Part 2The System Made Me a Substitute for His Dead Wife Not Knowing I Was the Original

The System’s warnings were not an exaggeration.

The first time I managed to even get a glimpse of Damian Shaw, I was detected almost instantly.

He was standing outside the gates of an expensive-looking private school, waiting for his son. He wore a tailored black coat, the collar turned up against the wind, his frame a stark silhouette against the pale afternoon sky.

He never once glanced in my direction.

I watched the sharp, cold line of his profile, and a strange, uncontrollable emotion bloomed in my chest. It was a grief so sharp, so sudden, it brought tears to my eyes.

The feeling stunned me, rooting me to the spot. I didn't even notice his security approaching until they were on me—two mountains in bespoke suits.

A universe of pain erupted as they heaved me into the brick wall of a nearby alley. One of them, his face a mask of professional menace, leaned down.

“You don’t look at people you’re not supposed to see,” he growled, the threat hanging in the cold air.

He gave my pathetic, crumpled form on the ground a final, dismissive glance.

“Next time, it won’t be this simple.”