Fresh Novel Facebook Ads

She had given her all but was not appreciated. She realized that she was just a plaything for him, and left with the last bit of her dignity. Four years later, when she returned with her son, he begged for her forgiveness on his knees. ===== Inside the presidential suite, two breaths intertwined, reaching a peak, Katherine lay with her eyes closed, her face mostly buried in the soft pillow. Her breathing hadn't yet steadied when the large hand resting below her collarbone withdrew, brushing aside her hair. Her slender neck was exposed to the air, and the man's warm, moist k**ses landed, the room's atmosphere quickly heated up again. Suddenly, the phone on the bedside table vibrated with a buzzing sound. The man paused, extending his long arm to grab the phone. Katherine opened her eyes, still veiled with mist, unable to see clearly who was calling Vincent before the weight on her body suddenly lifted. Vincent took the phone and headed towards the bathroom. As the bathroom door closed, a gentle voice calling "Vincent" clearly reached Katherine's ears. Instantly, the d**ire in Katherine's eyes vanished completely, replaced by the image of colleagues whispering, discussing rumors that "Mr. Murphy is getting engaged." Her heart felt heavy and constricted, making each beat laborious. She had been Vincent's secretary for five years and his secret lov**er for three. Vincent rarely avoided her when taking calls. She had never seen him halt their int**acy for an unanswered call. Now, there was an exception. It was clear that the girl on the phone held a special place in Vincent's heart. And their absurd relationship... The sound of running water came from the bathroom. Katherine's eyes dimmed as she silently buried her unusual feelings. She could be an unnamed mi**ress, but she would never destroy someone else's marriage or become the homewrecker she despised. When Vincent emerged from the bathroom, he was wearing a bathrobe, water droplets still clinging to his hair. Katherine, seated on the sofa, was already dressed, checking Vincent's upcoming schedule on her laptop. Her hair cascaded over her shoulders, her collar slightly open, revealing a neck still tinged with pink and the su**estive m**ks partially hidden by her shirt collar. Vincent's gaze lingered on those m**ks, his Adam's a**le moving, as the d**ire he had just suppressed began to rise again. "Mr. Murphy, you have a dinner meeting with the partners at eight tonight," Katherine's cool voice pulled Vincent's thoughts back. The emotionless schedule announcement made it seem as if they were merely in a superior-subordinate relationship. Vincent detested Katherine's calm and rational demeanor, her ability to separate work from personal feelings so clearly after leaving the b*d. His brows furrowed, his slightly hoarse voice tinged with inexplicable irritation and coldness," Arrange a driver to take me back to Sacford." Katherine looked up, somewhat surprised," Now?" "Yes." Katherine opened her mouth, impulsively wanting to ask if it was because of the girl on the phone. But as the words reached her lips, she realized she had no standing to ask such a question. In Vincent's eyes, she was merely a b*d p**tner who could be dismissed with money. Lost in thought, the man had already approached her. She quickly lowered her gaze, returning her focus to the computer screen," Mr. Murphy, this collaboration is very important for the company." As soon as she finished speaking, her hair was grabbed, forcing her to look up. Simultaneously, her knees were rudely pushed apart by the man's leg. A dominating presence enveloped Katherine. She felt both ashamed and angry, unable to understand why Vincent was treating her this way. In the past, Vincent had been tender and patient with her. But starting about six months ago, Vincent had become moody and erratic, often h**iliating her in various ways. A few water droplets fell from the man's hair onto her slender neck, trickling into the subtle, hidden contours. Katherine shivered from the cold, instinctively tightening her trembling legs. This reaction only fueled Vincent's fire. Though he intended to punish her verbally, he couldn't resist pulling her up and forcefully embracing her. Katherine's arm hurt from being pulled, but her attention quickly shifted to Vincent's deep k**s. In matters of int**acy, she and Vincent were very compatible. She knew Vincent's preferences, and Vincent equally knew her se**itive s**ts. The man s**ked on her neck, provoking her to tilt her head, seeking more. At that moment, the man abruptly pushed her away. Chapter 2 Being forced to dr**k and taken to a room Katherine slumped onto the plush sofa, her gaze meeting the man's slightly mocking eyes. "This collaboration is your responsibility," he said, pausing before adding," If you screw this up, you're done here!" With that, Vincent turned away, shedding his bathrobe and getting dressed. He didn't glance at Katherine again until he left the presidential suite. At eight in the evening, Katherine, accompanied by another male assistant, attended the banquet as planned. "Miss Gill, since Mr. Murphy isn't here, shouldn't someone dr**k on his behalf?" Before she could sit down, a glass of w**e was placed in front of Katherine. The person across from her had his legs crossed, his intention to make things difficult almost written on his face. Vincent had missed the appointment first, and to secure the collaboration, Katherine had no choice but to pick up the glass. The entire glass of strong li**or slid down her throat into her stomach. "Hahaha, Miss Gill can really hold her li**or!" The man praised, standing up to pour a second glass and handing it to Katherine. "I've heard that Mr. Murphy's assistant, Miss Gill, is a real beauty. Today, I finally get to see it for myself!" The man grinned, his face full of wrinkles, his su**estive look scanning her up and down. Ignoring his blatant stare, Katherine took the glass from his hand, suppressing her disgust. "Mr. Alfred, you're too kind." With that, she tilted her head back and downed the drink in one go. "Hahaha, I like your style, Miss Gill! Please, have a seat!" The man supported Katherine's lower back, guiding her to sit down. He pulled a chair close to hers and draped his arm over the back of her chair. Under the table, his shoe-clad foot began to probe Katherine's calf. Katherine maintained a polite smile, subtly moving her leg away while pouring w**e for the man. The male assistant who accompanied Katherine was squeezed into a corner, his face full of concern. After several rounds of dr**ks, the people in the private room were somewhat into**cated. Katherine was slightly ti**y but remained clear-headed. She spoke up," Mr. Alfred, shall we sign the contract first?" "Oh dear!" The man sl**ped his forehead, his breath reeking of al**hol. "Miss Gill, my mind is a mess; I left the contract in my room!" He sat up straight, moving his hand from the back of Katherine's chair to her shoulder, lightly patting it. "How about this, you accompany me to get it?" The room fell silent instantly. The men watched Katherine with ill intentions, waiting for her response. Katherine paused briefly, still smiling," Alright." As the man guided Katherine and left the room, it burst into chatter. "I told you, she's not just Mr. Murphy's secretary. Who knows how many times she's been sent out by him?" "But she really is beautiful, and her figure seems quite impressive." "Hey, how long do you think Mr. Alfred will take? Hehehe~"' The male assistant couldn't bear it any longer. He snatched his phone, dialing frantically as he rushed out. After three attempts, the call finally connected. "Hello? Mr. Murphy, there's trouble! Katherine has been taken upstairs by Mr. Alfred from Evergreen Group!" The assistant didn't notice the brief pause in breathing on the other end of the line and quickly recounted how Katherine was forced to dr**k and ha**ssed during the dinner. "Hello? Hello? Mr. Murphy, are you still listening? What should I do? Should I call the police?" Silence from the other end. After several seconds, Vincent's voice came through, devoid of emotion," No, don't jeopardize the deal." The call ended. Chapter 3 Resignation Report The male assistant stared in shock at the phone screen after the call was abruptly disconnected. He hesitated for a few seconds, then quickly sprinted away. He didn't know the room number of Alfred from the Evergreen Group, but Katherine had always been kind to him, and he couldn't just stand by and watch her be bullied. Time seemed to stretch endlessly until the sudden wail of an ambulance siren pierced the air outside the hotel. The male assistant was still at the front desk, trying to find the room number. As he watched the medical staff rush past with a stretcher, his heart skipped a beat with a sense of dread, prompting him to quickly follow them. The elevator stopped on the twenty-third floor. The male assistant was the first to dash out, relieved to see Katherine standing in the hallway, her clothes neat and tidy. He breathed a sigh of relief. The medical staff hurried past him towards Katherine. She pointed towards the room and said something to them, prompting them to rush inside. It wasn't long before Alfred was carried out, wearing a bathrobe, clutching his throat, struggling to breathe, his face was severely swollen. As the medical staff hurriedly left with him, the male assistant stood in front of Katherine, wide-eyed, and asked," Katherine, what happened?" Katherine replied," He had a severe allergic reaction to mangoes." "Allergy? Didn't he know he was allergic?" Katherine lowered her gaze, masking the brief chill in her eyes, and brushed off the remaining mango powder from her fingers, smiling without answering. The male assistant asked again," What about the contract? Did you get it?" Katherine raised the document bag in her hand. The contract was already signed. The next day, after ordering a bouquet of flowers to be sent to the hospital via her phone, Katherine and Bryson, the male assistant, boarded the car back to Sacford. "Katherine, last night was terrifying! After you left, I quickly called Mr. Murphy... " Bryson stopped mid-sentence, suddenly realizing he had let something slip. He quickly glanced at Katherine's expression. As expected, her smile had become somewhat stiff. So he knew? The bitterness overwhelmed her, spreading through her body, making her fingertips tingle with discomfort. The al**hol she drank last night began to take its toll, churning her stomach with waves of pain. Seeing Katherine's face turn pale, Bryson realized he had misspoken and quickly turned his head to feign sl**p. Although he had only been in the job for less than six months, he had heard rumors about Katherine and Vincent's relationship. Not long after Bryson pretended to sl**p, he heard the sound of keyboard typing beside him. Katherine was writing her resignation letter. As her fingers tapped the keys, her thoughts drifted away. Five years ago, she had just become Vincent's personal secretary. Vincent took her to a dinner meeting, but midway through, he had to leave unexpectedly. Just like last night, the partners at the table began to make advances, even attempting to take her, half-dr**k, back to their room. Vincent suddenly appeared and swiftly subdued the man, carrying her away. At that time, her brother's surgery had just failed, and overwhelmed by emotions, she clung desperately to Vincent's suit collar and cried in his arms. She remembered Vincent being very patient with her then, comforting her by saying," It's okay now, don't be afraid, this won't happen again." That night marked the beginning of their absurd relationship, publicly as boss and