Julian's anger came earlier and more violently than Serafina had anticipated.

Cassandra's scandal not only destroyed her personal reputation but also turned Thorn Capital's series of investment plans for Vanguard Academy into an instant joke. Stock prices plummeted, partners withdrew their investments, and media ridicule came in waves. For a man like Julian who viewed his business empire as an extension of his life, this was akin to a brutal slash across his meticulously drawn map.


He returned to Paradise Tower later and later, the smell of alcohol on him growing stronger. He no longer discussed work, but instead scrutinized Serafina with a chilling silence. His gaze was cold and sharp, attempting to cut through her perfect social mask to glimpse the secrets hidden beneath.

Serafina knew she was suspected. Julian's suspicion was an instinct carved into his bones; he never believed in coincidences, only conspiracies. In his eyes, her recent "abnormalities"—reduced socializing, frequent outings, and that subtle sense of distance when around him—had all become suspicious evidence after the Cassandra incident broke out.

"You seem very interested in Queens real estate lately," he said one evening at dinner, appearing casual while cutting the bloody steak on his plate. "Is there any worthwhile investment project?"


Serafina's heart suddenly sank. He was testing her. Elena Vance lived in Queens.

"Just helping a friend look at houses, she's a bit tight on money recently," she answered with a smile, her tone relaxed.


"Oh? Which friend? Do I know her?" he pressed, his eyes never leaving the piece of beef that had been cut into fragments.

"A little artist I met at a gallery, you wouldn't be interested." She deflected flawlessly.

He didn't say anything more, but the scent of suspicion in the air grew increasingly thick. Serafina knew that from that moment on, an invisible net had been quietly cast. Her every phone call, every outing, even every breath, could be placed under close surveillance.

The atmosphere inside Paradise Tower also became eerie. Those members of the Tower Elite Club who normally held themselves above others were now in a panic. Their secrets—scandals about financial fraud, extramarital affairs, drug abuse—were spreading within their small circle, yet the source couldn't be traced.

Fear was spreading. Serafina could sense it in their awkward silences and avoiding glances in the elevator. They began frantically searching for the leaker, the "traitor" hiding among them.

Soon, they found a perfect scapegoat—Elena Vance.

She was an Outsider, a woman who had managed to reside on the lowest floor of Paradise Tower for some unspeakable reason. Her humble origins, her inability to fit into high society, and her role as the "goddess of justice" in Cassandra's incident made her the ideal suspect.

"It must be her," Serafina overheard Marcus's wife whispering to another wealthy lady in the club's lounge. "This woman, she envies everything we have."

"I heard she became mentally unstable after being expelled from the opera house. Someone like that is capable of anything."

They quickly reached an agreement, pushing all blame onto Elena. They began to isolate her, using silent exclusion and contemptuous glances, attempting to drive her out of the golden tower. Elena became the outlet for their internal conflicts, a sacrifice used to stabilize their fragile alliance.

Serafina coldly observed all this without intervening. This was part of the plan. Elena's "sacrifice" would further ignite her hatred toward this class, making her stand more firmly on Serafina's side.

And the real storm arrived on a Friday evening.

She had just returned from a charity auction, and Julian's study door was tightly closed. She could feel the suffocating atmosphere behind it. When she pushed open the door, he was standing with his back to her before the enormous floor-to-ceiling window, his silhouette appearing particularly ominous against the backdrop of New York's myriad lights.

"Come here." He commanded without turning his head.

Serafina walked forward and saw a black box with velvet lining on the mahogany desk in front of him. Inside the box lay a black object smaller than a fingernail—a listening device.

She froze. It belonged to Logan. He had secretly installed it in her frequently used Bentley to ensure the security of their communication. This was a fatal oversight.

"What is this, Serafina?" Julian slowly turned around, his face twisted into a grotesque mask in the dim light. "My Private Investigator found this interesting little thing in your car."

"I don't know..." Her voice began to tremble uncontrollably.

"You don't know?!" He suddenly exploded in rage, grabbing her wrist and dragging her violently to the desk. "You tell me, who are you messing around with? Who gave you the courage to betray me?!"

Before she could react, a resounding slap landed harshly across her face. Pain and ringing instantly filled her head as she stumbled back against the bookshelf, tasting a hint of blood at the corner of her mouth.

He advanced toward her step by step, his eyes revealing undisguised murderous intent and the fury of betrayal. He had misunderstood, thinking this was evidence of her affair.

"It's him, isn't it?" He gripped her throat, pinning her firmly against the cold bookshelf as suffocation made her vision darken. "That damn PE teacher! I saw you talking outside the opera house! Did you think I was blind?"

Logan! He had even found out about Logan. Under the stimulation of oxygen deprivation and intense pain, Serafina's brain began working at an unprecedented speed. She couldn't let him continue investigating along this line, as it would ruin all of them. She had to give him an answer he wanted, one that would calm his rage and clear Logan from suspicion.

"It was..." she squeezed the words out of her throat with difficulty, as tears mixed with fear welled up, "it was to get revenge on you..."

Julian's movement paused for a moment.

She seized this momentary opportunity and shouted with all her might: "It was to get revenge on you and Cassandra! You treated me like a fool, having an affair right under my nose! Did you really think I knew nothing about it?"

She poured all her grievance, anger, and jealousy into these words. It was a performance, yet the emotions contained within were utterly genuine. Every wife would react this way when discovering her husband's infidelity.

Julian seemed stunned by her words, and his grip loosened slightly. "Revenge?"

"Yes! Revenge!" Serafina gasped for fresh air, her tears flowing more fiercely. "I hate you all! I hate that slut Cassandra for stealing you away, and I hate you even more for humiliating me! I just wanted to destroy her! I wanted to ruin her reputation!"

Her lies were rapidly weaving together, explaining the presence of the listening device as an extreme measure she had taken to collect evidence of the illicit relationship between Cassandra and Julian. As for Logan, she had to portray him as someone she had merely used, an insignificant tool.

"That Coach Grant... he's just a minor character I hired to help," she sobbed, making herself look both pitiful and vicious. "I gave him some money to dig up dirt on Cassandra... that recording... was also obtained through him... I had no idea he would take it upon himself to install such things in the car..."

This explanation was flawless. It satisfied Julian's vanity—his wife had gone mad with jealousy and sought revenge; it also explained the source of the listening device, and defined Logan's role as a paid tool rather than a threatening lover.

Julian stared at her, the murderous intent in his eyes gradually receding, replaced by a complex scrutiny. He was judging the truth in her words.

She met his gaze unflinchingly, allowing tears to roll down her face. At this moment, she had to be a woman blinded by love and jealousy, a foolish, crazy, but still emotionally attached wife.

After a long while, he finally released his grip. He walked to the liquor cabinet and poured himself a large glass of whiskey, downing it in one gulp.

"Have all information about Coach Grant on my desk tomorrow morning," he said with his back to her, his voice ice-cold. "I don't want to see him in New York again."

"Also," he paused, "regarding Cassandra's matter, it ends here. You've ruined an important chess piece of mine, Serafina. Don't let it happen again."

She knew she was temporarily safe. He had believed her explanation, or rather, he chose to believe the explanation that most satisfied his narcissistic mindset.

Deathly silence returned to the study, broken only by his heavy breathing and her suppressed sobs. Serafina leaned against the bookshelf, her body still trembling slightly from fear, but in her heart, there was nothing but cold clarity.

She survived this crisis. But Julian's suspicion would never truly disappear; it would only be buried deeper. And the violence he inflicted on her, that burning pain, was etched into her memory.

She watched his cold back as he walked away, silently reciting in her heart.

Julian, this is just the beginning of the interest.