years ago, in this mans palm, I saw myself.

That was what gave me the courage to entrust my life to him.

Full of anticipation, I closed my eyes, letting the sensation from my fingertips transmit his inner world into my brain.

But in the next second, my blood turned to ice.

The image in my mind wasn't me in a haute couture gown.

It was a young girl with a ponytail, wearing a faded white dress.

In a cramped, dimly lit apartment, Anderson was pinning her against a peeling wall, kissing her with wild, greedy desperation. Her eyes were red.

She responded clumsily, her hands gripping his expensive, custom-made shirt.

That was a side of him I had never seena raw, possessive, uncontrollable passion.

Buzz

The phone inside Andersons suit jacket suddenly vibrated.

He let go of my hand almost instinctively.

The warmth left my palm, and the cold draft rushed between my fingers.

He pulled out his phone. As the screen lit up, I caught a glimpse of a text message before he could hide it on Snapchat.

Mr. Sinclair, its pouring rain. The dorm gates are locked. Im alone on the street, and Im so scared

Sender: Vivian.

Anderson stared at the screen. A rare, uncontrollable flash of panic and heartache crossed his face, a face that usually never showed emotion.

"I'm sorry," he said, turning to me. His voice was low but filled with undeniable urgency.

"Theres an emergency with our European branch. The board directors are waiting for my decision. I have to leave right now."

He didn't wait for my reply, nor did he even drape his coat over my shoulders. He turned and strode down the red carpet.

The camera flashes went wild, freezing me there, completely alone in front of the massive backdrop.

I watched his retreating back and forced a smile that felt more painful than crying.

Three years of devotion. It turns out the deepest love in someone's heart really can transfer to someone else.

I handled the media alone and returned to our sprawling, ten-thousand-square-foot estate.

Empty. Dead silent.

This was the home I had built with all my heart for three years. Right now, it felt like a giant freezer.

At 3:00 AM, the beep of the smart lock echoed at the entrance.

Anderson was back.

He took off his damp black trench coat, handed it to the butler who hurried over, and stepped inside with his usual elegant composure.

"Why aren't you asleep yet?"

He walked into the living room. Seeing me sitting on the sofa, his brow furrowed slightly, his tone carrying a touch of gentle scolding.

"Did you sort out the emergency in Europe?" I raised my head, looking at him quietly.

"Yeah. It was a bit tricky, but it's taken care of."

He walked over to me, leaning down out of habit to kiss my forehead.

But as he drew closer, a completely unfamiliar scent invaded my nose.

It wasn't the cedarwood cologne I had personally blended for him. It was a cheap, sickeningly sweet peach perfume.

The scent of a young college girl in her early twenties.

I abruptly turned my head away, avoiding his lips.

Anderson froze mid-air. A flash of annoyance crossed his eyes, but he quickly masked it.

"What's wrong? Still mad that I left early?"

He straightened up and looked down at me, a hint of impatience in his voice.

"Elise, youve always been sensible. You know that in my position, there are things I can't avoid."

Sensible.

For three years, to be worthy of him, I had hidden all my sharp edges. I learned to be the perfect high-society wife.

I thought it was mutual devotion. He just took it for granted.

"I'm tired. I'm going to sleep."

I stood up, not giving him another glance, and walked straight upstairs.

After washing up and lying in bed, my phone screen suddenly lit up.

As if possessed, I opened Anderson's Instagram.

A new post stabbed my eyes.

There was no photo, just a short sentence: Even if it pours, I will hold the umbrella for you.

The posting time was exactly thirty minutes after he had abandoned me on the red carpet.

I bit my lip so hard I tasted copper.

The man who had once sworn before a priest to protect me through sickness and disaster was now holding his umbrella over someone else.

The next morning, Anderson left for the office early.

In his study, I found a bidding proposal for the Southside project that he had "forgotten" the night before.

It was a major project he had been preparing for six months. He needed it for a 10:00 AM meeting today.

I changed into a well-tailored suit, took the document, and drove to his private penthouse.

That was where he had proposed to me. He had said it was a secret base just for the two of us.

Now, I wanted to see what was hidden in our "secret base."

The elevator went straight to the penthouse.

I stood in front of the smart lock and entered my birthday.

Access denied, the mechanical female voice chimed coldly.

I paused, then entered the time the girl had sent the text last night: 0927.

Click. The door unlocked.

Immediately, I was hit by the sweet, sickening peach perfume from last night.

By the floor-to-ceiling window in the living room lay a pair of white canvas shoes.