subordinate, privately as lovers. As she typed the final period, Katherine couldn't distinguish whether the pain was from her stomach or elsewhere; all she knew was that she felt unwell everywhere. Before returning to the company, she forced herself to visit the pharmacy downstairs to buy painkillers. "Take one at a time, and avoid al**hol after taking the medicine. Oh, and please avoid taking it if you're pr**nant," the pharmacy clerk kindly reminded Katherine. Pr**nant? Katherine's heart skipped a beat as she suddenly realized her period was three days overdue. Her grip on the painkiller box tightened slightly," Could you also give me a pr**nancy test, please?" Chapter 4 His fiancée turned out to be her! Katherine bought the medicine and headed upstairs. As the elevator doors opened, she ran into a few female colleagues from the secretary department whispering among themselves. Upon seeing her, they immediately fell silent, but their eyes lingered on her with undisguised mockery. Katherine's expression remained unchanged as she stepped out of the elevator in her high heels. She was used to it; nearly half of the secretary department didn't respect her. She was known for her rigorous work ethic, but her relationship with Vincent was the subject of much speculation. The Murphy family was one of the most influential families in Browood, with significant standing in both politics and the military. Many women wanted to get involved with Vincent because of this connection. Vincent himself had established his own business empire in Sacford, and with his handsome and youthful appearance, many hoped to advance from secretary to romantic partner, as she had done. Yet, before the elevator doors closed, the conversation behind her made Katherine grip her handbag with a tense resolve. "Not even officially engaged, and she's already rushing to the company. She must have heard the rumors and come to catch the mi**ress!" "Oh, how can you call her a mi**ress? She's been with Mr. Murphy for five years, and there was no Miss Todd back then." "Ha, five years and what does it matter? In Mr. Murphy's eyes, she's just a fleeting distraction. Just wait and see, now that Miss Todd is here, Mr. Murphy won't even glance at her. Let's see if she dares to act like the boss's wife anymore "Exactly, I heard Mr. Murphy rushed back from Helster last night and personally went to the airport to pick up Miss Todd." The elevator doors closed, taking those voices down with them. Katherine took a deep breath, suppressing the tightness in her ch**t, and continued towards the secretary department. The secretary department was separated from Vincent's office by just one wall, and walking from the elevator required passing through an open office area. Katherine endured a gauntlet of scrutinizing looks along the way. Almost everyone paused their work to look at her with pity, gossip, and schadenfreude. Katherine pretended not to notice. Returning to her desk, she placed her handbag, which contained painkillers and a pr**nancy test, down. Her first task was to ask Bryson, the male assistant, if he had delivered the contract to Vincent. Bryson said, "Katherine, Mr. Murphy seems to be having a good time chatting with someone, so... maybe I should deliver it now?" Katherine replied, "It's fine, give it to me. I'll go." She planned to deliver her resignation letter along with it, ending this absurd relationship before she became a complete joke. After printing the resignation letter, she walked to the door of the CEO's office. Just as she raised her hand to knock, she heard Vincent and a girl's laughter from inside. Vincent's laughter was hearty, and just hearing it, Katherine could picture his smiling face. Vincent hadn't laughed so happily in front of her for a long time. Perhaps their relationship had long shown signs of ending, and the appearance of this 'Miss Todd' was just a catalyst. Katherine's raised hand trembled slightly. She bit the inside of her lower lip and took a deep breath to calm herself. Looking at the resignation letter in the folder, she imagined Vincent's angry face and swapped the positions of the folder and the resignation letter. She knocked on the door. The laughter inside stopped. After a moment of silence, Vincent's voice, deliberately restrained and somewhat cold, said, "Come in." Katherine pushed the door open. She saw Vincent's long legs casually resting on the floor, his posture relaxed as he leaned against the desk, his broad back facing the door. His figure blocked her view, and Katherine could only see a girl with chestnut curls sitting in his office chair. She couldn't see the girl's face. As she walked closer, she saw the girl's eyes smiling, filled with admiration for Vincent. The girl's smile was bright, like the warm sun of spring. But when Katherine saw the girl's face clearly, it was as if she had fallen into an icy pit, her whole body turning cold. It was her! How could it be her? ...... Katherine spent five years at Vincent's side-model secretary by day, compliant lover by night. When she heard of his arranged marriage, she stifled her pain and planned a quiet exit. That resolve cracked the moment she met his fiancée, rage replaced obedience; Katherine resolved to claim Vincent. What happens next? 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) &5&

The supposedly unwanted illegitimate daughter won the favor of a powerful tycoon. Everyone waited for her downfall. But when her true identities came to light, the elite circle was shocked. She was not only a master physician, top hacker, and elite perfumer but also the rightful heiress of a wealthy family. Countless people, stunned, rushed to admire her. ===== Beyond the city limits of Wrille, a thunderous splash erupted as something plunged into the river, breaking the spell of midnight quiet. Kathryn Palmer lingered beside the bank, and a wave of cold water hit her without warning. A subtle metallic scent crept through the night air. Her instincts pricked up--she had come across this scent before. That was the unmistakable scent of bl**d. Someone had plunged into the river, and whoever it was, they were hurt. Before long, muffled voices broke the darkness, drifting her way. "Keep looking!" "We can't afford to miss a single clue!" "Don't let him make it out alive!" A rush of hurried footsteps approached. Kathryn shot upright, meaning to leave, but a hand clamped around her ankle in a plea for help. "Please... anything you want, just help me..." The stranger's voice barely rose above a whisper. His grip slackened as he slipped from consciousness. In her mind, Kathryn decided that fate never placed a healer in someone's path by accident. If this stranger had landed at her feet, then saving him must be her task. Reaching into her bag, she pulled out a small vial, tipped a p*ll into her palm, and carefully slipped it between his lips. Every second, the footsteps thundered nearer. Glimmers of torchlight cut through the darkness. Holding her breath, she let herself sink into the river's embrace, pulling the stranger along. Not long after, men dressed in black prowled along the shore, eyes sharp and searching. But the surface rippled softly, betraying nothing. Finding nothing, the men scattered, empty-handed. Once the riverbank was quiet again, Kathryn dragged the stranger out of the water and back onto solid ground. Ice-cold water numbed her skin as she fought the cold, shivering and sneezing but pushing onward. A quick check told her the man's pulse was steady--he was still hanging on. She didn't pause for even a breath before starting CPR. Moments seemed to slip away until, with a sudden jolt, the man convulsed, coughing up great gulps of water. A gentle hand hovered over his nose, and when Kathryn felt the faintest breath, relief rushed out of her lungs. As the mist drifted off, silver moonlight poured over the scene. The stranger's face became clear: strikingly handsome, almost too perfect. Movement caught her attention. The stranger shifted again. His eyelids fluttered open. He saw a girl crouching beside him. The moonlight revealed a black crescent t**too on her collarbone. With what little strength remained, Evan Knight struggled to look up, wishing for a better view of the girl's face. But fatigue overwhelmed him. Eyes slipping shut, he fell unconscious once more. Kathryn showed no sign of panic. Another p*ll found its way between his lips. Moonbeams slid across his drenched form as she checked for wounds. Bl**d pooled at his waist--a deep gash, but not one meant to k*ll. Fainting was simply his body's way of coping with the loss. She r**ped open the soaked shirt, cleaned the wound, and sprinkled powder to stem the bl**ding. A smirk tugged at her lips when she finished. She couldn't resist reaching out to pinch his impossibly handsome cheek. "Two of my rarest p*lls, just for you. Hope you're worth the trouble." Certain that he'd pull through, Kathryn gathered her things and turned to go. But something stopped her--his earlier words echoed in her mind. Her gaze wandered back to him, pausing on the pendant draped across his ch*st. Moonlight set the crimson gemstone ablaze. The piece was unique--impossible to forget. "You said anything I want. I couldn't care less about promises. But I do enjoy unusual little treasures." Leaning in, she closed her hand around the pendant. "You owe me your life. I'm just collecting what's fair. Now we're even." Chapter 2 One Condition In the morning, Kathryn was already stepping out of a cab in downtown Wrille. She made her way straight into the Summit Hotel and checked in without lingering. Once inside the modern, fully furnished suite, she slipped out of her coat and flung it onto a nearby chair. She headed straight for the tall window that stretched from floor to ceiling. The view beyond was everything she'd been away from--soaring buildings, packed lanes, the steady chaos of the city. She hadn't seen any of it since the day her world shattered. She was only six when her mother was m**dered, and she got thrown into the mountains. Her own family had done that to her. Had it not been for the kindhearted couple who stumbled across her, she wouldn't have lasted a week. The wilderness would've swallowed her whole, leaving nothing behind. But she was still here. And she wasn't just back to visit. She'd returned to settle the score and take back what had always been hers. A jolt of awareness pulled her back from her spiraling thoughts. She reached into her pocket and pulled out the pendant she'd taken from the injured man. She raised it, letting the sunlight catch its edges. Now that it was clean, the gemstone sparkled with a kind of arrogant brilliance--cold, clear, and obviously worth a fortune. There was something about the way it rested in her palm that made it magnetic. Kathryn's fingers refused to let it go. She grabbed a thin black cord, slid the gem through, and looped it around her neck. Stepping in front of the mirror, she gave herself a quick once-over. It didn't look half bad. In fact, it suited her. She decided to keep it on. After tucking the pendant beneath her shirt, she picked up her phone. With practiced ease, she masked her IP address before opening her news app. The homepage lit up with updates, but one headline practically jumped out at her. "Palmer Heiress Anna Palmer in Critical Condition--Family Offering Massive Rewards for Bl**d Donors." That got Kathryn's attention. She tapped the article without a second thought. According to the report, Anna had been in a serious car crash. She'd lost a lot of bl**d, and the hospital was struggling to find Rh-negative bl**d donors to save her. The Palmers had thrown money at the problem, but despite the massive reward, almost no one had shown up