Her fiancé became her sister's man, yet her parents sided with her sister, planning to sell her off to an old man. To escape that fate, she accepted a proposal from a neighbor she'd spent one night with. She never expected he'd been secretly in love with her for years, spoiling her endlessly after their marriage.
=====
Crack! My fiancé hit me.
Two minutes ago, I accidentally broke a mug. Then, Rhys sl**ped me across the face-hard.
My cheek burned like it had been seared by fire.
Three minutes ago, I had been daydreaming about how to decorate our ridiculously expensive penthouse apartment, where every corner looked like it belonged on the cover of a magazine.
It took a full thirty seconds before my brain restarted, slowly piecing reality back together.
"Are you f**king insane?" I gritted my teeth, forcing the words through the cracks of my jaw.
Rhys's lips were pressed into a cold, tight line, his expression dark and resolute.
"It was just a mug with Catherine's face on it," he said, as if my reaction was an overblown performance, not the result of something horrifying he had just done.
"You have got to be f**king kidding me." I stared at him in disbelief, my ch**t heaving as rage and humiliation churned violently inside me, ready to explode.
For half a second-just half-something like guilt flickered across his face. Then it vanished, consumed by a storm of fury.
"No, you're the insane one!" he roared. "I already agreed to marry you-what more do you want? Catherine's gone, but you still broke that mug on purpose!"
His voice trembled with anger. "She was your sister! She had to leave because of you! And now you're jealous of her? You won't rest until every trace of her is erased, will you?"
The hatred in his eyes cut deeper than the s**p.
My cheek throbbed. My hand was still bl**ding. But nothing hurt more than my heart.
I forced myself to unclench my jaw and made one last attempt to explain. "It wasn't me. I never asked her to leave."
Technically speaking, I understood why someone might say that. Catherine had left behind a letter.
In it, she said she'd seen my diary, realized I had a crush on Rhys, and decided to "let go," to "let him be yours."
I don't think she ever understood that a diary meant privacy. I never meant for anyone to read it, but not only did she read it-she told everyone.
No one cared about the pain I felt when my secret was exposed. I was dragged out, nailed to a pillar of shame, forced to pay for her so-called noble sacrifice.
To my family, it was like I'd been bumped up to the starting lineup out of nowhere, replacing the golden girl-I should've been grateful.
Even if Rhys had st**bed me in the gut, they'd still find a way to excuse it.
It was as if my parents had always hated me. No matter how much better I did than Catherine, they always saw me as bitter, as someone who couldn't protect her fragile pride.
The searing pain on my cheek intensified.
My fingers clenched tightly around the engagement ring. A wave of heat-anger, humiliation, resentment-rose in my throat.
Hot tears welled in my eyes, blurring my vision. I blinked fast, wiping them away before they could fall.
I would not cry. I would never show weakness in front of him.
I took a heavy step toward the door, struggling to move. I had to get out of there, or I would completely fall apart.
Whatever shred of dignity I had left-I couldn't let it be destroyed in front of this man.
Rhys suddenly grabbed my wrist and yanked me back. "Clean it up."
I looked up at him in disbelief, needing to confirm I'd heard him right.
"You broke the mug. You clean up the pieces." His voice was icy, absolute.
He had to be insane.
"No." I lifted my chin and spat the word without an ounce of compromise.
His face tightened, jaw clenched. "You sure you want to do this?"
"Yes. I said no." My eyes were red, but they blazed with defiance as I stared him down without flinching.
If love meant I had to grind my self-respect into the dirt, then it was worthless to me.
The air between us was taut enough to snap. I could almost hear it crackling. The fury in his eyes was an uncontrollable blaze, threatening to consume me.
And beneath that fire, I saw something else-disbelief. The once docile little lamb had bared her fangs.
He took a step closer, menace radiating from him. "Last chance. If you don't obey me, then we-"
"-are over," I finished for him, cold and final.
Shock froze his face. For a moment, the air went still. He hadn't expected me to actually say it.
While he was caught in that moment of confusion, I wrenched my arm free from his grip.
The taste of freedom hadn't yet bloomed in my ch**t when he snapped back to life, grabbing my arm again with brutal force.
Now.
I spun around without hesitation and raised my hand-sm**k! A resounding s**p landed hard across Rhys's handsome, arrogant face.
The air froze again, thick with silence.
My palm tingled slightly, but it brought a rush of fierce, unprecedented satisfaction.
Rhys staggered back a few steps, his eyes wide with shock and disbelief-not from the pain, but from a world turned upside down.
He never thought I would dare. After all, I had once loved him so deeply.
I lowered my hand, lifted my chin, and looked calmly at his stunned expression. I gave him a faint smile. "Now we're even."
Without waiting another moment, I dragged my feet away from that suffocating h**l.
If I stayed even one more second, I would break down. I'd rather choke on my own tears than let him see them fall.
Then-thud-I fell.
High heels and emotional chaos are a terrible match.
Pain shot through my palms and knees as they scraped against the hard marble. Bl**d surged out instantly, but I barely felt it.
I got up, grabbed my purse, and kept walking.
Home. I just wanted to go home. Away from all of this. Away from him.
Like a woman fleeing the scene of a crime, I burst out of the building-only to slam into a wall of mu**le and the in**xicating scent of expensive cologne.
I looked up-and saw sharp, sculpted features with an aura so commanding it could silence a room.
He looked like the kind of man who, if you pissed him off, wouldn't just ruin your life-he'd erase your entire existence.
Unfortunately, that only made him more attractive.
For a second, I wished he would throw me over his shoulder and carry me to his lair-my face flushed red instantly.
I snapped myself back to reality.
"Sorry," I mumbled and rushed into the elevator of my apartment building.
Back upstairs, I rummaged through my bag. My heart sank.
No keys.
Of course. The universe had clearly declared today The End of Mira Day.
Frustration and helplessness surged in my ch**t. I kicked off my heels and shook the doorknob violently. It didn't help-but I needed to let it out.
Why did everyone always choose Catherine?! Hadn't I done enough?
I collapsed against the wall, sliding down to the cold floor as sobs tore from my throat. The tears came in a flood, impossible to stop.
Just as I was nearly choking on my own cries, a voice-low, smooth, like black velvet-cut through the air behind me.
"Your key."
Fury sparked in my veins. Why did someone always interrupt me just when I was about to get it all out?
Annoyed, I turned, ready to glare-only to freeze.
Through tear-blurred eyes, I saw him again. The man I had bumped into downstairs-the one who looked like he had stepped out of a Renaissance painting.
"Your key fell," he said, raising an eyebrow as his gaze landed on the scattered contents of my purse. "That's probably why you couldn't find it."
I stared at the key resting in his elegant hand, my face flushing so hot it could've lit a match.
I snatched it from him and fumbled to unlock the door, stumbling inside without a word.
It wasn't until my back hit the door that I realized-I hadn't even thanked him.
Great job, Mira. You absolute id**t.
Hesitating, I crept toward the peephole. Through that tiny lens, I saw him calmly turn, unlock the door directly across the hall, and stroll inside.
He lived across from me?
He must have just moved in. With a face like that-and that aura-there's no way I wouldn't have noticed before.
Wait, Mira. What are you doing? You're seriously letting a hot new neighbor make you forget the h**l Rhys just put you through?
No. Absolutely not. All men are tr**h. Always.
I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to steady my racing heartbeat, reminding myself not to be so st**id again.
But no matter how hard I tried, that sculpted face kept flashing through my mind.
I needed ice-for my racing pulse, and more urgently, for the stinging pain on my cheek.
Just as I forced myself up to head to the kitchen, my phone rang, shrill and sharp.
One glance at the screen made my whole body go cold.
Mom.
I couldn't ignore the call. If I did, she would destroy my career without hesitation. She was absolutely capable of it.
The moment I picked up, her voice sliced through the air-cold and merciless.
"Mira, you must be insane! How dare you do something so disgraceful to Rhys! You apologize to him right now, or you're no longer our daughter!"
I opened my mouth to explain, stunned-but she hung up before I could get a single word out.
I gripped my phone tightly. Why was it that no matter how hard I tried, I still couldn't earn even a sliver of their love?
And Catherine-she never had to do anything, yet she was their perfect, precious jewel.
Enough.
I thought if I worked hard enough, my family, my fiancé-they would love me.
But that's never going to happen.
I have to reclaim the self-respect I lost long ago.
I have to break off this engagement with Rhys-no matter the consequences.
Chapter 2 Plan B
For the next forty-eight hours, I became one with my bed.
No calls. No outside world. Just me, a pile of blankets, and the crushing weight of humiliation.
That s**p from Rhys wasn't just a blow to the face. In so many ways, it was a s**p across my entire life-one steeped in desperation, delusion, and pathetic longing.
It forced me awake. It made me look back on everything I'd ever done to make him notice me, everything I'd done for a fantasy called "us" that had never truly existed.
God, where do I even begin?
Like the time he casually mentioned he liked girls with smooth, silky hair. That night, I ordered three bottles of the shampoo he'd once praised.
My scalp broke out in hives. I smiled through the pain and said, "It's fine-some allergic reactions are worth it."
Or when he told me he was too busy with work to grab dinner, so I stayed up learning how to bake and brought him a box of pastries in the rain.
He didn't even open the door-just had the receptionist tell me, "Don't bother next time. I don't like sweets."
Then there was that night at his friend's dinner party. I forced down oysters-my most hated food-just to seem "graceful and agreeable."
I spent the entire night crouched over a toilet, writhing in pain until 3 a.m. He didn't ask if I was okay. He laughed and said, "Can't even handle seafood? That's just dramatic."
But the worst?
That time he quoted a line from The Godfather he liked. I stayed up all night reading film essays just to casually drop the quote at a party.
I got it wrong. He corrected me in front of everyone, sneering, "Don't pretend to like things you clearly don't understand."
And I laughed. I laughed and said, "You've got such a good memory."
What a joke. I never realized I was never the person he wanted.
He never really saw me. To him, I was nothing more than a low-rent version of the "perfect and untouchable" Catherine. A cheap stand-in.
I wasn't her, but I could offer him the faint illusion of having her again. That was all I was good for.
I buried my face in the pillow and laughed until I shook. Not because it was funny-but because the pain had gone too deep for tears.
Thankfully, after my parents delivered their final ultimatum two days ago, they hadn't contacted me again.
A small part of me wondered-did Rhys intervene? Did he finally realize what he'd done?
Suddenly, the doorbell rang.
And it didn't stop ringing.
For a full five minutes.
I gr**ned into my pillow. Oh god. Social interaction.
Dragging my exhausted body to the door, I opened it.
Yvaine Carlisle-my best friend and the only person who had the legal right to yell at me-stood on the other side, hands on hips. Then her eyes landed on my face.
Her expression froze. The light in her eyes dimmed. "What the h**l happened to you?"
"I'm fine," I said, trying to sound casual. She wasn't buying it.
She reached out, gently tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. Her jaw clenched.
Then-silence.
Not the awkward kind. The dangerous kind. The kind that comes right before something explodes.
"Who hit you?"
"Come inside," I muttered quickly, trying not to draw the neighbors' attention. That would be mortifying.
Yvaine didn't move. She gripped my arm and spoke through gritted teeth. "Mira. Who. Hit. You?"
As soon as the door clicked shut, I collapsed into her arms. My face buried in her sweater, and within seconds, the fabric was soaked.
She didn't flinch. She just held me, her hand moving in calm, soothing circles across my back.
I didn't know how long I cried. Long enough for my throat to burn and my nose to turn bright red like Rudolph. Eventually, I managed to force out a single word.
"Rhys."
Yvaine didn't move.
Everyone in Skyline City knew that name. Rhys Granger wasn't the kind of man who needed to throw punches to destroy someone.
One phone call to the right person, and your life would be over. Reputation, money, status-he had it all.
Every move he made was deliberate, timed to perfection-like the ticking of a Rolex.
When he chose to go to war, he was a nobleman wielding cruelty like fine art, probably with a glass of aged Sc**ch in hand.
People called him arrogant. No one ever called him vi**ent.
That's why, when Yvaine processed what I'd just said, I could practically hear the gears in her brain screaming in protest.
"No way," she muttered under her breath, as if denying it out loud might somehow make it untrue. "Rhys? Your Rhys? He couldn't have."
I got it. I really did. Rhys was supposed to be the gentleman. The golden boy. The flawless, elegant, untouchable good guy.
"It was him," I said quietly.
She exhaled sharply, then started rubbing my back again, this time slower. "Tell me what happened."
I swallowed. "I was at his place. I, uh. accidentally broke a mug."
Her entire body tensed. "Just a mug?"
I nodded.
Silence. Then she clenched her jaw and said, "I swear to God, if you tell me it was some priceless, hand-crafted, one-of-a-kind family heirloom-"
"It was Catherine's mug."
Yvaine's hand froze mid-pat.
Everything shifted. One second, she was my concerned best friend. The next, she was a woman plotting mu**er.
I grabbed her wrist before she could get ahold of something worse. "It's over between Rhys and me."
"Really?"
"Really. Even if the earth split in two and Skyline City sank into the ocean, I wouldn't marry him."
That stopped her from storming out to commit ho**cide.
"Catherine. That venomous snake-" Yvaine spat the name like it physically hurt her.
"She's not even here anymore and she's still managing to wreck your life! And your parents? They just stand there watching! I swear, they could watch her light your house on fire and they'd hand her the matches. It's unbelievable!"
I felt like a balloon someone had just popped-deflated, exhausted. That all-too-familiar ache settled deep in my ch**t.
I knew some parents would always love their firstborn more. And there was nothing I could do about it.
"I'm sorry, Mira."
Yvaine sat down beside me and gave my head a firm push toward her shoulder. I pulled away and managed a weak smile.
"Actually, I think it's a good thing. At least I found out what kind of man he is before we got married. Better now than after the vows, right?"
She let out a long sigh, her eyes softening. "Mira, you know no matter what happens, I've got your back."
Right then, my stomach growled loud enough to interrupt the moment. Loudly.
Like a magician, Yvaine reached behind her and pulled out a takeout bag, giving me a look that practically screamed: I knew you'd be like this.
I wanted to hug her, but I was too busy eating like a ravenous little goblin.
After dinner, she pushed me into the bedroom and went off to clean up. I lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling, drained and overwhelmed. What now?
Through the half-open door, I heard her on the phone. I didn't catch every word, but the ones I did hear. were iconic.
"A pile of s**t."
"Total f**king psycho."
"Oh, you think that's bad? Wait till I tell you what this vi**ent ba**ard actually did-"
She was probably talking to Zane Hasterton. And unlike Rhys, Zane would never raise a hand to her.
The way Yvaine so instantly, so fiercely chose me-without hesitation, without question-made my throat tighten. She believed me. No one else did. But she did.
This wasn't something she did lightly. Rhys's family sat at the very top of the food chain-untouchable. And I had no doubt her parents wouldn't be thrilled to see her go up against them.
I curled deeper under the blanket and let out a slow breath.
Why couldn't my parents love me like that?
Ever since their favorite daughter Houdini'd her way out of their master plan, I became Plan B. But that didn't mean they forgave my existence.
Let's be honest: the only reason they'd stopped actively berating me was because I got engaged to Rhys.
That little arrangement somehow elevated me from "irreparable family di**race" to "potential saving grace."
Part of the reason I agreed to the engagement-and I know how pathetic this sounds-was because I thought maybe I could finally get something Catherine had: a sliver of parental affection.
A crumb of approval.
But now that the engagement was off?
I was disposable again.
Last I heard, they were boxing up my things, ready to ship me off to some remote jungle where I'd spend the rest of my life befriending anacondas and repenting for my sins.
They were absolutely capable of that.
I gr**ned into my pillow. What the h**l do I do now?
Unless. I married someone more powerful than Rhys.
The idea was so ridiculous I snorted. Right. Because billionaires are just wandering around Skyline City hoping to marry a 23-year-old orphan with no patience for their bullshit.
And yet-
A face flashed in my mind.
Three days ago. My new neighbor.
I remembered, quite inappropriately, thinking I wouldn't mind being alone with him in his apartment where he could do all sorts of rated-R things to me.
I shook my head, quickly banishing the thought. I didn't even know his name. Just that he had the kind of aura that could slice a person in half.
No. Way too dangerous.
I gr**ned again.
If I hadn't broken that st**id mug, everything might've been okay.
But it wasn't. And it's not. And there's no going back.
F**k! Why am I the one trying to fix this when I wasn't even the one who messed it up?! I sat up-and bam, the door burst open.
Yvaine marched in. "Sl**p is just going to make you feel worse. We're getting up, and we're going to find a d**k worth loving-one that's better than Rhys's."
WHAT?!
While I gaped, she had already changed me into a new outfit.
Just like that, we were off to Skyline City's most exclusive club-members only.
Chapter 3 Rebound Night
"Is this really necessary?" I stood at the end of the line, shivering, tugging desperately at the hem of my tragically short skirt.
I could practically feel it-if I opened my mouth to speak, my un**rwear would be on full display.
"Sweetheart, we paid a fortune to get into this place. Of course we're going all in. Do you not get it?"
Yvaine declared like a mafia queen, standing tall against the icy wind in her five-inch heels without the slightest trace of fear.
"But isn't this a little too-" I didn't even get to finish before a brutal gust of wind slapped me across the face like it had a personal vendetta.
I immediately zipped up my puffer jacket and curled into myself like a frozen shrimp.
Yvaine let out a dramatic gr**an. "Mira, come on. We're going to a b*r, not an Arctic expedition."
"I'm just glad I won't be hospitalized for hypothermia tonight, thanks," I snapped back.
She rolled her eyes so hard I thought they might fall out, gave me a once-over full of disappointment-but said nothing more. Small victory. My puffer jacket was safe-for now.
I'd thought we'd have to wait in line like everyone else. That was the whole reason I wore this thermal fortress of a coat. But clearly, I had underestimated Yvaine.
She had zero plans to follow the rules.
With the ease of someone who'd done this a thousand times, she slipped a rolled-up bill into the bouncer's hand, her palm casually grazing his rock-hard ch**t like a Bond girl who'd forgotten her martini.
Ten seconds. That's all it took. We were in.
Yvaine was the kind of beautiful that made men forget protocol-and ethics-in an instant.
And just like that, we breezed into Roxanne.
The place was thick with heat, perfume, and the effervescent scent of ch**pagne.
I ripped off my coat the second we stepped inside, only to be met with an are-you-trying-to-embarrass-me glare from Yvaine.
She handed her coat off to a passing server with a flick of her fingers, like she'd personally hired the man. Regal, effortless, born for this.
I tried to copy her moves. Failed miserably. Nearly dropped my purse and stumbled like a hamster who'd just woken up from a freezer nap.
Graceful? No. I looked like roadkill in Gucci heels.
If I hadn't known each co**tail here cost about the same as my checking account balance, I might've even convinced myself I was pulling it off.
"Jesus Christ!" I gasped, eyes glued to the menu like it had just in**lted my entire bloodline.
Yvaine gave me a sideways glance and scoffed. "Relax. Tonight's on me."
I exhaled with something dangerously close to gratitude.
Considering I'd nearly broken off an engagement, risked being exiled to some remote tropical island by my parents, and needed to budget for anti-snake spray, I needed all the charity I could get.
Price tags aside, the view was elite: ambitious young actors, outrageously good-looking models, and a legion of finance bros who looked like they gave TED talks while wearing Burberry.
It was a glittering buffet of vanity and hormones, wrapped in velvet lighting and the illusion of power.
We found a table near the b*r and hadn't even ordered drinks when a bartender locked eyes on us.
Well. He was hard to miss-tall, sculpted features, sleeves rolled to the elbows just enough to show off well-trained forearms.
He shouldn't be mixing drinks-he should be in the Louvre. Or at the very least starring in Dior's newest fragrance campaign.
Maybe that's why this club was so expensive: even the staff had to be perfect.
"Two 75s, French br**dy," Before I could even locate the cheapest drink on the menu, Yvaine had already tossed her order at the ba**ender. "Make it strong."
And of course, she didn't forget to flash her signature smile-the one that balanced perfectly between s**y and innocent, chin tilted just enough to say "Oops, didn't mean to flirt."
The ba**ender reached effortlessly for the g*n, giving her a half-smile. "Rough night?"
"More like an engagement-level disaster," she said, casually pointing her thumb at me. "And it's wrapping up real soon."
I glanced at her. "Thrilled that my personal life is now public broadcast."
She patted my hand with mock sympathy. "Sweetie, this place runs on romantic catastrophes. Without bad decisions, no one would be buying drinks."
Then she turned away and melted into the crowd, flipping into Social Queen Mode like someone had hit a switch.
In under ten seconds, she completed a visual sweep-like a hawk zeroing in on prey-before spinning back around and pointing her perfectly manicured finger toward the edge of the dance floor.
"Okay, listen. You need a rebound. Exhibit A: Six-foot-two, hair neater than your ex-fiancé's moral compass, shirt unbuttoned just enough to scream s**y without slipping into cheap. He either owns a yacht or, at the very least, a VIP card."
I shook my head. "Nope."
Her eyes flicked to a new direction. "Exhibit B: struggling musician. Dressed like payday hasn't happened yet, but he's hot enough you'd forgive him. You'd fund his next album and still sl**p like a baby."
"Pass."
She sighed, then pointed again. "Fine. Exhibit C: total dad vibes-but the good kind. Like 'books your doctor's appointment and your breakfast' dad, not 'calls the waitress 'sweetheart' and thinks climate change is a myth' dad."
I gr**ned into my hands. "Yvaine, please."
She didn't back down. "Mira, you cannot sit here like a decorative wall gecko. Tonight is about rebooting your life, not stitching up emotional wounds."
Just as she geared up for a fourth round of rebound recommendations, she suddenly froze. It was like someone had hit mute on her entire system.
Then, far too casually, she said, "Hey, want to hit the bathroom?"
I narrowed my eyes. "No?"
".Or maybe let's move tables? The vibe here's weird." Her smile was tight, and her voice cracked like a pair of worn-out heels.
Weird vibe? We'd only been sitting for ten minutes, and we just ordered drinks. By Yvaine's standards, we hadn't even made it past the opening credits.
Then I followed her gaze.
A half-private booth.
Rhys.
He had his arm draped around a woman. Her head rested on his shoulder, makeup flawless, smile polished and effortless.
I didn't need more details.
That face-I would never forget it.
Four years ago, a girl vanished under mysterious circumstances.
I, in all my na?ve glory, believed she had simply "stepped aside," choosing to selflessly walk away from a future with Rhys.
And now, here was Catherine-perched on my ex-fiancé's lap, locked in a pose so in**mate.
I had told myself I was over it. Over him. We'd broken up. It was done. Time to move on.
Until I heard what came next.
"Honestly, I didn't think she'd fall apart over a coffee mug."
Catherine's voice was soft, full of false pity-the kind that sounded like she'd just k**led someone and was now gently tucking a blanket over the body.
She gently swirled the w**e in her glass, her lips curling into a near-perfect smile.
"Of course I put that mug somewhere obvious. I wanted her to notice. After all, she still doesn't know you've been seeing me behind her back. It was time she caught a little hint, wasn't it?"
She looked up at Rhys, eyes glowing with admiration.
"Honestly though, darling, your performance was spot-on. Even I almost believed you were worried she'd find out about us, instead of just helping me pull off the scene."
"She's so st**id-of course she thought you were upset about the mug, not terrified of exposing your af**ir."
Rhys chuckled softly, smug and relaxed. "I had to act like I cared. She spends every day trying to be the perfect girlfriend. If she found out all her effort still couldn't compete with you, she'd lose it."
Catherine laughed under her breath and patted his ch**t.
"Don't worry. Knowing Mira, she's probably still scrambling to fix things. She's the type who always believes that if she just tries hard enough, people will finally see her worth."
Her laugh turned soft, laced with pity so sharp it felt like a bl**e.
"But the harder she tries, the more pathetic she looks. And me? I just 'happened' to return home. Her parents don't know a thing. They didn't even get the chance to stop me. Tomorrow, I'll be seeing them in broad daylight-because she gave up the engagement herself, and you, dear, are blameless."
Catherine leaned back with a triumphant sigh. "Isn't this the best ending? I never gave up on you. I was just waiting for her to step aside."
Rhys nodded slowly, a small smirk on his lips. "You're right. You always are."
A loud roar rang in my ears, and my heartbeat pounded against my skull like a war drum.
Yvaine must've been saying something-pleading with me to stay calm, not to do anything st**id-but I didn't hear a word.
I wasn't the same Mira who swallowed her pride for praise anymore.
I slipped free from Yvaine's grip and turned to the bartender. "Your best red. Put it on Rhys Granger's tab."
The ba**ender-bless his beautiful, rule-breaking soul-didn't even flinch. He handed me the bottle like I'd just ordered mineral water.
With the bottle in hand, I had a mission. A singular, burning purpose.
The bouncer moved to stop me, but one look at my face-like a vengeful goddess straight from h**l-made him wisely back off, hands raised in surrender.
I marched straight toward Rhys and Catherine. They were lip-locked in some dramatic, second-rate soap opera make-out scene.
I raised the bottle-and smashed it, with all my strength.
Glass shattered with a sharp crack, spraying across the table. Rhys's forehead split instantly, a trail of bl**d beginning to drip down between his brows.
Catherine screamed and leapt off his lap. "Mirabelle?! Are you insane?! What are you doing here?!"
She scrambled to find a lie, panic rising in her voice. "You're misunderstanding, it's not what you think-"
Rhys cut her off, his hand gripping her arm, his gaze dark and cold. "Don't bother explaining, Catherine. It doesn't matter. My parents will take your side, no matter what. We're just correcting an old mistake."
Catherine's panic twisted into smugness in an instant. She curled into his side with sickening sweetness and cooed, "Oh, honey, your head's bl**ding. We have to get to the hospital."
Before I could say anything, Yvaine rushed to my side, fury radiating from every pore.
She raised her hand, ready to s**p Catherine straight back to whatever pit she'd crawled out of. "You disgusting, two-faced bi**h-!"
I grabbed her wrist, steady and cold. "Yvaine, let them go. If they stay here one more second, I might lose my appetite permanently."
I locked eyes with Catherine's smug little face and raised my voice deliberately. "After all, the theme of this place is premium taste, not some clearance aisle for secondhand tr**h."
Catherine's smile froze on her lips. Rhys's face darkened, but they had no chance to respond.
Yvaine, emboldened, lifted her chin and sneered at the bouncers. "Well? What are you waiting for? Kindly es**rt these two walking health code violations off the premises."
Chapter 4 Key Guy
As soon as they were gone, Yvaine dragged me out of the club.
D**n it. I hated that Catherine had predicted every single thought running through my mind.
Yes, I was still considering salvaging my relationship with Rhys.
But now? The truth was right there, unmistakable and r*w-they'd been sl**ping together behind my back all along.
And me? I was just the fo**ish, unnecessary third wheel in their twisted little story.
What I couldn't figure out was-why had Catherine faked her disappearance four years ago? What exactly had she been hiding? And why come back now?
My eyes stung. I tilted my head toward the sky, forcing the tears back.
Fine. Catherine's back. Perfect. Now they could all reunite like a happy little four-piece family?, and I. I was finally free.
"Mira. I'm so sorry. I had no idea they'd be there tonight. I didn't even know Catherine was back." Yvaine's eyes were full of regret.
I gave a bitter laugh and shook my head. "Neither did I. But I heard it loud and clear-they've been screwing around for a while. To them, I was just in the way."
"Those godd**n as**oles!" Yvaine hissed through clenched teeth.
"You should tell your parents. Let them know Catherine's not the perfect angel they think she is. What about Rhys's parents? No way they'll tolerate a scandal like this.
I was quiet for a moment. Yvaine had a point-Rhys's parents were the only people who had supported me.
But he was their son. They wouldn't choose me over him. Not in the end.
And my parents? I let out a breath, heavy and tired. "You know better than anyone-they only care about Catherine. No matter what I do, I'll never replace her."
Yvaine grabbed my shoulders, worry darkening her gaze. "So what now? You're just going to let them humiliate you?"
"Maybe." My voice dropped to a whisper, a weariness weighing it down. "Maybe if I accept it, it'll finally be over."
Suddenly, Yvaine's phone buzzed. She glanced at the screen, her brows knitting in frustration.
"Mira, my agent just called. There's a last-minute ad shoot-I have to go now. Can you get home on your own?"
I nodded, managing a faint smile. "Go. Don't worry about me. I'll call when I get back."
After she left, I hailed a cab. Instinctively, I gave the driver my home address. But barely two minutes into the ride, a wave of suffocating pressure settled over me.
"No, wait," I said quickly. "Take me to a b*r. Any bar. Just. far away from Roxanne."
The driver didn't blink-clearly used to the erratic demands of Skyline City's broken-hearted.
We eventually pulled up outside some unfamiliar ni**tclub. Velvet ropes. A crowd of influencer-types wielding selfie sticks.
I didn't bother checking the name. I handed the bouncer some bills and strode inside.
Straight to the b*r.
"Wh**key sour. Large. Keep them coming."
"Ma'am, maybe you should slow down," the ba**ender said gently, concern in his voice.
I slammed my empty glass on the counter and shoved my card across. "Did I stutter? Top me off."
The ba**ender sighed but obliged.
"That guy's right," a smooth, magnetic voice murmured beside me.
"Too much al**hol can impair cognitive function and judgment. Unless you want to wake up in a stranger's b*d tonight-"
I turned, irritated-then froze.
It was him.
The man from last night. My new neighbor. The one who'd handed me my keys with all the casual elegance of a Renaissance statue.
"Well, well. You again." I raised an eyebrow, a teasing smile tugging at my lips. "You really can't resist other people's business, huh?"
He chuckled softly, completely unfazed. "Think of it as a well-developed instinct for being helpful."