And on the girl's feet were the custom Italian leather slippers I had commissioned an old craftsman to makeslippers that were supposed to belong only to me.

The girl walked out of the kitchen holding a warm glass of milk.

She wore an oversized white button-down shirt. The hem barely covered her thighs, and the collar was loose, revealing her pale, slender neck.

The shirt belonged to Anderson.

When she saw me, she gasped, almost spilling the milk.

"Mrs... Mrs. Sinclair?"

She recognized me.

But there was no panic of a mistress caught in the act. Instead, she had a timid, innocent look, like a startled fawn.

"Why are you here?" she asked nervously, pulling down the oversized hem to cover herself.

I looked at her pure, clean face.

It was exactly the same face I had seen in Andersons heart last night.

Vivian.

"I came to deliver a document to Anderson." I tossed the bidding proposal onto the console table, my voice completely flat.

"Anderson is... he's in the shower," Vivian whispered, biting her lower lip.

"The storm was too bad last night, and the dorms were locked. He was worried about me, so he let me crash here for the night."

She said it so naturally, so intimately.

"Mrs. Sinclair, please don't misunderstand. Nothing happened. Anderson just felt bad for me trying to make it alone in New York..."

The more she explained, the guiltier it felt.

Just then, the bathroom door opened.

Anderson walked out, drying his dripping hair with a towel. He only had a towel wrapped around his waist, exposing his toned upper body.

Seeing me standing in the entryway, he froze, his pupils contracting instantly.

"Elise? What are you doing here?"

He strode over. His very first instinct was to step in front of Vivian, shielding her entirely behind his back.

He was protecting her. Protecting his sweetheart from me.

Watching his defensive stance, the last shred of my hope shattered into dust.

"You left your bidding document in the study. I was in the area, so I brought it over."

I looked him dead in the eye, catching every micro-expression on his face.

Andersons tense jawline relaxed slightly. He let out a quiet sigh of relief.

"Thanks. You could have just sent a driver."

He turned to look at Vivian behind him, his tone instantly returning to his usual arrogant composure.

"This is Vivian. Shes a college student our company sponsors."

"She ran into some trouble last night, so I lent a hand. She's young. Don't scare her."

Lent a hand.

By giving her your private apartment, your personal shirt, and kissing her with a passion that looked like he wanted to merge their souls?

"Is that so?" I curled my lips into a faint, mocking smile.

"Mr. Sinclair is certainly hands-on with his charity work."

Andersons face darkened. "Elise, cut the sarcasm."

"I'll wait in the car."

I didn't spare the happy couple another look. I turned and walked out.

Fifteen minutes later, Anderson got into the passenger seat.

He had changed into a brand-new custom suit. The faint scent of body wash had completely washed away any trace of the other woman.

The silence in the car was deafening.

"Elise, are you angry?" He reached to loosen his tie, his voice carrying a trace of exhausted indulgence.

"Vivian is just an innocent kid who hasn't seen the world. I treat her like a sister."

"As Mrs. Sinclair, you don't need to get jealous over a poor student."

He always knew how to use the most dignified words to cover up his dirtiest betrayals.

My hands gripped the steering wheel so hard my knuckles turned white.

"Anderson."

I suddenly turned, reaching out to grab his wrist tightly.

Skin contact. This time, I saw it clearer than ever.

In my mind, Vivian stood on her tiptoes, gently pressing her lips against Andersons.

And Anderson, eyes closed, actually let a tear slip down his cheek. In his heart, he was screaming wildly, I can't live without you.

I pulled my hand back as if shocked by electricity. A wave of nausea surged in my stomach.

"You don't view her as a sister at all."

I looked at the red light ahead, my voice so calm it terrified me.

"You love her."

Anderson snapped his head toward me, his eyes sharp as daggers.

"Elise, what nonsense are you talking about? Have you been too idle lately? Now you're getting paranoid?"

"Let's get a divorce," I said casually.

The air in the car instantly froze.

Screeech!

Anderson lunged over and slammed his foot onto the brake. The tires shrieked against the asphalt, stopping the car in the middle of the road, nearly causing a pileup.

"Are you crazy?!" His eyes were bloodshot as he glared at me.

"Just because I took in a sponsored student, you want a divorce?"

"Elise, don't use divorce to threaten me. It's not funny at all!"

"I'm not joking."

I looked at his twisted, angry face.

"It's been three years, Anderson. You might not be tired of acting, but I'm tired of watching."

"I'll have my lawyer send the paperwork to your office tomorrow."

The light turned green.

I started the car again, shutting him out of my world completely.