to donate. Kathryn's lips curved into a smirk she didn't bother hiding. Talk about the stars aligning. She had braced herself for a long, uphill battle just to sneak her way back into the Palmer family's circle. Instead, the perfect opening had landed right at her feet. With the article still fresh in her mind, she shut off the app, leaned against the couch cushions, and closed her eyes to collect her thoughts. That bl**d type the doctors were scrambling for? It just happened to match hers. If she wanted to secure her footing in Wrille, she needed a title--one that couldn't be erased or dismissed. With her decision firmly in place, she slipped into her coat and stepped out without hesitation. This wasn't just a return. She was going to make the Palmers crawl. They'd have no choice but to beg her to return--not in private, but in front of the entire world--as the rightful heiress to everything they tried to steal. Outside Wrille General Hospital, Rhett Palmer had just gotten out of his car when a figure stepped into his path. He stopped cold. And there she was. The color drained from his face the moment their eyes met. His whole body stiffened like he'd just walked into a ghost. "You..." he said, barely getting the word out. Kathryn held his gaze with a quiet confidence, her smile soft but deliberate. "What should I call you? Mr. Palmer... or would 'Dad' be more fitting?" The question hit Rhett like a punch to the gut. He opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came. Kathryn didn't flinch. Didn't take a step back. She let him take in every inch of her face. The longer he looked, the harder it was to deny what stood before him--a mirror of her mother. If there was even a sliver of remorse buried inside him, now was the moment for it to surface. Neither of them moved. The air between them stayed thick with the weight of recognition. When Rhett finally found his voice, it came out in a whisper. "Is it really you... Kathryn?" Not a flicker crossed Kathryn's face. "Do you want to run a DNA test, or are you going to trust your instincts, Dad?" Rhett's hands trembled. "There's no need. You've got your mother's face... just like when she was your age." That pulled a short, bitter laugh from Kathryn's throat. He had the nerve to bring up her mother now? After all these years? Had he not abandoned them for wealth and status, her mother wouldn't have died the way she did. And now he had the nerve to bring up the very woman he left behind without a second thought? "I'm Rh-negative," she said, her voice clipped and cold. Then she turned on her heel and strode into the hospital without waiting for a response. Rhett hesitated for a moment, stunned by the emotional whiplash. Then he snapped into motion and followed her. They stopped just outside the ICU. Inside, surrounded by wires and machines, a girl lay motionless on the bed. Her skin was pale, her body limp. She was barely clinging to life. Kathryn's voice cut through the quiet. "I'll donate. But only on one condition." She didn't look at Rhett. Her eyes were locked on the girl inside the room. Then a slow, unreadable smile touched her lips. "You'll restore my status as part of the Palmer family. And you'll make it official. I want the entire world to know." Rhett's jaw tightened, a shadow falling over his face. "Kathryn... if you're just looking for a home, I can buy you a place of your own. But coming back to be a member of the Palmer family... that's complicated." He didn't have to spell it out. Kathryn already knew. Even if he bent, the rest of the Palmer family never would. "If your family refuses to meet my condition, then Anna Palmer can face death on her own," said Kathryn as she turned and walked away. Panic overtook Rhett. He lunged forward and caught her by the arm. "Wait--please. Don't go, Kathryn. I'll speak to them. I swear I will." Chapter 3 A Curse Eventually, the Palmer family made the decision to let Kathryn come back. Not long after, Kathryn caught wind of the backlash--the choice had sparked a serious confrontation between Rhett and his current wife, Rebecca Palmer. Later that same day, Kathryn completed her initial bl**d donation for Anna. Because Anna had lost a dangerous amount of bl**d, several more transfusions were scheduled for the upcoming days. To ensure convenience and comfort, the hospital arranged for Kathryn to stay in one of their VIP suites. Out of nowhere, her phone vibrated. She reached for it and glanced at the screen. A message from her friend, Lindsay Simpson, had just arrived. "The Knight family's heir, Evan Knight, is searching the entire city. He's looking for a woman, around twenty, with medical knowledge and a black crescent tattoo on her collarbone." With a light-hearted tone, Kathryn replied, "That's odd. Sounds like me." Lindsay's response came almost instantly. "I'm not kidding! What if he's actually looking for you?" "That's impossible. I've never even met the guy." "Are you absolutely certain you didn't tick him off somehow? Try to remember." Kathryn rolled her eyes at the screen, amused and annoyed by Lindsay's imagination. "I haven't even been back in Wrille for long. It's probably just some weird coincidence. Don't stress," Kathryn responded. Lindsay didn't send anything after that. Their exchange ended without further discussion. Still feeling a strange sense of unease, Kathryn opened her internet browser and ran a quick search. As soon as she typed in Evan's name, the screen showed a single, bold line: "Evan Knight, twenty-eight years old." That was all the information provided. Kathryn sat staring at the screen, her expression unreadable. Why so much secrecy? Driven by curiosity, she retrieved her tablet from her suitcase, inserted a USB stick, and began typing commands rapidly as lines of code streamed across the screen. Before long, the cascading lines of code vanished, replaced by a stark, black-and-white messaging interface. "Hey, help me look into someone." "Who is it?" Without delay, Kathryn replied, "Evan Knight." "Understood. Give me three days." Receiving that confirmation, Kathryn closed the window and powered off her tablet. At the same moment, Lakeside Villa, nestled in one of Wrille's most elite neighborhoods, shone brightly from every corner. "Any updates?" Evan stood tall by the large bedroom window. Despite the bandages and bruises, his commanding presence had not dulled in the slightest. A ci**rette rested loosely between his fingers, its tip flickering softly in the dim light. Standing nearby, Kayce Wilson kept his gaze lowered. "Nothing so far, sir." Evan's eyes narrowed, and he pressed the ci**rette into the ashtray before speaking with quiet authority. "Keep looking." "Understood." Kayce reached into the inside pocket of his coat and produced a gold-stamped envelope, offering it with both hands. "There's something else you should see." Evan's gaze shifted to the envelope, and a shadow of confusion crossed his face. "Who sent it?" "It's from the Palmer family. They're hosting a banquet to welcome Rhett's illegitimate daughter back home, and Mr. Andrew Palmer specifically asked for your presence." "Asked, or demanded?" Evan asked, one corner of his mouth lifting in a cold, amused smile. Kayce paused briefly before asking, "Would you like me to send a refusal?" These sorts of invitations were usually tossed aside without a second thought. If Andrew, the head of the Palmer family, hadn't personally insisted, Kayce wouldn't have gone to the trouble of handing over the invitation face-to-face. Evan reached for the envelope, his gaze darkening with curiosity. Whoever this illegitimate daughter was, she must have made quite the impression. For the Palmer family to pull this level of effort, she had to be something else. He abruptly changed his mind. "No. Tell Andrew... I'll attend." On the day of the banquet, the skies were clear, with sunlight stretching across the city. Kathryn left the hospital and steered her car toward the mountainous outskirts. The path was steep and twisted, yet she drove with the confidence of someone who knew every bend. Eventually, she arrived at a secluded, unnamed grave--her mother's resting place. No marker stood there, only a lumpy patch of earth hidden beneath layers of untamed weeds. Without the countless visits she'd made over the years, even she might have missed it. Kathryn lowered herself onto the ground and began pulling the grass away with care. Each motion was slow and deliberate, as though she feared disturbing the silence of the grave. After some time, she bowed deeply and rested her forehead against the chilled soil. She remained completely motionless. It wouldn't be long now. Her mother was finally close to receiving the justice she had been denied. Eventually, Kathryn rose to her feet and turned away, not once glancing back. The banquet was scheduled for later in the day. Once back at her hotel, she changed into a formal dress and called in a makeup artist to handle her appearance. By the time the preparations were complete, the sky had already begun to darken. She was slightly behind schedule. Her phone screen was filled with missed calls--over twenty from Rhett. Still, Kathryn moved at her own pace. After heading downstairs to retrieve something, she made final arrangements and got ready to leave. Meanwhile, at the Palmer family's estate, the guests waited expectantly for the mysterious "long-lost daughter" to finally show. Minutes dragged by, yet the person of honor remained absent. The sound of hushed voices began to stir throughout the venue. Rebecca, more displeased than anyone else, wore her frustration openly. She never did bother concealing how she felt and said, "The second I saw the date, I knew she had bad intentions. Of all days, she went and picked her mother's death anniversary. She's doing this to stir the pot, no question about it!" Her face twisted into a scowl, and her tone cut like glass. "Isn't it suspicious? Right after Anna's car crash, the whole city ran dry of Rh-negative bl**d. And just like that, she showed up? That girl's a curse. As long as she's here, peace won't stand a chance in this house." Each word landed with biting precision. Rhett sat silent, his head lowered. A vein throbbed visibly at his temple. At that moment, a disturbance broke out at the entrance. Chapter 4 Always Eager To See What The Family Offers All eyes swiveled toward the entrance as soon as the doors swung open. Kathryn appeared, draped in a sleek black dress that hugged her figure, its surface catching the light with tiny sparkling crystals. Her hair was gathered high in a graceful twist, a few wisps trailing artfully around her face. She exuded confidence and radiance, a presence impossible to ignore--unyielding and unforgettable. The moment Rhett spotted her, relief washed over his features. "Kathryn, you're here at last." Rebecca's demeanor shifted instantly, her face frosting over with cold contempt. There was no mistaking it--Kathryn looked just like her mother. Both of them, mother and daughter, were born t**ptresses. Rebecca's glare sliced through the air, brimming with old hatred she could barely contain. Why didn't fate take her too, all those years ago? But it wasn't just Rebecca staring daggers. Kathryn returned her gaze, silent but deadly, eyes filled with a burning promise of retribution. If she had the chance, she'd settle the score right here and now. Rhett, clearly feeling the rising tension, cleared his throat and tried to smooth things over. "Kathryn, come meet my wife. Rebecca, this is Kathryn..." Kathryn ignored Rebecca entirely, denying her even a passing glance. To her, Rebecca was nothing but the woman who broke up her parents' marriage and drove her mother to her grave. Kathryn let her eyes drift