I gave an exaggerated sigh. "You're a hero, truly. But I don't need saving, Mr. Key Man."
"I know," he said calmly, lifting his glass and taking a slow sip. His eyes were clear and sharp. "But you do seem in desperate need of clarity."
I frowned. "Is this how you treat all your neighbors? First their keys, then their dignity?"
He laughed-a low, rich sound. "Only when the neighbor looks like she's on the verge of self-destruction."
".But I am always self-destructing," I muttered, suddenly quieter. "Doesn't it seem kind of pathetic? Like my whole life is just one mess after another?"
He didn't laugh. He didn't rush to reassure me, either. He didn't even deny what I'd just said.
He just looked at me. Calm. Quiet. Like he was watching a slow-motion disaster unfold-but had no intention of stopping it.
"You're not wrong," he finally said, his voice low and steady.
"You are pretty good at making a mess of things. Like right now-you can't even stand properly and you're still demanding more al**hol."
I froze, frowning instinctively.
But he went on, his tone unhurried-like he was flipping through a book and had landed on a sentence he already knew by heart:
"But strangely, you always seem to meet someone who refuses to walk away. right before everything falls apart."
I stared at him, half in shock, half in suspicion. "Are you. fl**ting with me?"
He gave me a slow smile, his eyes lazily curving with just the right amount of mischief.
His voice came out smooth and provocative, like velvet wrapped around steel. "Does it make you feel any better?"
His voice was low and warm, like wh**key being poured into a glass at midnight-just a little dizzying, just a little dangerous.
He looked at me with an intensity that felt nearly uncontrollable, like he might lean in close and whisper things in the dark, on a b*d, asking if his to**h was hard enough.
My heart skipped a beat. My cheeks flushed instantly. My fingertips tightened against the edge of the b*r.
I had to look at him properly. Really see him.
That face-it wasn't just handsome. It had the kind of quiet, devastating maturity that no amount of cologne and hair gel could fake.
Not the kind you'd find among the over-groomed boys who danced to house music like they were owed the world.
A wild, uninvited thought flashed through my mind.
If I let him walk away tonight, maybe I was rejecting one of those rare, merciful moments when fate offered a second chance.
Before I could stop myself, my hand wrapped around the sleeve of his suit jacket. I rose from the barstool, heart pounding.
"So, Mr. Keys," I said, my voice hoarse but firm, "since you're so committed to helping. why not help all the way?"
He clearly hadn't expected that. His brow lifted slightly, surprise flickering across his face-but he didn't step back.
He didn't laugh. He simply said, calm and steady: "Of course. As long as this is something you won't deny when you're sober."
"I'm sure." I answered without hesitation.
Gripping his wrist tighter, I pulled him through the crowd and out of the b*r.
The night wind struck us like a cleansing slap, city lights flickering above.
I didn't let myself pause. No time to think, no space for regret.
We crossed the street. Entered the nearest ho**l lobby.
Because tonight, I needed to know if I had the courage to accept what fate had placed in front of me.
It must have been one h**l of a night, because when I woke up, sunlight was spilling through the curtains, and the red LED numbers of the digital clock blinked 10:07 AM at me with the judgmental smugness of a nun catching you sneaking out of the church.
The sh**ts still carried his scent-bergamot and sin-and my body buzzed from the lingering aftershocks of what we'd done.
I stared at the ceiling and thought: That was absolutely phenomenal s*x.
I ached everywhere-in the best, most regrettable way.
But my head. my head was a battlefield. It felt like a hundred tiny jackhammers were drilling through my skull.
The al**hol from last night had declared mutiny, and my brain was paying the price, like someone had jammed a red-hot poker through my temple.
I had no idea how much I drank-definitely more than I should've.
The details had vanished into a fog thicker than a London morning.
Gr**ning, I rolled out of bed. Gr**ned again. Began gathering the scattered pieces of my clothing.
The plan was simple: Get dressed. Sneak out. Pretend this never happened.
I had just picked up my skirt when a voice stopped me.
"Leaving so soon?"
S**it.
I turned-very slowly, thanks to the hangover and the shame-and saw him standing in the bathroom doorway, a towel slung low on his h**s.
I stared. Unashamed.
Images from the night before surged back into my brain. I suddenly felt. very, very thirsty.
"We need to talk," he said.
He looked at me again, then-unhurriedly-said: "Will you marry me?".
What?!.
What happens next?
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&4&
On her wedding day, the groom ran off to chase his true love. Furious, she grabbed a random disabled man--also abandoned--and married him on the spot. Turned out, he was a hidden billionaire!
=====
"Felix, the wedding's about to start--you can't just leave!" Draped in an immaculate white gown, Linsey Brooks clung to Felix Wells' arm, her fingers trembling as panic filled her voice.
"Move! Joanna's hurt. She's alone in the hospital, and she must be terrified. I have to be there for her!" Felix's brows were drawn together, his voice tight with urgency.
Linsey's face drained of color.
Today was supposed to be their day.
Yet, just as the ceremony was about to begin, Felix had read a text message, turned to the crowd, and declared the wedding canceled.
Joanna Saunders was Felix's childhood sweetheart.
Linsey had started dating Felix five years ago. And for five years, whenever she went out with him, if Joanna so much as needed him, Felix would leave Linsey behind.
He always insisted Joanna was just like a sister to him and always told Linsey to understand.
And she had, again and again.
But this was their wedding day.
So what if Joanna needed him? Did that mean Linsey had to be abandoned by the man who was supposed to become her husband?
Her voice quivered as Linsey whispered, "No, you can't go. The wedding can't continue without you. No matter what, you have to stay today. Please, Felix. I'm begging you."
But his patience snapped.
"Enough! Stop being so selfish! We can always reschedule the wedding. But right now, Joanna's hurt. Move!"
Before she could say another word, he shoved past her.
Linsey staggered, her heels slipping against the polished floor as she crashed onto it. From where she sat, stunned and breathless, she could only watch as Felix disappeared through the doors without even a single glance back.
In the next second, her phone rang.
Without thinking, she answered--only to be met with a woman's smug, triumphant voice on the other end.
"Linsey, today's your big day with Felix, isn't it? Do you like the little gift I sent you?"
Linsey's entire body went rigid as recognition hit her. Through clenched teeth, she spat, "Joanna. You did this on purpose. You lured Felix away, didn't you?"
"That's right. And? What are you gonna do about it? I just wanted to remind you--in Felix's heart, I'll always come first."
Joanna's tone dripped with arrogance, every word laced with mockery.
"I bet you spent months planning this, huh? Such a shame. All that work, all that dreaming--gone. Honestly, I almost feel bad for you."
Linsey stared down at the pristine white fabric of her gown, and for the first time, she saw the last five years for what they really were--a joke.
Since she was an orphan, she had been so desperate for a family, for a love she could call her own.
But Felix. he was never going to give her that.
It was time to stop begging for something that would never be hers.
A sharp, cold laugh escaped her lips. "Don't get ahead of yourself, Joanna. The wedding's still happening."
Joanna's tone instantly soured. "Are you insane? Felix is the groom. He's not even there. How exactly do you plan on having a wedding without him?"
Linsey's lips curved into a slow, mocking smile.
Who said her groom had to be Felix?
If he could walk away this easily, then she would find someone else--someone who actually deserved to stand beside her.
Her voice turned sharp, unwavering. "Do me a favor, Joanna--pass a message to Felix. Tell him I don't want him anymore. He's not worth another second of my time. And since you're so desperate to have him, be my guest. A spineless man and a shameless woman--what a perfect match of you two!"
Joanna's voice sharpened with anger. "Linsey, I'm warning you. Don't push your luck--"
But before she could finish, Linsey ended the call.
The wedding was set to begin in thirty minutes. She needed to find a replacement groom fast.
Lifting the hem of her dress, she rushed outside. To her surprise, the entrance was swarming with men in black suits. They combed through every corner--their imposing presence sent a clear message that they were searching for something, or someone.
Amidst them, a man in a groom's suit sat in a wheelchair, his posture rigid with authority. Though motionless, he radiated an icy, almost untouchable air.
His voice was commanding as he addressed the bodyguard in front of him. "The ceremony is about to begin. Have you found Haven yet?"
The bodyguard hesitated, his expression tense. "Mr. Riley, we've searched the entire perimeter, but there's no sign of Ms. Walton. It appears she's already fled."
"Fled?"
The man's voice was deep and even, but his gaze turned razor-sharp--cold and unforgiving, like a predator sizing up its prey.
"If this wedding doesn't happen on time, you know what that means."
Linsey caught every word, and in an instant, she understood--this man had been abandoned at the altar, just like she had.
Without hesitation, she gripped her dress and strode toward him.
The bodyguards reacted instantly, stepping in front of her with stiff, wary expressions.
"Ma'am, what do you think you're doing?"
The man in the wheelchair shifted his attention to her, his presence alone pressing down like a storm on the horizon.
But Linsey didn't flinch. Her voice was steady as she met his gaze head-on.
"Sir, I hear your bride has run away. What about letting me take her place? I'll be your bride."
Chapter 2 I Won't Regret It
Linsey's words made the man's eyes narrow slightly. His voice, laced with surprise, held a sharp edge.
"Miss, are you certain about this? I'm disabled. If you marry me, you'll regret it sooner or later."
Linsey didn't answer him directly. Instead, her gaze never wavered as she asked, "Would you ever abandon your wife for another woman?"
"Of course not," he replied without missing a beat, his tone firm.
"Then I won't regret it either," Linsey said, her resolve unshaken. "As long as you agree, I'll marry you."
Seeing the sincerity in her eyes, the man replied with a slow, deliberate nod, "Alright then, let's get married."
And just like that, Linsey's wedding, one that had nearly been called off, continued as planned.
With the priest as their witness, they exchanged vows, their voices steady.
As they exited the church, Linsey felt a strange sense of unreality.
She had just married a man who, only hours ago, had been a complete stranger.
Pushing her husband's wheelchair down the steps, she suddenly realized something.
"By the way, I don't even know your name."
"Collin Riley," he responded, his voice calm.
Linsey's eyes widened in surprise. "Wait, you're Collin Riley? The eldest son of the Riley family?"
Collin saw the shock on her face and smirked with a hint of mockery.
"What's the matter? Now that you know you've married a man everyone else considers a loser, you're regretting it?"
The story of Collin, the eldest son of the powerful Riley family, was well-known throughout the city.
His mother had died in childbirth, and his father had remarried.
Later, a car accident left Collin paralyzed, transforming him into what many considered a loser.
When his stepmother gave birth to a son, he became even more of an outcast within the Riley family.
Without his grandmother, Ivy Riley, who had always defended and protected him, Collin would have likely been discarded long ago, left to struggle far worse than someone living on the streets.
In Collin's mind, no woman in her right mind would willingly marry a man like him.
Unless, she was after money.
He wasn't just disabled--he was the neglected son of the Riley family. He fully expected Linsey to be disappointed.
He was prepared to see regret or bitterness shadow her face.
To his shock, however, she looked at him not with pity or disdain, but with a deep, unspoken understanding--as if she saw him for what he truly was--another soul abandoned by those who should have loved him.
Reaching out, she took his hand with gentle strength.
"I've already told you. Once I've made my decision, I won't regret it. Now that we're married, I'll make sure you have a real home, one that's warm and full of care."
"Is that so?"
Collin's voice was laced with doubt, his skepticism clear. "Let's see then."
He didn't believe her.
Curious, he wondered how long she could maintain this facade once she realized there was nothing to gain from him.
A car pulled up in front of them, interrupting his thoughts.
"Let's go," Collin said, his tone commanding.
Linsey paused. "Where are you taking me?"
"Home, of course," he replied with quiet certainty. "We're married now, so naturally, we'll live together."
Home?
The word made Linsey's heart skip a beat.
It reminded her of the home she had lived with Felix, the one she had worked so hard to build for their future together.
But now that she was married to Collin, she knew she had to sever the ties to her past.
With a deep breath, she turned to him and said, "I have a few things to take care of first. Could you share your contact info and address with me? I'll move in as soon as I'm finished."
Collin raised an eyebrow, his gaze piercing.
"You don't want me to give you a ride?"
"No, it's fine," she replied, her voice firm but gentle. "I can manage on my own. I don't want to trouble you."
He didn't argue. After exchanging their contact details, he got into the car and drove off.
Half an hour later, Linsey stood before the apartment she had once shared with Felix. The key turned in the lock, and the door creaked open to reveal a space filled with memories.
She stepped inside, taking in every familiar detail--the tablecloth, the potted plants--each piece had been carefully selected by her, making it feel like home.
But now, it all felt like a prison. Without a second thought, she moved toward the decorations, ripping them down, discarding the plants, and throwing everything into the trash.
She had chosen to start fresh, and that meant leaving the past behind, no matter how much it hurt.
Once she had cleared out the remnants of her old life, she began packing her belongings. Lost in her thoughts, she didn't hear the sound of footsteps approaching.
Felix, unable to stay away, stood at the door, his face a mixture of shock and disbelief. He couldn't hold it in any longer.
"Linsey, what the hell are you doing?"
Chapter 3 Don't Touch Me
The apartment, once cozy and filled with warmth, now stood in disarray, its charm completely stripped away, leaving only chaos in its wake.
Linsey continued packing the remaining items into her suitcase, her movements deliberate, as if determined to erase every trace of the life she had once built here.
Felix stood frozen for a moment, his eyes sweeping over the wreckage, disbelief etching his features before he stormed toward her.
"Linsey, are you out of your mind?"
He demanded, his voice rising with frustration. "I was gone for only a little while, and you're acting like this?"
He inhaled sharply, trying to reign in his temper, and snapped, "I'm giving you one hour. Put everything back where it was!"
Linsey, unfazed, finished packing the item in her hands and slowly turned to face him. Her expression was cooland detached, almost as if he were a stranger.
A faint, mocking smile tugged at her lips as she replied, "Felix, haven't you figured it out? Sometimes, once something is lost, it's gone forever. It can never be the same again."
Felix's frown deepened, impatience growing in his eyes.
"What the hell are you trying to say?"
Linsey couldn't help but feel the audacity in his words. Did he truly not understand? Perhaps men like him never saw themselves as in the wrong.
No. It wasn't that. His tenderness had always been reserved for one person--Joanna, the woman he had truly loved.
Linsey's gaze was unwavering as she stared him down, her voice steady, yet every word seemed to carry the weight of everything she had been through.
"On our wedding day, you abandoned me at the ceremony, ignoring both my dignity and my pleas. Do you have any idea how that felt? Felix, did you ever once stop to think about me? I was humiliated beyond measure, and yet you think I'm just throwing a tantrum?"
She didn't blink, her eyes locked onto his, the pain she had buried deep inside flooding to the surface, her vision blurring as tears welled up.
She didn't look away, her resolve as firm as steel.
Seeing her like this, Felix felt a fleeting pang of guilt, but it disappeared as quickly as it came. He dismissed it entirely, just as he had done countless times before.
Over the years, he had hurt her time and time again, and she had always forgiven him. He didn't see why this time should be any different.
He was sure that with a little charm, she would cave, just like she always had.
After all, that was how things had always worked between them.
With that thought, his anger dissipated, replaced by a smug smile.
"Linsey, alright, I get it. You're upset," he began, his voice patronizing. "But you shouldn't act out like this. Look at what you've done to our home."
His smile softened, and he reached out to place his hands gently on her shoulders, his touch feigning tenderness as he tried to calm her down.
"Come on, be good. You've vented your anger. Let's not make a scene anymore, okay? How about this? We'll pick another day, a better day, and I promise I'll give you an even grander, more luxurious wedding. What do you say?"
Linsey's eyes locked onto the smile playing on Felix's lips. His words were sweet, but his eyes--those eyes--betrayed a chilling indifference. He seemed so certain that she would fall for his act.
Of course, why wouldn't he think that? This was the way things had always gone in the past.
Linsey let out a bitter scoff.
She had given him far too many chances, and now he was convinced that he didn't need to treat her with any real respect.
Her expression hardened into something cold and detached, and without a word, she shrugged off his hands as though they were nothing more than a bothersome weight.
"Don't touch me. You make my skin crawl!"
She said indifferently.
Felix froze, his eyes widening in shock. He had never heard her speak to him like that before.
Her voice was ice, cutting through the tension in the room as she continued, "Felix, that wedding is over. I have no intention of having another one. I came here today to move out."
Felix, still stunned by her rejection, frowned in confusion, his mind struggling to catch up.
"Move out?"
Linsey nodded, her face resolute. "Yes. I'm leaving now."
Felix let out a hollow laugh, as if he had just heard the most absurd joke.
"And where do you think you're going?"
He knew all too well that Linsey had no family to turn to, no safety net to catch her. Apart from this apartment, she had nowhere else.
For the past five years, her entire world had been centered around him. He was certain she couldn't leave him.
He was certain that this whole "moving out" act was nothing more than her way of trying to make him bend to her will.
Shaking his head in disbelief, he opened his mouth to speak, but was cut off by a voice from behind.
It was Joanna.
"Felix, didn't you say you'd be down in a minute after packing? What's taking you so long?"
Joanna's voice echoed through the room as she stepped in. When her eyes landed on Linsey standing across from Felix, her expression shifted in surprise.
"Linsey, what are you doing here?"
Linsey shot Joanna a frosty look, her voice icy as she replied, "This is my apartment, isn't it? Do I need to explain why I'm here? The real question is, what are you doing here?"
Joanna lowered her gaze, feigning a mixture of embarrassment and innocence.
"I accidentally nicked myself with a fruit kn*fe, and Felix was so worried he insisted on staying with me for a few days."
Her eyes then darted to the suitcase beside Linsey, and she gasped dramatically, her hand covering her mouth.
"Linsey, what are you doing? Are you upset? If you're bothered, you can talk to me. I'll apologize if that makes you feel better. There's no need for all this."
Linsey's lips curled into a cold smile as she took a slow step forward toward Joanna.
"Are you really going to apologize? Do you even mean it?"
Joanna, aware of Felix watching, played her part, her voice dripping with false sincerity as she nodded.
"Of course. If it helps you, I'll do whatever it takes."
"Alright, then. Why not?"
Linsey's smile widened, but there was no warmth in her eyes, just coldness. "Since you're so sincere, I suppose I can help you out."
Without warning, she raised her hand.
The sharp sound of a sl*p sliced through the tension in the room as Linsey's palm connected with Joanna's face.
Chapter 4 Linsey, You've Really Changed
Joanna let out a shrill scream, the shock of the sl*p leaving her momentarily frozen.
Clutching her burning cheek, Joanna glared at Linsey, her eyes wide with disbelief.
"Linsey, how dare you sl*p me?"
Linsey's lips twisted into a cold, mocking smile.
"Why wouldn't I dare? You asked for it. You wanted to apologize, didn't you? But one sl*p hardly satisfies my anger. Maybe a second one will do."
With that, she raised her hand again, her gaze never leaving Joanna's face.
Felix, still reeling from the shock, finally snapped to attention. With a furious shout, he lunged forward, shoving Linsey aside.
"That's enough! Linsey, don't go too far!"
As he wrapped his arms protectively around Joanna, his voice softened with concern as he murmured to her, trying to calm her.
Linsey staggered back, regaining her balance with ease, her face indifferent.
She regarded them both with a clinical gaze, her voice dripping with sarcasm.
"This is going too far? Joanna herself said she wanted to apologize. Felix, are you deaf? If she really meant to apologize, she should just keep quiet and let me vent. All I did was sl*p her. How is that going too far? What I've done to her is nothing compared to what you two have done to me!"
Her gaze turned bitter as she continued, "You're both nothing but despicable cheats. And one day, when the truth comes out, who will believe a word you say?"
Felix stood frozen, stunned by the barrage of accusations. He opened his mouth, but not a single word of defense came to him.
He held Joanna close, his arm wrapped protectively around her as his eyes narrowed at Linsey with a growing frustration.
After a long, tense silence, he finally spoke, his voice laced with irritation.
"Even if Joanna wanted to apologize, you shouldn't have sl*pped her. An apology is just that--an apology. You don't solve things with violence. You're acting like a wild animal!"
Linsey tilted her head slightly, her lips curling into a frosty smile. She flexed her wrist nonchalantly, the gesture sharp and deliberate.
"I'll take that as a compliment," she replied coolly, her eyes locking onto his. "Since you think so highly of me, should I sl*p her a few more times to really live up to your glowing praise?"
Felix's mouth hung open, his shock evident as he stared at her, utterly unprepared for her mocking reply.
For a moment, he wondered if the woman standing before him was even the Linsey he once knew.
Joanna, equally stunned, watched Linsey in disbelief, her mind struggling to process the situation. She had taunted Linsey countless times before, but this--this was different.
Linsey had never fought back like this. Was she finally losing control?
The tension in the room thickened, and then Joanna's thoughts shifted, her gut telling her something wasn't right.
Could Linsey be doing this on purpose to get Felix's attention?
She shot a quick, anxious glance at Felix, only to find him completely absorbed in Linsey, his gaze fixed on her with an intensity that sent a pang of jealousy through Joanna.
She had made great efforts to take him from Linsey. There was no way she would let Linsey get him back!
Panic flooded Joanna's chest, and her grip tightened on Felix's arm, pulling him back to her. With calculated sweetness, she said, "Felix, don't say that. Linsey's probably just upset. I don't mind. As long as she can stop being angry with us, I'll be fine with anything."
Felix's heart swelled with sympathy for Joanna, and her words only deepened his sense of irritation toward Linsey.
"Linsey, you've really changed," he said, his voice tinged with disappointment. "The Linsey I knew would never act this way. If you insist on behaving like this--"
"Of course I've changed!"
Linsey cut him off before he could finish, her voice sharp and biting.
"I must have been out of my mind before, putting up with you. But not anymore. I've wised up. Only an id*ot would keep humiliating themselves like I did. Felix, let me make this crystal clear--we're done. Completely done!"
Without another word, Linsey grabbed her suitcase and turned away, her face set in stone.
Felix stood frozen, the finality in her words hitting him like a punch to the gut. He had never seen her like this before.
As she walked out of the room, dragging her suitcase behind her, an overwhelming sense of panic gripped his chest, suffocating him with its intensity.
For reasons he couldn't quite understand, a heavy feeling of impending loss weighed on him, as though the most important part of his life was slipping through his fingers.
"Linsey!"
He called out, his voice desperate, moving instinctively as if to chase after her.
Joanna's eyes widened in shock. She hadn't expected Felix to react this way.
Without thinking, she placed a hand over her cheek, letting out a melodramatic sob. "Felix, my face. it hurts so much. Do you think it's ble*ding?"
Felix froze, his heart tightening at the sound of her distress. He reluctantly turned back to her.
Joanna's cheek was marked with faint red streaks, a handprint visible beneath her skin.
"Joanna, don't cry."
Felix murmured, his voice full of concern. "I'll take you to the hospital. We'll get you some ointment--it's going to be fine."
Joanna sniffled loudly, her tears almost theatrical. She hesitated for a moment, before her voice softened, laced with feigned concern.
"Felix, Linsey's really leaving. maybe you should go after her instead of worrying about me. I'll be fine."
Felix bit down on his lip, his expression torn.
"Linsey's crossed a line this time. I won't indulge her anymore. Let her stew for a bit--she'll come crawling back. When she does, I'll make her apologize to you."
Joanna's heart swelled with satisfaction, and she leaned into Felix's embrace, her voice dripping with sweetness.
"Felix, you're so good to me."
Her plan was working perfectly.
The smugness bubbled within her as Joanna felt in control.
Linsey was nothing but a fool, thinking she could win Felix back.
But as Felix held Joanna, the warmth of her affection did nothing to settle the unease gnawing at him. A strange discomfort tugged at his chest.
Why did he feel so unsettled?
He pushed the unease down, attempting to smile at Joanna with forced patience.
But no matter how hard he tried, his gaze kept drifting toward the direction Linsey had gone.
Linsey had nowhere to go.
She would be back eventually. He was sure of it.
Chapter 5 Let's Make A Bet Then
On the other side, after Collin returned to Vista Villa, he made his way straight to the study.
Seen as disabled and worthless by society, he now stood tall, his former despondency entirely gone.
He faced the floor-to-ceiling window, his expression cold and unreadable as he watched the world below.
Just then, his phone rang.
It was Dustin Wade, his childhood friend.
"Hey, Collin," Dustin said, his voice casual. "I've looked into your wife. There's nothing shady about her. Her background checks out. On the day of the wedding, she married you because her fiancé left her standing at the altar."
Dustin's tone shifted, a playful edge creeping in.
"You know, all the rich young women in town avoid you like the plague. They think you're disabled, and you're cut off from your family--just the perfect picture of an outcast. But Linsey? She had the guts to walk right up to you and marry you. I gotta say, that's some serious courage."
After a brief pause, Dustin added with a thoughtful sigh, "I do wonder, though. when she finds out the truth, how will she take it?"
Collin's voice was steady and emotionless as he answered, "She won't get the chance. As soon as she realized who I really am, she came up with an excuse and left. She's probably gone for good."
He wasn't surprised.
After the accident, rejection and scorn had become part of his life. His low position in the Riley family only added to his isolation, making him numb to it all.
People often said that marrying a man like him--someone with no future--was like throwing away a woman's life.
But Dustin didn't agree with Collin.
"I don't think she's like that," Dustin retorted with a grin.
"Think about it--how many women would dare to swap grooms at their own wedding? My gut tells me Linsey's not the type to run. Since she's already married you, I don't think she'd just disappear."
As Dustin spoke, his interest visibly grew, his excitement clear in his voice.
"You don't believe me? Let's make a bet, then. I bet Linsey will be back soon. If I win, you hand over that plot of land on the outskirts of town. Deal?"
Collin raised an eyebrow, his tone calm but calculating.
"And if you lose?"
Dustin let out a dismissive scoff. "I'm not going to lose, okay?"
But before he could say more, Collin's icy aura seemed to seep through the phone, sending a chill down his spine. Dustin quickly backpedaled.
"Fine, fine. If I lose, you can make any request of similar value. Deal?"
Collin didn't believe for a second that Linsey would return. A cold snort escaped him, which Dustin took as tacit agreement.
Just as Collin was about to hang up, a knock echoed at the door. The housekeeper's voice came through.
"Mr. Riley, Mrs. Riley is here.".
What happens next? How will Collin react to Linsey's return?
Available chapters here are limited, click the button below to install the App and enjoy more exciting chapters (Automatically jump to this novel when you open the app)
&3&
A message lit up Stella's phone, and along with it came a bunch of photos.
Clothes scattered carelessly, two people holding each other tightly, messy b**sheets.
This kind of thing wasn't new to Stella.
One look at the big hand holding that woman's wrist, and Stella knew it was Marc's. Her husband. The same man she'd been married to for four years.
Then her eyes caught the date on the pictures, and her stomach sank. It was the same day as their wedding anniversary.
Marc had promised they'd spend the evening together, but he'd vanished for three days.
All she got was a message from his assistant, saying he had some urgent business to handle.
"Urgent, huh?" Stella let out a cold chuckle. Clearly urgent--in someone else's b*d. She then closed the message and called someone from her contact list.
The person picked up almost immediately.
"Stella," came the voice on the other end.
"I've made my decision to join the classified research project," she said calmly.
A heavy silence stretched on the other end of the line, and then came a sharp, unwavering voice.
"Don't joke around, Stella. Once you're in the classified research project, there's no turning back. You'll be officially listed as missing, and everything about your past will be wiped clean. A new identity will be created for you. So ask yourself--are you really ready to walk away from your family? From Marc?"
Stella's eyes fell on the framed wedding photo hanging nearby.
Marc's promises, which used to sound sweet, now felt cold and empty.
"I've made my decision. I'll come by tomorrow to fill out the forms."
Stella once savored Marc's devotion, yet his covert cruelty cut deep.
Then she deleted her identity, signed onto a classified research mission, vanished without a trace, that same dawn Marc's empire crumbled.
All he unearthed was her death certificate, and he shattered. When they met again, a gala spotlighted Stella beside a tycoon.
Marc begged her to forgive. With a smirk, she said, "Out of your league, darling.".
&7&
She followed him for seven years out of gratitude, feeling lucky to marry him. When his mistress claimed she had cancer and only six months to live, he handed her divorce papers. "It's only for show. We'll remarry in six months." Her heart died. She resolved to make the fake divorce real and restart her life.
=====
"Let's get a divorce. She has stomach cancer and has only six months left to live."
After their in**mate encounter, Brandon Watson sat up and said in a detached voice.
Millie Bennett, still breathing hard from the encounter, turned to him slowly, a wild look of disbelief in her eyes.
They had been married for a year. What did he mean by suddenly saying he wanted a divorce?
"Her final wish is to be my wife," Brandon added, almost offhandedly.
He said, lighting a ci**rette. The sm**e rose in slow spirals around his face.
Millie gawked at him, stunned. Silence spread across the room like mist.
The bedside lamp glowed faintly, casting long shadows across the wall, making them seem farther apart than they were.
Brandon glanced at her and gave a faint frown.
"It's only to comfort her," he explained. "We'll remarry after six months. She won't be here long, Millie."
His voice was steady, almost detached, like someone passing along a message that didn't concern him.
Millie watched Brandon wordlessly, her eyes fixed on his profile.
He spoke like his words were instructions, not suggestions.
Their relationship had always been one-sided. She had chased it from the start, drawn in by youthful affection.
She had stayed by his side for years, moving through each rough season without letting go.
Millie still remembered that day, under the heavy rain that soaked them both, Brandon had stood between her and her stepfather, gripping a cracked stick, and said with fire in his voice, "Touch Millie again, and you'll regret it."
That moment had etched itself into her heart. Even when she was weak and bl**ding, she saw him--unmoving, protective, fierce.
From that point on, she was his.
She loved him without pause, met his requests with everything she had, carrying them out more flawlessly than anyone else ever could.
