Contract Marriage with My Secret Partner in Crime-Chapter 62: Replica

Zephany’s fingers curled slightly into her lap, her posture stiffening just a bit. Her eyes remained fixed on the grand piano where the performer was now offering a graceful bow.

The audience erupted into polite, enthusiastic applause, but Zephany barely heard any of it.

The mission echoed in her mind like the final notes of the song:

> MISSION: EXPOSE PLAGIARIZED MUSICAL COMPOSITION DURING GRAND HALL PERFORMANCE.

NOTE: THIS IS A SOLO DIRECTIVE. DO NOT DISCUSS WITH TEAM BACON OR OBSCURA.

SECONDARY OBJECTIVE: PERFORM ON STAGE. PURPOSE CLASSIFIED.

So this is what the mission is about...

Her heart thudded as the realization rooted itself deeper. The Archive had somehow known about this. But how? Even she had long buried this part of herself.

And the composition—it wasn’t just any song. It was her piece. The one she poured her soul into. The one she composed for her mom.

The one they used to hum together while baking in their old kitchen on Sundays.

The one she always imagined they’d perform together someday—just the two of them, mother and daughter, side by side on the piano.

Her vision blurred, but she blinked away the moisture quickly. She couldn’t afford to break down. Not now. Not in front of Kendrick. Not here.

She shifted slightly in her seat, casting a quick glance around the audience. It was then she spotted them.

Her breath caught in her throat.

Seated at the front, heads held high with pride, were her aunt and uncle. Dressed immaculately, clapping proudly, their smiles wide and smug.

Her uncle leaned toward the person next to him and said loud enough for those nearby to hear, "That’s my daughter. Such talent. She takes after our side of the family."

Zephany’s jaw clenched.

She looked back up at the woman who’d just performed.

So... that’s her.

The cousin she wasn’t familiar with.

The one whose name she barely recognized.

As long as she could remember, her mom was the president of Sher Corporation, one of the top companies in the country. A company her mom built with hard work and heart. A family legacy. But everything changed after her parents died.

Her uncle—no, not even truly her uncle by blood—took everything.

He wasn’t born into the family. He was the son of her grandparents’ close friend. After his parents passed, her grandparents adopted him out of kindness. He grew up alongside her mom and became the so-called younger brother. But that didn’t make him family. Not truly.

He lived abroad for years, married there, rarely involved in their lives. But as soon as the news of her parents’ passing broke, he returned home.

Not to grieve.

Not to comfort two grieving children.

No, he came back for the company. For the mansion. For the fortune.

He took it all.

Sher Corporation, their childhood home, even the family piano. He claimed it under legal technicalities, saying he was acting in the best interest of the company.

Zephany still remembered standing in that empty hallway, holding Reynold’s hand tightly as movers took away the last of their belongings. Reynold didn’t say much that day, just kept a strong front. He always did.

If it weren’t for the trust funds their parents arranged, she and Reynold would’ve had nothing. The funds saved them. It allowed them to live a modest life. Not extravagant, but decent enough. Enough to eat, study, and survive.

Reynold poured himself into work, into building a life again. He was rarely home now—always somewhere, always busy—but he made sure she was safe. He made sure she had everything she needed.

And now, after all that was taken from her—her parents, her home, her future...

Even her song?

She felt Kendrick shift slightly beside her, glancing at her. His expression was soft, concerned.

"You okay?" he asked gently.

Zephany looked down, nodding too quickly. "Yeah. Just... overwhelmed by the performance."

"You seemed... I don’t know. Tense."

She gave a weak smile, the kind that didn’t reach her eyes. "It just brought back some memories."

Kendrick nodded slowly. "Memories can be hard," he said, his voice warm and understanding. "But they also remind us of what matters."

She blinked at that.

What matters.

Yes. This mission. This truth.

She took a deep breath, pressing her hand over her chest. The fabric of her blouse trembled faintly from her racing heart.

She hadn’t paid much attention to the music industry over the years. Not after that night. The last performance. The day the music died for her. The day her life changed forever.

But now it was back.

And someone else was claiming it.

Her music.

Her mother’s memory.

Her legacy.

Zephany closed her eyes for a moment. She couldn’t afford to let emotions take over. She was here with a purpose.

Expose the truth. Let the world know what really happened.

"I need to use the restroom," she said suddenly, standing up a bit too quickly.

Kendrick stood with her. "Want me to go with you?"

"No, I— I’ll be quick."

She gave him a grateful look and hurried out, dodging the usher and ducking into the hallway. Once she was out of sight, she leaned against the cold marble wall and inhaled deeply.

She pulled out her phone and glanced at the encrypted file The Archive had just sent. fɾeeweɓnѳveɭ.com

Since when had The Archive become this generous with information? She thought she’d have to gather everything herself—clues, evidence, the usual drill. But apparently, that wasn’t the case this time. Was this what special missions were always like?

Because inside the file was exactly what she needed.

There it was. A side-by-side audio comparison: her original composition—recorded years ago on a dusty piano, her soft humming layered faintly in the background—and the piece that had just been performed.

Identical.

A perfect replica of her melody.

She bit her lip to stop herself from cursing out loud.

How did that woman get it? Her cousin—if she could even call her that. Did her uncle dig it up from her mom’s archives? Had someone stolen her old notebooks? Or worse... had they been watching her?

She replayed the scene in her mind. Her aunt and uncle’s smug faces. The crowd applauding. Her song being credited to someone else.

"I’m not letting this go," she whispered to herself.