over the hall, taking in every detail. There were only a handful of Palmer family members and some staff. Not a single figure from the city's upper crust had shown. It was exactly as she'd anticipated. The Palmers' agreement to throw this banquet had come far too easily. Kathryn could see through the ploy--a thinly veiled attempt to put her in her place. After all, they had made it public that Kathryn was Rhett's long lost illegitimate daughter, returning to claim her name. No matter how influential the Palmer name might be, no one with a true reputation to uphold would be willing to attend a party for an illegitimate daughter. Still, Kathryn knew how to play the game just as well. With a quiet, mocking laugh, she snapped her fingers and said over her shoulder, "Bring them in." A moment later, several attendants marched in, each bearing massive arrangements of stark white funeral lilies. They lined the lilies up in two crisp rows, their ghostly blooms glowing harshly beneath the chandeliers. All the color drained from Rhett's face. Rebecca's features twisted, anger contorting her beauty into something feral. Every fiber in her body screamed to wipe the smug satisfaction off Kathryn's face. But Kathryn only basked in the tension, a lazy, satisfied smile curving her lips as she surveyed the shocked room. "A small present for the occasion. I hope it sets the right mood." Rebecca retorted, "Kathryn Palmer, you have gone too far!" Rhett scrambled to intervene, managing a shaky grin. "We also prepared something for you, Kathryn. Why not take a look at your welcome gift?" Kathryn's smile sharpened, almost daring him. "Naturally. I'm always eager to see what the family offers." Rhett wasted no time ushering Kathryn out of the hall. The second they were gone, Andrew and Martha Palmer, Rhett's parents, barked orders at the staff to clear out every last lily. Rebecca was still seething, her usually flawless features contorted with fury. Julie Palmer, Rhett's sister, tried to soothe her sister-in-law. "Don't give her the satisfaction. All she wanted was to provoke us, but we made sure she wouldn't have the last laugh." Julie glanced over at her parents, her expression turning sly. "Dad, Mom, you two handled this masterfully. Limiting the invitations to only a select few? Now those who didn't get invited are convinced Kathryn snubbed them on purpose. And the few who did get invited--all those big names--will feel insulted and stay far away." She paused, the beginnings of a frown tugging at her lips. "But, Dad, why insist on inviting the Knight family's heir?" Andrew let out a bitter chuckle. "Evan isn't someone to underestimate. Once he realizes I burned a precious favor just to bring him here because of Kathryn, he'll hold a grudge. He's got a long memory and a nasty temper. With the way he operates, Kathryn will never get a foothold in Wrille." Julie's lips curled into a sneer. "Let's see how long she can stay so arrogant." ...... What happens next? 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) &5&

After being cruelly cast aside, she returned as the long-lost daughter of a billionaire. Her ruthless ex-husband demanded she donate bone marrow to save the son she'd never met. Risking reopening old wounds, she saved the boy. But after it was done, the man wanted to remarry. ===== My body ached in ways I couldn't describe, and in places I couldn't name. My skin was sticky with perspiration and my muscles were trembling from hours in labor. 'I'm a mother now,' I thought, though my heart still hurt as I lay in the hospital bed, gazing at what could possibly be my greatest fulfillment as a woman. My heart filled with joy and pride as I watched them-my beautiful boy and girl swaddled beside me. My newborn twins. But the feeling was almost completely eclipsed by a gnawing sense of unease-one I had become all too acquainted with over the years. Despite the air conditioner, the sterile room still felt... stifling. But the coldest presence loomed over me with his broad shoulders and cruelly handsome, emotionless face. My husband. He just stood there, regarding me as if I were something to be discarded. Maybe I was. I mean, I had just delivered our babies, our future, and he couldn't even offer a smile. No words of comfort. I held my breath, waiting for something-anything-to break the silence, but what came next was the last thing I expected. When he moved, it wasn't to cradle our children or to brush a tender hand against my hair. Instead, he wordlessly tossed a stack of papers onto my lap. "Sign them." He ordered, cold and detached. His words took a moment to register. I blinked- my eyes still hazy from the exhaustion of pushing two little humans out of me. Sign what? I looked down at the papers, then back at him in confusion. "I'm sorry, what-" "The divorce papers," he cut in harshly, as though it should've been obvious. My heart dropped - my stomach twisting painfully. What? "Here," His voice was clipped as he tossed me a pen. His movements were so impatient; one would think all this was an inconvenience to him and not me-who'd just spent the last few hours in labor. "What-" My breath caught in my throat as I stared at the papers again in disbelief. What was going on? I had literally just given birth to his children. He couldn't be serious. A divorce? "I- I don't understand, I just gave birth-" My voice cracked. "And you're damn lucky those kids are even mine!" His tone oozed with venom. "I had the doctors run a DNA test the minute they were born." My mouth fell open. "Had the results shown otherwise... believe me when I say I'd have made you and your lover's life miserable." I reeled back in shock-the feeling so acute, it was dizzying. He'd done what? My what? The accusation hit me like a physical blow. My brain scrambled to make sense of the words as I struggled to breathe-my pulse thundering in my ears. "Alex, what..." I choked out. "What lover?" Did he think I'd cheated on him? After I'd spent, practically every second showing him how much he meant to me? "What are you talking about?" "You're not fooling anyone, Raina." He spat, stepping closer. "Now, sign them." Tears pricked my eyes. "Is this some kind of joke?" It had to be! "I don't know what-" "Oh, spare us the theatrics, Raina! We all know what's been going on." Vanessa, his sister, snarled from a corner of the room, stepping forward-I hadn't even noticed her. "So do us a favor and stop...f**king...pretending!" My mind raced. This wasn't happening. No, it really couldn't be happening. Was I in a coma and living my worst nightmare? "I'm not-" I started, but she flung a pile of photographs at me-some landing haphazardly on the b*d, some fluttering to the floor. Wincing, I pushed myself into a sitting position and reached for one with trembling hands. Seeing was difficult through the blur of tears. My breathing was labored, coming out rapid and shallow. "A-Alexander, listen-" "Enough!" He barked furiously, before I'd even had a chance to see the glossy images. "Stop wasting my time and sign the damn papers, you wh**e!" A wh**e? Me-his wife? Where was this from? What was happening? His words stung-like a needle lodging itself painfully in my ch*st. Oh God, was he being serious then, about... ending this? Ending us? Panic clawed at the insides of my throat as I began hyperventilating-my body shaking uncontrollably as the room began to spin. I clenched the sheets, gasping for air-the heart monitor beeping erratically beside me. The warning sound of the machine competed with the sharp ringing in my ears and the voice that boomed from the doorway. "Step back!" A man in scrubs rushed to my side, and a female nurse ushered Alexander and his sister away. Through my tears, I searched Alexander's face for some flicker of emotion. However little. Compassion. Concern. Love. There was none. All I found was the coldness in his hard features. 'Had I loved the wrong man?' The thought shattered me. For years, I'd ignored the signs. His family had hated me from the onset, believing I wasn't good enough for him and undeserving of their prestige. I'd endured their ins*lts and constant belittling. Several times, his mother had offered me money to disappear before the wedding and I'd declined-my love for him has been just that: Love. Pure and undiluted. I didn't want money. At every juncture that they'd maligned me and I'd told Alexander, he'd just shrugged. "That's just the way they are, Raina. They'll come around." But they never did. And he never defended me. Not when his sister called me a g*ld-d**ger during our engagement. Not when his father suggested he annul the marriage after our first year. I stood by him, loving him more despite his family's contempt, their bribes, and verbal ab*se, making excuses all the way for his silence. But now, he was completely gone. Or perhaps, he'd never been mine at all. I'd been forcing myself on him the whole time. It was painfully clear in that moment how he'd really never loved me. Not the way I'd loved him, anyway. 'What a f**l I've been,' I thought, as the darkness claimed me. ~~~~~ I woke up to the same nightmare. The beeping of the heart monitor was slower now-more controlled. I blinked slowly, my gaze settling on Vanessa in the far corner of the room-She looked bored. And my... Alex- Alexander, standing once again at the foot of my bed. Watching. Waiting. Vanessa, always the Viper, was the first to speak, "Oh good, you're up," She sneered, her eyes gleaming with malice as she pushed away from the wall. "Now, stop delaying and sign the papers. I have places to be." My eyes stung. No... it couldn't be real. It couldn't be real. I had to be dreaming. A tear dropped from my eye and her snarling face became clearer. Why was she even here? She was sure to make matters worse. "Alex," I whispered, turning to him instead. "Please, can we talk alone? I... This is all a misunderstanding, I'm sure." Desperation choked my words. "Just hear me out." "No." He glanced at his watch, dismissive. "There's no need. I know all I need to know. We'll talk when our lawyers are involved, so you can save your lies for then." Oh God. What had happened? In the time between my labor and now... What had changed? My throat constricted as tears welled up in my eyes, my heart shattering into more pieces. "Please, Alex... You know me. You know I wouldn't do any of this. I've always loved you-only you. I've never been unfaithful." But he didn't care. He didn't even look at me as he spoke. "Just sign the papers. We're done." God. He wouldn't even give me an audience after everything? "Alex..." I choked out, my lips trembling, begging him with my eyes to hear me out. But he just stared hard at me, unflinching, heartless and immovable. "Please don't make me repeat myself." He ground out, looking as though he was restraining himself from spitting on me. Tears blurred my vision as I picked up the pen with hands that shook so badly, I could barely scrawl my name-but I did. What choice did I have? As I finished, I looked over at my newborn twins, finding solace in the fact that I would still have them, at least. But then in a cruel twist of fate, his mother, whom I had not seen because she'd been right beside me, behind the machines, stepped forward and gestured to my babies, "Take him and let's leave." My head snapped up in alarm. What?" "Read the papers." Alexander drawled coldly. "You signed away your parental rights to my son." My bl**d ran cold. "Alex, no..." I couldn't breathe. "H-he's just a baby, you can't take him away from me! You can't-!" "He's my heir!" His jaw clenched. Then leaning forward, he continued lethally. "The girl... You can keep her. As a favor. I could take them both, but this way I won't have to worry about her becoming a sl*t like