He would always pat her head, light and warm, and say in a low voice, "You did so well, Millie."
But Brandon's praises never lasted, his ki**es barely stayed, and whatever affection they shared always felt just out of reach. But Millie told herself it was just how he was.
Even when others called her naive, she stayed--devoted and trusting.
She had given seven years of her life to him.
A year earlier, Brandon's grandfather, Derek Watson, had fallen into poor health. The family, hoping to lift his spirits, decided Brandon should marry.
Perhaps the joy of a wedding would give the old man something to hold on to.
So Brandon went on to marry Millie.
She thought it was finally their moment. But after the vows, something changed. He began to pull away. Sometimes, he looked at her like she was a stranger.
"Millie, are you listening?" Brandon scowled as he caught the far-off look in Millie's eyes.
"Does it have to be like this?" she asked softly.
He didn't answer. Instead, he said, "She's going through so much, Millie."
Millie's ch**t tightened. "And what about me?"
Brandon didn't answer right away. His eyes, dark and steady, flickered with a trace of impatience.
Then, after about three seconds, he said, "Millie, she's dying. Maybe you don't know, but she's in love with me. Because we were married, and she didn't want to hurt you, she never let things go too far between us. Even when I tried to make it up to her, she never let me. She's a good person. Please, let her have this. Don't make me think you're being heartless."
His words, spoken so calmly, pierced her more than if he had shouted.
So in Brandon's eyes, a woman in love with a married man, who promised to hold back but never really let go, was a saint.
And a wife who simply wanted to keep her husband to herself was heartless.
Millie stared at his face. The same face she had fallen for--intense eyes, prominent nose, beautiful lips.
When had things started to crumble?
Maybe it was the day the woman showed up.
"Are you sure this is what you want?" Millie asked, steadying herself.
Brandon said nothing, pursing his lips.
Finally, he opened his mouth to respond. "Yes, you--"
"Alright." Millie cut him off before he could finish.
Brandon looked up, clearly surprised. He frowned, studying her closely.
"Millie, you're getting clever," he said, a flicker of irritation in his voice. "You know I need your consent to go through with it. Are you thinking of using it to get under my skin?"
Millie didn't answer. She just stared at the white wall, watching how their shadows stretched.
Brandon put out his ci**rette andsaid no more, pulling on his clothes quickly and storming out.
He didn't stop to consider how she felt. Nor did he pause to acknowledge how humiliating or painful his request was.
He knew she couldn't leave him.
He was utterly sure about that.
The door slammed shut behind him.
And just like that, Millie was alone.
She sat motionless by the bed, staring at the door as if it might open again.
Her phone buzzed beside her.
A message lit up the screen.
She picked up the phone.
It was from a familiar number. "He came to see me again."
The text came with a photo. Brandon's face was captured in the reflection of a glass door, a soft smile playing on his lips, eyes warm in a way Millie had never seen.
She froze. Then, slowly, she scrolled upward through the previous messages. "He said he has feelings for me."
"Rainy nights aren't lonely for me because he's here with me. What about you?"
"The one who isn't loved is truly the other woman. Millie, you were never his first choice; you were just the one he settled for. He sees beauty the way I do, shares my taste in things, and he loves me."
The messages continued that way, proving Brandon's betrayal.
The man who had always treated her with distance these past seven years had apparently mastered tenderness for someone else.
Millie kept scrolling until she reached the very first message. "You should know who I am. Do you like the flowers in your living room today? I sent them. He said they were beautiful."
Of course, Millie knew who it was.
Vivian Simpson, the famous floral designer known for filling her wealthy clients' grand villas and lavish parties with carefully and beautifully arranged blooms.
Millie had shown Brandon the messages before. He'd brushed them off and said there was no proof they were from Vivian.
He had even said maybe Millie sent them herself just to stir trouble. Most of the messages didn't have pictures, and the few that did were vague--taken from afar, hard to pin down.
But not today's. Today's was clear.
Millie thought about showing him the photo. Then her eyes drifted toward the bedside drawer. She reached down and pulled it open.
There it was. The pr**nancy test result she'd gotten earlier that day.
She was pr**nant with Brandon's child. At the worst possible moment.
Her tears fell, soaking the paper and smudging the ink.
But what did it matter anymore? Brandon's heart had been gone for a long time.
Millie wiped her face dry and picked up the lighter he'd left behind. Flames flickered as she held the test result to the fire.
Brandon had no idea that saying yes to the divorce would be the final thing she'd ever do for him.
She had given him back what she owed--not in money, but in seven full years of her life.
She would never love him again.
Chapter 2 Terminate The Pregnancy
The next day, parked just outside the courthouse, Brandon sat in his Maybach, quietly tapping the steering wheel with his left hand.
"Brandon, you and Millie have been married for a year now. Don't you think it's time to start planning for a baby?" An elderly voice drifted from the phone's speaker.
Brandon's face softened, a trace of frustration flickering through, but his patience didn't waver.
"Grandma, we're still young. There's no need to rush. You and Grandpa should focus on staying healthy. He."
"What do you mean by 'There's no need to rush'?" The elderly voice rose in annoyance.
"Your grandfather's condition might have improved, but we're not getting any younger. We don't know how much time we've got left."
"Grandma."
"Don't give me that! I've heard things, Brandon. Whatever's going on, be good to Millie."
Silence fell over the line for a few seconds.
"Brandon, did you hear me?" the elder asked.
Brandon rubbed his forehead in frustration. "I understand, Grandma."
They exchanged a few more words before he ended the call.
Brandon resumed tapping the steering wheel with his fingers, this time slower, more distracted. He stared through the windshield toward the courthouse.
He clenched his jaw. Then, he opened the messaging app on his phone.
His thumb hovered over a familiar profile picture--a simple floral image, tagged "My Love." He skipped past it and opened the thread with Millie.
The last message he'd sent her simply reminded her of the time and place to meet for the divorce.
She still hadn't shown up.
With a scowl, Brandon sent a new message. "Where are you?"
A knock on the window followed almost instantly. He turned to see Millie standing outside, her face a little pale.
She opened the door and slipped into the passenger seat, giving him a blank look.
He hadn't changed out of yesterday's clothes--the same ones she had picked out for him.
Through the years, it had always been her--choosing his ties, picking his cologne, arranging every detail down to the fit of his tailored shirts and suits.
"Why are you late?" Brandon asked.
Millie looked away.
"I'm not late," she said quietly.
She was simply no longer the girl who would always arrive early and wait for him without thinking.
Brandon's fingers stilled against the wheel. His eyes narrowed slightly as he studied her.
Millie looked a little pale, maybe from a sleepless night after he mentioned the divorce last night.
Still, she looked fine.
"My grandma called earlier," Brandon muttered, looking away. "Don't tell them about the divorce. They're too old to handle something like that."
Millie didn't respond right away. Instead, she asked, "What did your grandma say?"
"She wants us to have a baby," Brandon said flatly, a flicker of irritation slipping into his voice.
Silence settled in the car.
After a while, Millie let out a small soft laugh.
Brandon curled his hand into a fist and turned his face to the window.
There were moments when he used to imagine what their child might look like.
He remembered holding her from behind, pressing a hand gently over her belly, whispering, "Millie, when will you give me a baby?"
But it hadn't happened.
Anyway, they could always remarry in six months and start planning for a baby. There would still be enough time.
Vivian, however, only had six months left.
Outside, passers-by came and went.
Then Millie spoke up. "Just once more, Brandon. Are you completely sure you want to go through with the divorce?"
"Having second thoughts?" Brandon barked, looking genuinely upset.
Vivian was still waiting for him at the studio.
After confirming once more, Millie didn't say another word. She reached into her bag, pulled out a document, and handed it to Brandon.
He took it with a frown, flipping through the pages. It was a property division agreement.
"If we're getting divorced," she said, "we should make everything clear. I'll only take what I'm entitled to from the Watson family. And from this moment on, anything either of us earns belongs to us individually."
Then Millie pulled out a pen and placed it beside him.
"If that's okay with you, just sign it."
Brandon's eyes stayed on the document, but his frown deepened as he read.
The agreement was too simple. She really wasn't asking for much. And her signature was already there.
He didn't get it.
What was she trying to do? It was basically just a fake divorce.
Vivian only had six months left. He planned to spend those months by her side. After that, he'd return to Millie--no one else needed to know the divorce ever happened.
To him, Millie had always seemed blindly loyal.
Brandon had never thought of her as someone with pride or boundaries.
There was a time he'd grown bored of her, pushing her into things that chipped away at her pride on purpose.
But Millie never declined.
She'd still return with a soft smile, holding out the results like a trophy. "Brandon, look--I did it. Isn't it great?"
She was a good wife. Meek. Obedient. For seven years, he'd seen it play out over and over.
If it weren't for Vivian, their marriage probably would have gone on like that.
But.
A flash of memory--Vivian, weak and coughing bl**d, still trying to smile--stabbed at his ch**t. The pain was raw and unshakable.
Brandon looked outside the car window again.
Millie's reflection stared back at him--blank, expressionless.
Was this her way of threatening him?
After all, she had once faked messages to frame Vivian.
She hated Vivian.
Chuckling dryly, Brandon picked up the pen and signed his name.
No one could force his hand. Not even her.
There were two copies of the agreement.
Millie calmly took her copy after he signed both.
They both stepped out of the car and headed into the courthouse. Together, they filed for divorce.
Next time they came back here, they would finalize everything and collect the official decree.
Once all the formalities were done, the two of them stepped out of the courthouse together.
The sun was already blazing, and the warmth settled on Millie's skin.
Brandon scanned the people moving about.
It wasn't hard to tell the couples getting married from those getting divorced. Some people chose to have their weddings at the courthouse.
A couple walked by, hand in hand.
The woman's smile triggered something in Brandon. He remembered that same look on Millie's face a year ago, when they first got married.
Brandon glanced over at Millie, but her face was blank.
"I'll keep transferring money to your account during the next six months," he said. "And don't say anything to my grandparents."
He didn't wait for a reply. Just turned and walked off.
Millie stood there quietly, watching his car disappear around the corner.
Her cab arrived not long after.
And then, the two cars went opposite directions.
One turned toward Vivian Floral Design.
The other headed for Crobert Hospital.
Brandon walked into Vivian's studio, where she greeted him with a gentle smile.
He told her, "It's done. She didn't make a scene."
Meanwhile, Millie stepped into the ob-gyn wing and quietly sat opposite the doctor.
The doctor reached over and pulled the curtain
"Millie. are you sure you want to terminate the pr**nancy?" Her best friend and doctor, Alexia Hussain, looked at her with concern.
"You were so determined to have a baby. You even worked so hard to get yourself ready for co**eption."
Millie reached into her bag and placed the divorce filing receipt on the side table.
"Yes," she replied calmly. "Let's terminate it. I don't want it anymore."
Chapter 3 Signs Of Miscarriage
Alexia stared at the filing receipt, surprised.
She and Millie had been close friends for more than ten years, and in all that time, Alexia had seen just how hard Millie loved Brandon.
There was a time Millie could have died for him, and nobody would have questioned it.
They got married a year ago. Alexia had smiled at the wedding, even though something about their pairing felt off.
But still, Millie had gotten what she wanted. That had been enough for Alexia.
Now this.
What had happened?
"I don't love him anymore," Millie said, before Alexia could ask.
She looked over and gave a small, calm smile.
In that smile, Alexia caught a glimpse of the old Millie--the one from before everything collapsed, before grief carved deep lines into her, before her father's death and the fall of the Bennett family changed her.
It brought Alexia a strange sense of calm.
"Brandon doesn't know I'm pr**nant," Millie said calmly. "And before the divorce becomes final, I don't want to take any risks. It's better if he doesn't know."
If either party changed their mind before the divorce was finalized, they could take back the application, and the procedure would no longer go through.
And that was when Alexia knew that Millie wasn't playing around about divorcing Brandon.
After taking it all in, Alexia did what needed to be done: she booked Millie's medical tests and then advised carefully, "Wait a few days before the surgery."
Millie frowned in confusion. "Why?"
"You know your bl**d type--Rh-negative. It's rare. We need time to prepare bl**d, just in case. I've already contacted the bl**d bank. They said it might take a week."
Millie went quiet. The sadness in her eyes was unmistakable.
She had gotten that bl**d type from her father. And now she missed him all over again.
If he were still here.
"Okay." Millie nodded slowly. A smile tugged at her lips, but her eyes turned red.
"You also have early signs of mi**arriage. You need to be careful these next few days," Alexia added, her voice full of concern.
They'd grown up together, and Alexia knew Millie's sadness too well.
She held Millie's hand. "Wait for me. My shift's almost over. I'll go home with you."
Millie nodded, and then went to wait in the hallway.
She looked down at her stomach.
Early signs of mi**arriage.
Did the baby know what she'd decided and want to leave first?
Pursing her lips, Millie walked toward the lab for the tests.
Her phone buzzed. It was a bank notification.
She had opened a new account--one that Brandon wouldn't know about. She was keeping her money cleanly separate before the divorce was finalized.
Every cent she earned from now on would live in that account.
A second message followed. "Payment for composition and lyrics has been completed. Finance has sent the transfer. Kindly confirm."
Before she married Brandon, Millie had worked quietly as an anonymous songwriter.
Music had always been her first love. Back when her father was alive, life had been generous, and she lacked nothing.
As the Bennett family's only daughter, she had the freedom and the means to grow her gift.
The turns her life had taken had taught her things she hadn't known she needed to learn.
Maybe her father never thought that the pastime he once encouraged would one day be the very thing keeping her afloat.
Millie paused, and then typed back, "Money received. Thank you."
The reply came quickly. "It's what you deserve. You've written a lot of hits over the years. Why don't you return? There's a new show coming up. It fits you perfectly. I've sent details to your email. Reserved a contestant slot just for you."
Millie opened her email. A new message sat at the top, inviting her to join a music competition show.
The format was familiar, like others she had seen before, but this one wanted something original.
She typed out a quick reply. "I'll think about it."
Then she set her phone down. A light cramp curled in her lower belly.
She thought of her father again.
The second time today.
Meanwhile, the Internet was buzzing with updates.
#VivianSimpsonStomachCancer
#FloristVivianSimpsonCountdown
#LastSixMonths
The most trending post was a video featuring a reporter summarizing the news about Vivian.
"Sources confirm that the well-known floral designer, Vivian Simpson, has been diagnosed with stomach cancer. She's been given six months to live. But instead of retreating, she's choosing to document her remaining time--she wants to share her life with the world as it winds down."
The video cut to Vivian. She looked at the camera with a sad smile.
"In these last six months, I'll be posting updates about my life. I'm not doing it for attention. I just want to offer some comfort to others going through the same thing. I hope you all stay strong."
Then the reporter came back on screen.
"There have long been whispers about Miss Simpson and Mr. Brandon Watson, CEO of Watson Group. But Mr. Watson is married. It remains to be seen if he'll reconnect with Miss Simpson during her final months."
In the background, Vivian seemed to have heard that part. She stepped forward, stopped beside the reporter, and gently cut in.
She faced the camera.
"I'm not ashamed to say I like Brandon. He's an incredible man," she said. "I'm sure I'm not the only one who feels that way. But I want to make it clear--I'm not going to break up someone's marriage. That's not who I am."
Having said that, she walked off, leaving the reporter behind.
She wove through the small crowd with a smile and climbed into a waiting car.
The foreign caregiver from Flaville passed her a glass of water, hand paused in midair, unsure.
"You look like you want to say something," Vivian said, her voice cold. "Go ahead. The driver's one of ours."
The caregiver leaned in and lowered their voice. "Miss Simpson, your diagnosis. it's a stomach ulcer. Having our facility change that into cancer is already risky. But now you're sharing it with the public online?"
Vivian gave a sharp laugh, startling the caregiver.
"Your facility--is it a licensed medical facility?" she asked.
The caregiver nodded.
"And does it manage my medical record privately?"
The caregiver gave another nod.
"Is that what my medical record says--that I have six months left because of terminal stomach cancer?"
The caregiver hesitated before nodding again.
"Exactly!" Vivian leaned back with a smile. "It's official, then. No one can question it."
"But you don't actually have stomach cancer. What happens later."
"There are two ways out," Vivian said, cutting in. Her voice was sharper now, her eyes harder. "One: I make a miraculous recovery during treatment at your facility or somewhere else, maybe because of all the love I've received. Two: your facility gets blamed for a diagnostic error and months of wrong treatment."
She turned her face fully to the caregiver, looking more intimidating. "Which option do you prefer?"
The caregiver looked panicked but forced out the words. "I'm sorry, Miss Simpson. I understand. You've already thought everything through."
Vivian gave a short, cold smile.
"Where should we go next, Miss Simpson?" the caregiver asked in an attempt to lighten the mood.
Vivian glanced at her phone. "Crobert Hospital."
The caregiver stiffened. "But--"
"Relax. I'm only going in for pain relief with my medical record," Vivian said, and then reached for her phone and sent Brandon a message, telling him to meet her at the hospital later.
Almost instantly, he replied, "Sure."
Meanwhile, Millie stood in the hospital restroom, a steady ache pulling at her lower stomach. In her hand was a tissue, the smear of bl**d clear against the white.
It was an early sign of a mi**arriage.
Chapter 4 She Would Have No Ties With Brandon
As Vivian made her way to Crobert Hospital, the Internet was filled with comments about her diagnosis. Her name appeared across countless threads.
"To be honest, I think Vivian's brave. She's clear about her feelings as well as boundaries. Quite impressive, actually."
"Exactly. A lot of people like Brandon. As long as she's not wrecking his marriage, her feelings are her own business."
"Her older videos and that livestream from Crest Villa gave me a glimpse into rich people's lives. It's sad she won't be around much longer."
"Who's Brandon's wife, though? She should just let him be with Vivian. The girl has only six months left."
"I know her. It's Millie Bennett, a musician. She stopped working after she got married and became a full-time housewife.".
At Crobert Hospital, Millie's phone kept buzzing. Calls and messages came one after another.
Some people acted concerned. Others wanted information. A few tried to mock her. All of it was about Vivian and Brandon.
Millie had read just enough of the headlines to understand what was going on with Vivian's illness.
She didn't click on anything else.
It didn't matter anymore.
Once the divorce was finalized, Brandon would no longer be a part of her life.
She checked the time. When she looked up, she saw Alexia walking toward her.
"How are you feeling?" Alexia asked, concerned. "Any pain?" She saw the strain on Millie's face and, without needing to be asked, reached out to help her rise.
Millie gave a small smile and shook her head.
She had made up her mind. Some things simply had to be faced.
Alexia understood, but she just sighed and helped Millie up. They took the elevator.
The elevator doors soon opened at the ground floor.
The hospital was packed. Even more than usual. Millie noticed a few reporters scattered in the crowd.
"So many people today. Probably another celebrity here for a check-up," Alexia said.
"They always bring this kind of attention." She stopped at once, her face changing. She had seen something and quickly tried to lead Millie in the other direction.
But there was no point. Millie had already spotted them.
Brandon stood tall, striking in a way that drew attention without effort.
The noise and movement around him didn't touch him--his hair perfectly in place, his suit smooth and sharp, like the chaos didn't dare come close.
Vivian stood beside him. She looked small and weak, her face pale, which made her seem even more fragile.
She lost her balance slightly. Brandon stepped in to catch her, shielding her from the cameras and the crowd.
"Don't look," Alexia said quickly, stepping in front of Millie, her tone sharp with anger.
"Alexia, let's go," Millie said, her voice calm. She had made up her mind; Brandon didn't need to know she was there, and she had no interest in crossing paths with him now.
"Why should we go?" Alexia snapped, growing more furious. "You're not divorced yet. He's still your husband. And he's here holding another woman like it's nothing. It's shameless."
Husband.
Millie looked away, sighing.
There was a time she had secretly smiled just thinking about Brandon being her husband.
But not anymore.
"I don't feel well, Alexia. Let's just go," Millie said, changing the topic.
Alexia gave her full attention now and stopped looking in Brandon and Vivian's direction.
They left. Across the lobby, Vivian glanced over. A flicker of pride passed through her face.
"I'm sorry, Brandon. I didn't mean to drag you into this mess," she said, a tinge of remorse in her voice. "I know you hate being in the spotlight."
"It's fine," Brandon replied. "Let's go see the doctor first." His face stayed calm, but something stirred in his thoughts--something brief, hard to name.
They stepped into the consultation room.
Vivian handed over her medical record to the doctor.
The doctor read through it, slowly, and frowned.
"This looks serious," he said.
Vivian gave a faint smile. "I know," she said quietly. Then she took a slow breath. "Please prescribe something strong for the pain."
"In your current condition, I suggest you stay in the hospital and begin treatment," the doctor said. "You should try. There's still a chance we can extend your life."
"What's the point?" Vivian gave a sad smile.
She brushed away the tears building in her eyes, and then said quietly, "I don't want treatment."
Brandon's fingers curled tighter around hers.
She gave a small shake of her head.
"Doctor, I just want to spend the last phase of my life with some dignity," she said. "So, please prescribe some strong painkillers."
The doctor sighed deeply but finally nodded in understanding.
Outside, reporters were taking photos and recording videos without pause before posting them online.
People watching were emotional.
"Good heavens, this is a real person whose life is ending."
"I cry when I'm in mild pain. I can't imagine what late-stage cancer feels like. But she still manages to smile. She's really strong."
"I couldn't hold back tears when she said she wouldn't go through treatment. Only people who've faced serious illness understand this feeling."
Public sympathy for Vivian reached its highest point.
Vivian soon got her medicine, and as she and Brandon walked out of the hospital, Millie was sitting on a bench nearby. She was waiting for Alexia, who had gone to get the car.
Before Millie could respond to what was happening, paparazzi noticed her and rushed over.
The camera flashes came all at once.
Brandon saw her too. He frowned and asked, "What are you doing here?"
Millie stood up, glanced at Brandon, and then at Vivian's hand resting on his arm.
She didn't speak yet. The crowd didn't give her the chance.
"Mrs. Watson, did you come because of what's online? Are you trying to catch them together?"
"What do you think of your husband being out in public with someone else?"
"Mrs. Watson, what are you planning to do about Vivian?"
People quickly decided that Millie had shown up on purpose--to face Vivian directly, to start something.
Even Brandon thought the same.
He looked annoyed.
"Vivian is sick. Didn't you know?" he barked.
Brandon's voice was brimming with menace.
Millie felt like laughing.
So that was what he believed--that she was picking a fight on purpose with someone who was ill.
Brandon really didn't know her.
Seeing Millie didn't answer, the reporters turned to Vivian, asking questions about breaking up someone's marriage.
Brandon looked at Millie again. "Millie!" he called. He wanted her to defend Vivian.
Like always, he expected her to do what he wanted.
But the will to please him was gone.
She was walking away from him--there was no reason left to obey.
Millie placed her right hand over her stomach. The dull ache was still there.
"I came to visit a friend," she said finally.
She didn't want to say more. Her pr**nancy wasn't something she wanted to share--not before the divorce was finalized, not with all eyes on her.
Her reply to his question earlier was simple.
Having answered Brandon, Millie turned to leave.
But the reporters didn't back off. They crowded in around her.
"Mrs. Watson, people online are asking you to step aside and let Mr. Watson be with Vivian. What do you say to that?"
"Vivian doesn't have long. Are you still going to fight her?"
"Mrs. Watson--"
Millie didn't bother responding; she just wanted to get away.
The crowd, thrilled to see the three of them in the same place at last, had no intention of letting it end.
Brandon stood still, saying nothing, and that silence gave someone the boldness to shove Millie with force.
She staggered, her arms moving at once to shield her stomach.
Chapter 5 To Let Go Of The Past
Millie landed hard, her back hitting the ground first.
Cameras flashed wildly, capturing the fall from every angle.
She looked toward Brandon by instinct. But his face gave nothing--just a cold, still stare.
And in that moment, she understood what he wanted her to do, and it stung her heart.
He wanted her to speak for him. To tell the press it was all a misunderstanding. That Vivian was ill, and he had only come out of concern. That it was kindness, not betrayal.
Clutching her belly, Millie lowered her head and let a faint smile slip across her face.
The sky above was clear, and sunlight streamed through gaps in the crowd. But none of it touched her.
She steadied herself and rose slowly.
Then, without looking back, she said calmly, "I feel sorry for Miss Simpson. But that's all."
Someone nearby, unaware, asked, "So, are you friends with her?"
Millie gave a short laugh. "Friends? No. I wouldn't call someone clinging to my husband a friend."
She turned and waved to Alexia, who had just pulled up.
"Millie!" Brandon called after her, his face red with rage.
But she didn't turn around. She stood tall and kept walking.
Alexia got out and moved quickly toward her friend, scoffing as they left, "You'd think they were the married couple confronting the home-wrecker. Absolutely ridiculous."
Vivian's lips parted to respond. "You."
But Alexia cut in before she could say a word. "What? Tell me I'm wrong. If you're planning to use the press to scare me, go ahead. I've got nothing to hide."
Vivian's face turned even paler, looking as if she might faint.
Reporters scrambled, voices rising all at once.
Alexia ushered Millie into the car, not sparing another glance behind them.
"Don't worry," she said. "She's definitely faking it. I've seen enough of these cases to tell in a second."
Millie gave her a small smile. "I'm not worried about her. I'm worried about you. What if this mess affects your job?"
At a red light, Alexia grinned and nudged her. "Don't forget my dad's the hospital director."
Millie raised an eyebrow. "The same dad you swore you'd never speak to again?"
Alexia shrugged. "You never know when a connection comes in handy. Honestly, sometimes I wish all the powerful people out there were my dads."
They both laughed, the tension slowly easing from Millie's face. As the light turned green, the car moved forward again.
"I've got the afternoon free," Alexia said, stretching. "Whatever you need, I'm ready."
Playing along, Millie turned to her with a sly grin. "Great. I need help with something."
"What is it?" Alexia asked curiously.
"Help me move." She grabbed Alexia's wrist. "You can't back out now."
Alexia gr**ned but gave in.
Before long, the two of them arrived at the house Millie had shared with Brandon, along with a team of movers and organizers.
The house had come together quickly after their rushed wedding.
Everything--furniture and layout--had felt temporary at first. But over the year, Millie had made a home out of it, filling it with warmth.
At least, she tried.
Alexia directed the workers while Millie moved quietly around the room, her hands light on every object. On a shelf, she spotted a bottle of Chanel No. 5.
The first gift Brandon ever gave her. He'd brought it back from a business trip.
He came straight to her from the airport.
He had pulled her into his arms. His ki**es were quick, urgent. They had been just like any young couple in love back then.
She opened the bottle and sprayed it once. The scent filled the room.
She remembered how he had ki**ed her lightly after spraying it on her skin.
"Should I pack this too?" Alexia asked, seeing the perfume.
Millie glanced over and shook her head. "Leave it."
She slipped off the wedding ring Brandon had picked without thought, placing it gently on the table.
But as the movers shuffled back and forth through the space, she paused. Then, quietly, she opened a drawer and put both the perfume and the ring inside.
Soon, the house had been cleared of every trace of her. Only that bottle and that ring remained.
Packing up had been tiring, but once the decision was made, it moved quickly.
It was the same with her feelings.
The wind moved softly through her hair as the car headed toward her new place. Behind her, the mansion faded in the rearview mirror.
Sometimes, to move forward, one had to leave parts of oneself behind.
Millie had things to do.
The fall of the Bennett family, the unanswered questions around her father's sudden death--she was going to find the truth.
Her life had always been shaped by what others needed.
Now it was time to live for herself.
She decided to begin with the music show. It would bring in money, and more importantly, might reconnect her with people linked to her father's past.
She pulled out her phone, found the right contact, and typed her message. "I'm joining the music program.".
Vivian was still crying.
Brandon sat beside her, muttering words of comfort. But his thoughts were filled with the image of Millie standing with her back to him, saying those words.
She had known exactly what he wanted her to say. And she had chosen not to.
He had sent her message after message. She hadn't replied any of them.
She had been acting strangely lately.
The change in her was too sharp, too sudden. She was provoking him on purpose.
She had done it when they filed for divorce. And again at the hospital.
Brandon remembered the look in her eyes the night before, when she asked if he truly made up his mind about the divorce.
She had been sad but also calm.
An unexpected fear filled his heart.
"Brandon, don't be angry at Millie," Vivian said through tears. "I know she's upset. After seeing the videos online, she must've come to confront us. And I understand."
She burst into tears. "After all. I'm the one who took something from her. I'm taking six months from your marriage--what's left of it. If she lashes out at me, I deserve it."
As she spoke, she started coughing--hard.
A second later, she spat bl**d into her hand.
"Vivian!" Brandon jumped up, reaching for his phone to call for an ambulance.
As for Millie's sudden change, he brushed it off as moodiness. In his mind, she wouldn't dare walk away.
Vivian reached out and stopped him, still smiling faintly. "It's the cancer. It's late-stage. This happens. Don't worry."
Her caregiver helped her lie back down.
Brandon turned away, already thinking of confronting Millie. As soon as he left the room, Vivian calmly wiped her mouth and pulled out a small bl**d bag hidden in her cheek.
She laughed. "What do you think he'll say to Millie now?" she asked the caregiver. "I'm honestly looking forward to it."
Then she began to go through the news reports excitedly.
The entire online community seemed against Millie.
"Vivian didn't even go for life-saving treatment--she just wanted pain meds. Millie really made a scene for no reason."
"Vivian's dying, and Millie still wants to pick fights?"
"Mr. Watson and Vivian look perfect together. Like a real power couple."
"Millie's fall was so embarrassing. I cringed."
"Millie, just step aside already!"
"Millie, divorce Brandon!"
"Yeah, divorce Brandon!"
"Divorce!"
Vivian chuckled as she read the comments. Then she sent a message to a contact and gave a few instructions.
