Chapter 1
Ophelia's POV
"Ma'am, your marriage certificate is fake. There's no way to get a replacement."
At the Vital Records Office, the staff member tossed my marriage certificate onto the desk.
I was shocked, hardly able to believe it. "How is that possible? Could there be a mistake?"
Yesterday, I wanted to transfer my two properties to Michael Johnson. After searching the house for ages and not finding our marriage certificate, I came to the Vital Records Office to get a replacement.
And now I was hearing this devastating news!
"Our system shows you're currently single, but the man on your marriage certificate is married." The staff member responded mechanically.
My heart sank as I asked in a trembling voice, "Then who is his spouse?"
The staff member's eyes quickly scanned the computer screen. "Michael Johnson's current legally registered spouse is... Freya Johnson."
Hearing that name, I felt like a knife had been plunged into my chest, the pain cutting to the bone.
Freya Johnson.
The Johnson family's frail adopted daughter, who always wore long white dresses and had a pale complexion.
I'd heard that Freya's father used to be close family friends with the Johnsons, and after her father died in an accident, the Johnson family took her in.
I knew Michael had always doted on his adopted sister, but I'd only thought of them as siblings and never gave it much thought.
Looking at the diamond ring on my ring finger, everything felt so absurd and ironic.
I don't know how I made it home.
As I approached the floor-to-ceiling window of the family room, I heard Michael's mother, Winter Hayes, inside.
"Michael, I'm still worried. What if Ophelia finds out the marriage certificate you got with her is fake? Will she take back all those properties she transferred to us?"
I froze, instinctively pulling back my hand that was about to open the door.
"Can't worry about that now, Mom." Michael's familiar voice carried a hint of fatigue. "Freya's condition is getting worse. The most important thing right now is keeping her happy. Once Freya gets better, I'll divorce her and get a proper marriage certificate with Ophelia."
Standing at the door, my blood ran cold, my fingertips digging deep into my palms.
Winter sighed. "I watched Freya grow up. How could I not feel for her? If it weren't for all those assets Ophelia's mother left behind, those trust funds and shares, I would've made you break up with her long ago."
"Don't worry, Mom. I'll handle it."
Michael responded as if it were the most natural thing in the world, but hearing it felt like my heart was being cut to pieces.
I remembered when we first got married, Michael gave me a postnuptial agreement, saying that after marriage, my property would still be mine and he wouldn't touch a penny of it.
At the time, he confessed to me so tenderly and sincerely, "Ophelia, I like you as a person, not your family's assets."
I was so moved by this that I not only tore up that postnuptial agreement but also handed over most of the assets my mother left me to the Johnson family.
Watching his career take off and flourish, I thought my good days were finally coming.
Never did I imagine that his whole family only saw me as a tool for climbing the social ladder!
My body trembled uncontrollably, my vision darkening, a chill running from my spine straight to my scalp.
I was angry at my own stupidity and furious at their scheming.
This marriage in name only was nothing but a complete and utter scam from start to finish!
Fine! Just fine!
Since this is how you treat me, don't blame me for being ruthless!
With shaking hands, I fumbled for my phone in my purse, took a deep breath, and dialed a number.
"Freeze all the assets I transferred to the Johnson family."
"Yes, no need to notify Michael."
"Because we don't actually have a marital relationship. Those are my personal assets."
After hanging up, I straightened my hair and clothes and walked back into the living room as if nothing had happened.
As soon as I entered, I saw Freya on the sofa wearing a white lace nightgown, wrapped in a thick cashmere blanket, her pale little face nestled in the cushions, looking even more pitifully delicate.
Michael sat beside her, holding a bowl of porridge, patiently blowing on each spoonful to cool it before bringing it to her lips.
His profile was as handsome as I remembered, but now he was being tender with another woman.
And Winter was carefully tucking in the corner of Freya's blanket that had slipped, chattering away, "Is this blanket warm enough? Should I get you a thicker one?"
Freya shook her head slightly, her voice weak. "No need, Mom. Thank you."
She looked up at Michael feeding her porridge, her lashes fluttering gently. "I'm sorry, Michael. I'm always troubling you."
"Don't be silly." Michael's voice was low and indulgent. "Just drink your porridge."
Winter chimed in, "Exactly. We're family—what's this talk about trouble? You're not well, so taking care of you is what we should do."
Freya smiled sweetly, looking as happy as an angel.
Of course, she was—she was Michael's real wife in the eyes of the law.
I was the outsider who'd become a complete joke.
"Ophelia? When did you get back? You didn't make a sound."
Winter noticed me standing in the doorway and, as usual, ordered me around matter-of-factly. "Freya just woke up and hasn't had a proper meal yet. Go to the kitchen and prepare something light and nutritious for her."
In the past, I would have dropped everything to go prepare dinner for them.
But now, my face showed only coldness.
"What are you standing there for? Hurry up!" Winter urged impatiently.
I calmly looked at the three people on the sofa, finally settling my gaze on Winter's face, my voice cool. "What does her not eating have to do with me?"
Winter's expression froze for a moment, then she flew into a rage. "Ophelia! What nonsense are you talking about? Freya is your sister! She's sick now—what's wrong with asking you to cook?"
"My sister?" I tilted my head at her, sarcasm in my eyes. "Are we related by blood?"
As I spoke, my gaze swept over Michael with deliberate meaning.
Michael frowned, put down the bowl and spoon, and looked up at me, his eyes as calm as water. "Ophelia, what's wrong with you? Are you in a bad mood today?"
I'd never noticed before how his seemingly concerned words were full of dismissiveness and impatience.
"I'm fine." I avoided his gaze, my face expressionless. "I'm just confused about something. Between Freya and me, who actually seems more like your wife?"
The air instantly froze.
I could clearly see a flash of panic in Michael's eyes.
Winter's face turned red with anger, her pointing finger trembling. "Michael! Look at her! This is your good wife! Freya is still sick, and this is how she talks!"