her mother." I gasped, recoiling. "Alex! How can you say that about our daughter, about me!" "Your daughter. Yours alone, from henceforth," he said flatly. "The doctor has said she's unhealthy and may not survive long. I have no need for a liability. Especially one that might turn out to be anything like you." With that, he turned his back on me-on everything we've had together-and walked out with our son in his arms. I screamed after him, sobbing uncontrollably, too weak to even get out of b*d. "Alex! Alex please! Alex, don't take him!... Please!" But he didn't look back. I collapsed, clutching my baby girl to my chest as the sobs racked my body, the weight of the betrayal crushing me. Rejected and deserted, I was alone. Completely and utterly alone. Chapter 2 ALEXANDER'S POV 002 Five years later. Exhaustion was eating me alive, gnawing at me day after day. I'd endured it for five years-five goddamn years of this misery, and it wasn't letting up. No matter what I did, or how much I tried to drown myself in work or distractions, it lingered. The divorce papers were signed and filed away like a bad dream, and that was the last time I'd seen her-but her absence was like an open wound that refused to heal. Don't get me wrong-I didn't miss her. Not like a man missed his woman. H*ll, I didn't even love her anymore. I just wanted-no, needed to know she was out there, suffering. Raising her child alone, without a penny. That would've been my only satisfaction in this mess. Instead? I had nothing but f**king silence! The real issue wasn't even that she'd left after ruining everything-that was a blessing, I'd wanted her gone. What gnawed me most was her complete disappearance. As if she'd never existed, and that pissed me off more than I could express. I glanced at the papers on my desk-contracts and reports that once demanded my full attention. Now, they were just a blur. My focus had been shot for weeks.I rubbed my temples, feeling another headache coming on. It was the same every day-I went through the motions, pretending to function, but the man I used to be was gone. The job got done, but the p**sion? She'd taken that with her. I tried day in and day out to lay any thoughts of her to rest, they were toxic as fuck, but I couldn't let it go. It felt like I couldn't be happy if there was a slight possibility that she could be as well. I needed to know she was hurting like she'd hurt me. It was even more crazy how she was still f**king me up long after I'd gotten rid of her filth. Her absence was like a ghost haunting me. My phone rang, the sound pulling me from my bitter thoughts. Silas. My private investigator. I'd spent a fortune on him over the past three years, trying to track her down, but each time he called, the results were the same. I picked up the phone, already knowing what he'd say but bracing myself anyway. "Tell me you have something," I said, skipping the pleasantries. There was a pause, and his hesitation spoke volumes. D**n it. "Nothing. I'm sorry. It's odd... almost like she's dropped off the face of the earth." I bit back my frustration. "Then you won't mind joining her, would you?" I knew I was out of line, but I was desperate. Silas sighed, already accustomed to my outbursts. "I'm sorry, Alex. I've checked every lead. She's gone. No trace of her or the child. It's like they vanished off-" "-the face of the earth?" I snapped, slamming my fist on the desk. How infuriating. The sharp pain momentarily distracted me from my rage. "If you mention that nonsense to me one more time, Silas, I swear..." "I'm telling you, man, I've checked every record-her tracks are covered so well. Maybe she had help. Look, I'll keep digging, but you might want to start considering other options... getting another woman pr**nant so-" "Don't..." I warned, my jaw tightening. I closed my eyes-my grip on the phone almost crushing-breathing through the storm in my ch*st. "I don't know you to be this incompetent. How hard can it be to find an orphaned woman and a child?" I seethed. "There's something-find it! I don't f**king pay you to tell me what to do. Do your job! I don't care what it takes. Just find her!" I hung up before he could respond. Anger surged, filling the hollow space where my heart used to be. How was it possible that in five years, I hadn't found a trace of her? It felt like she'd wiped herself off the map, and I hated that she'd had the last word like that. Whereas, I had been left with nothing but a hollow ache in my ch*st and a son in a hospital bed, slipping away with each second. It wasn't supposed to be this way. She should be out there, struggling-God knows she deserved it. And me? I deserved the satisfaction of watching it all, knowing she was paying for destroying our family. Instead, I was stuck in limbo, with my son dying and no sign of the one person who could help him. I hated that such power lay in her hands once again. Liam needed a sibling-a donor. And only she could provide that. My hands clenched into fists. I didn't want to father another child just to save one. How would I look at them? Tell them they'd been born just because- F**k! I shoved the papers off my desk, sending them flying. None of it mattered. Work didn't matter. Only Liam did. I decided to leave for the hospital. I called my assistant in, barely glancing at her as I instructed, "Cancel the rest of my appointments." There was no point in staying. I wasn't going to accomplish anything in this state. She nodded and left the room quietly. At least someone around here knew when to keep their mouth shut. I headed straight to the hospital, the familiar smell of antiseptic hitting me as soon as I stepped inside. It made me sick. I'd spent so much time here-three years. As I approached the corridor leading to Liam's room, I could already hear raised voices-My mother and fiancee, Eliza were arguing again. "I am not going to spend my productive days babysitting a comatose child, Vivian! I am not his mother! I've said this a hundred times, if you want me to step into that position, you know what to tell your son to do-" Eliza's shrill voice grated on my nerves. God, I was sick of hearing her talk. My mother, ever the pillar of righteousness, snapped back. "You knew what you were getting into when you got engaged to Alexander! However you act towards Liam now is testament to how you will act when-." My jaw hardened as I walked past them, not bothering to mask my irritation but definitely not in the mood to get in the middle of their spat. "You can't keep ignoring this, Alex!" Eliza yelled after me, turning away from my mother as she saw me walk past. "We've been engaged for three years! Do you really think waiting for Liam to get better is going to change anything?" I stopped for a moment, then turned to look at her. My jaw working, my eyes piercing into her. She seemed to get the message and her comportment changed from challenging to pleading. "Alex, please-" "Alexander, to you." I snapped. I didn't care what she thought she was to me; only important people to me got to shorten my name like that. It irritated me when she did-and it reminded me too much of the only other woman who'd dared to do so and how much of a phony she turned out to be in the end. "Your mother keeps pressuring me to step into the role of a mother when we're not even married yet. Liam isn't my responsibility, Alexander. He's yours, he'll only become mine when-" "Then leave!" I barked. How dare she? Her eyes widened, "Y-you don't mean that." I almost laughed. She had no idea. "I'm sure you know I do," I said, my tone devoid of any warmth. "Yet here you are, still engaged to me. No one's forcing you to be, Eliza." Her eyes flared, fury rising in her. "You think this is easy for me? You've strung me along for three years. We should've been married by now, but instead, we're stuck in this... this limbo!" I shrugged. "Liam got sick." It was my go to response every time she brought this up. I knew how it infuriated her. I derived some pleasure in it. "You know you're just using him as an excuse to avoid the wedding," she snapped. "Mind your words," I said coldly. "Like I said, if that's how you feel, perhaps it's time you get out. You're not obligated to stay." The words were sharp, intended to cut. I didn't love her. Hell, I never had. Eliza was convenient; beautiful, wealthy in her own right, and willing to play the devoted fiancée. But love wasn't in the equation. She scoffed, turning away, arms tightening around herself in self-comfort. "I'm not going anywhere, Alexander. But you can't keep avoiding this." I didn't respond-there was no point. I wasn't avoiding anything. In truth, I didn't give a damn about the wedding. Liam was all that mattered. I pushed past them wordlessly, stepping into Liam's room where the doctor stood beside his b*d. My son looked so small, so fragile-it killed me to see him like this, hooked up to machines, barely clinging to life. "How is he?" I asked, though I already knew the answer. The doctor sighed, flipping through the chart. "His condition is worsening, Mr. Sullivan. We need to think about the next step. Without a compatible donor... Well, the prognosis isn't good." I clenched my fists, trying to keep my composure. "What about the fetal donor option?" "It's still the best chance we have without his mother present. She would have been his savior. If you decide to go down that route, we can begin preparations." I glanced at Liam's pale face, the machines beeping rhythmically, and my chest tightened. I wasn't sure how I felt about bringing another child into the world under these circumstances. But if it meant saving Liam... considering I couldn't find his wh**e of a mother. I nodded-my decision made. "We'll move forward." As I left the room, my resolve hardened. "Mother, Eliza," I addressed them, expressionless, "You may move forward with wedding preparations. I'm ready." Eliza would get what she wanted wedding, a child. But for me? It was all for Liam. I would do whatever it took to save my son, even if it meant marrying a woman I didn't love. Chapter 3 ALEXANDER'S POV 003 Watching Eliza practically bursting with joy made me sick. Her being over the moon, like this wedding was a dream come true, was something I'd expected, but it was still annoying to behold. I didn't want this marriage-not now, not ever-but she was too blind to see that, of course. She never did. To her, this was the beginning of some grand fairytale. But to me, it was a burden. A charade. I wouldn't be marrying out of love, but because it was expected. If I wanted to get her pr**nant without a ring, I knew she'd agree without hesitation. But the blowback... the whispers in society, the looks from people I cared about-even those I despised at times-would be enough to corner me into marrying her anyway. My reputation was worth more. As much as I didn't care about her or the wedding, my name mattered. So I'd do what I had to, even if it meant chaining myself to a... woman such as Eliza. My phone buzzed, and I inwardly sighed in relief. A call. Finally, an escape from the room filled with too many wide smiles and Eliza's empty chatter. "Excuse me," I muttered, barely glancing at either of the women as I left them to the excited conversation they were having, after practically clawing at each other's throats a few minutes ago. It was my assistant on the other end, reminding me of the Golden Ball Charity event I was to attend that night. Shit. I had completely forgotten. "Right, thanks. I'll be there." Returning back to the women, I announced curtly, "I hope you didn't forget we have the Golden Ball charity event this evening. I think it's time we left to start preparing." I didn't wait for their reactions, already moving to the door and then out to