"Today's move was perfect. Keep the pressure up. Make sure Millie stays where she is--down. Oh, and find out why she went to the hospital today.".
What happens next?
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Her fiancé became her sister's man, yet her parents sided with her sister, planning to sell her off to an old man. To escape that fate, she accepted a proposal from a neighbor she'd spent one night with. She never expected he'd been secretly in love with her for years, spoiling her endlessly after their marriage.
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Crack! My fiancé hit me.
Two minutes ago, I accidentally broke a mug. Then, Rhys sl**ped me across the face-hard.
My cheek burned like it had been seared by fire.
Three minutes ago, I had been daydreaming about how to decorate our ridiculously expensive penthouse apartment, where every corner looked like it belonged on the cover of a magazine.
It took a full thirty seconds before my brain restarted, slowly piecing reality back together.
"Are you f**king insane?" I gritted my teeth, forcing the words through the cracks of my jaw.
Rhys's lips were pressed into a cold, tight line, his expression dark and resolute.
"It was just a mug with Catherine's face on it," he said, as if my reaction was an overblown performance, not the result of something horrifying he had just done.
"You have got to be f**king kidding me." I stared at him in disbelief, my ch**t heaving as rage and humiliation churned violently inside me, ready to explode.
For half a second-just half-something like guilt flickered across his face. Then it vanished, consumed by a storm of fury.
"No, you're the insane one!" he roared. "I already agreed to marry you-what more do you want? Catherine's gone, but you still broke that mug on purpose!"
His voice trembled with anger. "She was your sister! She had to leave because of you! And now you're jealous of her? You won't rest until every trace of her is erased, will you?"
The hatred in his eyes cut deeper than the s**p.
My cheek throbbed. My hand was still bl**ding. But nothing hurt more than my heart.
I forced myself to unclench my jaw and made one last attempt to explain. "It wasn't me. I never asked her to leave."
Technically speaking, I understood why someone might say that. Catherine had left behind a letter.
In it, she said she'd seen my diary, realized I had a crush on Rhys, and decided to "let go," to "let him be yours."
I don't think she ever understood that a diary meant privacy. I never meant for anyone to read it, but not only did she read it-she told everyone.
No one cared about the pain I felt when my secret was exposed. I was dragged out, nailed to a pillar of shame, forced to pay for her so-called noble sacrifice.
To my family, it was like I'd been bumped up to the starting lineup out of nowhere, replacing the golden girl-I should've been grateful.
Even if Rhys had st**bed me in the gut, they'd still find a way to excuse it.
It was as if my parents had always hated me. No matter how much better I did than Catherine, they always saw me as bitter, as someone who couldn't protect her fragile pride.
The searing pain on my cheek intensified.
My fingers clenched tightly around the engagement ring. A wave of heat-anger, humiliation, resentment-rose in my throat.
Hot tears welled in my eyes, blurring my vision. I blinked fast, wiping them away before they could fall.
I would not cry. I would never show weakness in front of him.
I took a heavy step toward the door, struggling to move. I had to get out of there, or I would completely fall apart.
Whatever shred of dignity I had left-I couldn't let it be destroyed in front of this man.
Rhys suddenly grabbed my wrist and yanked me back. "Clean it up."
I looked up at him in disbelief, needing to confirm I'd heard him right.
"You broke the mug. You clean up the pieces." His voice was icy, absolute.
He had to be insane.
"No." I lifted my chin and spat the word without an ounce of compromise.
His face tightened, jaw clenched. "You sure you want to do this?"
"Yes. I said no." My eyes were red, but they blazed with defiance as I stared him down without flinching.
If love meant I had to grind my self-respect into the dirt, then it was worthless to me.
The air between us was taut enough to snap. I could almost hear it crackling. The fury in his eyes was an uncontrollable blaze, threatening to consume me.
And beneath that fire, I saw something else-disbelief. The once docile little lamb had bared her fangs.
He took a step closer, menace radiating from him. "Last chance. If you don't obey me, then we-"
"-are over," I finished for him, cold and final.
Shock froze his face. For a moment, the air went still. He hadn't expected me to actually say it.
While he was caught in that moment of confusion, I wrenched my arm free from his grip.
The taste of freedom hadn't yet bloomed in my ch**t when he snapped back to life, grabbing my arm again with brutal force.
Now.
I spun around without hesitation and raised my hand-sm**k! A resounding s**p landed hard across Rhys's handsome, arrogant face.
The air froze again, thick with silence.
My palm tingled slightly, but it brought a rush of fierce, unprecedented satisfaction.
Rhys staggered back a few steps, his eyes wide with shock and disbelief-not from the pain, but from a world turned upside down.
He never thought I would dare. After all, I had once loved him so deeply.
I lowered my hand, lifted my chin, and looked calmly at his stunned expression. I gave him a faint smile. "Now we're even."
Without waiting another moment, I dragged my feet away from that suffocating h**l.
If I stayed even one more second, I would break down. I'd rather choke on my own tears than let him see them fall.
Then-thud-I fell.
High heels and emotional chaos are a terrible match.
Pain shot through my palms and knees as they scraped against the hard marble. Bl**d surged out instantly, but I barely felt it.
I got up, grabbed my purse, and kept walking.
Home. I just wanted to go home. Away from all of this. Away from him.
Like a woman fleeing the scene of a crime, I burst out of the building-only to slam into a wall of mu**le and the in**xicating scent of expensive cologne.
I looked up-and saw sharp, sculpted features with an aura so commanding it could silence a room.
He looked like the kind of man who, if you pissed him off, wouldn't just ruin your life-he'd erase your entire existence.
Unfortunately, that only made him more attractive.
For a second, I wished he would throw me over his shoulder and carry me to his lair-my face flushed red instantly.
I snapped myself back to reality.
"Sorry," I mumbled and rushed into the elevator of my apartment building.
Back upstairs, I rummaged through my bag. My heart sank.
No keys.
Of course. The universe had clearly declared today The End of Mira Day.
Frustration and helplessness surged in my ch**t. I kicked off my heels and shook the doorknob violently. It didn't help-but I needed to let it out.
Why did everyone always choose Catherine?! Hadn't I done enough?
I collapsed against the wall, sliding down to the cold floor as sobs tore from my throat. The tears came in a flood, impossible to stop.
Just as I was nearly choking on my own cries, a voice-low, smooth, like black velvet-cut through the air behind me.
"Your key."
Fury sparked in my veins. Why did someone always interrupt me just when I was about to get it all out?
Annoyed, I turned, ready to glare-only to freeze.
Through tear-blurred eyes, I saw him again. The man I had bumped into downstairs-the one who looked like he had stepped out of a Renaissance painting.
"Your key fell," he said, raising an eyebrow as his gaze landed on the scattered contents of my purse. "That's probably why you couldn't find it."
I stared at the key resting in his elegant hand, my face flushing so hot it could've lit a match.
I snatched it from him and fumbled to unlock the door, stumbling inside without a word.
It wasn't until my back hit the door that I realized-I hadn't even thanked him.
Great job, Mira. You absolute id**t.
Hesitating, I crept toward the peephole. Through that tiny lens, I saw him calmly turn, unlock the door directly across the hall, and stroll inside.
He lived across from me?
He must have just moved in. With a face like that-and that aura-there's no way I wouldn't have noticed before.
Wait, Mira. What are you doing? You're seriously letting a hot new neighbor make you forget the h**l Rhys just put you through?
No. Absolutely not. All men are tr**h. Always.
I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to steady my racing heartbeat, reminding myself not to be so st**id again.
But no matter how hard I tried, that sculpted face kept flashing through my mind.
I needed ice-for my racing pulse, and more urgently, for the stinging pain on my cheek.
Just as I forced myself up to head to the kitchen, my phone rang, shrill and sharp.
One glance at the screen made my whole body go cold.
Mom.
I couldn't ignore the call. If I did, she would destroy my career without hesitation. She was absolutely capable of it.
The moment I picked up, her voice sliced through the air-cold and merciless.
"Mira, you must be insane! How dare you do something so disgraceful to Rhys! You apologize to him right now, or you're no longer our daughter!"
I opened my mouth to explain, stunned-but she hung up before I could get a single word out.
I gripped my phone tightly. Why was it that no matter how hard I tried, I still couldn't earn even a sliver of their love?
And Catherine-she never had to do anything, yet she was their perfect, precious jewel.
Enough.
I thought if I worked hard enough, my family, my fiancé-they would love me.
But that's never going to happen.
I have to reclaim the self-respect I lost long ago.
I have to break off this engagement with Rhys-no matter the consequences.
Chapter 2 Plan B
For the next forty-eight hours, I became one with my bed.
No calls. No outside world. Just me, a pile of blankets, and the crushing weight of humiliation.
That s**p from Rhys wasn't just a blow to the face. In so many ways, it was a s**p across my entire life-one steeped in desperation, delusion, and pathetic longing.
It forced me awake. It made me look back on everything I'd ever done to make him notice me, everything I'd done for a fantasy called "us" that had never truly existed.
God, where do I even begin?
Like the time he casually mentioned he liked girls with smooth, silky hair. That night, I ordered three bottles of the shampoo he'd once praised.
My scalp broke out in hives. I smiled through the pain and said, "It's fine-some allergic reactions are worth it."
Or when he told me he was too busy with work to grab dinner, so I stayed up learning how to bake and brought him a box of pastries in the rain.
He didn't even open the door-just had the receptionist tell me, "Don't bother next time. I don't like sweets."
Then there was that night at his friend's dinner party. I forced down oysters-my most hated food-just to seem "graceful and agreeable."
I spent the entire night crouched over a toilet, writhing in pain until 3 a.m. He didn't ask if I was okay. He laughed and said, "Can't even handle seafood? That's just dramatic."
But the worst?
That time he quoted a line from The Godfather he liked. I stayed up all night reading film essays just to casually drop the quote at a party.
I got it wrong. He corrected me in front of everyone, sneering, "Don't pretend to like things you clearly don't understand."
And I laughed. I laughed and said, "You've got such a good memory."
What a joke. I never realized I was never the person he wanted.
He never really saw me. To him, I was nothing more than a low-rent version of the "perfect and untouchable" Catherine. A cheap stand-in.
I wasn't her, but I could offer him the faint illusion of having her again. That was all I was good for.
I buried my face in the pillow and laughed until I shook. Not because it was funny-but because the pain had gone too deep for tears.
Thankfully, after my parents delivered their final ultimatum two days ago, they hadn't contacted me again.
A small part of me wondered-did Rhys intervene? Did he finally realize what he'd done?
Suddenly, the doorbell rang.
And it didn't stop ringing.
For a full five minutes.
I gr**ned into my pillow. Oh god. Social interaction.
Dragging my exhausted body to the door, I opened it.
Yvaine Carlisle-my best friend and the only person who had the legal right to yell at me-stood on the other side, hands on hips. Then her eyes landed on my face.
Her expression froze. The light in her eyes dimmed. "What the h**l happened to you?"
"I'm fine," I said, trying to sound casual. She wasn't buying it.
She reached out, gently tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. Her jaw clenched.
Then-silence.
Not the awkward kind. The dangerous kind. The kind that comes right before something explodes.
"Who hit you?"
"Come inside," I muttered quickly, trying not to draw the neighbors' attention. That would be mortifying.
Yvaine didn't move. She gripped my arm and spoke through gritted teeth. "Mira. Who. Hit. You?"
As soon as the door clicked shut, I collapsed into her arms. My face buried in her sweater, and within seconds, the fabric was soaked.
She didn't flinch. She just held me, her hand moving in calm, soothing circles across my back.
I didn't know how long I cried. Long enough for my throat to burn and my nose to turn bright red like Rudolph. Eventually, I managed to force out a single word.
"Rhys."
Yvaine didn't move.
Everyone in Skyline City knew that name. Rhys Granger wasn't the kind of man who needed to throw punches to destroy someone.
One phone call to the right person, and your life would be over. Reputation, money, status-he had it all.
Every move he made was deliberate, timed to perfection-like the ticking of a Rolex.
When he chose to go to war, he was a nobleman wielding cruelty like fine art, probably with a glass of aged Sc**ch in hand.
People called him arrogant. No one ever called him vi**ent.
That's why, when Yvaine processed what I'd just said, I could practically hear the gears in her brain screaming in protest.
"No way," she muttered under her breath, as if denying it out loud might somehow make it untrue. "Rhys? Your Rhys? He couldn't have."
I got it. I really did. Rhys was supposed to be the gentleman. The golden boy. The flawless, elegant, untouchable good guy.
"It was him," I said quietly.
She exhaled sharply, then started rubbing my back again, this time slower. "Tell me what happened."
I swallowed. "I was at his place. I, uh. accidentally broke a mug."
Her entire body tensed. "Just a mug?"
I nodded.
Silence. Then she clenched her jaw and said, "I swear to God, if you tell me it was some priceless, hand-crafted, one-of-a-kind family heirloom-"
"It was Catherine's mug."
Yvaine's hand froze mid-pat.
Everything shifted. One second, she was my concerned best friend. The next, she was a woman plotting mu**er.
I grabbed her wrist before she could get ahold of something worse. "It's over between Rhys and me."
"Really?"
"Really. Even if the earth split in two and Skyline City sank into the ocean, I wouldn't marry him."
That stopped her from storming out to commit ho**cide.
"Catherine. That venomous snake-" Yvaine spat the name like it physically hurt her.
"She's not even here anymore and she's still managing to wreck your life! And your parents? They just stand there watching! I swear, they could watch her light your house on fire and they'd hand her the matches. It's unbelievable!"
I felt like a balloon someone had just popped-deflated, exhausted. That all-too-familiar ache settled deep in my ch**t.
I knew some parents would always love their firstborn more. And there was nothing I could do about it.
"I'm sorry, Mira."
Yvaine sat down beside me and gave my head a firm push toward her shoulder. I pulled away and managed a weak smile.
"Actually, I think it's a good thing. At least I found out what kind of man he is before we got married. Better now than after the vows, right?"
She let out a long sigh, her eyes softening. "Mira, you know no matter what happens, I've got your back."
Right then, my stomach growled loud enough to interrupt the moment. Loudly.
Like a magician, Yvaine reached behind her and pulled out a takeout bag, giving me a look that practically screamed: I knew you'd be like this.
I wanted to hug her, but I was too busy eating like a ravenous little goblin.
After dinner, she pushed me into the bedroom and went off to clean up. I lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling, drained and overwhelmed. What now?
Through the half-open door, I heard her on the phone. I didn't catch every word, but the ones I did hear. were iconic.
"A pile of s**t."
"Total f**king psycho."
"Oh, you think that's bad? Wait till I tell you what this vi**ent ba**ard actually did-"
She was probably talking to Zane Hasterton. And unlike Rhys, Zane would never raise a hand to her.
The way Yvaine so instantly, so fiercely chose me-without hesitation, without question-made my throat tighten. She believed me. No one else did. But she did.
This wasn't something she did lightly. Rhys's family sat at the very top of the food chain-untouchable. And I had no doubt her parents wouldn't be thrilled to see her go up against them.
I curled deeper under the blanket and let out a slow breath.
Why couldn't my parents love me like that?
Ever since their favorite daughter Houdini'd her way out of their master plan, I became Plan B. But that didn't mean they forgave my existence.
Let's be honest: the only reason they'd stopped actively berating me was because I got engaged to Rhys.
That little arrangement somehow elevated me from "irreparable family di**race" to "potential saving grace."
Part of the reason I agreed to the engagement-and I know how pathetic this sounds-was because I thought maybe I could finally get something Catherine had: a sliver of parental affection.
A crumb of approval.
But now that the engagement was off?
I was disposable again.
Last I heard, they were boxing up my things, ready to ship me off to some remote jungle where I'd spend the rest of my life befriending anacondas and repenting for my sins.
They were absolutely capable of that.
I gr**ned into my pillow. What the h**l do I do now?
Unless. I married someone more powerful than Rhys.
The idea was so ridiculous I snorted. Right. Because billionaires are just wandering around Skyline City hoping to marry a 23-year-old orphan with no patience for their bullshit.
And yet-
A face flashed in my mind.
Three days ago. My new neighbor.
I remembered, quite inappropriately, thinking I wouldn't mind being alone with him in his apartment where he could do all sorts of rated-R things to me.
I shook my head, quickly banishing the thought. I didn't even know his name. Just that he had the kind of aura that could slice a person in half.
No. Way too dangerous.
I gr**ned again.
If I hadn't broken that st**id mug, everything might've been okay.
But it wasn't. And it's not. And there's no going back.
F**k! Why am I the one trying to fix this when I wasn't even the one who messed it up?! I sat up-and bam, the door burst open.
Yvaine marched in. "Sl**p is just going to make you feel worse. We're getting up, and we're going to find a d**k worth loving-one that's better than Rhys's."
WHAT?!
While I gaped, she had already changed me into a new outfit.
Just like that, we were off to Skyline City's most exclusive club-members only.
Chapter 3 Rebound Night
"Is this really necessary?" I stood at the end of the line, shivering, tugging desperately at the hem of my tragically short skirt.
I could practically feel it-if I opened my mouth to speak, my un**rwear would be on full display.
"Sweetheart, we paid a fortune to get into this place. Of course we're going all in. Do you not get it?"
Yvaine declared like a mafia queen, standing tall against the icy wind in her five-inch heels without the slightest trace of fear.
"But isn't this a little too-" I didn't even get to finish before a brutal gust of wind slapped me across the face like it had a personal vendetta.
I immediately zipped up my puffer jacket and curled into myself like a frozen shrimp.
Yvaine let out a dramatic gr**an. "Mira, come on. We're going to a b*r, not an Arctic expedition."
"I'm just glad I won't be hospitalized for hypothermia tonight, thanks," I snapped back.
She rolled her eyes so hard I thought they might fall out, gave me a once-over full of disappointment-but said nothing more. Small victory. My puffer jacket was safe-for now.
I'd thought we'd have to wait in line like everyone else. That was the whole reason I wore this thermal fortress of a coat. But clearly, I had underestimated Yvaine.
She had zero plans to follow the rules.
With the ease of someone who'd done this a thousand times, she slipped a rolled-up bill into the bouncer's hand, her palm casually grazing his rock-hard ch**t like a Bond girl who'd forgotten her martini.
Ten seconds. That's all it took. We were in.
Yvaine was the kind of beautiful that made men forget protocol-and ethics-in an instant.
And just like that, we breezed into Roxanne.
The place was thick with heat, perfume, and the effervescent scent of ch**pagne.
I ripped off my coat the second we stepped inside, only to be met with an are-you-trying-to-embarrass-me glare from Yvaine.
She handed her coat off to a passing server with a flick of her fingers, like she'd personally hired the man. Regal, effortless, born for this.
I tried to copy her moves. Failed miserably. Nearly dropped my purse and stumbled like a hamster who'd just woken up from a freezer nap.
Graceful? No. I looked like roadkill in Gucci heels.
If I hadn't known each co**tail here cost about the same as my checking account balance, I might've even convinced myself I was pulling it off.
"Jesus Christ!" I gasped, eyes glued to the menu like it had just in**lted my entire bloodline.
Yvaine gave me a sideways glance and scoffed. "Relax. Tonight's on me."
I exhaled with something dangerously close to gratitude.
Considering I'd nearly broken off an engagement, risked being exiled to some remote tropical island by my parents, and needed to budget for anti-snake spray, I needed all the charity I could get.
Price tags aside, the view was elite: ambitious young actors, outrageously good-looking models, and a legion of finance bros who looked like they gave TED talks while wearing Burberry.
It was a glittering buffet of vanity and hormones, wrapped in velvet lighting and the illusion of power.
We found a table near the b*r and hadn't even ordered drinks when a bartender locked eyes on us.
Well. He was hard to miss-tall, sculpted features, sleeves rolled to the elbows just enough to show off well-trained forearms.
He shouldn't be mixing drinks-he should be in the Louvre. Or at the very least starring in Dior's newest fragrance campaign.
Maybe that's why this club was so expensive: even the staff had to be perfect.
"Two 75s, French br**dy," Before I could even locate the cheapest drink on the menu, Yvaine had already tossed her order at the ba**ender. "Make it strong."
And of course, she didn't forget to flash her signature smile-the one that balanced perfectly between s**y and innocent, chin tilted just enough to say "Oops, didn't mean to flirt."
The ba**ender reached effortlessly for the g*n, giving her a half-smile. "Rough night?"
"More like an engagement-level disaster," she said, casually pointing her thumb at me. "And it's wrapping up real soon."
I glanced at her. "Thrilled that my personal life is now public broadcast."
She patted my hand with mock sympathy. "Sweetie, this place runs on romantic catastrophes. Without bad decisions, no one would be buying drinks."
Then she turned away and melted into the crowd, flipping into Social Queen Mode like someone had hit a switch.
In under ten seconds, she completed a visual sweep-like a hawk zeroing in on prey-before spinning back around and pointing her perfectly manicured finger toward the edge of the dance floor.
"Okay, listen. You need a rebound. Exhibit A: Six-foot-two, hair neater than your ex-fiancé's moral compass, shirt unbuttoned just enough to scream s**y without slipping into cheap. He either owns a yacht or, at the very least, a VIP card."
I shook my head. "Nope."
Her eyes flicked to a new direction. "Exhibit B: struggling musician. Dressed like payday hasn't happened yet, but he's hot enough you'd forgive him. You'd fund his next album and still sl**p like a baby."
"Pass."
She sighed, then pointed again. "Fine. Exhibit C: total dad vibes-but the good kind. Like 'books your doctor's appointment and your breakfast' dad, not 'calls the waitress 'sweetheart' and thinks climate change is a myth' dad."
I gr**ned into my hands. "Yvaine, please."
She didn't back down. "Mira, you cannot sit here like a decorative wall gecko. Tonight is about rebooting your life, not stitching up emotional wounds."
Just as she geared up for a fourth round of rebound recommendations, she suddenly froze. It was like someone had hit mute on her entire system.
Then, far too casually, she said, "Hey, want to hit the bathroom?"
I narrowed my eyes. "No?"
".Or maybe let's move tables? The vibe here's weird." Her smile was tight, and her voice cracked like a pair of worn-out heels.
Weird vibe? We'd only been sitting for ten minutes, and we just ordered drinks. By Yvaine's standards, we hadn't even made it past the opening credits.
Then I followed her gaze.
A half-private booth.
Rhys.
He had his arm draped around a woman. Her head rested on his shoulder, makeup flawless, smile polished and effortless.
I didn't need more details.
That face-I would never forget it.
Four years ago, a girl vanished under mysterious circumstances.
I, in all my na?ve glory, believed she had simply "stepped aside," choosing to selflessly walk away from a future with Rhys.
And now, here was Catherine-perched on my ex-fiancé's lap, locked in a pose so in**mate.
I had told myself I was over it. Over him. We'd broken up. It was done. Time to move on.
Until I heard what came next.
"Honestly, I didn't think she'd fall apart over a coffee mug."
Catherine's voice was soft, full of false pity-the kind that sounded like she'd just k**led someone and was now gently tucking a blanket over the body.
She gently swirled the w**e in her glass, her lips curling into a near-perfect smile.
"Of course I put that mug somewhere obvious. I wanted her to notice. After all, she still doesn't know you've been seeing me behind her back. It was time she caught a little hint, wasn't it?"
She looked up at Rhys, eyes glowing with admiration.
"Honestly though, darling, your performance was spot-on. Even I almost believed you were worried she'd find out about us, instead of just helping me pull off the scene."
"She's so st**id-of course she thought you were upset about the mug, not terrified of exposing your af**ir."
Rhys chuckled softly, smug and relaxed. "I had to act like I cared. She spends every day trying to be the perfect girlfriend. If she found out all her effort still couldn't compete with you, she'd lose it."
Catherine laughed under her breath and patted his ch**t.
"Don't worry. Knowing Mira, she's probably still scrambling to fix things. She's the type who always believes that if she just tries hard enough, people will finally see her worth."
Her laugh turned soft, laced with pity so sharp it felt like a bl**e.
"But the harder she tries, the more pathetic she looks. And me? I just 'happened' to return home. Her parents don't know a thing. They didn't even get the chance to stop me. Tomorrow, I'll be seeing them in broad daylight-because she gave up the engagement herself, and you, dear, are blameless."
Catherine leaned back with a triumphant sigh. "Isn't this the best ending? I never gave up on you. I was just waiting for her to step aside."
Rhys nodded slowly, a small smirk on his lips. "You're right. You always are."
A loud roar rang in my ears, and my heartbeat pounded against my skull like a war drum.
Yvaine must've been saying something-pleading with me to stay calm, not to do anything st**id-but I didn't hear a word.
I wasn't the same Mira who swallowed her pride for praise anymore.
I slipped free from Yvaine's grip and turned to the bartender. "Your best red. Put it on Rhys Granger's tab."
The ba**ender-bless his beautiful, rule-breaking soul-didn't even flinch. He handed me the bottle like I'd just ordered mineral water.
With the bottle in hand, I had a mission. A singular, burning purpose.
The bouncer moved to stop me, but one look at my face-like a vengeful goddess straight from h**l-made him wisely back off, hands raised in surrender.
I marched straight toward Rhys and Catherine. They were lip-locked in some dramatic, second-rate soap opera make-out scene.
I raised the bottle-and smashed it, with all my strength.
Glass shattered with a sharp crack, spraying across the table. Rhys's forehead split instantly, a trail of bl**d beginning to drip down between his brows.
Catherine screamed and leapt off his lap. "Mirabelle?! Are you insane?! What are you doing here?!"
She scrambled to find a lie, panic rising in her voice. "You're misunderstanding, it's not what you think-"
Rhys cut her off, his hand gripping her arm, his gaze dark and cold. "Don't bother explaining, Catherine. It doesn't matter. My parents will take your side, no matter what. We're just correcting an old mistake."
Catherine's panic twisted into smugness in an instant. She curled into his side with sickening sweetness and cooed, "Oh, honey, your head's bl**ding. We have to get to the hospital."
Before I could say anything, Yvaine rushed to my side, fury radiating from every pore.
She raised her hand, ready to s**p Catherine straight back to whatever pit she'd crawled out of. "You disgusting, two-faced bi**h-!"
I grabbed her wrist, steady and cold. "Yvaine, let them go. If they stay here one more second, I might lose my appetite permanently."
I locked eyes with Catherine's smug little face and raised my voice deliberately. "After all, the theme of this place is premium taste, not some clearance aisle for secondhand tr**h."
Catherine's smile froze on her lips. Rhys's face darkened, but they had no chance to respond.
Yvaine, emboldened, lifted her chin and sneered at the bouncers. "Well? What are you waiting for? Kindly es**rt these two walking health code violations off the premises."
Chapter 4 Key Guy
As soon as they were gone, Yvaine dragged me out of the club.
D**n it. I hated that Catherine had predicted every single thought running through my mind.
Yes, I was still considering salvaging my relationship with Rhys.
But now? The truth was right there, unmistakable and r*w-they'd been sl**ping together behind my back all along.
And me? I was just the fo**ish, unnecessary third wheel in their twisted little story.
What I couldn't figure out was-why had Catherine faked her disappearance four years ago? What exactly had she been hiding? And why come back now?
My eyes stung. I tilted my head toward the sky, forcing the tears back.
Fine. Catherine's back. Perfect. Now they could all reunite like a happy little four-piece family?, and I. I was finally free.
"Mira. I'm so sorry. I had no idea they'd be there tonight. I didn't even know Catherine was back." Yvaine's eyes were full of regret.
I gave a bitter laugh and shook my head. "Neither did I. But I heard it loud and clear-they've been screwing around for a while. To them, I was just in the way."
"Those godd**n as**oles!" Yvaine hissed through clenched teeth.
"You should tell your parents. Let them know Catherine's not the perfect angel they think she is. What about Rhys's parents? No way they'll tolerate a scandal like this.
I was quiet for a moment. Yvaine had a point-Rhys's parents were the only people who had supported me.
But he was their son. They wouldn't choose me over him. Not in the end.
And my parents? I let out a breath, heavy and tired. "You know better than anyone-they only care about Catherine. No matter what I do, I'll never replace her."
Yvaine grabbed my shoulders, worry darkening her gaze. "So what now? You're just going to let them humiliate you?"
"Maybe." My voice dropped to a whisper, a weariness weighing it down. "Maybe if I accept it, it'll finally be over."
Suddenly, Yvaine's phone buzzed. She glanced at the screen, her brows knitting in frustration.
"Mira, my agent just called. There's a last-minute ad shoot-I have to go now. Can you get home on your own?"
I nodded, managing a faint smile. "Go. Don't worry about me. I'll call when I get back."
After she left, I hailed a cab. Instinctively, I gave the driver my home address. But barely two minutes into the ride, a wave of suffocating pressure settled over me.
"No, wait," I said quickly. "Take me to a b*r. Any bar. Just. far away from Roxanne."
The driver didn't blink-clearly used to the erratic demands of Skyline City's broken-hearted.
We eventually pulled up outside some unfamiliar ni**tclub. Velvet ropes. A crowd of influencer-types wielding selfie sticks.
I didn't bother checking the name. I handed the bouncer some bills and strode inside.
Straight to the b*r.
"Wh**key sour. Large. Keep them coming."
"Ma'am, maybe you should slow down," the ba**ender said gently, concern in his voice.
I slammed my empty glass on the counter and shoved my card across. "Did I stutter? Top me off."
The ba**ender sighed but obliged.
"That guy's right," a smooth, magnetic voice murmured beside me.
"Too much al**hol can impair cognitive function and judgment. Unless you want to wake up in a stranger's b*d tonight-"
I turned, irritated-then froze.
It was him.
The man from last night. My new neighbor. The one who'd handed me my keys with all the casual elegance of a Renaissance statue.
"Well, well. You again." I raised an eyebrow, a teasing smile tugging at my lips. "You really can't resist other people's business, huh?"
