Chapter 4

Behind the scenes, my preparations accelerate.

That night, after confirming Adrian is sound asleep, I begin systematic elimination. First, my design portfolio. Seven years of work—I scan every page and upload them to encrypted cloud storage, then feed the originals into the shredder. The machine's low hum is especially clear in the dead of night.

Next, photographs. Our travels, our anniversaries, all those false tokens of sweetness. I calmly remove them from albums, scan them, then burn them one by one. Flames dance in the fireplace, devouring those hypocritical smiles. Ashes spiral upward like black snow.

Finally, my most personal items. The pearl necklace my mother left me, the watch my father gave me at graduation, and notebooks recording my design inspirations. They'll be secretly shipped to a safe deposit box in Zurich, waiting for "Elena's" arrival.

By the time I finish, dawn is breaking. Standing in the now-sparse walk-in closet, I suddenly feel a strange calm. Sienna's life is being dismantled piece by piece, while Elena's rebirth waits in the distance.

"You're up early." Adrian's voice comes from the doorway.

I turn to see him leaning sleepily against the doorframe. "Couldn't sleep, so I started organizing. Need to make room for wedding gifts before the ceremony."

He surveys the space, brow furrowing. "Where are all your design sketches?"

"Moved them to the studio. Too messy—didn't want you to mind."

He nods, seemingly accepting this explanation. "What are your plans today?"

"Meeting with the wedding planner, then makeup trials." All true, but afterward, I have a more important appointment—a site inspection with the Rebirth Agency.

"Need me to come with you?" he asks, his tone perfunctory.

"No need, you're busy." I respond readily. "I know work's been stressful lately."

He looks relieved.

The meeting with the wedding planner is tedious and interminable. I mechanically select florals, menus, and seating arrangements as if planning someone else's wedding.

At three p.m., I arrive punctually at the café for my meeting with the Rebirth Agency representative. My contact, Mr. Smith, hands me a manila envelope.

"Inside is a new phone and instructions. Remember, from this moment on, minimize contact with your original social circle."

I take the envelope, fingers trembling slightly. "The on-site arrangements..."

"All taken care of. We'll ensure everything looks like a tragic accident." His gaze is calm and professional. "You just need to follow instructions."

Leaving the café, rain begins to fall. I stand on the corner, watching pedestrians rush for shelter, suddenly feeling unprecedented loneliness.

My phone rings—Adrian: "Darling, I might be late for dinner tonight. The meeting's running long."

I can almost hear Chloe's giggling in the background. "That's fine, work comes first."

After hanging up, I dial another number: "He'll be late tonight. Now's the optimal time."

An hour later, I stand in a bookstore across from that apartment building, watching the entrance through the window. At six-thirty, Adrian's car stops in front. He exits, opens his umbrella, and a familiar figure runs out, throwing herself into his arms.

Chloe. Even through the rain, I recognize that blonde hair. They embrace, kiss, completely disregarding passersby.

I raise the new phone and take several photos. In the frame, Adrian's hand rests on Chloe's slightly rounded abdomen, his expression showing a tenderness I've never seen.

Enough. This evidence is sufficient.

I turn and leave the bookstore, rain soaking my coat, but I barely feel the cold. Something inside me has finally died completely, replaced by an icy resolve.