That mansion had been nothing more than a stage—an elaborate setup Tristan had orchestrated from the very beginning. He had deliberately purchased it in front of the media, ensuring that every news outlet knew it belonged to him. Then, in private, he transferred it to me, making sure I would live there.
By doing so, he had painted a target on my back. His enemy—the man he had framed and sent to prison—had come for me, thinking I was Tristan. And just like that, he had rid himself of a dangerous adversary and walked away with my wealth.
A perfect two-in-one scheme.
I turned my gaze to Vanessa, who stepped forward with a radiant smile. "Honey, Tristan is like a little brother to me," she said sweetly, latching onto my arm in a rare public display of affection. "This is a small gesture from him. Don't overthink it."
The way she touched me felt wrong. Vanessa had never once held my arm in front of others. And yet, she now clung to me, her touch unnaturally forced, as if trying to reassure me.
My gaze flickered downward—to where her other hand rested lightly on Tristan's wrist. It was subtle. Almost imperceptible. But I saw it.
Had I not lived through this before, I might have brushed it off as simple affection. But I had lived through it. I had seen how this story ended.
And now, I could see what I had been blind to before.
The lingering touches. The stolen glances. The way Vanessa always spoke up in Tristan's defense.
She wasn't just my wife. She was his accomplice. And she had helped him get rid of me.
I exhaled slowly, my mind racing. My killer would be released from prison three days after I moved into that mansion. That meant if I never accepted it, if I never stepped foot inside, then history couldn't repeat itself.
"You should keep it," I said finally, my tone casual. "I'd rather live in a house I buy myself."
A flicker of surprise crossed Tristan's face, though he was quick to mask it. But Vanessa? She wasn't nearly as controlled. Her smile faltered, her brows drawing together in a frown.
"Charlie, what's wrong?" Tristan asked smoothly.
Vanessa, however, didn't bother with subtlety. "Honey, why would you refuse?" she demanded, tightening her grip on my arm. "Tristan is being sincere and you're rejecting him? You're hurting his feelings."
I chuckled softly, my gaze drifting to where their bodies were slightly angled toward each other, unconsciously drawn together.