my car. Eliza, of course, squealed with excitement-probably already imagining herself announcing to everyone there that we had fixed a date for the wedding-and the shrill sound followed me outside. I shook my head. The drive home was quiet, for the most part. Eliza, thankfully, stayed glued to her phone, likely ordering another overpriced gown she didn't need. Vanessa was grinning like a Cheshire cat when we arrived."Excited for the ball?" I asked, raising an eyebrow. I hadn't seen her this animated in months. "Oh, very," she said, winking. "I might meet my future husband tonight. You know, Alexander, this event is for elites, the one percent. The kind of place paupers and wannabes-like Raina-would never dream of attending." She spat my ex-wife's name with such venom it actually startled me. Raina. I clenched my jaw but said nothing, a familiar irritation creeping into my chest. No matter how hard I tried to push her out of my mind, she always found a way to worm her way back in. My family-they all hated her. Despised her. She had become the villain of my family's soap opera, and they loved to remind me at every turn. The thing was, I didn't give a damn about Raina as my wife anymore. The divorce made that clear. But I was tired of hearing their slander, of watching them twist the knife, over and over again. She was still Liam's mother, and despite everything, I was the one who had been left with unanswered questions. What had happened to her? Where the hell did she go after the divorce? Was she alive? Was she suffering, struggling like she deserved to be? And the child... the one she had run off with. What was her name? Was she still sick? Did she still... look like her mother? I sighed inwardly. But then, I'd never stood up for Raina back then-there was no point doing so now. When we got home, Eliza trailed behind me into the room, prattling on about how excited she was for tonight. She hadn't worn her engagement ring in weeks, a silent protest against my coldness, but tonight, she'd be flaunting it like a prize, as if the glittering diamond could fix everything wrong between us. I sighed, tuning her out-only half listening. I just wanted some peace. That was the one thing I had taken for granted in my marriage with Raina-she knew when to leave me be when silence was necessary. Eliza, on the other hand, didn't have a clue when to shut up and seemed incapable of understanding just that. Shaking my head, I forced thoughts of Raina away. I couldn't afford to let her ghost haunt me this evening-not when I had more important things to think about. Namely, securing the Graham family-New York's most influential elites-as business partners, and tonight, they would finally be in attendance. For years, I had tried to penetrate their inner circle or gain their favor, to close a deal that would elevate my standing, but each time I thought I was close to garnering their attention, something always got in the way. Canceled meetings, vague excuses... but tonight, I felt different. I was almost certain they'd take notice of me. The Vince Project... It was my golden ticket. I hadn't sacrificed it for nothing, and tonight was the night it would all pay off. I could feel it. ~~~~~ The Golden Ball was everything I knew it would be-and everything the women in my life had dreamed it would be-luxurious, dazzling, filled with the who's who of high society. And to my chagrin, Eliza clung to me like I was some trophy, her manicured nails digging into my arm, posing for pictures as if we were already on the front cover of a glossy magazine. Her laugh was too loud, too rehearsed, and the media swarmed up, taking pictures of New York's most glamorous couple. Every photo the media took made her grin wider. It irritated me. Everything about this charade irritated me. But I kept up appearances, nodding and smiling in all the right places. Then came the whispers-the Graham's had arrived. They began quietly at first, but soon increased as the anticipation of the powerful family's entrance rippled through the crowd. I could feel my heart pounding as the announcement echoed through the hall that the Grahams would be present in a matter of minutes. This was it. My chance to finally break through, to secure the deal I'd spent years chasing. Suddenly, a hush fell, and then real excitement buzzed through the room. The Grahams had arrived. Vanessa and my mother were instantly by my side, whispering with barely contained glee. "Did you hear?" Vanessa gushed, eyes sparkling with excitement. "The Grahams' long-lost daughter has been found, Alexander! She might even be here tonight!" Sure, that had been what she was excited about. Not the prospect of bagging one of New York's most eligible bachelors. I felt the urge to roll my eyes. She'd probably realized that having her eyes on Dominic was a lost cause. I hadn't wanted to be the one to tell her she was being delusional and I was glad she'd come to her senses. I nodded absently through their chatter, barely registering their words; my mind was racing, too focused on the thought of meeting Dominic Graham and making the right impression tonight. If I could do just that, my reputation would be set for life. For that reason, I couldn't afford to let anything-or anyone-distract me. The Grahams were untouchable. If this mysterious daughter were here, it could change everything. Vanessa was already fantasizing about befriending her, and I had to admit, any connection to the Grahams would cement our family's status permanently. But then the whispers around us grew louder, and I turned to see Dominic Graham-heir to the empire-walking into the room, the epitome of power and control. But it wasn't him that made my heart stop. It was the woman on his arm. The woman Dominic Graham had entered hand in hand with... Raina... No way... She looked... different. Better than she ever did with me, I must say, and the sight of that nearly had me winded. My ex-wife. The woman I had been searching for-no, desperately trying to track down for years. Vanessa's shriek pierced through the air. "What the hell is she doing here? With Dominic Graham, of all people! I can't believe she hasn't quit her wh**ing around!" Her voice continued in an angry tirade, calling Raina every foul name she could think of-a sl*t, a social climber-but I didn't hear any of it. Her voice faded to background noise as I stared at Raina, my pulse roaring in my ears. She hadn't just vanished into thin air, she had resurfaced here-with the Grahams. And not just anyone from the family, but Dominic, the crown prince of high society himself. How long had she been with him? What was she doing, cozying up to the Grahams after disappearing like a ghost? Standing beside Dominic like she belonged there? Questions swirled in my mind, none of them making sense. Raina was in a place she didn't belong, with people I'd only dreamt of associating with. The anger simmered, burning slowly and steadily in my ch*st. This wasn't how it was supposed to go. I had spent years imagining her suffering, broken, raising that child alone and struggling like she deserved. But instead, here she was-draped in a luxury gown and attached to the arm of the most powerful man in the country. So f**king beautiful, it hurt my eyes to see. And I hated her for it. Chapter 4 Raina'S POV 004 I was finally ready for the world to see me. Or at least, that's what I kept telling myself as I sat in the backseat of my brother's car, anxiety twisting in my gut like a feral animal, gnawing at my resolve. "Hey," Dominic said, giving my hand a reassuring squeeze. His grip was firm and steady, a lifeline in the storm of emotions crashing inside me. "Everything is going to be fine." But would it? The question echoed in my mind, drowning out the soft music playing in the background. I should have felt confident, but the truth was, fear clawed at my insides like a hungry beast, ready to devour me whole. I had prepared for weeks for this moment, telling myself I was ready to face my past, ready to confront my ex-in-laws. But standing on the precipice of that reality made me doubt everything I had convinced myself of. And then there was the thought of my son. That part hurt the most. I wondered how Liam was doing, whether he missed me, or if he had learned to hate me for leaving. What if they had poisoned his mind against me? The very idea twisted the kn**e deeper in my heart. I had envisioned all the ways I could explain to him that I never wanted to leave--that circumstances had forced my hand. As the car came to a halt, I gripped my purse tightly, taking a deep breath. It was too late to back out now. I had made my choice, and I had to see it through. Stepping out of the car, the flash of cameras momentarily blinded me. Reporters shouted questions at Dominic, but I was just a shadow beside him, someone meant to stay in the background until the right moment. I had told him to keep my identity a secret until I was ready-until I had found Liam first. Dominic smiled, but it was like a mask he wore for the world. He didn't answer their questions, and together we walked into the grand hall. The air was thick with anticipation and whispers, and as we stepped inside, the room fell silent. I could almost hear their thoughts, the judgment hanging heavy in the air. Gold digger. Social climber. An outsider trying to infiltrate their world. A chill ran down my spine as I sensed the hostility from the corner where my ex-in-laws lurked, their glares piercing through me like d**gers. "Are you okay?" Dominic asked, concern etching his features as he leaned slightly closer. I nodded, forcing a smile, though my heart raced. Would it ever get easier? Just then, people began to approach Dominic, the respect and fear evident in their eyes. I knew he wasn't just here for me-he was here to choose his business partners, a ritual he performed with impeccable poise. I watched, curious, as Alexander approached Dominic, his expression shifting, trying to be polite. But I could see the effort it took-Alexander was not a man accustomed to being second to anyone, and his pride made him wear a cool, almost rigid mask. "Dominic Graham," he greeted, his tone dripping with forced courtesy. "It's an honor to have you here tonight." His gaze flicked to me, something akin to amusement glinting in his eyes. "And Raina-always a surprise to see you." I bit back a response, my heart beating faster, but Dominic wasn't about to let him set the tone. "I understand you're interested in partnering with us." Dominic raised an eyebrow, his hand resting comfortably on my shoulder. "But that decision won't be up to me alone." He leaned closer, his voice warm and slightly teasing. "What do you say, Raina? Should I hear him out?" I could feel Alexander's gaze burning into me, waiting to see what I would say. This moment felt surreal, the tables had turned in a way I never imagined possible. I took a breath, allowing myself to meet Alexander's eyes, and held his stare without flinching. Alexander's expression remained stony, but I could see his frustration momentary flash of doubt, his gaze flickering between us, piecing together something he hadn't anticipated. He masked his reaction quickly, replacing it with that familiar, indifferent coldness, but it was enough to tell me that I'd unsettled him. For the first time in years, the power between us was balanced, and I didn't plan on letting it tip back in his favor. ...... What happens next? 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) &5&