He chuckled softly, completely unfazed. "Think of it as a well-developed instinct for being helpful."
I gave an exaggerated sigh. "You're a hero, truly. But I don't need saving, Mr. Key Man."
"I know," he said calmly, lifting his glass and taking a slow sip. His eyes were clear and sharp. "But you do seem in desperate need of clarity."
I frowned. "Is this how you treat all your neighbors? First their keys, then their dignity?"
He laughed-a low, rich sound. "Only when the neighbor looks like she's on the verge of self-destruction."
".But I am always self-destructing," I muttered, suddenly quieter. "Doesn't it seem kind of pathetic? Like my whole life is just one mess after another?"
He didn't laugh. He didn't rush to reassure me, either. He didn't even deny what I'd just said.
He just looked at me. Calm. Quiet. Like he was watching a slow-motion disaster unfold-but had no intention of stopping it.
"You're not wrong," he finally said, his voice low and steady.
"You are pretty good at making a mess of things. Like right now-you can't even stand properly and you're still demanding more al**hol."
I froze, frowning instinctively.
But he went on, his tone unhurried-like he was flipping through a book and had landed on a sentence he already knew by heart:
"But strangely, you always seem to meet someone who refuses to walk away. right before everything falls apart."
I stared at him, half in shock, half in suspicion. "Are you. fl**ting with me?"
He gave me a slow smile, his eyes lazily curving with just the right amount of mischief.
His voice came out smooth and provocative, like velvet wrapped around steel. "Does it make you feel any better?"
His voice was low and warm, like wh**key being poured into a glass at midnight-just a little dizzying, just a little dangerous.
He looked at me with an intensity that felt nearly uncontrollable, like he might lean in close and whisper things in the dark, on a b*d, asking if his to**h was hard enough.
My heart skipped a beat. My cheeks flushed instantly. My fingertips tightened against the edge of the b*r.
I had to look at him properly. Really see him.
That face-it wasn't just handsome. It had the kind of quiet, devastating maturity that no amount of cologne and hair gel could fake.
Not the kind you'd find among the over-groomed boys who danced to house music like they were owed the world.
A wild, uninvited thought flashed through my mind.
If I let him walk away tonight, maybe I was rejecting one of those rare, merciful moments when fate offered a second chance.
Before I could stop myself, my hand wrapped around the sleeve of his suit jacket. I rose from the barstool, heart pounding.
"So, Mr. Keys," I said, my voice hoarse but firm, "since you're so committed to helping. why not help all the way?"
He clearly hadn't expected that. His brow lifted slightly, surprise flickering across his face-but he didn't step back.
He didn't laugh. He simply said, calm and steady: "Of course. As long as this is something you won't deny when you're sober."
"I'm sure." I answered without hesitation.
Gripping his wrist tighter, I pulled him through the crowd and out of the b*r.
The night wind struck us like a cleansing slap, city lights flickering above.
I didn't let myself pause. No time to think, no space for regret.
We crossed the street. Entered the nearest ho**l lobby.
Because tonight, I needed to know if I had the courage to accept what fate had placed in front of me.
It must have been one h**l of a night, because when I woke up, sunlight was spilling through the curtains, and the red LED numbers of the digital clock blinked 10:07 AM at me with the judgmental smugness of a nun catching you sneaking out of the church.
The sh**ts still carried his scent-bergamot and sin-and my body buzzed from the lingering aftershocks of what we'd done.
I stared at the ceiling and thought: That was absolutely phenomenal s*x.
I ached everywhere-in the best, most regrettable way.
But my head. my head was a battlefield. It felt like a hundred tiny jackhammers were drilling through my skull.
The al**hol from last night had declared mutiny, and my brain was paying the price, like someone had jammed a red-hot poker through my temple.
I had no idea how much I drank-definitely more than I should've.
The details had vanished into a fog thicker than a London morning.
Gr**ning, I rolled out of bed. Gr**ned again. Began gathering the scattered pieces of my clothing.
The plan was simple: Get dressed. Sneak out. Pretend this never happened.
I had just picked up my skirt when a voice stopped me.
"Leaving so soon?"
S**it.
I turned-very slowly, thanks to the hangover and the shame-and saw him standing in the bathroom doorway, a towel slung low on his h**s.
I stared. Unashamed.
Images from the night before surged back into my brain. I suddenly felt. very, very thirsty.
"We need to talk," he said.
He looked at me again, then-unhurriedly-said: "Will you marry me?".
What?!.
What happens next?
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&4&
Everyone thought she was a hillbilly and looked down on her, but after she revealed her true identity, everyone was scared silly.
=====
A woman in a white T-shirt and jeans walked out of the train station in Douburgh with a suitcase.
Her delicate face turned slightly red as the sun hit her. She tucked wisps of curly hair behind her ears. Under her arched eyebrows were a pair of bright and pretty eyes, a slim nose, and Cherry lips. She looked so beautiful even though she had no make-up on.
"Hello! You are Annabel Hewitt, right? I'm the driver sent by the Benton family."
Annabel nodded and followed the driver into the car casually. She was already worn out.
On the way, the driver stole glances at the woman, whose eyes were closed as she rested in the back seat.
This woman was Rupert Benton's fiancee.
Rupert Benton was the most eligible bachelor in the city. At just twenty-one years old, he was already the CEO of Benton Group. He was way ahead of his peers. He was a vigorous, resourceful and no-nonsense person, causing many in the business world to be afraid of him.
His grandfather, Bruce Benton, took it upon himself to find a wife for him. And he picked Annabel, a girl from the countryside.
With his hands on the steering wheel, the driver took another look at Annabel's innocent face and clicked his tongue. He envisaged that she would have a hard time with the Benton family.
At this time, Annabel slowly opened her eyes and looked at the strange city with a calm expression.
The car arrived at the Benton family's residence soon. The driver carried Annabel's luggage for her.
Annabel barely had one foot inside the house when a well-dressed woman appeared. She eyed Annabel from head to toe with a look of utter disdain.
"Tracy!"
"Yes, Mrs. Benton."
As soon as Tracy was given a signal, she began to spray the disinfectant all over Annabel.
The well-dressed woman was Erica Benton, Rupert's mother. With her hands akimbo, she ordered, "Her shoes and hair. Spray them, too."
Annabel's face and body were soon covered with droplets of disinfectant. The pungent smell made her nose a little itchy. She uttered coldly, "What is wrong with you?"
Erica flipped out immediately.
"I heard that you're from the countryside, but I thought you would at least be well-behaved. It appears you are the same as the wayward and rude girls they breed over there. I'm doing this because I don't want you to bring any virus or bacteria into this household. Do you want us to get infected with whatever you are carrying?"
Annabel is not a person who likes to listen to people's nonsense. She would have walked out if she hadn't made a deal with her grandfather.
"In that case, you should spray some disinfectant in your mouth because it stinks!"
With this, Annabel shoved the servant aside and walked in.
"You. Oh my." Erica pointed at Annabel with a trembling hand. Tracy hurriedly comforted her.
In the living room, a girl who looked about the same age as Annabel was sitting on the sofa. She had on designer clothes and bright makeup. Her expression was more condescending than Erica's as she looked at Annabel. She was Rupert's cousin, Cathy Benton.
"Are you Annabel Hewitt, Rupert's fiancee?" Cathy rolled her eyes when she saw that Annabel wasn't dressed in designer clothes. "Gosh, Grandpa has no taste. I can't believe he chose someone like you. Anyway, I heard you came here by train. You should have told us you are too poor to afford a plane ticket. We would have bought one for you. Wait, it seems there isn't an airport in the countryside."
Annabel looked at Cathy with one of her eyebrows raised.
She wondered if every member of this family was so arrogant.
There was indeed no airport where she came from, but her grandfather had booked an entire high-speed train to Douburgh just for her. These arrogant people had no idea that she traveled as luxuriously as someone who flew first class.
Besides, she could have flown here in a private jet if she wanted.
Annabel could easily make it clear to these people, but she didn't. She just went upstairs.
Annoyance clouded Cathy's face once she saw Annabel ascending the stairs. She wasn't used to anyone ignoring her, so she followed her.
"Where is my room?" Annabel asked the maid behind.
"Here!" Cathy said, pointing at a door in the hallway before the maid could reply.
She pushed the door open and added condescendingly, "You have never stayed in a bedroom as big as this, have you? You should cherish it while living in here. I'm Rupert's cousin, Cathy. You should fawn over me if you."
Cathy had barely finished speaking when Annabel walked into the room and shut the door in her face. This made her angrier.
"Ah! How dare that pauper be so conceited? What was Grandpa thinking?"
The maid warily moved closer and asked, "Miss, but isn't this Mr. Benton's room?"
Cathy cast a scornful glance at the door.
"Shush! Don't say a word to her. Rupert hates anyone being in his space or using his things. When he finds out that she's here, just tell him that she chose to stay in this room."
Cathy's eyes glistened with slyness as she spoke.
Chapter 2 Night-long Cuddle
Annabel didn't realize that this room belonged to someone else. When she saw that the bathroom was stocked with only men's products, she just assumed that the Bentons were trying to get on her nerves.
"What an incredible family!" she muttered sarcastically, walking under the shower.
She only had to put up with this for three months. She had struck a bet with her grandfather. If she still had no feelings for Rupert after staying here for three months, their marriage would be called off.
A maid brought in dinner for her once Annabel got out of the bathroom. She ate it and fell asleep almost immediately.
It was already midnight when Rupert finally came back home from a business dinner.
He was aware Annabel was arriving today. Bruce had told him to pick her up, but he refused under the guise of having many things to do at work. He had no interest in his fiancee. As far as he was concerned, the marriage would be canceled sooner or later.
Rupert was fagged out. He managed to take a shower and went straight to bed.
He was very drunk, so he didn't notice that someone else was in his room until he lay down on his bed.
The large bulge under the quilt startled him. He moved away abruptly. The room was dimly lit, so he couldn't see the woman's face clearly. Before he could think straight, she rolled over and hugged him. She muttered, "Teddy, don't be naughty. You should sleep now."
Rupert froze completely.
This woman had a very familiar scent, just like that girl.
It was soothing as his nose pressed against her neck. For some reason, Rupert found himself hugging her back. He fell asleep with Annabel in his arms.
Strangely for an insomniac, Rupert didn't wake up at any point during the night. He slept like a well-fed baby.
He had a dream that night. It was about what happened to him ten years ago. In a dark room, a girl embraced him tightly and said in a sweet voice, "Don't be scared. No harm shall come to you. I'll protect you."
Later in the dream, he met that girl again. It felt so real.
The next morning, Cathy woke up at the crack of dawn. She had been hoping to hear the news that Annabel was thrown out of the room once Rupert got back home. But the maid said nothing of such happened.
Why was that? Didn't Rupert come back home last night? But his car was in the garage.
Rupert hated anyone being in his space. He couldn't possibly have slept in the same bed as a strange woman.
Consumed by curiosity and uncertainty, Cathy went to knock on Rupert's door. "Hey, Rupert! Breakfast is ready. Don't you have a meeting this morning? You should get up now!"
The noise woke up the two people who were fast asleep at the same time. Annabel immediately felt the warmth of someone else. Her head wasn't on a pillow but on a hard chest.
She looked up, only to meet the sharp eyes of a man. She sat up immediately and was wide awake. "Who are you?"
Rupert's eyes darkened. "Annabel Hewitt?"
Since he knew her name, Annabel assumed that he was her fiance, Rupert. But why was he in her room?
She was just about to question him again when he uttered, "You came to my room and slept in my bed on your first day in this household. I must say that you are really something!"
"What?" Annabel looked completely confused. He just said this was his bed? How was that possible?
Was every member of this family mad and troublesome?
"Oh my!" Annabel exclaimed as her mind went to the men's products she saw in the bathroom yesterday. It seemed Cathy had tricked her.
In haste, Annabel got off the bed and looked at him coldly. "Just to be clear, I didn't mean to sleep here. Cathy told me this was my room. No offense but I'm not in any way interested in you. come to think of it, I fell asleep alone. Why didn't you realize that someone else was in the bed when you got back? and why did you hold me in your arms for the whole night? Don't tell me you have a crush on me?"
A look of embarrassment clouded Rupert's face when he heard her words. He couldn't deny that he held her in his arms for the whole night.
Just like last night, he was stunned when he met Annabel's eyes.
Her beautiful eyes were just like that girl's.
Annabel squinted at him with a smile.
"What? Why are you staring at me like that? Are you obsessed with me?"
Rupert came to his senses. His face darkened again. He ordered coldly, "Get out! And don't come into this room ever again!"
Annabelle gritted her teeth. She then left with her belongings without hesitation.
This was their first meeting, but they already didn't like each other.
Cathy, who was still at the door, was surprised to see Annabel come out.
Annabel said with an ambiguous smile, "Good morning! As you wish, your cousin held me in his arms and slept for the whole night. We got along pretty well. You must be happy about that."
"Nonsense!" Cathy's face was livid. She didn't believe that at all.
In her opinion, there was no way Rupert would like Annabel, let alone hold her in his arms for hours.
But the fact that they had slept together for the whole night was plain to see.
Chapter 3 New Secretary
Annabel walked away with a fake smile.
Cathy lost it. "You bumpkin! Stop right there. I'm not done talking. Let me tell you, Rupert won't marry you!"
Just then, Rupert walked out of the room.
"Ermm. Rupert." Cathy stuttered, moving back in fear.
Rupert's face darkened. It was obvious that he was angry, so Cathy didn't dare to say anything more.
Annabel asked a maid to take her to her room. She unpacked her things and then went downstairs for breakfast.
Erica, Cathy, and Rupert were already seated at the dining table.
Erica began to criticize her as soon as Annabel sat down. "Weren't you taught proper etiquette? Not only did you wake up so late, but you also didn't bother preparing breakfast. Do you think you're already the hostess here?"
Taking a glance at Erica, Annabel said flatly, "I'm not a servant either."
She would never make breakfast for this family.
Although Rupert didn't say anything as the two argued, there was no denying that he didn't like Annabel either.
The atmosphere in the dining room was tense. They ate in silence for most of the time. After breakfast, Erica held out a bank card to Annabel.
"This card is loaded with about five thousand dollars. Buy yourself some decent clothes before going to the company. Remember to behave well. You mustn't cause any trouble for Rupert."
To develop the relationship between the two, Bruce proposed that Annabel work in the company as Rupert's secretary. Leonard Hewitt, Annabel's grandfather, agreed to the arrangement. She didn't refuse. After all, it was only temporary.
Her new employment was no biggie for her, but the bank card was! It was obvious that Erica looked down on her. "Thanks, but no thanks," Annabel said in a sarcastic manner.
There was nothing wrong with her clothes, as far as she was concerned. They were specially made for her. That was why the Bentons thought they were not designer clothes. Without waiting for Erica or anyone else to retort, she went upstairs to get ready for work.
She had just gotten into her room when her phone buzzed. It was a bank notification. The sum of fifty million dollars had been transferred into her account.
A text message from Leonard came through.
"Dear, I hope they are treating you well over there. I transferred some money to your account. Buy whatever you want. And don't forget to inform me if anyone bullies you. I love you."
Annabel smiled and texted back, "Grandpa, I'm not happy here. They are bullying me. It's not funny at all."
Leonard replied almost immediately, "Glad to hear that. Anyway, I'm going fishing. Talk to you later."
Annabel couldn't believe her eyes.
Sighing, she changed into a professional suit and walked out of the house. The driver opened the door for her. As soon as she got into the car, she found that Rupert was also inside.
"Didn't you say that you had no interest in me? Why did you agree to work as my secretary then?" His charming voice had a hint of irony in it. There was also a smirk at the corners of his lips.
"Don't get any ridiculous ideas just because I agreed. I promised my grandpa to stay with you for three months. Once the timeline expires, we will cancel the marriage," Annabel responded, glancing at him indifferently.
"Huh?" Rupert sneered. "Aren't you worried that you will fall in love with me in the next three months? I guess you'll be reluctant to leave then."
Annabel was amused by his words.
"Funny you, Rupert. You clearly have a swollen head. For your information, I will never fall for you. Get down from your high horse."
Although Annabel knew that Rupert was good-looking, that didn't matter to her. He had the repulsive character that she hated in men.
Rupert pulled a long face at her words.
She would never fall for him?
"We will see about that, Annabel. Don't ever forget what you said just now!"
In Rupert's opinion, Annabel was just playing hard to get. Why did she come to his home if she didn't feel a thing for him or wanted to be his wife?
Annabel smiled and said, "Okay, I'll keep it in mind. Don't worry. In three months, we will go our separate ways. By the way, we have to pretend not to know each other at the company. I don't want unnecessary drama there."
Rupert kept in silent.
Unbeknown to Annabel, she couldn't avoid drama at work. The news about Rupert's engagement had already spread like wildfire. People also knew that his fiancee was from the countryside.
The employees in Benton Group were in a heated discussion.
"Guys, have you heard the latest? Mr. Benton's fiancee will work here. She will be his secretary!"
"Oh my! I heard she's ugly. And that she's from the countryside. Since she's poor, she must have attended a substandard college. Can she even understand the documents?"
"Ha-ha! You can say that again. The way I see it, she won't be able to operate a computer."
The words of the gossipers trailed off as soon as Rupert walked in with Annabel. Everyone's jaw dropped when they saw them.
Chapter 4 His Superwoman
"Look! Who is that woman that came in with Mr. Benton? She's so beautiful and elegant!"
"Wow! Her legs are so straight and thin! I have never seen anyone as beautiful as her!"
"Is she Mr. Benton's fiancee?"
"How is that possible? It can't be!"
Many of the employees began to wonder who Annabel was. The most common guess was that she was a business partner. But when she left Rupert and went into the personnel department to sign in, they all realized who she was. The news spread in the company in no time.
It turned out that the woman who came in with Rupert was Annabel.
People didn't know what to believe anymore. Didn't they say that Annabel was an ugly bumpkin? How come she was drop-dead gorgeous?
While Annabel was going over the necessary formalities, the employees in the secretarial department were gossiping about her.
"Annabel is so beautiful! She's even prettier than Heather Norman!" an employee commented.
Nina Jones, the head of the department, had a frown on her face and disdain in her eyes. She said maliciously, "Looks aren't everything. Beauty doesn't change the fact that she's a poor village girl who doesn't know anything about city life. She's not worthy enough to be Mr. Benton's wife."
Annabel had just walked into the secretarial department when she heard these words. A hint of irony flashed in her eyes. She retorted in a clear voice, "If I'm not worthy enough to be his wife, who is? You?"
Nina's face froze. She looked away and didn't dare to retort. She couldn't afford to offend Annabel.
"Ahem! Mr. Benton earlier told me to treat you like every other person in this department. You will receive a fair amount of work despite your status. Here is the document about the advertisement the company is going to shoot today. It's yours to handle."
With a sneer, Annabel took the document and left.
The others surrounded Nina again.
"Nina, is it Marcel's shoot? Annabel is new. Don't you think she will screw it up?"
A spark of mischief shone in Nina's eyes. The face of the advertisement was Marcel Brooks- young and bad-tempered celebrity. He was hard to please and work with. People always avoided him. She looked forward to seeing Annabel mess things up on her first day.
As soon as Annabel got out, she went through the document that outlined the process of the advertisement. She raised her eyebrows when she saw Marcel's name in there; it was familiar.
In the CEO's office, Rupert's assistant asked him, "Nina Jones handed over Marcel's shoot to Miss Hewitt just now. Should I order someone to replace her?"
Marcel's elder brother was a friend of Rupert's since childhood. Everyone knew that Marcel had a bad temper. It went without saying that Annabel would suffer a lot at his hands if she worked with him today.
Remembering what Annabel said to him this morning, Rupert finally replied, "No, let her do it."
He would take delight in her suffering.
The company was in charge of everything for the shoot. Annabel and some employees went downstairs to welcome Marcel.
A few minutes passed before a black Bentley drove into Benton Group's premises. Marcel got out wearing a pair of sunglasses. At the age of nineteen, he already had millions of fans all over the world. His fame contributed to his arrogance. He held his head up high and walked like he owned the place.
Annabel walked up to him and extended her hand for a handshake. "Welcome, Mr. Brooks. I'm Annabel Hewett, the person in charge of the shoot. It's my pleasure to meet you."
Marcel didn't take her hand or exchange pleasantries. He just complained with a frown, "It's so hot. Why didn't you bring an umbrella? Anyway, is everything all set? I don't have time to waste. By the way, buy me a cup of coffee before we begin anything. Don't get me a cheap one. I want one from that cafe downtown. They make the best."
Marcel's words trailed off when he finally looked at the woman's face. His jaw dropped.
"Holy moly! Annabel! Am I dreaming?"
Marcel took off his sunglasses and still looked incredulous.
He hugged Annabel excitedly.
"Annabel? Why are you here? You work here? When did that happen? Shouldn't you be traveling around the world now?"
Annabel stroked Marcel's head and said with a smile, "Marc, long time no see. What did you say you wanted to drink again?"
"Nothing! I didn't say anything. What would you like to drink? I can get it for you."
Everyone present was dumbfounded, to say the least.
The ever-so-arrogant Marcel not only hugged Annabel but was also speaking to her politely. He even allowed her to stroke his head.
Was this really Marcel or some clone who was passing off as him?
Could it be that he was so respectful because Annabel was Rupert's fiancee? But he was usually arrogant in Rupert's presence. What was going on?
The truth was that Annabel and Marcel met two years ago.
At that time, Marcel was seventeen. He was filming in the countryside, very close to Annabel's home.
Some thugs kidnapped him. Fortunately, Annabel saved him by chance.
Marcel had fearfully watched her beat up the kidnappers so easily. He had thought he was going to die in captivity, but she had come to his rescue like a superwoman.
She had invited him to her home. Much to his surprise, her home was even bigger than the mansion in Downton Abbey.
It turned out that she was not only kind but also well-to-do. He couldn't help but hold her in high esteem.
Chapter 5 Chivalrous Lad
The two walked into Benton Group. And the shooting went on smoothly.
Some of the clothes weren't up to Marcel's taste. He complained about them. But when Annabel said that they were good, he immediately changed his opinion.
He set aside his nitpicking attitude just because of her. Whenever he went out of line, Annabel's glance brought him to order.
Marcel was intimidated by her. Asides from the fact that he respected her for saving his life, he feared that she would spank him if he annoyed her.
It was estimated that the shoot would take five hours because of Marcel's attitude, but it took only two hours.
Once it ended, Marcel pulled Annabel and said, "Let's go. We have a lot of catching up to do. I'll treat you to dinner."
"No, I can't. I'm not off duty yet!" Annabel refused him coldly.
Some of the employees were still on the set. They pretended to be busy, but they gossiped about the two on the spot.
"What? Marcel offered to buy Annabel dinner but she turned him down."
"Holy moly! What is she thinking? Doesn't she know who he is? Many girls would jump at the offer. How can she be so arrogant?"
"I wish he could take me instead. I can quit my job just to spend some time with him. Oh, Annabel is so foolish."
Being rejected, Marcel wanted to cry. After thinking for a while, he asked, "By the way, why did you start working here? Oh my! Did your family go bankrupt? If so, I can support you. You don't have to slave away here, okay?"
Annabel rolled her eyes and said, "You know nothing, Marc. Now if you will excuse me."
She then went back to work.
Everyone who saw the scene thought Marcel would storm out in a fit of pique. To their greatest surprise, he smiled helplessly and went to the lounge to wait for Annabel until she got off work.
By closing hour, Rupert walked out of his office and said to Annabel, "Grandpa made a reservation at a restaurant. Let's go have dinner there."
Rupert didn't want to, but Bruce threatened him. The man was hospitalized earlier after having a heart attack. On video call, he said, "You must go. If you don't, I'll pull the plug on this ventilator. Do you want me to die?"
Rupert's hands were tied, so he had to agree.
Annabel was about to reply when Marcel came in.
"Annabel, you are off duty now, right? Can we have dinner now?"
It wasn't until Rupert coughed slightly that Marcel noticed his presence.
"You are here, Rupert!" he exclaimed.
Did Annabel and Marcel know each other? Rupert looked at the two in confusion.
Annabel, who had been silent, finally spoke. "How about we all have dinner together?"
In the end, the three of them went to the restaurant that Bruce reserved earlier.
During the ride, Marcel kept talking to Annabel, who replied in a friendly way from time to time.
When they arrived, Marcel became chivalrous. He opened the door for Annabel and even pulled a chair for her. He also put food on her plate and poured her a glass of red wine.
Rupert was relegated to the background. It was as if these two were in their own world, and he was just there to watch them.
"By the way, you still haven't told me why you decided to work in Benton Group. Is there something between you and Rupert?"
Marcel suspected that they were involved with each other.
Glancing at Rupert, Annabel answered, "My grandpa asked me to work here. As for what is between us. We are engaged."
Marcel spat out a mouthful of water.
"You both are what? What a small world we live in! So, you are the countrywoman whom Rupert got engaged to?"
Annabel nodded casually.
The rumor of the engagement was widespread in Douburgh, so Marcel knew about it. Since he knew about Annabel's background, he couldn't help but sigh because of how clueless the media was.
She was indeed from the countryside, but she was far from being poor. The Hewitt family was super rich and had dozens of villas scattered around the world.
"Are you two in love?" Marcel looked at them in disbelief.
"Don't get the wrong idea. We are not in love. The engagement will be canceled three months later," Annabel said calmly.
Marcel breathed a sigh of relief and nodded. Without mincing words, he uttered, "That's good. Rupert doesn't deserve you. I'm even better than him. You two are nothing alike. He's cold and boring. A marriage between the two of you would be a disaster."
Rupert knifed the steak on his plate and chewed hard as fury brewed inside him.
He didn't deserve Annabel? What nonsense!
"That reminds me, Marcel. Your brother asked me to buy the car you have always wanted. He plans to give it to you. I think."
"come on, Rupert. I didn't mean that. Can't you take a joke anymore?" Marcel smiled awkwardly.
They had a nice meal. After walking out of the restaurant, Annabel and Rupert bid Marcel farewell.
"Bye, Annabel! I'll visit you whenever I'm free."
Annabel stroked his head again as they hugged. She waved at him. "Bye, Marc. Take care!"
She petted him as if he were Teddy, her Alaskan Malamute.
He grunted and got into the car. On the way back, he finally complained, "I see why you boldly said that you'll never fall in love with me. You're in love with someone else."
&19&
The real daughter returned home only to find her father in prison, her mother gravely ill, and her six brothers beaten, mocked, and bullied. With a single command from her, countless elites emerged and turned the tide. Her father was released, her mother recovered, and her brothers flourished—each becoming a giant in their field!
=====
Chapter 1 She Was Sold
The throbbing in Eliana Murray's head made it hard to think, yet the unsettling sensation along her lower body jolted her back to full awareness.
Her eyes snapped open, cold and sharp, locking on two middle-aged women. One yanked at her pants while the other fought to force her legs apart.
"Try that again and see what happens!" said Eliana, kicking the plump one squarely in the ch**t.
The blow sent the woman staggering backward, landing hard with a startled grunt. "Argh! That hurt, you bi**h!" she cried out, clutching herself.
The other woman stopped tugging at Eliana's pants and hurried to lift her fallen companion.
Eliana went to grab them both but froze when she felt the coarse bite of rope digging into her wrists. Her hands were tied fast.
D**n it. Where the h**l was this? She had gone to sleep at her adoptive mother's place. so how had she ended up here?
Her gaze darted around her surroundings. Rotting walls closed her in, a rusted latch sealed the door, and a single thread of daylight trickled from a cracked window high on the wall.
The plump woman, now standing with help, snapped at Eliana, "You filthy brat! I should break your jaw for that kick!"
She raised her hand to strike, but the other woman caught her wrist. "Don't touch her face. She's worth thirty grand, and a pretty face will fetch us double."
A slow breath hissed through the plump woman's teeth as she lowered her arm.
"We gave her enough tranquilizer to knock out a horse. I don't know how she woke up so quickly. Whatever. At least she's awake for the check."
Eliana narrowed her eyes and asked, "What check are you talking about?"
"You're worth thirty grand, and we need to check if you're still a vi**gin," the plump woman replied.
Eliana's stomach turned. These lunatics wanted to see if she was a vi**in?
Ridiculous! They had no idea who they were dealing with. She wasn't some street rat they could drag around.
Back in Eighvale City, Eliana ruled the black market, and a single word from her could topple anyone foolish enough to cross her.
Eliana let out a cold laugh, her sharp eyes gleaming as she worked to free herself from the rope, while stalling for time. "Thirty grand? Who are you people?"
Her trip to Udrerton Village had been nothing but a waste.
She'd dropped everything in Eighvale when word came that her adoptive mother, Janessa Holt, was gravely ill. The reality? It was a mild cold.
She had planned to leave the very next morning. Instead, she'd woken up tied to a chair in a rotting shed.
The plump woman bent down, clamped a hand around Eliana's ankle, and said with a smirk, "Janessa sold you to us. Play along, and we might land you a decent man. Refuse, and we'll toss you to some lonely old man who'll take anything he can get."
"You're telling me Janessa sold me to you?" said Eliana, her voice edged with disbelief, as if the woman had just told her the most ridiculous joke she'd ever heard.
She'd been three years old when Janessa plucked her off the side of a dusty road.
From that day on, she was paraded as the "adopted daughter", though everyone knew she was really being groomed to marry Neal Holt, Janessa's son.
Her earliest memories were of endless chores, scraped hands, and exhaustion that weighed heavily on her bones.
Determined to escape, she'd learned every skill she could get her hands on. By twelve, she had the means to walk away, and she never returned.
Still, she hadn't erased the debt she felt for the roof she'd been given.
Each month on the first, she sent Janessa a sum of money. The total she had given her adoptive mother by now could have bought several prime real estate properties in any major city.
