Chapter 1

In the eighteenth year since Freya Gilbert became the adopted daughter of the Vance family, she married their eldest son.

Francis Vance had invited all of Capital City to witness his wedding to Freya.

But just as Freya extended her hand with a face full of happiness, waiting for the ring to slip onto her finger, someone crashed the wedding and stole the groom right in front of everyone!

Chloe Swanson swept in wearing a backless red dress, her lips curving confidently at Francis. "Francis, I'm the one destined to spend my life with you! If you don't leave with me today, you'll never see me again!"

The venue erupted into chaos. Someone suddenly shouted, "Look at her back! What that homeless man said was true!"

Three years ago, a middle-aged man dressed like a vagrant had claimed he could see the future—that he was humanity's Prophet. He had left Francis with these words: "When you turn twenty-three, you will meet a woman with seven cinnabar moles on her back. You will fall in love with her at first sight and give her everything."

At first, Freya hadn't taken the vagrant's words seriously. After all, she and Francis had grown up together since they were five. They had seen each other at their worst and had stayed up countless nights baring their souls to one another.

They were confidants, family, and lovers. Freya was certain nothing could tear them apart.

Until one stormy night a month ago, when Francis brought home a soaking wet Chloe Swanson.

In eighteen years together, Francis had never so much as exchanged extra words with any woman, let alone felt enough sympathy for a stranger who'd run away from home to take her in.

Yet for Chloe, Francis made an exception.

He explained to Freya, "She's the heiress of Swanson Pharmaceuticals in Harbor City. We have business dealings with them. It was nothing."

Freya believed him.

But the next day, she saw Chloe walk out of the bathroom wearing Francis's shirt.

Freya froze in disbelief. Francis had been severely germaphobic since childhood—she was the only one allowed to touch his things, and even then, never his clothes!

Francis, with that impossibly handsome face of his, said casually, "Miss Swanson's clothes are in the wash. I lent her mine."

This blatant double standard left Freya silently fuming. But Francis seemed to have lost his soul to Chloe, spending over ten days by her side without noticing Freya's displeasure at all.

Francis, who never cooked, was suddenly willing to squeeze into the greasy kitchen with Chloe. The two worked together seamlessly, chatting like an old married couple.

It was as if the Prophet's words were being proven true—they were the ones meant to be together.

Freya refused to believe such a coincidence could exist. So she contacted the Swanson family in Harbor City herself and asked them to take their daughter back.

But when Francis learned she had revealed Chloe's hiding place, he exploded at her for the first time. The look in his eyes was like he was staring at an enemy, as if he wanted to skin her alive on the spot.

All the grievances and neglect Freya had endured finally boiled over.

She slapped Francis across the face. "Francis Vance! She's the outsider in this house! What did I do wrong?!"

Francis was silent for a long time. Then he tried to explain his feelings for Chloe: "The Prophet wasn't lying. The moment I saw Chloe, I was drawn to her for no reason. Just looking at her makes my heart ache and my eyes sting. There's this bond deep in my soul that makes me want to be good to her. I'll sort out my feelings. Freya, just give me some time, okay?"

How could Freya possibly accept that?

"If you can't bear to leave her, fine. I'll leave. I'll step aside for you."

That one sentence snapped Francis back to his senses. He stopped paying attention to Chloe. To make it up to Freya, he proposed formally, showered her with gifts, and invited the entire city to witness their love.

Freya's spiraling thoughts were suddenly yanked back by a sharp pain in her finger.

The ring that should have been placed on her ring finger had been shoved hastily onto her thumb instead. Freya instinctively reached out to grab Francis as he turned to leave.

But he was so desperate to stop Chloe from leaving that his violent pull sent Freya tumbling off the stage. The towering champagne pyramid collapsed instantly, crashing down on top of her.

Her flawless makeup was ruined in an instant. Blood stained her wedding dress. The ring slipped off her thumb.

Even that commotion couldn't make Francis look back once. He ran toward Chloe, took her hand, and disappeared from the hall.

A waiter helped Freya to her feet. Jonathan Vance's face was grim as he ushered the guests out.

Freya leaned against the stage, a mess of blood and champagne, and suddenly remembered something from when she was ten. The Vance manor had caught fire, and she was trapped inside. Everyone was holding Francis back, telling him not to rush into the flames. But he had said, "Freya only has me. I can't abandon her!"

The same Francis who would have died to save her had just abandoned her at their own wedding.

Freya rubbed the red mark on her thumb.

Maybe it was time to let go.

For eighteen years as the Vance family's adopted daughter, she had never truly been herself.

Suddenly, more than anything, Freya wanted to shed the identity of a top-tier family's adopted daughter.