Après quatre ans de mariage, son mari était obsédé par d'autres femmes. Finalement, elle a abandonné et décidé de divorcer. Elle envisageait de trouver un autre homme pour une nuit pa**ionnée, mais son souhait a été en vain. Contre toute attente, l'homme avec qui elle s'était amusée s'est retourné contre elle... ===== Un message s'est allumé sur le téléphone de Stella Russell, accompagné d'un tas de photos. Des vêtements éparpillés, deux personnes se serrant l'une contre l'autre, des draps en désordre et un reflet flou dans un miroir embué... Stella avait déjà vu ce genre de choses. Ce n'était pas nouveau pour elle. Un coup d'œil à la grande main qui tenait le poignet de cette femme, et Stella a compris qu'il s'agissait de celle de Marc. Son mari. L'homme avec lequel elle était mariée depuis quatre ans. Puis ses yeux se sont arrêtés sur la date figurant sur les photos, et son estomac s'est serré. C'était le jour de leur anniversaire de mariage. Marc avait promis qu'ils passeraient la soirée ensemble, mais il s'était volatilisé pendant trois jours. Elle n'avait reçu qu'un message de son assistante, disant qu'il avait une affaire urgente à régler. « Urgente, hein ? » Stella a lâché un petit rire froid. C'était manifestement urgent — dans le l*t de quelqu'un d'autre. Elle a ensuite fermé le message, puis a appelé quelqu'un de sa liste de contacts. La personne a décroché presque instantanément. « Stella », a dit la voix à l'autre bout du fil. « J'ai pris ma décision au sujet du projet de recherche confidentiel », a-t-elle dit calmement. « Qui est le candidat ? », a-t-elle demandé. « Moi. » Un silence pesant s'est installé à l'autre bout du fil, puis une voix ferme et inébranlable s'est fait entendre. « Ne plaisante pas, Stella. Tu sais ce que ça implique ! Une fois que tu fais partie du projet de recherche confidentiel, il n'y a pas de retour en arrière possible. Pas de contact extérieur, pas de liens personnels. Tu deviendras officiellement introuvable et tout ton passé sera effacé. Tu auras une nouvelle identité. Alors demande-toi si tu es vraiment prête à t'éloigner de ta famille ? De Marc ? » Les yeux de Stella se sont posés sur la photo de mariage encadrée, accrochée à proximité. Les sourires qu'elle y trouvait lui procuraient autrefois une sensation de chaleur, mais à présent, ils lui faisaient mal au cœur. Les promesses de Marc, qui lui semblaient douces, lui paraissaient désormais froides et vides. « J'ai pris ma décision », a-t-elle dit doucement. « Je passerai demain pour remplir les formulaires. » Elle a raccroché avant que la personne à l'autre bout du fil ne puisse ajouter quoi que ce soit. Elle ne voulait rien entendre de plus. Elle avait déjà pris sa décision. À ce moment-là, une voiture s'est arrêtée à l'extérieur. Peu de temps après, Marc Walsh est entré, imposant comme toujours, desserrant sa cravate noire avant de se diriger droit vers la salle de bains. Sa veste, accrochée avec désinvolture au crochet, portait encore l'odeur su**estive de FIRE2, le dernier parfum féminin de la marque Vlexoot. De l'audace, de la fougue, tout ce qu'elle n'était apparemment plus. Marc est sorti quelques minutes plus tard, dégoulinant d'une douche rapide, vêtu d'un peignoir gris. Le peignoir pendait librement, laissant apparaître son torse et ses ab**minaux. Ses cheveux humides tombaient autour de son visage et la vapeur d'eau ne faisait que lui donner un air plus froid. Plus fin. En tant qu'héritier de la puissante famille Walsh, Marc possédait tout : l'apparence, le statut et l'argent. À une époque, elle avait été attirée par tout cela. Maintenant, cela la dégoûtait. « Pourquoi ce regard ? » Marc s'est esclaffé, passant un bras autour de sa taille, la voix rauque et taquine. « Je te manque, chérie ? » Sa main a glissé le long de son flanc, mais son contact lui a donné des frissons. Elle s'est rapidement dégagée. La main de Marc s'est arrêtée en plein mouvement, ses sourcils se sont froncés. « Qu'est-ce qui se passe ? Tu es en colère contre moi ? » Stella a inspiré, se calmant. Elle ne voulait pas gaspiller son énergie dans une autre querelle. Repoussant la douleur de son cœur, elle s'est penchée et a pris une boîte verrouillée dans le tiroir et la lui a tendue. « Tiens. Un cadeau. » À l'intérieur ? Les documents du divorce qu'elle avait déjà signés. Son dernier cadeau. « Tu devras deviner le mot de passe pour l'ouvrir », a-t-elle dit sans détour. Marc lui a jeté un coup d'œil détaché, pensant qu'il s'agissait d'un autre de ses petits jeux bizarres, et l'a jeté sur la table. Puis il l'a attirée à nouveau contre lui, posant son menton sur son épaule. « Tu es la seule chose que je veux comme cadeau. » Sans le vouloir, Stella s'est raidie. Remarquant cela, Marc a émis un petit rire étouffé. « Tu boudes encore parce que j'ai raté notre anniversaire de mariage ? Le travail a été intense », a-t-il dit en lui déposant un ba**er sur la joue. Puis il l'a lâchée, sortant une petite boîte de son manteau et la lui a tendue. « Tu l'aimes ? » À l'intérieur se trouvait une épingle à cheveux, délicate et plaquée or, manifestement fabriquée sur mesure avec des détails minutieux. « Je l'ai commandée spécialement pour toi. Tu as toujours aimé ce genre de choses, n'est-ce pas ? Essaie-la. » Sa voix était un mélange familier de contrôle et d'affection. Ce ton avait déjà suffi à faire fondre sa détermination. Dans la ville de Choria, tout le monde croyait que Marc aimait sa femme. Stella l'avait cru aussi. S'il n'y avait pas eu les photos enregistrées dans son téléphone, elle aurait pu être vraiment touchée par le cadeau. La jeune femme sur les photos devait avoir une vingtaine d'années. Elle était jolie et pleine de confiance, avec des yeux captivants et de longs cheveux ondulés épinglés avec la même épingle à cheveux que celle qui se trouvait maintenant devant Stella. La coiffure lâche révélait son cou lisse, marqué de su**ns. « Il n'y en a qu'une comme ça dans le monde. Tu l'aimes bien, n'est-ce pas ? » Marc lui a soulevé doucement les cheveux, ses doigts rugueux effleurant sa peau d'une manière à la fois familière et bien trop in**me. La patience de Stella était à bout ; elle a failli lui planter ce ma**it objet dans la po**rine. Elle a levé les yeux vers lui, plus froids que d'habitude. « Unique au monde, hein ? » Il y avait quelque chose d'anormal chez elle. Marc le sentait au fond de lui. Mais dès qu'elle a souri, retrouvant sa douceur familière, ses doutes ont disparu. « S'il est vraiment unique en son genre, alors oui, je l'aime. » Stella a refermé calmement la boîte. « J'ai du travail à faire ce soir. Tu peux aller dormir. » Elle s'est dégagée de son étreinte, tenant fermement la boîte, sans lui accorder un seul regard. Un courant d'air frais s'est glissé dans son peignoir ouvert et, pour une raison ou une autre, Marc se sentait étrangement creux. Ce soir, elle semblait plus froide que d'habitude. Il a regardé la boîte verrouillée sur la table et un calme étrange l'a envahi. Après tout, personne ne comprenait aussi bien que lui les sentiments de Stella. Elle l'aimait énormément... si fort que quoi qu'il fasse, elle ne s'éloignerait jamais vraiment de lui. Ni maintenant, ni jamais. Son téléphone ne cessait de sonner dans la poche de son peignoir. Lorsqu'il l'a finalement consulté, des messages audacieux et sé**isants se sont affichés sur l'écran, ce qui lui a serré la gorge. Après avoir répondu brièvement, il a tout effacé et a jeté négligemment le téléphone avant de s'enfoncer dans le lit. L'odeur douce et familière qui flottait sur les draps l'a soulagé et il s'est rapidement endormi. Pendant ce temps, dans le bureau, Stella prenait tranquillement une photo de l'épingle à cheveux et l'envoyait à une boutique de revente de luxe. « Vendez ça. LE PLUS VITE POSSIBLE. » Elle a ajouté un numéro de compte bancaire. « Envoyez l'argent ici. » Il s'agissait du compte officiel de l'institut. Même quelque chose de taché pouvait être utilisé à bon escient. …… Au matin, lorsque Marc a ouvert les yeux, Stella était déjà habillée. Il s'est appuyé sur ses coudes et lui a fait signe d'approcher. Sa voix était rauque et douce de sommeil. « Viens ici. Donne-moi un câlin. » Les doigts de Stella se sont arrêtés sur les boutons de son chemisier. Elle a inspiré, le regard clair et posé. « Il y a eu une urgence à l'institut. Il faut que je parte maintenant. Je n'ai pas eu le temps de faire le petit déjeuner, tu devras t'en occuper toi-même aujourd'hui. » Elle a pris son sac et est partie, comme hier soir, sans un regard, sans une hésitation. Les mains de Marc se sont figées au milieu du mouvement, une sensation de vide revenant dans sa poitrine. Il s'est frotté lentement les sourcils, essayant de s'en débarrasser. Même si son emploi du temps était très chargé, Stella ne manquait jamais une matinée. Elle faisait toujours en sorte que le petit déjeuner soit prêt juste à temps. Puis elle le réveillait doucement, le prenait dans ses bras et lui offrait un ba**er matinal avec son doux sourire. Mais pas aujourd'hui. « Stella. » Alors qu'elle ouvrait la porte, elle a entendu sa voix derrière elle. Elle avait l'impression que quelque chose lui avait déchiré la po**rine, une douleur aiguë et profonde. Elle s'est retournée lentement, le regard fixe. « Oui ? » Marc l'a fixée pendant un long moment. Elle semblait avoir un comportement normal. Peut-être que c'était juste dans sa tête. « Assure-toi de manger, même si les choses deviennent trépidantes. Et ne te couche pas trop tard. L'affaire d'Horizon Marina a échoué, alors je travaillerai tard cette semaine. Ne m'attends pas. » « D'accord. » Stella a souri. Avec la lumière du soleil sur son visage, ce sourire chaleureux et ses yeux pétillants lui rappelaient la fille qui lui avait coupé le souffle. Le cœur de Marc a battu la chamade. Sa voix est devenue encore plus douce. « Lorsque le travail se sera calmé, nous irons sur l'Île intermédiaire. Pour rattraper la lune de miel que nous avons manquée. » Son cœur, déjà endolori, avait l'impression de se briser à nouveau. Lors de l'organisation du mariage, elle avait soigneusement établi la liste des lieux qu'ils visiteraient ensemble, un pour chaque anniversaire, comme une autre lune de miel. Elle avait pensé qu'ils resteraient amoureux pour toujours. Mais cette année, Marc avait emmené une autre femme à cet endroit précis. Les photos d'eux ensemble se trouvaient toujours dans son téléphone. En baissant les yeux, Stella a répondu à voix basse : « Bien sûr... lorsque les choses se seront calmées. » Sur ce, elle s'est retournée et est sortie. Il ne restait plus une once de chaleur dans ses yeux. Et malheureusement pour lui, cette chance ne se produirait jamais. Chapitre 2 Pris en flagrant délit Stella a franchi les portes de l'Institut de recherche Hookwood au volant de sa modeste Volkswagen noire. À peine arrivée dans le bâtiment principal, Lainey Lewis, sa collègue chevronnée, s'est approchée d'elle et l'a saisie par le poignet. « Tu es vraiment venue pour déposer la candidature ? Mais qu'est-ce qui se passe, Stella ? Tu n'as pas répondu à mes messages. Tu ne peux pas prendre une telle décision sur un coup de tête. Ce projet n'est pas une simple expérience, et tu aurais dû au moins en discuter avec Marc. » Une douleur vive est montée dans la po**rine de Stella, mais elle est restée silencieuse. Au lieu de cela, elle a déverrouillé son téléphone, a fait défiler une conversation WhatsApp et l'a tendu. Des dizaines de messages pr**ocateurs et d'images su**estives ont été envoyés en retour, à plusieurs reprises. Une photo en particulier ne laissait rien à l'imagination. Lainey a jeté un coup d'œil à l'écran, puis a immédiatement repoussé le téléphone dans les mains de Stella, les yeux enflammés. « Ce sa**ud ! S'il n'y avait pas eu tes brevets à l'époque, son entreprise n'aurait même pas dépassé le stade du lancement. Et voilà qu'il te trompe ? Allez, nous retournons là-bas. Je te jure que je vais l'obliger à se mettre à genoux pour implorer de la pitié. » Stella lui a rapidement pris le