She had only shown up now because she believed Janessa was on her last breath, eager to slip in one final visit.
The truth was uglier than she'd ever imagined--Janessa hadn't softened. She'd sold her for thirty grand like she was a piece of live**ock.
Now, Eliana realized why Janessa had suddenly greeted her with smiles and warm words upon her arrival.
She had believed, fo**ishly, that the woman had changed. In reality, Janessa had just been lu**ng her into a trap.
Eliana's subordinates had warned her not to set foot in Udrerton. She should have listened, because the Holts hadn't sprouted a single decent soul.
Every muscle in Eliana's body worked toward the same goal. The ropes strained, her fingers clawed at the knots, and freedom was almost within reach.
She drew in a long breath, her tone dripping with disbelief as she said, "You're out of your mind. Janessa would never sell me. I'm supposed to be Neal's wife."
One of the women laughed and asked, "Neal's wife? You've been gone too long to keep up. He's about to marry the daughter of a corporate giant. His family is rolling in money now. What would he want with you?"
Tightening her grip around Eliana's ankle, the other woman barked, "Quit squirming and spread your legs! We have to confirm you're still a vi**in."
"If you're not, we won't pay the rest. Don't even think about resisting. If we end up breaking your hy**n by accident, you'll be the one paying the price."
A slow, dangerous smile spread across Eliana's face. "Let's find out who's really going to pay the price!"
In that instant, the rope slipped free from her wrists. She lunged, catching the plump woman by the throat and lifting her into the air.
The woman writhed in panic, yet her fingers couldn't pry Eliana's grip loose.
Color drained from her face, replaced by a deep red flush. Her lips darkened toward a chilling shade of blue.
The other woman lunged toward them, but Eliana snapped a kick into her side without missing a beat.
The blow sent the woman crashing into the wall, and a wet cough sprayed bl**d across her chin.
Even through the pain, she found her voice and screamed, "Somebody! Help us!"
Two strong men stormed through the doorway, each wielding a club. They swung at Eliana without hesitation.
She tossed the plump woman aside and snatched both clubs in midair, her hands moving faster than they could follow.
The men froze, startled by her speed.
They didn't have time to recover before Eliana's kicks sent them sprawling to the floor, limbs twisted and motionless.
Right then, the plump woman Eliana had tossed aside earlier crept toward her, thinking she had the upper hand.
Her plan failed instantly. The moment she came close enough, Eliana turned around and struck her with a swift blow from a flying club, dropping her cold.
Ten minutes later, Eliana stepped out of the burning shed, squinting as the fierce sunlight stabbed at her eyes.
She lifted a hand to block the glare, brushing off the faint, panicked shouts coming from inside.
Not once did she look back. Her focus was locked on the Holts' residence ahead.
Human traffickers weren't worth pity, and she had no intention of giving them any.
And after this, the Holts would answer for everything.
Her steps quickened when voices echoed across the distance.
"Fire! Somebody get water!"
The flames had drawn villagers, who came running with buckets sloshing water.
Wrapped in the stolen coat of one of the women, Eliana kept her head lowered and slipped past the crowd, moving against their frantic flow.
It wasn't long before she reached the Holts' home.
One kick sent the wooden door clattering to the floor, dust exploding into the air.
But the moment she stepped inside, she realized the place was empty.
"They sure knew how to run," she muttered, a thin smile curling her lips.
It didn't matter where they thought they could hide. She would track them down to the last corner of the earth.
Whatever debt she'd once owed was long gone, and now it was time to settle the score. Neither Janessa nor Neal would walk away unscathed.
With her expression hard as stone, Eliana stormed into her childhood room--a suffocating room carved from a storage closet, heavy with heat and the stench of mold.
Sure enough, both the small bag she had brought back and the phone she kept hidden beneath her pillow had vanished. Inside that bag had been nothing worth stealing--only her driver's license.
Even so, losing it meant getting back to Eighvale would be far more troublesome.
Eliana brushed the thought aside. She figured she could find a phone in town and call her people to come pick her up.
Her hand was on the door when a set of rapid footsteps pounded toward the house from outside.
A crease formed on her brow before her lips curved into a sharp smile. It had to be the Holts, back sooner than she expected.
Her eyes swept the room. She spotted a si**le leaning against the wall behind the door and wrapped her fingers around its handle before stepping outside.
The figure waiting beyond the doorway wasn't anyone from the Holt family. A young man stood there, maybe in his twenties, a stranger to her eyes.
His suit hung in tatters, mud crusted on his cheeks, hair wild from the wind. A rusty bicycle leaned on its stand behind him.
Keeping the si**le hidden against her side, Eliana asked, "Who exactly are you here for?"
The man turned around, startled, and froze when he saw her face.
When his eyes landed on her, they went wide. She saw the disbelief hit him, then the emotion that followed--tears rolling down his grime-streaked cheeks.
"Lia! It's really you! Lia!" he shouted, charging toward Eliana like crazy.
He halted suddenly, stopping half a meter away as Eliana held the si**le aimed at him.
One more move and it would cut across his throat.
Chapter 2 Reunion With Her Brother
"It's really you." The man's voice quivered, not from fear but from an overwhelming rush of emotion.
"Don't you recognize me? It's me, your brother, Carl Murray! You disappeared when you were three. We've been searching for you ever since. The only reason I'm standing here now is because the national information system got upgraded, and your name came up. Our other family members weren't sure if it was really you, so they sent me to check."
His words spilled out in a hurry, but Eliana's face stayed unreadable, her eyes carrying a guarded edge.
Considering she'd barely escaped being sold off minutes ago, blind trust wasn't on her list of options.
"I don't care who you are. Turn around and leave, or I'll make you regret staying," she said coldly.
Her rule had always been simple--if no one raised a hand against her, she wouldn't strike first.
The disbelief in her expression only made Carl more desperate.
"Lia, I'm telling you the truth. I'm your elder brother. Our family is the wealthiest in Qidence City. On Christmas, when you were just three, there was a huge celebration. So many people were there that we lost sight of you. We never stopped looking."
Eliana's gaze swept over him, slow and deliberate. "The wealthiest family shows up on a rusted bike?"
He glanced down at himself as if just noticing, then blurted out, "My car broke down on the way. I borrowed the bike from a villager just so I could get here faster. I swear, our family really is the richest in Qidence!"
"Save it. I'm not buying any of your stories. Leave," Eliana snapped, not softening in the slightest.
He looked like a man trapped in a burning house, searching for a way out.
Then his face lit with sudden inspiration. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a fish-shaped jade pendant.
"Here. This is half of the pendant Dad had made for you. When you vanished, you were wearing the other half around your neck."
The moment her gaze landed on the fish-shaped jade in his palm, something flickered in Eliana's eyes. Her grip on the si**le eased until the bl**e dropped to her side.
From beneath her collar, she pulled out the pendant she'd worn for years. Its other half fit perfectly with the one Carl carried.
That single sight made his conviction unshakable. She wasn't just a lookalike; she was the sister he'd been searching for all these years.
Before now, he'd only trusted the resemblance to their mother. But the pendant left no doubt.
"The back of yours has your name 'Eliana Murray', doesn't it?" he asked quickly, leaning forward.
Her eyes narrowed a fraction. That tiny engraving was so subtle. Was he telling the truth? The thought made her waver for the first time.
Lowering her guard only halfway, she asked, "Where exactly did you leave your car?"
"Parked at the main road of the neighboring village," Carl replied without pause.
"Fine. Take me there. And hear me clearly--if this turns out to be a trick, you won't live to see another sunrise," Eliana warned sharply.
"I get it, I get it," Carl replied quickly, fumbling onto the battered bike parked at the door. He motioned for her to hop on.
Eliana was ready to tell him to forget it when a sudden wave of dizziness swept through her.
A few seconds passed before she steadied herself and swung onto the seat behind him.
Carl said, "Sit tight and."
"Quit talking. Ride. Follow that path ahead," she ordered.
"Got it," he said, pushing the bike forward.
Still, the thought nagged at him--this wasn't the soft, delicate little sister he'd pictured. This was a woman who could handle herself.
With a deep breath, he pressed on toward the neighboring village, the pedals moving faster beneath his feet.
Following her lead, the ride passed without crossing paths with a single familiar face.
Nearly half an hour later, the neighboring village came into view.
During the ride, Eliana had tried her best to push the d**g's effects deep enough to keep them at bay.
The moment her feet hit the ground, her eyes locked on a sleek black luxury car by the road. Its front end dipped noticeably--the left wheel was mangled beyond use.
Carl hurried to ease her concern, saying, "Lia, it's fine. I already called the nearest repair shop. They'll get here in two hours, maybe less--"
Before the words could land, Eliana was at the trunk, pulling out a spare and a set of tools like she'd done it a hundred times. Without a word, she strode to the damaged wheel.
"What are you doing?" Carl started.
"Fixing the d**n tire," Eliana responded.
Two hours of waiting wasn't an option.
The people from her old village had never been worth trusting, and standing around here would just invite trouble.
"You actually know how to do that?" Carl asked, disbelief creeping into his tone.
Eliana didn't bother answering. The jack slid into place, the car lifted, and within minutes, the spare was bolted on tight.
With the bad tire kicked aside, she yanked the driver's door open and slid behind the wheel.
Carl was still frozen where he stood when she snapped, "Stop standing there. Get in."
"Right. Yeah." Carl snapped out of it, scrambling into the passenger seat.
He broke into a grin and exclaimed, "Lia, that was incredible. You can change a tire like it's nothing. I can't even manage that. Oh--speaking of which, what was with the si**le earlier?"
"To cut grass for the sheep," Eliana answered flatly.
The simplicity of her reply hit him harder than he expected.
"I had no idea things were this rough for you. Listen, once we're back home, you'll never have to do chores like that again. Ah!"
Before he could get the rest out, the car shot forward like a loosed arrow. His voice cracked in panic. "Slow down! You're going too fast! I'm serious--slow down!"
"Shut it," Eliana snapped, her voice cold enough to cut. His constant noise made her ears throb.
When his shouting started again, she didn't hesitate. Her right hand came down in a sharp, decisive strike, and the noise died instantly.
The engine roared louder, and the car surged ahead, zigzagging along the road as horns blared from every direction.
Inside a plane waiting for takeoff, Janessa ended the call with a grim look, ripping Neal's eye mask away. "We have a problem," she said crossly.
Neal cracked his eyes open in annoyance. "What problem?"
"Brianna's house burned down. Everyone inside died in the fire."
The weight of her words made him sit upright at last. "And Eliana?"
"Isn't it clear? She went up in flames with the rest of them!" Janessa's gaze carried not a shred of grief--only irritation.
"You haven't laid eyes on her in years, but she turned into quite the beauty. Selling her for thirty grand felt like a loss! We had a deal--after checking whether she's still a vi**in, they were supposed to hand over the remaining fifteen grand. Now that money's gone up in sm**e too!"
Neal let out a breath of relief and said, "That fifteen grand is the last thing we should worry about. Once I marry Khloe, fifteen million will just be the cost of a single day."
In his eyes, Eliana--skinny and forgettable back then--couldn't possibly measure up to Khloe Clarke, the indulged daughter of the Clarke family and the woman set to be his wife.
"Still, fifteen grand doesn't just grow on trees." Janessa muttered, her lips twisting in regret.
Neal explained with a shake of his head, "You've got no sense for the bigger picture. If she were alive, I'd never sleep easy. Imagine if Khloe found out I was once engaged to Eliana--she'd lose her mind. Now that Eliana's gone, there's no chance of Khloe ever learning she existed."
That thought seemed to ease Janessa's annoyance, her lips loosening into a half-smile. "I guess you're right. When we get back to Qidence, I'll stop by the church. Maybe light a candle for her, just to settle my conscience."
His expression hardened in disapproval. "And risk Khloe or her family catching wind of it? Pointless. Eliana's already gone, and whether you mourn her or not changes nothing. Her death has nothing to do with us--it was just bad luck chasing her to the grave."
Janessa's agreement was cut short by a loud rumble from her stomach.
The thought of the pastries she had packed from home came to mind, and she dug quickly through her bag.
A bank card slipped free from between the wrappers and clattered onto the floor.
"You dropped something," Neal remarked, gesturing toward it with little interest.
Bending down to pick it up, Janessa paused, recognizing the card.
"Eliana's been putting money into this account ever since she started working. She knew it took over an hour to get to the bank, but she still refused to send cash. She did it just to annoy me. Once we're in Qidence, I'll see how much she's stashed in here."
Neal looked disdainful. "She stopped going to school when she was twelve and went straight to work. Do you really think she's saved up much? If the Clarke family learns about this card, you'll have more than just a headache. Get rid of it."
Before she could respond, he tried to snatch the card from her hand.
She quickly shoved the card back into her bag. "Money is still money! Even if she only put in a grand a month, over the years that's more than a hundred grand."
Neal leaned back, pulled down his eye mask, and shut her out with silence.
He would have to deal with Khloe once they got to Qidence. She never appreciated him bringing his mother along.
Elsewhere, Carl, still sore from the blow Eliana had given him, came to his senses and realized he had already arrived in Qidence.
Chapter 3 She Hadn't Been Cast Aside
Pain pulsed at the base of Carl's neck, and he reached up to massage it while scanning his surroundings.
The interior of his car felt unchanged, yet through the windshield rose the city's skyline, with the Pearl Tower cutting into the hazy distance.
That was when it hit him--he was back in Qidence.
The last thing he remembered was leaving the village with Eliana behind the wheel. At some point, darkness had taken over without warning.
His gaze darted around the car, and an uneasy realization struck--Eliana wasn't there.
He twisted in his seat, straining to see, until he finally caught sight of her a few steps away.
Eliana stood in conversation with a young man whose messy curls framed his face.
"The lab sent the results," the man said, his voice low but urgent.
"What did they say?" asked Eliana, her eyes narrowing.
Instead of answering outright, the man passed her a thin folder. "You might want to read it yourself."
A crease formed on Eliana's brow as a suspicion began to take shape in her mind.
She flipped the report open, heading straight for the last page. The words stared back at her. "Analysis of DNA samples from both parties supports a bl**d relationship."
The report snapped shut in her hands, and her gaze darkened with a storm of unspoken emotions.
For as long as she could remember, she had carried the belief that she was an orphan. If that weren't true, then surely she had been cast aside.
That conviction had kept her from searching. Even with her talents and resources, she had never once tried to find them.
In her mind, those who had thrown her away didn't deserve to be her family.
Learning the truth about her roots left her with a swirl of emotions she couldn't quite name.
Even so, the thought of rushing back to her family didn't sit right with her.
Life alongside her subordinates had become her normal.
Watching her closely, the curly-haired man finally asked, "So, are you heading back to meet the Murray family? I did some digging. Besides you, they've got six sons and one adopted daughter. The whole family situation is quite complicated."
She pushed the folder back into his hands without hesitation. "Complicated or not, I need to see it for myself."
His face lit up with approval. "Couldn't be better timing. We're shifting our headquarters to Qidence this year. Having connections here will smooth the way for everything."
Eliana's eyes narrowed slightly as she said, "So, this was part of your plan all along--nudging me back to the Murray family."
Scratching at his curls, he gave a sheepish grin and responded, "More like a move we can't avoid. Eighvale's market has been wrecked. Some unknown group came after us hard, and we've been bleeding losses without even knowing their names. We need new ground."
"Then let everyone know they should be ready to pack up at a moment's notice," Eliana said.
"Got it," he replied with a brisk nod. He started to turn away, then paused as something came to mind.
"Oh--while you were gone, we landed a big contract. It's for treating someone here. Since you're already in town, can you take it?"
"What's their offer?" Eliana inquired.
"They said if the patient recovers, we can name any price we want," the man answered.
Eliana raised an eyebrow. "Then let's make this our calling card in Qidence."
Before her last word had even faded, a faint noise came from inside the car.
With a flick of her hand, Eliana sent the curly-haired man on his way, and he disappeared without another word.
Moments later, Carl walked up, his eyes trailing in the direction the man had gone.
"Who was that, Lia?" he asked, curiosity edging his voice.
"Just a driver I hired. He's the one who brought us into Qidence," Eliana answered casually.
"Got it." Carl didn't question her, though his hand went to his neck. "Strange. it's aching like crazy."
"You probably slept the whole ride and twisted it. That's all," she replied with the same easy tone.
"You think so?" His eyes narrowed slightly, still unsure.
"I'm sure of it," Eliana said with a firm nod.
Even with her reassurance, a quiet doubt lingered in his mind.
Each time he tried to focus on what had happened earlier, the throbbing in his neck sharpened until he gave up.
In the end, all that mattered was that Eliana was with him again.
"Come on, let's head home. Mom and Dad must be waiting," Carl said, his excitement bubbling over.
"Alright, let's go." Eliana agreed, making no move to argue and letting him take the driver's seat.
Carl straightened in confidence, determined to keep the ride smooth.
He hoped to show her he could handle the wheel, but the streets of Qidence were a mess--heavy traffic, endless red lights, and no room for speed.
Over an hour later, their patience paid off as they passed through the gates of a grand estate.
Eliana's gaze swept over the surroundings, and for the first time, she began to believe Carl's boast that the Murrays had been Qidence's richest family.
The thought struck her that, as the acknowledged daughter of such a family, moving the Onyx Syndicate's headquarters here would be far easier than she'd imagined.
Her thoughts barely had time to settle before the car rolled to a stop and she stepped out, only to spot several uniformed servants hauling luggage toward the gates.
Carl stepped forward and stopped one of them. "Briar, what's going on? Where are you headed?"
Recognizing him instantly, Briar Ward dipped his head in greeting before answering, "There's been. a major change in the family while you were away."
As he explained, the picture became clear for Eliana.
Carl's father, Louis Murray, once Qidence's richest man, had been pulled into a high-profile economic investigation and taken into custody.
Alongside him, Damon and Sawyer Murray--the eldest and second sons--were also being held for questioning.
The Murray Group's empire had taken a crushing hit, and the staff were being dismissed one after another.
Wages had just been settled, and those still loyal were now leaving with heavy hearts.
Carl stood frozen, as though the words couldn't quite take root in his mind.
Eliana gave a gentle pull on his sleeve. "Come on. Let's see for ourselves."
That seemed to jolt him back to reality. With a dazed expression clouding his features, he led her through the front doors.
The living room greeted them with a tense scene--a slim young woman knelt before a middle-aged woman in an elegant dress.
"Mom, please, I had no other choice. With everything falling apart here, the Clarkes won't take me unless I cut ties with our family. You don't have to worry; it's only for appearances. After I marry into the Clarke family, I'll still be able to help." the young woman pleaded.
At those words, Stella Murray's eyes slid shut, her expression one of quiet, aching disappointment.
The family's downfall hadn't been an accident. It was a calculated move, partly to stall for time and build their influence, and partly to see if the younger generation could endure hardship.
Still, after more than twenty years under her care, Leyla Murray--the adopted daughter--decided to walk away the moment trouble arrived.
Even the servants who had been dismissed had quietly offered to return if the family needed them.
Leyla, however, seemed determined to put as much distance between herself and the Murrays as she could.
Carl didn't wait for her to speak. He strode forward and struck her across the face.
Clutching her cheek, Leyla stared at him in disbelief. "Carl, you actually hit me?"
His eyes were cold as he snapped back, "Yeah, I did. And why shouldn't I? You're just looking for a way to save yourself while we're drowning."
"You--" Leyla began, her voice tight.
"Enough! Marry anyone you want. We don't give a d**n. You're not a Murray anymore!" he barked.
Her gaze flicked between Carl and Stella, who said nothing.
Then she let out a sharp laugh and rose to her feet. "Alright then. You've made it clear. This is your choice, not mine."
From her bag, she drew a folded document and added, "Sign this. From this moment on, your troubles aren't mine, and I won't care whether you guys end up in jail or not."
Carl snatched the severance papers before Stella could react and scribbled his name without hesitation. "Done. Now get out!"
Chapter 4 Treating Stella
Carl slammed one of the copies of the agreement to sever family ties onto the floor in anger.
For years, he had been convinced that Leyla was trouble, though the rest of the family refused to see it.
Now, her own actions had spared him the trouble of proving it.
"Why are you still standing here? Weren't you desperate to leave? Then go!" he said coldly.
A low, mocking laugh slipped from Leyla.
The truth was, she and Carl had never been on friendly terms, and there was no reason to keep up the act anymore.
Bending to retrieve the crumpled document, she met Carl's gaze with chilling resolve. "Remember this moment, Carl. One day, you'll regret every choice you made today."
Without waiting for a reply, she turned toward the door.
Her step faltered when she noticed Eliana watching from the corner of the room.
A frown creased her face upon seeing Eliana.
Despite wearing clothes that could not have been plainer, Eliana's face carried a kind of beauty that demanded notice.
It wasn't the soft, quiet kind--it struck like a challenge, and Leyla felt an unease coil in her stomach.
Those eyes sealed it. They mirrored Stella's in a way that left no doubt.
The truth clicked in Leyla's mind in an instant.
She stepped closer, letting her gaze sweep over Eliana. "So, you must be the missing Eliana."
Eliana's mouth curved into a thin, knowing smile. "And you're the stray who bit the hand that fed her?"
Leyla's temper snapped, her hand swinging upward.
Before the blow could land, Eliana's fingers clamped around her wrist, halting it in midair. A sharp pain shot through Leyla's arm.
"Argh--" Leyla hissed. "Let go, you bi**h!"
"Looks like no one ever taught you manners. Leave now, before I lose my patience," Eliana warned coldly.
She let go of Leyla's wrist and wiped her palm against her pants as though she'd touched something filthy.
Leyla's eyes narrowed, and a bitter laugh broke from her lips.
"Oh, I get it now. You're just a carbon copy of the rest of your family. But don't think you've come back to some comfortable life. The Murrays are sinking fast."
Eliana responded, "Maybe they are, maybe they're not. I'm not sure. But I'm sure of one thing: you'll be gone by the time I count to three."
With a burst of anger, Leyla tried to lunge at her, but Carl stepped in, blocking her path. "Throw her out!" he barked.
"I know the way! I never wanted to stay in this place. And you'd all better remember--this isn't over. I'll make you pay for today," Leyla retorted with a cold glare.
She had returned alone, and for now, retreating seemed the smarter move.
Once she married into the Clarke family, she would find her chance to strike.
Carl opened his mouth to hurl another in**lt but stopped short when Stella's body wavered.
"Mom!" he shouted, rushing forward.
A blur of movement swept past him, and before he could blink, Eliana was there, arms around the fainting Stella.
"Lia." Carl stared in disbelief.
"Help me get her to her room," Eliana told him, her tone leaving no room for hesitation.
"Right," he said, moving quickly.
Within minutes, Stella was settled in her bedroom.
Eliana took a seat at the edge, her hands moving with careful precision as she examined her.
It didn't take long for her to see that rage had pushed Stella past her limit. Beneath that, Stella's body was already fragile, weakened from old illnesses that had never fully healed.
Without proper care, she might not withstand much more.
Carl had just told the butler to call for an ambulance when he noticed Eliana leaning over Stella, quietly assessing her condition.
A flicker of surprise crossed his face. "Lia, are you a doctor now?"
Keeping her tone casual, Eliana replied, "Simply picked up a few tricks from a village healer. Do you have an acupuncture kit? She needs it right away."
The butler stepped in before Carl could respond, his voice carrying a note of concern. "I've already called an ambulance. It'll arrive in about twenty minutes."
Eliana's expression didn't change. "By then, they'll put her on oxygen, run a list of tests, and hand her a bag of random pills before sending her back home."
Without thinking twice, Carl replied, "Go to the therapy room. See if the therapist left any needles."
That room had been stocked years ago for Louis, whose bad back demanded constant attention.
With no room to argue, the butler left to look, muttering under his breath.
Luck was on their side--though the therapist had been dismissed, the tools had been left behind.
Within moments, the butler returned with a small wooden case.
Eliana flipped it open, laying out the silver needles in an orderly row.
She sterilized them with practiced movements before pressing them into several key points along Stella's body.
Even after the final needle was in place, Stella's eyes stayed closed, her breathing unchanged.
Noticing this, the butler tugged Carl a few steps away.
To him, Carl had always been the Murray child least suited for serious decisions.
With everyone else preoccupied by Louis's affairs, the butler felt the burden of keeping a level head--and stopping Carl from making a costly mistake.
"Sir." His voice dropped to a near whisper as his eyes flicked toward Eliana, saying, "The young lady you brought home. is she really Eliana?"
"Absolutely. Look at her eyes--they're the same as our mother's when she was young. And she's wearing the fish-shaped jade pendant our mother gave her before she disappeared."
The butler gave a slow nod before continuing, "While you were gone, we learned she was adopted by a rural family. Forgive me for saying so, but country people don't exactly have advanced medical training. The ambulance will be here any minute--it might be safer to take your mother to a top-tier hospital."
"You're suggesting Lia could hurt our mom?" Carl's tone sharpened.
"Not at all," the butler said quickly. "I'm just considering the worst possibility. You saw it yourself--those needles didn't seem to change anything."
Carl's direct nature carried him straight to Eliana's side. "Lia, how much longer until she comes around?"
"In about ten minutes," said Eliana, pressing the needle in with steady, deliberate force.
The pressure inside Stella needed to be eased gradually.
Carl gave a brief nod, then looked over at the butler. "We'll give it ten minutes. If she's still out, we're heading to the hospital. Relax. There are also skilled doctors in the countryside."
Eliana's gaze flicked toward the butler. "She'll wake up. You have my word."
The butler forced a small, uneasy smile. "Alright."
He hadn't expected Carl's words to be so blunt and without ceremony.
It explained why people claimed that, among the six sons of Louis and Stella, Carl was the plainest speaker.
While his nerves wound tighter, the wail of an ambulance floated up from the street.
"The ambulance is here!" he blurted out. "Let's get Mrs. Murray downstairs right away!"
The words were barely out of his mouth when the door slammed open with a violent kick.
Every head turned toward the sudden intrusion.
A man with strong brows and a scar cutting across his right one stood in the doorway. "Carl, I heard Mom--"
His words cut off when his eyes locked on Eliana, who was pressing a long silver needle into Stella's head. His face instantly contorted with rage.
"Who the h**l are you, and why are you hurting my mom? You'll have to go through me first!"
Without another word, he swung his arm toward Eliana in a strike meant to land.
&8&
Broken and scarred, she rose from the ashes and crushed everyone who had betrayed her. Just when she thought her revenge was done, and she was doomed to face the rest of her life alone, a mysterious billionaire stepped into her world, loving her fiercely, thawing her frozen heart.
=====
Three years. One thousand and ninety-five days of trying to be the perfect wife, and this was my reward divorce papers on our anniversary.
"Sign here. And here." Stefan's voice was distant, businesslike.
He'd laid out the divorce papers like contracts at one of his meetings, sticky tabs marking each signature line. "The highlighted sections need initials."
My hands wouldn't stop shaking. "You're doing this today? On our anniversary?"
I stared at Stefan's perfect signature on the last page, the ink still fresh. He must have signed them this morning, probably right after I'd left that st**id handmade card on his desk.
The one I'd spent hours making, like a f**l who still believed in fairy tales. The anniversary card I made for my husband Stefan still sat on the kitchen counter, untouched.
Three years of marriage summed up in a handmade gesture he couldn't even bother to open. I'd spent hours on it last night, writing words I thought mattered.
My coffee had gone cold. Funny how you notice small things when your world is falling apart.
"Camille." He sighed, that familiar sound of disappointment I'd heard so many times before. "There's no point dragging this out."
The morning sun streamed through our kitchen windows, catching the diamond on my finger. Three carats, princess cut, picked out by his mother.
"Not your style, dear, but it's what a Rodriguez wife should wear," she'd said at the time. Like everything else in my life, it had never really been mine.
"Is there someone else?"
The question hung in the air between us. Stefan straightened his tie, Italian silk, the blue one I'd given him for Christmas. "Yes."
One word. That's all it took to erase three years of trying to be perfect.
"How long?"
"Two months." He wouldn't meet my eyes. "She came back to town and."
"Two months," I repeated. All those late nights at the office. The missed dinners. The way he'd stopped ki**ing me goodbye in the mornings.
"Were you ever going to tell me? Or just keep lying until the papers were ready?"
"I didn't want to hurt you."
A laugh bubbled up, harsh, unfamiliar. "That's thoughtful of you."
My hand knocked against my coffee mug, sending it crashing to the floor.
Dark liquid spread across the pristine tiles, staining the grout I'd scrubbed on hands and knees last week because his mother was coming to visit.
"Let me get that." Stefan reached for the paper towels.
"Don't." My voice cracked. "Just. don't pretend to care now."
I bent to pick up the broken pieces. A photo slipped from between the divorce papers, landing face-up in the spilled coffee.
The world stopped.
I knew that smile. Those eyes. That perfectly poised expression that had haunted every family photo since I was twelve.
"Rose?" My sister's name tasted like poison. "Your first love was Rose?"
Stefan's silence said everything.
Memories hit like punches to the gut. Rose helping me pick out my wedding dress. Rose giving to**ts at our engagement party.
Rose calling every week to check on my marriage, to give advice about keeping Stefan happy.
My adopted sister. My parents' golden child. The one they'd chosen to love.
"She never left town, did she?" The pieces were falling into place. "She's been here the whole time, waiting. Playing the supportive sister while you both laughed at st**id, naive Camille."
"It wasn't like that." Stefan ran his hands through his hair, that gesture I used to find endearing. "We tried to fight it. But some people are just meant to."
"If you say 'meant to be' I swear I'll throw this mug at your head." My fingers tightened around the broken ceramic. "How long were you together before? Before me?"
He shifted uncomfortably. "Four years. Until she got the job offer in London."
Four years. The same time I'd started dating Stefan. The same time Rose had suddenly become my biggest cheerleader, pushing me toward him.
