Chapter 2 Passion
Waverly sneered inwardly, though her expression remained one of innocent confusion. She asked, “Then why did he say that we were just friends?”
Jenna hesitated. “That… I’m not sure.”
She genuinely didn’t understand what Beckham was thinking. His wife had been in a car accident and supposedly lost her memory, yet the first thing he said to her was, “We’re friends”.
It was almost surreal.
Waverly continued her act. “Could it be that we had an arranged marriage? Is that why he said that we’re just friends?”
Jenna didn’t respond.
The car pulled up in front of Rosewood Villa. Waverly felt a sharp pang in her chest when she saw the familiar mansion.
Images of Beckham holding Sarah in the photograph flashed through her mind. Her breathing grew labored.
She didn’t know how she could simply stop loving him and wondered if she could let go of him that easily.
This was their marital home. Five years ago, after an unexpected incident where he had been drugged, and she had woken up in his bed, their families had rushed to arrange their marriage.
On their wedding night, Beckham told her bluntly, “I don’t like you, but I won’t do anything to hurt you. Let’s just be a couple on paper only.”
In other words, it was a marriage of convenience. There wouldn’t be any love, just shared interests.
Waverly had agreed.
Over time, he subtly involved himself in her life. He chose her clothes, her meals, and even her accessories. She thought it was a sign that he was starting to care for her.
Her heart fluttered with hope, and she worked even harder to be a good wife.
Six months into their marriage, she became pregnant with Arthur. The prospect of their future together filled her with anticipation. But Beckham’s attitude toward her remained distant. Only in bed did he show any warmth.
She couldn’t help but lose herself in that fleeting passion. And yet, the moment she saw the photo of Sarah, it felt like a bucket of ice water had been poured over her.
Every detail about Waverly—her hairstyle, clothes, and makeup—was a mirror image of Sarah.
No wonder Beckham had interfered in her choices. He was searching for Sarah in her. She had been nothing more than a stand-in. It took her five years to realize that her life had been a joke.
Unbidden, tears rolled down her cheeks.
Jenna noticed and asked, “Mrs. Lynch, are you alright?”
Waverly blinked in confusion. “Why am I crying?”
Jenna fell silent.
Suppressing her emotions, Waverly stepped into the villa. A maid immediately approached her and asked, “Madam, Mr. Lynch and Arthur will be home in two hours. Should we start preparing dinner now?”
For the past five years, she had taken care of everything—Beckham’s meals, clothing, and daily needs. From cooking to picking out his accessories, she had handled it all herself, striving to be the perfect, attentive wife.
She believed that he would love her if she were gentle and caring enough. But it had all been her wishful thinking.
Waverly feigned confusion. “Huh? Why would I cook dinner?”
The maid froze. “Madam, are you feeling alright?”
Jenna stepped in to explain Waverly’s supposed memory loss. The maid’s gaze softened with pity when she heard this. “Madam, you should rest. We’ll handle dinner.”
Waverly pressed a hand to her temple. “I’m not feeling well. Where’s the bedroom?”
The maid led her to the bedroom. As soon as she lay down, she began to think about her next steps.
The first one—divorce with Beckham. Without realizing it, Waverly drifted off to sleep, though her rest was anything but peaceful.
In her dreams, she relived five years of Beckham’s cold indifference and control. And yet, in those rare moments of intimacy, he would gaze deeply into her eyes, his mesmerizing almond-shaped eyes filled with tenderness.
But then, in the next moment, he would whisper, “Sarah, I love you.”
Waverly jolted awake, her heart heavy with sorrow and pain. Her breaths came fast and uneven.
