Chapter 3Thirty Days of Stranger

Stepping out of the Bennett Corporation building, the cold wind whipped straight down my collar.

My phone buzzed in my pocket.

"Mr. Morgan, the external cardiac monitor you ordered has arrived," the courier said over the line.

I froze for a second.

Bianca had pulled every string she had to secure that medical device before the soul swap happened. It was still in its trial phase, meant specifically for my grandmother, whose heart condition had been deteriorating.

I rushed over to the nursing home and handed the equipment over to her attending doctor.

Seeing me walk in alone, Grandma glanced toward the doorway twice.

"Where's Bianca?" she asked, "I haven't seen her in two weeks. Did you two get into a fight?"

"No, Grandma," I said, tucking her blanket in around the edges, "She's just been swamped with work lately. She'll come visit you in a few days."

Grandma sighed softly. "At my age, who knows how many 'few days' I have left?"

She began rambling about Bianca again, her voice full of affection.

"Bianca gets stomach cramps whenever she catches a chill. You make sure to keep her stomach warm. Don't look down on that warm compress trick I taught you just because it sounds old-fashioned. Three years ago, if she hadn't brought in those top specialists for me, I wouldn't even be here today."

I lowered my head with a soft chuckle, but my eyes stung with heat.

Even when she wasn't around, her presence was stamped onto every corner of my life.

The equipment was hers.

The Bianca in Grandma's fond stories was hers, too.

All I could do was keep waiting.

Fifteen days left.

That evening, I returned to the villa and pressed my thumb against the door lock.

"Fingerprint not recognized," a cold, mechanical voice chimed through the speaker.

The text feed flashed across my field of vision instantly.

[She deleted his fingerprint! Now he knows who the real master of the house is!]

[Connor already moved in! How does this guy even have the face to come back here?]

[When the teen version said she was giving the main guy a home, she meant it for real!]

I stood motionless at the front door.

Through the intercom camera, the butler, Sebastian Sinclair's face was scrunched up in discomfort.

"Sir... Ma'am gave strict orders. From now on, whenever you return... You have to ask for her permission first."

Connor's voice drifted out from inside. "Mr. Sinclair, let Elliot in. It's cold outside."

The front door clicked open.

As I stepped through the doorway, a thought suddenly struck me.

What if one day, twenty-eight-year-old Bianca stopped loving me, too?

It turned out that my home, my lock, and everything I had taken for granted could lock me out completely with just a single word from someone else.

The realization slowed my steps.

Connor came forward to greet me. "Elliot, please don't hold it against Bianca. She was just worried I wouldn't feel comfortable living here."

I ignored him entirely.

Bianca was curled up on the couch playing video games, not even bothering to look up. "I already contacted a lawyer. We're notarizing everything tomorrow to transfer all assets under my name to Connor."

She paused briefly. "Including this house."

This time, I stopped dead in my tracks.

I could fight to protect our joint marital assets. However, her property was hers to dispose of, and she had every legal right to sign it away right now.

By the time the twenty-eight-year-old Bianca returned, most of those assets would be permanently beyond recovery.

Of course I wanted to stop her. Yet I couldn't open my mouth.

The current Bianca was convinced I was after her money. If I urged her not to do it, she would only see it as my greedy reluctance to let go, giving away even more just to prove her point.

So, I could only watch, utterly powerless to act.

I picked up my bag to head upstairs.

Mr. Sinclair blocked the base of the staircase, looking pained. "Sir... Your belongings... Ma'am had them moved to the guest room."

In the most remote guest room in the house, my clothes and cufflinks were tossed haphazardly across the bed, while several of my leather bags lay slumped on the floor.

I stood at the doorway for a long time before slowly stepping inside.

That was when my mother-in-law, Vivian Bennett, called.

"Elliott, dear, my birthday party is coming soon," she said warmly over the phone, "Come over early and help me host the guests."

"Will do, Vivian," I replied.

Hanging up, I bent down and picked up a pair of trousers off the floor.

Suddenly, I didn't want to count down the remaining days anymore.

I pulled up my messaging app and tapped on my private attorney's chat window.

[Help me compile a complete inventory of all legally divisible marital assets.]

…

Over the next few days, credit card invoices poured in one after another.

Fine jewelry, designer handbags, sports cars…

Bianca acted as if she were desperately making up for every gift her eighteen-year-old self had never gotten to give Connor, showering him with lavish presents.

I didn't bother interfering.

In the study, my old investment banking notes from six years ago were gathering dust. I opened them again and began messaging old colleagues, systematically reclaiming my own personal wealth, career, and network.