"She set this up," I whispered. "All of it. And I fell for every piece."
"Camille, you're being dramatic. Rose cares about you."
"Like she cared when she told my first boyfriend I was damaged goods? Or when she convinced my parents I was too unstable for college?" The broken mug cut into my palm, but I barely felt it.
"She's been sabotaging me my whole life, and I kept making excuses because that's what good sisters do, right?"
Bl**d dripped onto the divorce papers. Stefan reached for my hand but I jerked away.
"Don't touch me." I grabbed a dish towel, wrapping it around my palm. "Where is she now? Waiting to comfort me through my divorce? Planning your next wedding?"
"She wanted to be here, but I thought it would be better."
"Better?" I laughed again, the sound edged with hysteria. "Yes, you've both been so concerned with what's better for me. Such caring people."
I picked up the pen, the Mont Blanc he'd given me on our first anniversary. The one Rose had helped him choose.
"Camille, wait. We should talk about this properly."
I signed every page, my signature perfectly steady. Let them see I wasn't breaking. Let them think they'd won.
"I'm done talking." I gathered my purse, the signed papers, Rose's photo. "Done pretending. Done being the good sister, the perfect wife, the daughter who never complains."
"Where are you going?"
"Away from you. Away from her. Away from everyone who thinks Camille Lewis is someone they can use and discard."
My phone buzzed, Rose's smiling face lit up the screen. Right on cue, coming to play her part.
I declined the call and walked to the door. Behind me, Stefan called out, "You can't just leave. We need to discuss arrangements, the house, the accounts."
"You can have it all." I turned to face him one last time. "The house, the cars, the life you built on lies. I don't want anything that reminds me of either of you."
"Camille, please."
"Goodbye, Stefan." I smiled, and something in my expression made him step back. "Give Rose my love. Tell her thank you, actually."
"For what?"
"For finally showing me the truth. About her, about you, about who I need to become."
I walked out of that house, out of that life, leaving bl**dy fingerprints on the door handle. Let them try to erase those as easily as they'd erased me.
Three years of pretending to be someone I wasn't. Three years of swallowing pain and making excuses for people who never deserved my loyalty.
My phone buzzed again. Rose. Then my mother. Then Stefan. One by one, I blocked them all.
Every connection to the life I thought I had to live.
In my rearview mirror, I caught a glimpse of my reflection. Tears streaked my makeup, bl**d stained my dress, my hair had come loose from its perfect twist.
I looked nothing like the polished, proper wife Stefan Rodriguez had married.
Chapter 2 CAMILLE'S POINT OF VIEW 002
The house was quiet, too quiet. I slipped in through the side door, locking it softly behind me.
The air smelled like lemon polish and roses, just like it always did. It felt strange to be back, like stepping into someone else's life.
The kitchen was dark except for the faint glow of the fridge light. I crept up the stairs, careful to skip the third step that creaked. Every sound I made felt loud, like the house itself was listening.
When I reached my bedroom door, I stopped. It was open a crack, just like I'd left it all those years ago. Taking a deep breath, I stepped inside and shut the door.
My childhood bedroom hadn't changed in three years. Same pale pink walls, same white furniture, same collection of second-place trophies. Rose's first-place ones used to shine in the room next door.
I stared at my reflection in the vanity mirror, the same one where I'd practiced my wedding makeup three years ago, Rose standing behind me with that perfect smile.
Now my mascara was smeared, hair wild, designer dress wrinkled. Mom would have a fit if she saw me like this.
The clock on my nightstand read 10:47 PM. I'd been sitting here for hours, packing what little of my old life I wanted to keep. Amazing how seventeen years in this house fit into one duffel bag.
My phone buzzed again, the twentieth time in an hour. This time it was Mom.
"Camille, this is ridiculous. Come home so we can discuss this like adults. Rose is worried sick."
I hung up. Of course Rose was worried. Her carefully laid plans were unraveling.
The front door clicked open downstairs. I froze, listening to familiar footsteps on hardwood. The slight tap of heels, the whisper of expensive fabric.
"Camille?" Mom's voice floated up the stairs. "Darling, I know you're here. The housekeeper saw your car."
I should have parked around the block. Should have been smarter, faster, better at disappearing. But I'd never been the clever one, had I? That was Rose's role.
More footsteps. A deeper voice, Dad, probably called home from work to deal with his hysterical younger daughter. Again.
"Princess?" His voice carried that same gentle tone he'd used when I was twelve, crying about Rose getting my spot in the school play. "Let's talk about this."
A third set of footsteps made my bl**d freeze. Lighter, more graceful. Perfect, like everything else about her.
"Camille?" Rose's voice dripped concern. "Sweetie, please. Don't shut us out."
I looked at the family photo on my dresser, taken the day Rose's adoption was finalized.
Mom and Dad beaming, Rose radiant in her new dress, thirteen-year-old me trying to smile through braces and acne. One big happy family.
What a joke.
The memory hit me like a punch to the gut:
---
"But I've been practicing for months!" I clutched my script, tears blurring the words. "Mrs. Bennett said the lead was mine!"
Rose touched my shoulder, gentle as always. "Oh, sweetie. I didn't mean to take your part. I just. the words came so naturally in the audition. Mrs. Bennett said I had a gift."
Of course she did. Everyone said Rose had a gift. For music, for acting, for making people love her.
"Maybe." Rose's eyes lit up with that special gleam that always meant trouble. "Maybe you could help me practice? Be my supporting actress? We could make it our sister thing!
I'd agreed. Because that's what good sisters did. Because saying no to Rose meant disappointed looks from Mom, lectures from Dad about family loyalty.
Opening night, I watched from the wings as Rose brought the audience to tears. Afterward, Mom bought her roses. Dad took us all to dinner.
No one mentioned that I'd written Rose's best lines during our "practice sessions." Or that her dramatic monologue had been word-for-word what I'd performed in my original audition.
Rose just had a gift for memorization, that's all.
---
"Camille Elizabeth Lewis!" Mom's voice sharpened. "This behavior is completely unacceptable."
I opened my bedroom door.
They stood in the hallway like a perfect family portrait, Mom in her designer suit, Dad looking distinguished in his work clothes, Rose wearing concern like the latest fashion trend.
"Hello, sister." My voice came out steady. "Shouldn't you be comforting your fiancé?"
Rose's eyes widened. Always the performer. "Camille, please. Let me explain."
"Explain what? How you've been sl**ping with my husband? Or how you set this whole thing up from the beginning?"
"What is she talking about?" Dad turned to Rose, who already had tears forming. Perfect, delicate tears that never smeared her makeup.
"She's upset," Rose whispered. "Lashing out. You know how she gets, Daddy."
"Don't." My laugh sounded strange, even to me.
"Don't you dare play that card again. Show them the ring, Rose. The one Stefan gave you two months ago while I was supposedly too sick to attend the charity gala."
Mom gasped. Dad's face darkened. But Rose, Rose's mask slipped for just a second. I saw it this time, that flash of cold calculation behind the concern.
"It wasn't like that," she started.
"Really? Then how was it? Explain to everyone how you've been calling me every week, giving me marriage advice while sl**ping with my husband. Tell them about all the times you helped me pick out li**erie for anniversaries when Stefan was really working late with you."
"That's enough!" Mom stepped forward. "Rose would never."
"Never what, Mom? Never lie? Never manipulate? Never steal something that belonged to her sister?" I pulled out my phone, playing the last voicemail from Stefan.
His voice filled the hallway: "Rose is my soulmate, Camille. We tried to fight it, but some people are just meant to be together. You have to understand."
The silence that followed was deafening.
Rose recovered first. "I never meant to hurt you. We can't help who we love."
The sound of my palm connecting with her cheek echoed like a g**shot.
"Camille!" Mom grabbed my arm. "Have you lost your mind?"
"No," I said quietly, watching a red mark bloom on Rose's perfect face. "For the first time in fourteen years, I'm seeing clearly."
I walked past them, duffel bag in hand. Behind me, Rose's sobs started, the same performance she'd perfected over years of turning everyone against me.
"Where are you going?" Dad called after me. "You can't just walk away from family!"
I paused at the top of the stairs, looking back at my so-called family. Mom comforting Rose, Dad looking torn, and my sister watching me through her tears with eyes that held no warmth at all.
"Family?" I smiled, and something in my expression made them all step back. "No, this isn't family. This is a game. And for fourteen years, I've been playing by Rose's rules."
"Camille, please," Rose reached for me, ever the caring sister. "Let me make this right."
I caught her wrist before she could touch me. "You taught me well, big sister. About manipulation. About patience. About waiting for the perfect moment to strike."
Her eyes widened, real fear this time, not performed.
"Thank you for the lessons," I whispered, letting her go. "Now watch how well I learned them."
I walked down the stairs, ignoring their calls. In the foyer mirror, I caught one last glimpse of myself, mascara-stained, wild-eyed, finally unchained.
Chapter 3 ROSE'S POINT OF VIEW 003
I swirled the ch**pagne in my crystal flute, watching the bubbles dance. Victory tasted sweet, just like I'd imagined all these years.
The living room of my penthouse apartment overlooked the city where I'd spent twenty years pretending to be the perfect adopted daughter, the loving sister, the supportive friend.
What a joke.
"To freedom," I whispered to my reflection in the window. The woman staring back at me smiled, perfect teeth, perfect hair, perfect lies. Just like always.
My phone buzzed again. Another missed call from Stefan. He'd been calling non-stop since Camille walked out, probably worried I'd change my mind now that everything was in the open.
Poor, predictable Stefan. Still thinking he was in control of any of this.
I kicked off my Louboutins and sank into the leather couch, letting memories wash over me like warm w**e.
---
The first time I saw Camille Lewis, I hated her.
I was thirteen, fresh out of foster care, desperate to please my new parents.
They'd brought me to this massive house with its manicured lawn and marble floors, promising me a fresh start. A real family.
Then this skinny thing with braces and messy hair came bouncing down the stairs, all eager smiles and innocent eyes.
"Hi! I'm Camille. I've always wanted a sister!"
She hugged me right there in the foyer, not caring that my clothes were secondhand or that I smelled like the group home's industrial detergent. Just pure, genuine joy at having a sister.
I wanted to vomit.
Because there she was, this awkward, imperfect girl who had everything I'd spent thirteen years dreaming about.
Parents who actually wanted her. A home she belonged in. A future secured by the Lewis family name.
And she didn't even appreciate it properly.
I watched her over dinner that first night, watched how she slouched in her chair and talked with her mouth full. How she didn't know which fork to use for salad.
How she laughed too loud and asked too many questions.
"Rose has such lovely manners," Mrs. Lewis. Mom. had said, smiling at me. "Perhaps you could learn from your new sister, Camille."
That's when I saw it. The first crack in Camille's perfect world. The slight dimming of her smile, the way she sat up straighter, tried harder.
It was beautiful.
---
My phone buzzed again, pulling me back to the present. Stefan's face lit up my screen, his fifth call in an hour. With a sigh, I answered.
"Darling, you're being needy."
"Rose." His voice was rough. Had he been drinking? "She's gone. Really gone. Blocked my number, cleaned out her closet."
"Isn't that what we wanted?" I kept my voice gentle, soothing. The same tone I'd used all those times I'd counseled Camille through her marital problems. Problems I'd carefully orchestrated."
"I just. the way she looked at me."
"Stefan, sweetheart." I let steel edge into my sweetness. "Are you having second thoughts? After everything we've been through?"
"No! No, of course not. I love you. I've always loved you."
"Then stop calling me about your ex-wife. It's pathetic."
I hung up, tossing the phone aside. Men were so predictably weak.
Even Stefan, who I'd spent four years grooming before pushing him toward Camille, still needed constant management.
But he'd served his purpose. Just like everyone else in my carefully constructed game.
The family photo on my mantel caught my eye, my adoption day. I stood in the center, of course. Always the center.
Camille pushed to the edge of the frame, trying so hard to smile through her insecurities.
God, it had been easy. Almost too easy.
A little whisper here about how Camille was unstable. A few concerned conversations with Mom about how worried I was about my dear sister's emotional state.
Casual mentions to Dad about how Camille seemed to be struggling with basic adult responsibilities.
Fourteen years of careful groundwork, positioning myself as the responsible daughter, the achievable dream, while slowly crushing Camille's confidence, her relationships, her sense of self.
The college rejection was particularly inspired, if I do say so myself. All it took was one tearful conversation with Mom about finding Camille's "secret" diary, filled with dark thoughts and destructive plans.
Plans I'd written myself, of course, in Camille's childish handwriting that I'd spent months practicing to forge.
Suddenly, their precious younger daughter wasn't ready for college. Needed time to "find herself." Needed to stay close to home where they could watch her.
Where I could watch her.
I took another sip of ch**pagne, savoring the moment. Because this, this was what I'd really wanted all along.
Not Stefan, he was just a useful pawn. Not the Lewis fortune, though that would come in time.
No, what I wanted was to watch perfect, precious Camille finally break. To see her realize that everything she thought she had family, love, security, had been built on my lies.
My phone buzzed with a text from Mom: "Rose, darling, please come over. Your father and I need to talk about what happened."
I smiled, already planning my performance. The tearful confusion, the reluctant confession about Stefan's pursuit, the gentle concern about Camille's mental state.
By the time I was done, they'd be thanking me for protecting them from their unstable daughter all these years.
Standing up, I walked to my closet, selecting the perfect outfit for my next scene. Something subtle but expensive. Grieving sister, not celebrating victor.
The massive walk-in closet had been Camille's wedding gift to me. "So you'll always have space for your amazing fashion sense," she'd said, hugging me tight.
Even then, even after years of watching me steal every spotlight, every opportunity, every scrap of parental approval, she'd still loved me. Still trusted me.
Id**t.
I pulled out a cream cashmere sweater, remembering how Camille used to borrow my clothes in high school.
How I'd wait until she had something important, a date, a presentation, an interview, then suddenly remember I needed that exact outfit.
She'd always given them back without argument. Always apologized for the inconvenience.
Always tried so hard to be the perfect sister.
My reflection caught my eye, and for a moment, just a moment, I saw something ugly there.
Something that looked like the scared, angry foster kid who'd walked into the Lewis house all those years ago.
But then I blinked, and I was perfect Rose again. Flawless Rose. Rose who could do no wrong.
Slipping on my Cartier bracelet, another gift from my dear sister, I prepared for my next performance.
The concerned family meeting would need just the right touch of reluctant honesty, devastated betrayal.
"Oh, Camille," I whispered to my reflection, practicing my worried frown. "What have you done to yourself?"
But as I turned to leave, something made me pause. That look in Camille's eyes before she'd walked out, I'd never seen it before.
Not in twenty years of pushing her, testing her, breaking her.
It had looked almost like. understanding.
Like she'd finally seen through my mask to the truth underneath.
I shook off the uneasy feeling. Camille was weak, just like I'd made her. She'd run away, lick her wounds, maybe try to start over somewhere new.
But she'd never be free of me. I'd made sure of that years ago.
Chapter 4 STEFAN'S POINT OF VIEW 004
The sc**ch burned going down, but I poured another anyway.
My third? Fourth? I'd lost count somewhere between signing those divorce papers and watching Camille walk away.
Our wedding photo still sat on my desk, mocking me. Camille's genuine smile, my distracted eyes, already looking past her, always looking for Rose.
Rose.
Even her name felt like betrayal now.
My phone lit up with another message from her: "Darling, stop drinking and come over. We should celebrate."
Celebrate. Like we hadn't just destroyed someone who loved us. Someone who'd given me three years of devotion I never deserved.
The memory hit me like a punch to the gut.
---
"Stefan?" Camille's voice was small, uncertain. "Did I do something wrong?"
I looked up from my laptop, irritated at the interruption. She stood in the doorway of my home office, holding a plate of something that smelled amazing.
"I made that pasta you mentioned. The one with truffles?" Her eyes were hopeful. "Rose gave me the recipe."
Of course she had. Rose had made that pasta for me in Rome, years ago. Back when we were. whatever we were.
"I'm busy." I didn't even look at the plate. "Just leave it."
"Oh." A pause. "It's just, you've been working late all week, and I thought."
"Camille." My voice sharp with an anger that wasn't really meant for her. "I said I'm busy."
She left the plate and disappeared, quiet as always. The pasta sat untouched until morning, a perfect recreation of a memory that belonged to another woman.
---
I hurled my glass at the wall, watching crystal shatter like the life I'd built on lies.
God, I'd been cruel. Not just at the end, but throughout our marriage.
Every missed dinner, every forgotten anniversary, every time I'd chosen work over her, all excuses to avoid the guilt of wanting her sister.
My phone buzzed again. Mother this time.
"Darling, I just heard from Rose. Are you alright? Do you need anything? I always said Camille wasn't suited for our family."
I silenced the phone, remembering another moment I'd tried to forget.
---
"She's trying so hard, Stefan." Rose's voice was gentle as she poured me another dr**k. We were alone in my office after another disastrous family dinner. "Maybe if you gave her more guidance."
"Like you did?" I couldn't keep the bitterness from my voice. "Teaching her all the ways to be perfect?"
Rose's laugh was musical, practiced. Everything about her was practiced. "Are you saying you preferred me imperfect?"
The air between us crackled with unspoken history. Four years of pa**ion and plans, ended by her sudden departure to London. Or so she'd claimed.
"Why did you really leave?" The question slipped out, colored by wh**key and old pain.
"You know why." She touched my cheek, familiar and forbidden. "Camille needed a chance at happiness. We both agreed."
Had we? I couldn't remember anymore. Everything from that time felt hazy, manipulated. Like watching a play where I'd forgotten my lines.
"She loves you," Rose whispered, too close now. "More than I ever could."
But her eyes said something different. They always had.
---
Another memory surfaced, this one from last week. The moment everything changed.
---
"I made your favorite breakfast." Camille's smile was bright, genuine. Always so d**n genuine. "Happy anniversary."
The divorce papers burned in my briefcase, Rose's perfume still lingering on my clothes from our late-night "meeting."
"I can't." I grabbed my keys, avoiding her eyes. "Early meeting."
"Oh." Her voice cracked slightly. "Will you be home for dinner? I thought we could."
"Don't wait up."
I'd spent that evening with Rose, planning how to break the news. She'd worn the same perfume she'd worn in Rome, all those years ago.
"It's kinder this way," she'd said, str**ing my hair. "A clean break. Camille will understand eventually."
Would she? The look in her eyes when she'd seen Rose's photo.
---
My office door opened, startling me from the memory. Mother stood there, perfectly coiffed even at midnight.
"Really, darling. Dr**king alone in the dark?"
"Not now, Mother."
She clicked across the room, surveying the broken glass with disapproval. "Rose is worried about you. We all are."
"Worried?" I laughed, harsh and broken. "Like you were worried about Camille all these years?"
"That girl was never right for you." Mother's voice hardened. "Rose, on the other hand."
"Stop." I stood, unsteady. "Just. stop."
"Stefan Rodriguez, you will not speak to me that way. I raised you better."
"Did you?" The words exploded out of me. "You raised me to what? String along a woman who loved me while pining for her sister? Listen to you tear her down at every opportunity?"
Mother stepped back, shocked. In twenty eight years, I'd never raised my voice to her.
"Everything she did was wrong, wasn't it?" I continued, the scotch making me brave. "Her clothes, her manners, her cooking. Nothing was ever good enough. But Rose. Rose was perfect."
"Because she understands our world! She."
"She understands manipulation." The truth hit me like a freight train. "She played us all. You, me, Camille."
"Don't be ridiculous." Mother straightened her designer jacket. "Rose loves you. She always has."
Had she? Or had she loved the game more?
I remembered the cold calculation in her eyes when she'd orchestrated our "chance" meetings after returning from London.
The way she'd encouraged Camille's insecurities while playing the supportive sister.
Even our reunion two months ago felt staged now. The charity gala, Camille conveniently "sick," Rose in that dress I'd loved in Rome.
"Mother." I sank back into my chair, suddenly exhausted. "Please leave."
"Stefan."
"Go. Tell Rose. tell her." What? That I was sorry? That I finally saw through her perfect mask? That I'd destroyed my marriage for a fantasy she'd carefully crafted?
Mother left, her disappointment hanging in the air like expensive perfume. Like Rose's perfume. Like all the artificial, manipulated pieces of this life I'd chosen.
My phone lit up with another message. Rose again: "Darling, stop being dramatic. Come home. To me."
Home.
I looked around my office, at the shattered glass and scattered papers. At Camille's wedding photo, her genuine smile now seeming like an accusation.
What had I done?
Chapter 5 CAMILLE'S POINT OF VIEW 005
The parking garage of the hotel where i lodged was too quiet. My heels echoed against concrete, each click bouncing off empty cars and shadowed pillars.
It was late, past midnight, but something felt wrong. Off.
My confrontation with Rose and my family had left me drained, empty except for the cold satisfaction of finally seeing behind her mask.
I fumbled with my key fob, wanting nothing more than to get to my hotel room and plan my next move.
A car door slammed somewhere in the darkness.
I stopped, listening. Nothing but the hum of fluorescent lights and the distant sound of traffic.
My phone buzzed in my purse. Rose's number. I declined it, but not before noticing my signal had dropped to one bar.
Perfect.
Footsteps behind me. Multiple sets.
I walked faster, cu**ing my choice of heels. The hotel's elevator was just around the corner, past a row of concrete pillars. If I could just.
"Going somewhere, Mrs. Rodriguez?"
A man stepped out from behind a pillar. Tall, broad-shouldered, dressed in black. Professional. Two more appeared behind me, cutting off my retreat.
Not a random attack, then.
"Actually, it's Ms. Lewis now." My voice stayed steady despite my racing heart. "And I have a dinner reservation, so if you'll excuse me."
The first man smiled. It wasn't a nice smile. "I'm afraid your plans have changed."
I gripped my purse tighter, feeling for the pepper spray I'd started carrying after signing the divorce papers. "Did my sister send you? Or was it Stefan?"
"Our employer prefers to remain anonymous." He stepped closer. "Now, we can do this the easy way."
I didn't let him finish. The pepper spray caught him directly in the eyes.
He screamed, stumbling backward. I ran, kicking off my heels as I sprinted for the elevator. The other two men shouted, their footsteps thundering behind me.
Almost there. Just a few more.
Pain exploded in my scalp as someone grabbed my hair, yanking me backward. My purse went flying, contents scattering across the concrete.
"That wasn't very nice." The first man's voice was rough with pain and rage. "Hold her."
Strong hands gripped my arms. I fought, kicking, scratching, but they were too strong. Professional. Trained.
"Our employer said you might be difficult." The first man wiped his streaming eyes. "Said you needed to learn your place."
Rose. This had Rose written all over it. Her parting shot, making sure I understood just how powerless I really was.
"If you're going to k**l me," I spat, "at least have the guts to look me in the eyes."
He laughed. "K**l you? No, no. Just a message. A reminder of what happens to people who don't know when to let go."
The first punch caught me in the stomach, driving the air from my lungs. I doubled over, gasping, but the men holding me kept me upright.
"See, some people don't understand their role in life." Another blow, this one to my ribs. "Some people need to be taught."
I tasted bl**d. My vision blurred, pain shooting through my body. But I wouldn't cry. Wouldn't give Rose the satisfaction.
"That's enough."
The voice cut through the garage like a whip crack. Female. Authoritative.
My attackers tensed. Through swollen eyes, I saw dark figures emerging from the shadows. Men in suits, moving with military precision. And behind them.
A woman. Tall, elegant, probably in her fifties but with an ageless quality about her.
She wore a black designer suit that probably cost more than my car, her silver hair swept into a perfect chignon.
But it was her eyes that caught me. Sharp, intelligent, and oddly. familiar.
"Ma'am," one of my attackers started, "our employer."
"Is about to have a very bad day." The woman's voice was ice. "Release her. Now."
The hands holding me disappeared. I slumped forward, pain shooting through my ribs.
"Secure them." The woman's command sent her men moving. My attackers didn't even try to run. They knew better.
She walked toward me, heels clicking on concrete. Designer shoes. Probably cost more than my monthly rent.
"Camille Lewis." Not a question. She knew exactly who I was.
I tried to straighten, to maintain some dignity despite my split lip and torn dress. "Do I know you?"
Her eyes softened, just slightly. Like she was seeing something, someone else in my face.
"No." She gestured, and more men appeared with a medical kit. "But I knew someone very much like you, once. Someone who also had to learn the hard way about trust and betrayal."
The world was getting fuzzy around the edges. Blood dripped onto my ruined dress, each breath sending knives through my ribs.
"Who." I swayed, darkness creeping in. "Who are you?"
She stepped forward, catching me as my knees buckled. This close, I could smell her perfume, something expensive, unique. Something that tickled at the edges of my memory.
"Someone who's been watching you for a very long time, Camille." Her voice seemed to come from far away. "Someone who's going to help you become everything they tried to prevent."
The darkness was winning now.
But before it took me completely, I heard her last words: "After all. you look just like my daughter.".
What happens next?
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&5&
For three years, she struggled, repeatedly reaching out to her husband for help, but he ignored her pleas and stayed by his beloved's side. Yet, for the sake of her unborn child, she endured. After returning home, she immediately filed for divorce--only to have her cold-hearted husband refuse!
=====
Chapter 1 Send Her Abroad
"Someone help me! I'm being attacked!"
The desperate screams of Linda Harris filled the air, drawing an increasing crowd of onlookers to the scene.
Hadley Pearson was poised at the top of the staircase, her gaze fixed on Linda who lay crumpled below. A look of utter confusion washed over Hadley as she stared down at her own hands, completely bewildered.
Murmuring to herself, Hadley said, "How could this have happened."
Why did Linda collapse so suddenly?
"What's going on here?"
With today marking the Flynn family's grand banquet, the estate was bustling with guests. Those who heard the commotion quickly encircled Linda, who was sprawled out from her fall down the stairs.
"What's going on? How did she end up falling?"
"Look up there. She."
Struggling through her pain, Linda managed to lift her head and look up towards where Hadley stood.
It was then that the gathered crowd pieced together the apparent events.
"Hadley pushed Linda!"
"Good heavens! Hadley, regardless of your feelings towards Linda, such harshness is unthinkable! And she's expecting a child!"
"You've crossed the line!"
"No, that's not true."
As accusations flew, Hadley's complexion blanched, and she vehemently shook her head in denial.
She tried to assert her innocence, insisting she hadn't pushed Linda.
However, her pleas fell on deaf ears.
"Make way!"
A commanding male voice disrupted the gathering, asserting his presence authoritatively.
That voice belonged to Eric Flynn, Hadley's new husband for only a brief period.
"Eric."
A wave of relief washed over Hadley as she turned to him for support.
Yet, as Eric's eyes met hers, they were sharp and accusing. "You hurt her!"
"I didn't!" Hadley protested, her denial forceful as she shook her head desperately. "I wasn't the one."
"Then who did?" Eric asked, his disbelief apparent.
His look of disdain and anger was directed squarely at Hadley, his features twisted in revulsion.
"Are you suggesting Linda threw herself down the stairs? You're known to be overbearing. Haven't you been antagonizing her all this time? Must I remind you of all the incidents?" Eric continued.
Hadley remained motionless.
The severity in her husband's voice rendered her speechless.
"Ah."
Cradling her stomach, Linda leaned on Eric, her voice faint. "Eric, it's so painful. It really hurts!"
"Linda?" Eric's grandmother, Nyla Flynn, approached, alarmed. "What has happened here?" she demanded.
"There's blood!" someone in the crowd exclaimed.
"Look, she's bleeding!"
Beneath Linda, a crimson stain was expanding steadily.
Clutching at Eric's neck, Linda broke down in tears. "Eric! My baby! Help my baby."
"Don't worry!"
Eric tried to reassure her, but his face betrayed his own fear as panic set in.
"We need to get to the hospital immediately!"
Swiftly lifting Linda into his arms, Eric's eyes met Hadley's with a harsh, accusing stare.
"If anything happens to the baby, you'll regret it."
He left the sentence hanging, and then swiftly turned away, carrying Linda towards help.
At that moment, ensuring Linda and her unborn child's safety was his only concern.
Nyla looked at Hadley with a mix of disappointment and disbelief, struggling to find the words. "Hadley, how could you--"
"Nyla."
Hadley barely started to respond when Nyla turned her back and walked away.
Suddenly, the crowd began to thin out.
Ignored by everyone, Hadley found herself aimlessly returning to her room, lost in a fog of confusion.
She waited anxiously for Eric to return. She hadn't pushed Linda and needed to clear the air with him.
As hours passed into the deep of night, Eric still hadn't come back.
As the first light of dawn crept in, sounds echoed from below.
"Eric!"
Hadley leapt from the sofa and hurried towards the door.
She paused at the top of the stairs, hesitating, as she heard his voice.
"Grandma, I want a divorce!"
Eric's declaration cut through the air, his tone bitter and decisive.
"Get back here!"
Nyla reached out to her grandson, her voice firm and commanding.
"What are you saying? I made a promise to Hadley's grandmother to protect her. You're barely married, and now a divorce? She's just twenty. Do you want to ruin her life?"
"Am I the one ruining her life? Ridiculous!"
Eric's laughter was harsh, his gaze piercing with resentment.
"Grandma, we've lost Linda's baby! Do you hear me? My brother's child is gone! And yet, Hadley is untouched! Tell me, who is truly causing despair here?"
Nyla was left speechless.
"I never wanted to marry her. You pushed me into it!"
Eric's frustration was evident, and he seemed on the verge of losing it over his marital situation.
"I was willing to accept her if she made you happy. But I can no longer tolerate such a wife now! If this continues, I fear I might do something drastic. I'm losing my grip!"
"Stop this!" Nyla shouted, her voice filled with panic as she clutched Eric's arm tightly.
With the recent loss of her great-grandchild weighing heavily on her, Nyla's expression hardened with determination.
