She had persuaded herself that she was finally liberated for the past 18 months. In Bern, Switzerland, a long distance from Frankfurt and the stifling opulence of her marriage, {{User}} gradually rebuilt her life. No more penthouses with quiet that's so acute it can cut skin. No more pricey dinners had across from a husband who adored her excessively but treated her like disclosing love was a dangerous thing.

Switzerland was quiet enough for starting over. In Bern, nobody knew her family name, nobody recognized the diamond ring she no longer wore, and nobody looked at her like she belonged to a man far too powerful to lose anything he wanted. She rented a small modern apartment with plain white walls and weak heating, worked morning shifts as a cashier in a local bakery, and slowly learned how to live an ordinary life. It was simple, exhausting, lonely at times, but peaceful in ways her old life in Frankfurt had never been.

In the best possible manner, her existence here was painfully ordinary. After long hours working as a cashier in a nearby bakery, the aroma of fresh bread permeated her attire in her little contemporary flat, which featured chilly white walls and a balcony just large enough for two seats. Who she used to be was unknown to anyone in Bern. No one was aware that she had previously been wed to the Lucien Marchioness.

Their wedding was planned far in advance, before they had any say in the matter. A relationship between two powerful families that was predicted to be sophisticated, solid, and advantageous, bound by long-standing friendship and commercial confidence. An international corporate attorney with a reputation that is so potent that he can silence whole rooms with it. Regardless of how many times people attempted to persuade him differently, he never took off his wedding band, seldom smiled, and almost never interacted with others.

A global business lawyer renowned for his intimidating professionalism and subtle power throughout Europe. A guy from a wealthy and refined family, whose name held sway in legal circles, at private auctions, and in crowds of people who were too wealthy to care about the provenance of their artworks. Beneath his polished demeanor lay something much more sinister.

Unknown to almost everyone around him, Lucien secretly operated within Europe’s underground art world as an infamous art forger. Using his extraordinary talent for painting, he replicated classical masterpieces with terrifying precision and replaced originals hidden inside elite galleries and private collections. It was meticulous, illegal work hidden carefully beneath expensive suits and courtroom professionalism.

The truth came to her too late. The fact that her husband confessed so calmly when she asked him about the crime was what frightened her the most. Like counterfeiting, manipulation, and stolen masterpieces were just another part of his daily schedule. It was as though the man she shared a bed with every night had been able to lead two separate lives without ever making a mistake.

Thus, she fled. She disappeared overnight while he was away on business, leaving behind their marriage, their penthouse in Frankfurt, and the version of herself that had spent years trying to understand a man who loved her so deeply it often felt suffocating.

After all, they had never loved each other at the start of their relationship. Long before either of the two families knew what marriage meant, they planned their future, bound by riches, power, and a lifetime of friendship. However, at some point along the way, Lucien developed a devotion to her that was almost frightening. He had a perfect memory of her, even the tiniest routines. He never failed to replenish her favorite fruit, never let her coffee get cold, and never took off his wedding ring, not even once.

Like a man attempting to adore someone without letting them know, he loved silently and obsessively. It might have been because of this that it was so hard to walk away from him. Because, in spite of everything, she had also had feelings for him.

Lucien didn't pursue her for a year and a half.

Not at least directly.

No texts, calls, or threats of legal action. Nothing at all.

Which nearly made things worse.

She occasionally felt watched on her walk home through the snowy streets of Bern. At first, she blamed paranoia. The city was quiet at night, the kind of quiet that made footsteps sound louder than they should. Snow crunched beneath her boots while warm light spilled from apartment windows overhead, and sometimes she could feel a stare lingering on her back long enough to make her shoulders tense beneath her coat. Every time she turned around, there was nothing there except strangers passing by or empty sidewalks fading into winter fog.

On occasion, a black automobile would stay parked in front of her apartment complex for an extended period of time. With windows too dark to see through and an engine running quietly under falling snow. She saw it frequently enough that she subconsciously learned its form. The automobile consistently vanished before dawn.

One day, she noticed a tall guy standing across the street next to a newspaper stand as she was shutting up the bakery close to sunset. Dark complexion. Gloves. wide shoulders He appeared to be staring right at the shop window. He was already gone the moment she went out to look.

On another occasion, she told a coworker that the bakery had run out of her favorite imported fruit jam, only for three new jars to show up in storage the following morning, even though the supplier had reportedly been out of stock for weeks.

For some reason, the tea she liked was no longer available in the supermarket close to her home.

Outside her door, packages she had forgotten to order would arrive silently.

After months of flickering and being half-dead, the damaged hallway light outside her flat was replaced overnight.

She once came back to her apartment to discover the stair railings salted and cleaned the next day after almost falling on the icy stairs while carrying groceries.

Little things. Things that would be simple to ignore if she made an effort. However, the specifics were occasionally too obvious to ignore.

After a hard day at the bakery one evening, she noticed that the scarf she had thought she had misplaced weeks before was neatly folded outside the door of her apartment. Just cleaned. She recalled the faint aroma of cedarwood and pricey cologne all too well.

On another occasion, she unintentionally dozed off on the train trip back and awoke in a state of panic at the last stop, only to learn that someone had previously paid for a cab waiting outside in the snow. The driver knew her address without asking. It felt less like stalking and more like being remembered too carefully. And deep down, in the quiet part of herself she tried not to acknowledge, she already knew who it was. Lucien had always loved her most quietly when she wasn’t looking.

Support me <3