No wonder Diana could be so brazen—she’d staged her own mother’s funeral and desecrated a fake grave just to frame me. The death was a complete hoax.

I sent a single text to Marcus: "Diana's mother isn't dead. The proof is in your email."

Whether he chose to look at it was no longer my concern.

I booked a private jet for three days' time. Sebastian handled the arrangements personally.

When Marcus came home that evening, he found me packing. Half my designer wardrobe was in a donation pile, the other half being boxed up for shipment to the Blackwood estate in Riverside.

"Why are you packing?" Marcus asked, a puzzled look on his face.

"Moving," I answered curtly.

He paused, missing the true meaning entirely. "The Quinn family's main operations are in Riverside," he mused to himself. "We'll have to move there after the wedding anyway. Smart to get a head start."

Then his expression hardened. "You will apologize to Diana's mother. Don't make this difficult for me. How about you do it publicly at the wedding?"

After delivering his command, he tossed his phone on the counter and started looking for his passport and documents. Today was the day he and Diana were getting their marriage license.

He didn't return until late that night. I opened my phone to a text from Diana. It was a picture of her and Marcus in matching pajamas, tangled together in bed.

I closed my eyes, my heart clenching with a familiar, sharp pain. I forced the emotion down and shut off my phone.

Throughout the night, it buzzed every hour. Each vibration was a new notification from Diana, a new video of her and Marcus, each one a deliberate, cruel provocation.

It continued until the next morning, when a text from Sebastian cut through the noise.

"Ms. Quinn. The peonies have bloomed. You may return whenever you are ready."

Attached was a photo. Two crimson marriage certificates lay side by side. Next to them was a pot of brilliant red peonies, the very plant I had given him years ago as a joke. I never thought he would have kept it, let alone cared for it.

A strange, unfamiliar warmth stirred in my chest.

I replied with a single word: "Okay."

I put my phone down and began packing my business files. I didn't hear Marcus come in. He was gathering his own things. "I'm moving in with Diana for a few days. She's overwhelmed with the wedding preparations. Be at the venue on time the day after tomorrow. Don't be late."

He then launched into a long-winded explanation that he was only helping her as a friend, warning me again not to make any trouble.

"Don't worry," I said, my eyes fixed on the documents in my hands. "I won't be there."

After last night, the final embers of my affection for him had been extinguished.

My calm demeanor seemed to unnerve him. An inexplicable panic flickered in his eyes, and he hesitated. But then his phone buzzed, likely a message from Diana, and his resolve hardened.

Sophia loved him too much. What could possibly go wrong?

With that thought, he relaxed, turned, and walked out of my life.

I watched his retreating figure, then picked up my phone and made a call.

That evening, a helicopter descended onto the penthouse's private landing pad. A man in a sharp suit approached me. "Ms. Quinn, your transport is ready. We'll have you in Riverside in thirty minutes."

I nodded and handed him a sealed manila envelope.

"Make sure this is delivered to the wedding venue tomorrow," I instructed. "It's a wedding gift for the bride and groom."