"Fine, you won't have to see her anymore. I'll send her away, overseas, away from all this. Is that acceptable?"
Eric was silent for a beat before nodding in agreement. "If that's what you think is best."
Hadley, overhearing the exchange, turned and hurried back to her room. Once inside, she shut the door and her knees buckled beneath her. Slumping to the floor, tears cascaded down her cheeks.
"Eric, Eric."
The revelation that he resented their marriage--that it had been against his will--was overwhelming.
Hadley had been unaware, utterly oblivious to the depth of his reluctance.
Having lost her parents young and raised by her grandmother, who herself died in a car crash when Hadley was just fifteen, she was left to navigate the world alone.
Nyla had welcomed Hadley into her home because of her close friendship with Hadley's grandmother.
Nyla cherished her, often playfully asking, "Hadley, will you become my granddaughter-in-law when you're older?"
"Of course," Hadley would always respond.
Thus, Hadley grew up dreaming of marrying Eric and becoming his wife.
She centered her life around Eric, tailoring her education to his interests, dressing to catch his eye, and always staying by his side, warding off any potential rivals.
In her heart, she was already his bride; he was meant to be hers.
Yet, these were merely her own fantasies.
He criticized her as overbearing and expressed his desire not to see her again.
Overwhelmed, Hadley finally broke down in tears.
Knock, knock.
Someone was at the door.
"Hadley, are you awake?" It was Nyla calling through the door.
"Yes, I'm here!"
Rapidly drying her tears, Hadley rose, smoothed her hair, and opened the door.
With a forced smile, she said, "Nyla."
Nyla examined Hadley, noticing her red, swollen eyes--evidence of a night spent crying.
Despite understanding Hadley's distress, Nyla struggled to overlook her recent actions.
Nyla seated herself on the sofa, gesturing for Hadley to sit too. "Sit with me."
"Alright." Hadley braced herself for what was coming; she sensed a change in Nyla's demeanor towards her.
Nyla said, "Remember you once mentioned wanting to study abroad? I'm arranging that for you. You'll leave as soon as possible."
The decision to send Hadley away was clear.
Hadley's gaze dropped, and once more, tears started to fall.
Nyla looked at the girl with pity, her affection for Hadley genuine.
Yet, with Linda still hospitalized, Nyla felt compelled to act in Linda's defense.
Nyla steeled herself, took a deep breath, and said firmly, "You must learn to moderate your behavior. At times, you are overly assertive. It's one thing to be protective, but your jealousy even towards Linda is uncalled for. She's engaged to your brother-in-law!"
Struggling to contain her emotions, Hadley whispered, "I."
Did Nyla also doubt her sincerity?
"It's time for you to pack."
Nyla rose from her seat, giving Hadley a lingering look.
"Once you've shown some improvement, I'll arrange for someone to bring you back, okay?"
With these words, Nyla walked away.
Hadley quickly got up to walk her out.
Left alone, Hadley felt a hollow emptiness inside her.
Out of nowhere, she was hit by a wave of nausea so intense it made her stomach churn.
Catching her breath, Hadley clasped her hand over her mouth.
Hastily, she made her way to the bathroom.
Chapter 2 Pain To The Max
After relentless waves of nausea that felt like a storm raging inside her, Hadley ended up in the hospital.
"Doctor, what's happening to me?"
She sat nervously in the waiting area while the doctor examined her test results.
Pausing for a moment, the doctor looked at her curiously and inquired, "Are you married?"
There was a pause before Hadley responded affirmatively, "Yes, I am."
"Congratulations," the doctor finally announced. "You're pregnant."
The news momentarily took Hadley's breath away, her eyes widening as she processed the information.
The recent summer heat had been oppressive, causing her to lose her appetite and frequently feel nauseous.
Hadley had assumed it was the heat or perhaps the greasy food.
Now, she questioned, "Is this what morning sickness feels like?"
Had this revelation come before the events of the previous night, it would have been a joyous occasion for Hadley. But now, everything had changed.
Hadley paused, and then voiced her concern to the doctor. "Is there any chance this is a mistake? Could there be an error in the diagnosis?"
"When did you last have your period?"
Upon thinking back, Hadley's expression changed as she made the connection. "I'm. a week late."
The doctor gestured expansively as he handed over the test results.
"Here's your answer," he said, pushing the document towards her. "See for yourself. The blood test is quite clear. You're definitely pregnant."
Hadley's eyes were drawn to the bolded words "early pregnancy" showed on the report, underscored by the doctor's signature.
She took a deep breath, picked up the report, and softly said, "Thank you, doctor."
Leaving the hospital, the harsh rays of the summer sun prompted tears to gather in her eyes.
With her eyes closed, Hadley whispered to herself, "What am I going to do?"
Her marriage to Eric was still new, barely two months old, and their physical relationship had been limited--quick and infrequent.
Hadley had previously thought that Eric simply wasn't interested in being intimate, and frankly, she didn't much enjoy their encounters; they were just too painful.
Now, the painful truth hit her.
It wasn't the intimacy he was averse to. It was her.
The rare occasions they had been intimate were probably just to fulfill Nyla's wish to produce a Flynn heir.
Now, Hadley found herself pregnant at the most unfortunate moment.
"What should I do?" Hadley pondered once more.
Was it right to keep the baby?
At only twenty, the gravity of such a decision overwhelmed Hadley. She felt too inexperienced to handle it on her own.
She decided she must speak with Eric.
He was, after all, the father.
Currently, Eric was at the hospital where Linda was recovering from her miscarriage, having set up a makeshift office in her room.
When Hadley tried to enter, she was halted by Eric's security, Xander and Theodore Todd. "Mrs. Flynn, you must stop here. You're not allowed inside."
Confused, Hadley blinked and asked, "Why?"
"The order comes directly from Mr. Flynn," they replied.
Eric's orders?
Did he think she would harm Linda again, or was he concerned Linda might be distressed by her presence?
Hadley bowed her head, feeling a mix of defeat and desperation, yet a trace of resolve lingered.
Hadley pleaded, "I don't need to enter. Just let him know I must speak with him. It's urgent."
The two bodyguards looked at each other. "We'll relay your message."
Theodore went inside to inform Eric of her request.
Eric dismissed the request coldly once Theodore delivered it. "I won't meet with her," he instructed. "Make sure she doesn't come near this room and disturb Linda."
"Understood, Mr. Flynn," Theodore responded before returning to deliver the news to Hadley.
Upon hearing the stern rejection, Hadley's face lost all its color, and her hands began to shake uncontrollably.
"Mrs. Flynn, it's best you leave now. Miss Harris might awaken any moment, and it would be problematic if she saw you here."
"I'm going now."
Hadley's lip quivered as she bit down hard, drawing blood, though she hardly noticed.
Exiting the hospital, Hadley paused abruptly, rooted to the spot.
She couldn't just walk away!
Tomorrow, she was scheduled to fly overseas, to a place where everything would be strange and unfamiliar, leaving her even more isolated.
Determined, Hadley chose to stay by the entrance, hoping to intercept Eric as he left the hospital.
As the hours ticked by, her legs grew stiff with cold. Darkness fell, and a sudden downpour drenched the evening.
Hadley began to fear that Eric might spend the night in the hospital, but then he appeared.
The soft illumination from the streetlights enhanced Eric's striking appearance as he walked out.
"Eric!" Hadley called out, dashing towards him.
Eric's expression turned into a deep scowl. "Stop her!"
"At once, sir!"
Hadley was halted halfway by the guards, her path to Eric blocked.
"I need to speak with you--it's urgent!" Hadley yelled, her voice laced with desperation.
Eric continued forward, ignoring her plea.
As his car pulled up, he entered without a backward glance.
"Eric! Please, just listen!" Hadley's voice broke with despair and disbelief as she called after the departing car.
Eric disregarded her completely, shutting the car door and commanding the driver, "Let's go."
As the vehicle began to move, Hadley's expression turned to one of shock and desperation.
"Eric!" Hadley yelled, mustering every ounce of her strength to break free from Xander and sprint after the car.
"Eric, please! Stop the car!"
Tears mingled with her cries as she pursued the car relentlessly.
The cold air burned her lungs, yet she continued.
However, the car accelerated, quickly distancing itself from her. Just as she neared the hospital gate, Hadley's foot caught, and she tumbled to the pavement.
"Ah."
The pain elicited a sharp cry from Hadley.
From the car, Theodore looked back and murmured to Eric, "Sir, she fell."
Did she?
Eric casually checked the rearview mirror and saw Hadley lying on the wet ground, drenched and helpless. His expression briefly showed concern.
However, he quickly dismissed the sentiment. "She's tough. She'll recover. Drive faster. Let's ensure she doesn't follow us and complicate things further."
"Understood, sir."
Accelerating, the vehicle quickly vanished into the distance. Helplessly, Hadley watched as it disappeared, the spark in her eyes dimming.
Struggling to rise, Hadley noticed her arms and palms were scraped and bleeding, the blood diluting in the rainwater.
The pain she felt was sharp, almost soul-deep.
Tears mixed with the rain as Hadley shut her eyes, overwhelmed by the moment.
Later at Silver Villas, completely spent both physically and emotionally, Hadley collapsed onto her sofa still in her damp attire, too exhausted to change or shower.
What options did she have left? Who could help her now?
A sudden memory prompted her to grab her phone. She bypassed her contacts, dialing a number she remembered well.
As she hit the call button, a surge of hope briefly animated her.
The phone rang, and she held her breath in tense anticipation.
"Hello?" A female voice answered.
Immediately, the flicker of hope in Hadley's eyes faded.
"Hello, who is this? Speak up!" The woman on the line warned, "If you don't respond, I'm hanging up."
Shortly after, the line went dead.
Her expression hardened, Hadley clutched her phone tightly as tears streamed down her face. She realized the call had been a mistake. Frustrated, she threw the phone aside and buried her face in a pillow, her cries muffled.
The night dragged on in a blur of anguish.
She wasn't sure when she fell asleep, but she was jolted awake by the incessant ringing of the doorbell, each ring sharper than the last.
Possibly tired of waiting, the person stormed in as the door burst open.
Eric entered, irritation evident on his otherwise striking features.
Chapter 3 Asking For Money From Him
Upon seeing Hadley on the couch, Eric's expression grew sharp with annoyance. "Why wasn't the door answered?"
Silently, Hadley muttered to herself, "I lacked the strength to even get up," but she left her thoughts unspoken, simply shaking her head in response.
Hadley was acutely aware that any attempt to explain herself would merely be seen as an excuse by Eric.
To someone who harbors disdain for you, even the act of breathing could seem like a fault.
Overwhelmed by an uncomfortable feeling, Hadley went directly to the heart of the matter. "What brings you here?"
She thought he wanted nothing to do with her.
"Do you actually think I came here willingly?"
With a sneer, Eric made no effort to mask his contempt as he glanced coldly at Hadley. "Grandma sent me to escort you to the airport."
That was how things stood.
Hadley asked herself bitterly, "Why did I even harbor any hope?"
"Is your luggage upstairs?"
The impatience in Eric's voice was unmistakable. Spending even a moment with Hadley was clearly something he found almost unbearable.
Hadley nodded, but then quickly added, "It's upstairs, but I haven't finished packing yet."
She had planned to finish packing the previous night, but overwhelming fatigue and sickness had caused her to fall asleep prematurely.
"What?"
A shadow crossed Eric's face as his irritation flared. "You've had all day and still haven't managed to pack your bags?"
He fixed a stern gaze on Hadley, who appeared bewildered and unresponsive. Eric guessed bitterly. "Is she trying to delay her departure?"
"Don't just stand there; get moving and finish your packing!"
"Alright," Hadley responded with a vacant nod, turning to ascend the stairs swiftly.
Making her way up, Hadley felt each step caused her to break out in a cold sweat. She sensed that something was amiss. Hesitantly, she touched her forehead.
It was unmistakably hot, her breathing labored as if each breath scorched her lungs.
Clearly, she was running a fever.
The fever was probably a result of being soaked in the rain yesterday.
Hadley's initial reaction was to search for some cold medicine in her room. Just as she was about to take one, she hesitated.
Remembering her pregnancy, she knew she couldn't take the medicine.
Although she hadn't decided whether to keep the baby, she felt a responsibility to protect it while it was still part of her.
"Ugh."
A wave of nausea hit Hadley hard, causing her to groan.
She clutched her mouth and hurried to the bathroom, where she retched into the toilet until she felt completely empty.
Afterward, she turned on the tap, rinsed her mouth, and splashed her face with cold water to soothe her burning skin.
"Hadley!"
Eric's voice, deep and slightly raspy, echoed with a note of exasperation.
Impatient from waiting, he had come upstairs to check on her progress.
Noticing she still wasn't ready, he demanded, "Hadley, what's taking so long? Get out here!"
"On my way," replied Hadley, dabbing her face with a towel. She emerged from the bathroom, her complexion ashen, her voice a faint murmur.
"Eric," she whispered. "Might I request to leave a day later?"
Her health was so precarious that she worried about becoming sick on the flight.
Should she fall ill on the plane, she would be entirely alone, without assistance.
"Why for?" Eric asked, his expression clouding with suspicion.
"What's your scheme now? Yesterday, you tried to see Linda at the hospital, and I had to stop you. Are you attempting something else today?"
Did he truly have such a low opinion of her?
"It's not what you think." Hadley replied, her eyes widening with the effort to restrain her tears.
"I feel very sick. I need to consult a doctor."
"Enough of this!" Eric interjected sharply, not allowing her to explain further.
He examined her face briefly before a slight smirk appeared. "Feigning illness again? You expect me to believe that?"
His voice took on a cold edge. "Even if you are sick, how serious could it be? Linda has just lost a child and is still in the hospital, while you're here, perfectly upright! You'll cope. It's not the end of the world!"
Hadley reeled from his words, her face a picture of astonishment. "I."
Eric paid her no mind, moving swiftly to the closet to retrieve the already packed suitcase.
"Leave whatever isn't packed. Just buy what you need when you get there! It's all coming from my family's funds anyway. I can't afford to linger here with you."
With that, he grabbed the suitcase and stormed downstairs.
Hadley's lip quivered as pain gripped her heart. Tears cascaded down her cheeks, which she smeared away with the back of her hand.
She might as well leave.
Whether here or somewhere foreign, did it really matter?
Isolated, unloved--her plight seemed invisible to others, her existence negligible.
At the airport, Eric was nowhere to be seen. Instead, his assistant, Phillips Brown, took care of the check-in process and walked Hadley to the security checkpoint.
"Have a safe trip, ma'am," Phillips said as he handed her the passport and boarding pass. "Please call Mrs. Flynn upon your landing. Your living expenses will be forwarded to you each month."
Hadley responded with a subdued nod, "I understand. Thank you."
She then proceeded through the boarding gate.
A month had passed. Now, deep into the night in an apartment in downtown Blathe, Hadley was hunched over in bed, too terrified to turn on any lights or make noise.
"Bang! Bang! Bang!"
The sound of forceful knocking jolted the door. Outside, her fat, middle-aged landlord shouted, "Senorita! Are you there? Your rent is overdue! I know you're inside! Respond!"
Hadley pressed her hands over her ears, squeezed her eyes shut, and shook her head, silently wishing the landlord would just go away.
After enduring the quiet for a while, it seemed the landlord finally gave up. "Thinking you can avoid paying by hiding? Oh, sweetheart, that's just naive! Are you really not there?"
He continued muttering to himself, "It's getting late. I hope she's safe."
The pounding at the door eventually ceased, and the sound of the landlord's footsteps slowly faded away.
Hadley took her hands away from her ears, breathing out a lengthy sigh of relief.
She had managed to avoid the landlord today, but the question of what to do tomorrow lingered in her mind.
Gently pulling her phone from beneath her pillow, Hadley scrolled through her contacts to find Nyla's number.
It had been nearly a month since she arrived in Blathe, yet the living expenses she was promised had not been sent. She had been trying to reach Nyla for days now, but all her calls had gone unanswered.
She inhaled deeply and pressed the call button once more.
Still, no one answered.
Feeling more isolated, Hadley wondered who else she could turn to.
Eric was her only option left.
With a moment's hesitation, she found Eric's number, dialed, and the call connected.
"Hello."
The familiar deep and slightly hoarse voice of Eric answered.
Nerves made Hadley's mouth dry. "I. it's me."
"What do you want?" Eric asked, his voice tinged with annoyance.
Surprised by his harsh tone, Hadley stuttered, "I tried to reach Nyla, but her number seems to be disconnected."
Eric responded coldly, "Why do you need Grandma? You just left, and you're already trying to pull her back into your problems?"
"No." Hadley quickly clarified. "That's not it."
Eric didn't let her finish. "Don't bother trying to contact Grandma. I've changed her number to keep you from disturbing her."
Hadley stood speechless, tears starting to form in her eyes.
She knew Eric couldn't stand her, but wasn't her leaving the country enough?
Did he really have to cut her off from Nyla too?
Nyla had always shown her kindness, and she cherished their bond.
"Anything else?" Eric's voice was losing patience. "We sent you abroad to become more self-reliant, not to continue relying on us like you've done all your life. I'm going to hang up now!"
"Wait, please!" Hadley interjected quickly, desperation clear in her voice. "It's regarding the living expenses. they haven't been sent yet."
Chapter 4 She Had No Right To Give Up
"Really?"
Eric's smile was cold, dripping with scorn.
"So, this is about money, isn't it? Not even a month has passed. What's the hurry? Rest assured, you'll receive your due. Just be patient. Surely, you don't think we'd let you go hungry?"
He paused briefly, his tone becoming terse. "Avoid calling me unless it's urgent. I'll get in touch if there's any need."
With those final words, the conversation abruptly ceased.
Clasping the phone tightly, Hadley's shock was evident.
To such an extent, Eric despised her.
"Absurd."
With a frail chuckle, Hadley's face turned ashen. Requesting money from him had left her feeling profoundly demeaned.
In silence, she lifted her hand to her unchanged stomach, closed her eyes, and allowed tears to escape quietly.
Eight months had passed.
Hadley was sleeping peacefully in her modest room, her pregnant belly prominently displayed.
The arrival of her child was approaching. Despite the doctor's recommendation for an early hospitalization due to the baby's backside position, Hadley merely smiled and remained silent.
Her pockets were empty.
Eight months earlier, following that call with Eric, he had spewed nothing but cruelty.
Yet, the financial support he promised never materialized.
Hadley had drained her savings. With no way to afford her apartment anymore, she ended up in a run-down neighborhood.
She never reached out to him for financial help again.
The thought of being labeled a parasite was unbearable.
After moving, Hadley managed to secure some part-time work, balancing it with her studies.
Her earnings were limited, but through careful budgeting, she made enough to sustain herself.
As she drifted in sleep, the night erupted with cries of alarm.
"Fire!"
The shout pierced the air.
"Escape!"
Roused abruptly, Hadley leaped from her bed and threw open her door to a scene of utter chaos. Smoke engulfed the corridor as flames danced violently.
Her complexion drained of color in an instant.
"Hadley!"
Her neighbor, a fellow student, was frantic with worry as he caught sight of her.
"Why haven't you fled? It's a fire! Get out now!"
"Right, got it!"
In a rush, Hadley spun around to snatch her backpack.
She moved to venture deeper into her apartment, but her neighbor's firm grip stopped her. "Are you out of your mind? Why are you heading back in? Leave immediately!"
"I must!"
Hadley's frustration was clear as she stamped her foot.
Inside, her savings lay--every single penny she had painstakingly gathered for her baby's future needs: hospital bills, diapers, and baby formula.
"I need to retrieve it!"
Hadley moved to step further, but at that moment, a flaming beam from the ceiling crashed down in front of her.
"Ah!"
Hadley instinctively stepped back, narrowly avoiding injury.
The way forward was now obstructed by debris.
"Hadley! Escape now!"
"No!"
With a desperate shake of her head, she couldn't consider leaving. Breaking away, she made a reckless dash into the danger.
"Ah!"
A fierce blast of wind propelled the fire closer to her. Turning swiftly, Hadley felt the flames lick at her lower back, eliciting a sharp wince of pain.
"Hadley!"
Her neighbor reached out and yanked her to safety. "Are you hurt?"
"I'm fine." Hadley dismissed his concern with a shake of her head, even as coughs wracked her body, spurred by the engulfing smoke.
"Let's go, now!"
Clutching her arm, her neighbor pleaded, "You can't return inside!"
"But."
"Consider your child! The smoke alone could kill you both! If you go back, it might cost both your lives. Escape now!"
Led almost forcibly by her neighbor, Hadley managed to flee from the blaze.
At that moment, the flames had already seared Hadley's back, and she had failed to retrieve her savings. Powerless, she watched as her modest home was consumed by fire, crumbling to mere ashes.
What was she to do next?
"Ah!"
A sudden, intense pain struck her, causing Hadley to grasp her abdomen tightly.
"What's the matter? Are you okay?"
A crowd formed around Hadley.
"She's having her baby!"
"Someone call for an ambulance! We need to get her to a hospital now!".
"Ah!"
"Stay strong!"
In haste, Hadley was transported to the hospital and positioned on a delivery table. She withstood a harrowing and dangerous labor for more than ten hours.
Eventually, she delivered her child.
A nurse tenderly placed the newborn in her arms, and tears welled up in Hadley's eyes as she beamed with joy.
Here was her child.
Her own family.
She wasn't alone in the world any longer.
Then, overwhelmed by the outrage of the moment, she let her eyes fall shut and lost consciousness.
One afternoon, Hadley held her infant close, her gaze fixed silently downward.
A nurse, empathetic in her demeanor, was nearby, observing Hadley. She had come to discuss the outstanding hospital bills. Hadley had managed to pay a fraction, yet it was far from sufficient.
Silently, Hadley lowered her head, at a loss for words.
She felt utterly defeated, with nothing left to offer.
The nurse, moved by compassion and noting Hadley's youth, assumed she had been abandoned by an uncaring partner.
"Isn't there someone in your family, or perhaps friends, who could assist you? Call them," the nurse gently suggested, and then moved away, careful not to press too firmly.
Hadley's eyes began to brim with tears.
Family? Friends? She had no one.
Yet now she was a mother and could not ignore her obligations, as if she were irresponsible.
Rummaging through her bag, she retrieved her phone.
She called Eric.
The phone echoed unanswered rings.
At last, the call was picked up.
"Eric."
"Hello?"
It was Linda's voice that responded, smooth and slightly mocking.
"Is this Hadley? Do you need Eric? He's unavailable at the moment. But feel free to talk to me," Linda continued, her voice carrying a hint of provocation.
Could Linda truly offer assistance?
Didn't Linda harbor resentment toward her?
At this point, however, Hadley had no room for such concerns.
Options were non-existent for her.
With a swallowed pride, Hadley hesitated, and then said, "I was wondering if he might. possibly help with some financial support?"
She framed her request carefully, not as charity but as a loan.
"Please, I promise to repay it as soon as possible!"
"Understood," Linda responded, her voice carrying a hint of amusement. "I'll pass on the message. Bye."
"Thank."
Hadley's words of gratitude were cut short as the line went dead.
Clutching her phone, she felt a knot of anxiety tighten within her.
Could Eric possibly extend the financial help? Perhaps for Nyla's sake, or given their unresolved divorce. He would help, right?
Yet, as days passed by, no help arrived for Hadley.
Two days later, there she was, standing outside the hospital, cradling her baby and a bag.
Eviction had come due to unpaid bills.
She looked up, squinting against the harsh winter sun, tears rolling down her cheeks.
"Don't cry, Hadley."
Her lip quivered as she bit down hard.
"Why should you cry? You're a mother now. You've got a child to care for! No time for tears!"
Nevertheless, she found herself poor, her previous home lost to the fire, with no place left to go.
Two weeks had passed.
Hurrying down the sidewalk, Hadley held her baby close.
"Thief! Stop that woman!"
"Seize her!"
Footsteps thundered behind her.
Realization dawned on her; escape was impossible.
Tripping over, Hadley fell forward, twisting instinctively to protect her baby from the impact.
"Caught you!" exclaimed a store clerk, securing her before she could rise.
"Where are you headed in such a hurry? What did you steal? Hand it over!" demanded the clerk, forcefully pulling her bag and emptying its contents on the ground.
"Is this baby formula and diapers? You took these?"
"See this? She's carrying an infant!"
Hadley closed her eyes tightly, overcome with shame. She wished she could just vanish. She'd lost it all. Her dignity was shattered beyond repair.
Yet, as she clutched her baby tighter, she realized surrender wasn't an option. She had no right to give up.
Chapter 5 Take Her Back
Time had swiftly flown by; it had been three years.
At Srixby International Airport.
As she navigated her way through the terminal, Hadley's appearance was noticeably vibrant. Her gaze was alert, her eyes serene with an unwavering peacefulness that belied her age.
She soon noticed Sebastian Mitchell, the Flynn family's driver, holding up a sign bearing her name.
Approaching him with a reserved smile, Hadley said, "Sebastian."
Upon observing Hadley, a flicker of astonishment crossed Sebastian's features. "Are you really Mrs. Hadley Flynn?"
"That's me," Hadley replied, her smile softening.
The transformations in her over the years were not lost on her; she had slimmed down and even shot up a bit, thanks to a late growth spurt.
"You've undergone quite the transformation."
Sebastian's initial shock gave way to a warm grin. "You look even lovelier than you did before."
"Your flattery is generous, Sebastian."
"Let's head out."
Following their brief conversation, Sebastian escorted Hadley from the airport. "The vehicle's parked right up front. Mrs. Nyla Flynn has been eagerly anticipating your arrival and has mentioned you several times over the past few days."
Hadley proceeded to the car and settled inside.
As they drove away, it dawned on her that only Sebastian had come to meet her; Eric was notably absent.
Soon, they arrived at Tranquille Sanatorium.
Nyla was dealing with a serious heart issue and was due for an impending surgical procedure.
It was this grave health concern that necessitated Hadley's return after three years. The surgery carried significant risks, and Nyla was bracing for all possibilities.
Her wish, before undergoing surgery, was to reunite with Hadley.
Upon reaching Nyla's room, Nyla's anxious voice could be heard questioning, "Is she here yet? What's taking them so long?"
Knock, knock.
Advancing towards the door, Sebastian knocked lightly.
"Come in!"
He then moved aside, making way for Hadley. "Please, Mrs. Flynn, go ahead."
"Thank you."
Hadley gave a nod and gently pushed the door open.
"Hadley?"
Peering from her bed, Nyla tried to make out the figure at the doorway. The resemblance was there, but uncertainty lingered.
"Nyla."
With swift steps, Hadley approached.
"Is it truly you, Hadley?" Nyla extended her hand with a burst of joy. "Come closer, my dear. Let's have a proper look at you."
Submissively, Hadley grasped Nyla's hand, permitting a close inspection.
"Excellent, just excellent."
Emotion surged within Nyla; her eyes began to tear up and her voice wavered. "You've grown up into such a stunning young woman."
Three years ago, Hadley had departed with a youthful, rounded face. But now, her appearance had changed dramatically.
"Eric insisted on your independence, forbidding me from reaching out. It appears independence truly molds a person, doesn't it?"
At these words, Hadley halted, her smile broadening as she agreed. "Indeed, you're absolutely correct."
Nyla's pride grew as she observed Hadley's composure, softly patting her hand while exhaling a tender sigh.
"The years have truly transformed you, haven't they?"
Hadley hesitated, and then said in a hushed tone, "I was reckless back then. I'm sorry for the worries I caused you."
With a deep sigh, Nyla responded, "You were indeed a bit spoiled, and that's on me. My overindulgence might have led to those errors."
Hadley chose to remain silent, simply pressing her lips tightly together.
Running her fingers through Hadley's hair, Nyla sighed again. "Look at you now, so different. Please understand why I was so stern; it was all out of love. Going forward, be a good girl. You will always be my dearest granddaughter-in-law, understand?"
"I do."
Hadley nodded, her fingers clenched in her lap.
They continued their conversation for a bit longer until Nyla, clearly fatigued, indicated her need for rest.
"I'll let you go now. You've just arrived today. Have the driver take you back to rest."
"Okay."
Leaving the sanatorium behind, Sebastian drove Hadley back to Silver Villas, where she resided with Eric after they got married.
"Get some rest. I'm off."
"Much appreciated, Sebastian."
Hadley paused at the threshold of Silver Villas, inhaling deeply before she nudged the door open and crossed the threshold.
Her fingers shook slightly as she turned the handle.
Given a choice, she would never have returned to this house.
Choices, however, were luxury she couldn't afford now. Wealth was not in her cards.
She had only just come back to Srixby and was yet to secure her own place.
Consider staying in a hotel?
That was out of the question.
Her finances were so strained she would prefer sleeping outdoors rather than squandering money on hotel bills.
Residing in Silver Villas meant tolerating Eric, who obviously detested her.
Yet, fear was no longer part of her vocabulary.
She had faced more than enough judgment over the years. By now, she had learned to weather the worst of it.
Entering the foyer, she placed her suitcase to one side.
Hadley extracted her toiletries and a clean outfit to change into later, opting to keep the rest of her belongings in her suitcase.
Her stay was intended to be brief. Just enough days to secure a permanent spot of her own--no reason to fully unpack.
In the downstairs guest bathroom, Hadley quickly showered, rinsing off the travel grime and fatigue.
As evening fell, there was still no sign of Eric.
Glancing into the kitchen, she noted its apparent disuse. Ingredients were sparse. After rummaging around, she located an almost expired package of noodles and some eggs in the refrigerator.
She set a pot of water on the stove to boil and began to prepare her meal.
The dish was simple: noodles topped with a poached egg, devoid of any meat and vegetables.
Breathing in the aroma, Hadley murmured, "It smells good."
For her, even a humble meal like this was a luxury.
Just as she prepared to eat, a noise from the foyer caught her attention.
She stiffened. It was him--Eric had come home.
&10&