bras. « Non. Ce ne sera pas nécessaire. » « Comment ça, pas nécessaire ? Après ce qu'il a fait ? Tu vas rester là et le laisser s'en tirer ? » Sa voix tremblait, mais celle de Stella était froide et égale. « Le laisser s'en tirer ? Jamais. » Elle a glissé son téléphone dans la poche de son manteau. « Le confronter directement serait bien trop facile. Je veux qu'il souffre... qu'il regrette vraiment tout. » Lainey n'a rien dit de plus. Elle savait très bien quel genre de personne était Stella. Brillante dans le laboratoire. Honnête à toute épreuve. Mais si quelqu'un la poussait au-delà de ses limites, elle ne se laissait jamais faire. Elle rebondissait au moment où l'on s'y attendait le moins, avec force et précision. Elles se sont dirigées ensemble vers le bureau administratif, et la soumission du formulaire s'est déroulée sans encombre. Quelques étapes, quelques tampons, et tout était presque réglé, il ne restait plus qu'à attendre l'examen final. Avant de partir, Stella s'est portée volontaire pour assister à un séminaire universitaire au nom de l'institut et rassembler les documents nécessaires. À trois heures et demie de l'après-midi, l'événement organisé à l'Hôtel Grâce s'est achevé. Serrant un dossier contre sa poitrine, Stella est sortie du hall, se dirigeant vers le parking lorsqu'un rire familier et paresseux est parvenu à ses oreilles. « Allez, tiens-toi bien. » Son corps s'est immédiatement raidi. Dès qu'elle a entendu cette voix, elle s'est retournée lentement. Une vague de trahison l'a envahie, comme si le sol sous ses pieds avait basculé sans crier gare. Le bras de Marc entourait une femme aux cheveux longs et à la taille fine, l'accompagnant vers l'entrée de l'hôtel. La femme a gazouillé d'une voix mielleuse et in**me : « Tu me manques... tu me manques tellement. » Marc a ri, doucement et tendrement, l'attirant encore plus près de lui, sa paume se posant fermement sur la courbe de sa taille. Pendant une seconde, la vision de Stella s'est brouillée, sa po**rine se serrant. C'était donc là que la femme l'avait suivi, dans cet hôtel même, et ils ne pouvaient même pas attendre la tombée de la nuit. Puis, à travers la vitre de la porte tournante qui pivotait lentement, leurs regards se sont croisés. Le regard de Marc était sombre et plein de dé**r, tandis que celui de Stella était calme et distant, avec une pointe de moquerie. L'air entre eux est soudain devenu lourd. La femme a aussi remarqué Stella. Mais au lieu d'avoir l'air surprise, elle s'est contentée de sourire avec suffisance, puis s'est retournée et a em**assé Marc, cette comme si elle marquait son territoire. Un goût amer a envahi la gorge de Stella. Son estomac était pris de nausées. Elle s'est détournée, refusant d'assister plus longtemps à ce spectacle. Elle a tendu la main vers la portière de sa voiture, mais avant qu'elle ne puisse y entrer, une main l'a arrêtée par derrière. Marc l'avait suivie, un peu es**ufflé, et l'odeur du parfum audacieux de cette femme lui collait encore à la peau, assez forte pour lui donner la nausée. « Lâche-moi ! » Stella a essayé de le repousser, mais la portière n'a pas bougé. Marc n'a pas dit un mot, il l'a juste saisie par la taille et l'a poussée sur la banquette arrière, s'y glissant juste après. Ses traits anguleux étaient tendus et ses yeux brillaient d'un étrange mélange d'anxiété et d'impatience. « Stella, je t'en supplie, laisse-moi t'expliquer. » N'ayant nulle part où fuir, Stella s'est décalée et a parlé d'un ton glacial. « Nettoie ce rouge à lèvres sur ta bouche avant de commencer à parler. » Le visage de Marc s'est décomposé. Il a porté la main à sa bouche sans réfléchir, les yeux brillants d'un soupçon de panique. « L'affaire d'Horizon Marina a rencontré des difficultés. J'ai stressé à propos du financement et j'ai contacté Nova Holdings. Haley Smith est la fille d'un des administrateurs de Nova Holdings. Elle maîtrise mal notre langue et avait bu. Je voulais juste m'assurer qu'elle rentrait à l'hôtel. » Son ton était tendre, et il s'est penché comme il le faisait toujours lorsqu'il voulait la charmer. « Elle vient d'Achury. Les gens de son pays sont plutôt détendus, tu le sais. Je te jure que je serai plus prudent. Ne te fâche pas, d'accord ? Je vais me rattraper. » Stella l'a regardé, les yeux perçants et froids. « Alors... c'est comme ça que tu sécurises les investisseurs ? En devenant aussi proche de leurs filles ? » Il n'y avait ni pleurs, ni cris. Stella s'est exprimée avec un calme glacial, trop calme pour être en colère. Ses paroles tranquilles ont enlevé toutes les excuses de la bouche de Marc, les laissant vides de sens. Le même vide pesant s'est à nouveau abattu sur lui. Frustré, il a tiré sur sa cravate, essayant de respirer. « Stella, voyons. J'ai fait ça pour le travail. Peux-tu ne pas exagérer les choses ? » Stella a failli rire. Elle n'avait même pas élevé la voix. Voulait-il qu'elle lui jette les photos au visage pour que ce soit un drame ? L'amour qu'elle avait gardé toutes ces années brûlait maintenant comme une l**e dans sa po**rine. « Si tu en as fini avec moi, Marc, sois juste franc. Je ne m'accrocherai pas, je te donnerai le divorce que tu veux. » Pourquoi devait-il se livrer à des jeux ? Pourquoi mentir ? Dès que ces mots sont sortis de sa bouche, Marc l'a saisie par l'épaule, violemment. Ses yeux étaient froids comme de la glace. « Ne dis jamais une chose pareille. Nous nous sommes promis, quoi qu'il arrive, de nous en sortir. Le divorce n'est pas envisageable. Ne l'évoque même pas. » S'en sortir ? Il avait déjà f**t l'a**ur avec quelqu'un d'autre. Qu'est-ce qu'il restait à régler maintenant ? Elle avait l'impression d'être emprisonnée dans un enchevêtrement d'épines. Chaque respiration, chaque mouvement l'enfonçait un peu plus. Soudain, le téléphone de Marc a sonné. Il l'a consulté, fronçant les sourcils, et a décliné l'appel. Mais Stella a vu le nom sur l'écran. « Petit cœur Sauvage. » Avant qu'il ne puisse le ranger, le téléphone s'est de nouveau allumé ; cette fois-ci, des messages WhatsApp apparaissaient. L'expéditeur ? « Chérie s**y. » « Chéri, je souffre. » « J'ai besoin de toi. Viens tout de suite. » « Je sa**ne... Je vais mourir ? » Trois lignes successives, toutes en Achure. Chapitre 3 Juste une amie C'était comme si Marc croyait qu'elle ne savait pas du tout lire l'Achure ; il n'a pas pris la peine de cacher l'écran et a tapé un rapide « J'arrive » avant d'éteindre son téléphone sans délai. « Stella, je dois m'occuper de quelque chose d'urgent. Si tu ne peux pas m'aider, reste au moins à l'écart. Sois sage, d'accord ? », a-t-il dit doucement, en lui ca**ssant les cheveux comme si elle était une enfant. Puis il a tourné les talons et s'est éloigné sans un seul regard en arrière. Elle est restée assise et l'a laissé partir. Elle avait l'impression que quelque chose en elle avait été déchiré ; trop de douleur pour ressentir quoi que ce soit. Stella a déposé les documents de la conférence à l'institut pour qu'ils soient conservés, puis elle est rentrée chez elle sans un mot de plus. Marc n'est pas rentré pendant les trois jours qui ont suivi, et elle n'a pas appelé. Pas même une fois. Il ne restait plus rien à dire. En attendant l'approbation finale, elle s'est occupée en triant ses affaires, tout ce qui l'aidait à ne pas s'effondrer. Le débarras était un refuge de leurs années passées ensemble : des notes manuscrites de leur première confession, la poterie de travers qu'ils avaient fabriquée lors de leur premier rendez-vous, une petite pierre en forme de cœur provenant d'une nuit étoilée de montagne, et des rangées de photos encadrées, classées par année. Même les appareils photo Polaroïd étaient soigneusement rangés, du plus ancien au plus récent. Stella avait toujours été sentimentale. Elle gardait ces objets, espérant qu'un jour ils s'assoiraient ensemble comme de vieilles âmes, en riant du passé. Mais maintenant, tout cela ressemblait à une blague cruelle. Sans hésiter, elle a jeté les souvenirs dans la cheminée et les a regardés brûler. Quant aux cadeaux coûteux : diamants, montres luxueuses, colliers délicats, et même l'alliance, elle les a alignés, a pris des photos et a envoyé un message à son contact à la boutique de revente. Elle lui a demandé de tout débarrasser. En voyant la boîte à bijoux vide, elle a finalement compris que l'amour, même s'il était étincelant, ne valait rien une fois qu'il était entaché de trahison. Deux jours plus tard, elle a appris que sa demande d'adhésion au projet de recherche confidentiel avait été approuvée. Elle disposait de dix jours tranquilles avant le début du projet. Voulant faire le plein de produits de première nécessité, elle s'est changée et s'est rendue au centre commercial. Mais alors qu'elle descendait l'escalator avec ses sacs, elle a vu une scène qui l'a complètement figée. Jazlyn Walsh, sa belle-mère toujours critique, affichait un sourire chaleureux et s'accrochait au bras d'Haley comme si elles étaient de vieilles amies. L'affection qui se lisait sur son visage était un coup de poignard dans le ventre. Et à côté d'eux, Marc, le même homme qui avait disparu pendant des jours, glissait soigneusement un bracelet de diamants étincelants au poignet d'Haley avec toute la tendresse qu'il avait l'habitude de lui réserver. Ils avaient l'air complet, comme une famille parfaite. Une famille qui ne l'incluait pas. Alors qu'Haley acquiesçait avec joie, Jazlyn l'a félicitée pour son goût, ses yeux pétillants, et lui a tendu une carte noire pour le paiement. Mais pour Stella, ce moment était teinté d'une ironie amère. Cette carte noire était la sienne. C'était son argent qui était dépensé. Elle avait gagné ces privilèges... des réductions significatives, les premières sélections des nouvelles collections, tout cela grâce à son amitié étroite avec le directeur de la marque. Ce qui était censé être un geste prévenant pour renforcer les liens entre Jazlyn et elle était maintenant utilisé pour flatter la maî**esse de Marc. Sans hésiter, Stella s'est dirigée vers le comptoir, a arraché la carte des mains de la vendeuse stupéfaite en disant calmement : « Désolée. Cette carte n'est plus valable. » La vendeuse a cligné des yeux, confuse. « Madame, il s'agit d'une carte premium. Elle n'expire pas et ne peut pas être annulée... » « Oh, c'est vrai ? » Stella a cassé la carte en deux et l'a jetée dans la poubelle sans sourciller. « Maintenant, elle est annulée. » La colère de Jazlyn a explosé. Elle a donné une cl**ue à Stella sur la joue en sifflant : « Qu'est-ce qui te prend ? Est-ce que tu te rends compte à quel point tu es honteuse ? » La famille Walsh jouissait d'une réputation irréprochable et Marc avait toujours été considéré comme un génie de la finance. Dès le début, alors que Stella et Marc commençaient à peine à sortir ensemble, Jazlyn l'avait traitée avec indifférence. Et après le mariage, cette froideur n'a fait que croître. Stella avait beau essayer de gagner son approbation, elle n'obtenait jamais un sourire chaleureux. Elle avait toujours gardé le silence, ne voulant pas confronter Marc à une situation difficile. Mais cette patience, bâtie sur l'amour, s'est finalement tarie. Elle n'avait plus aucune raison de le tolérer. Soudain, deux gi**es ont retenti, atterrissant directement sur le visage de Marc. Le bruit a fait taire tout le monde autour d'eux. C'était Marc Walsh, l'homme que le milieu financier voyait comme une légende, et maintenant il se tenait debout, les joues rouges, gi**é en plein jour. « Stella ! », a crié Jazlyn, furieuse. Elle a retroussé ses manches comme si elle était prête à se lancer à l'assaut et à riposter. Mais Stella est restée sur ses positions, le menton haut. « Tu poses encore une fois la main sur moi, et je le frappe deux fois plus fort. Tu veux me tester ? » « Toi ! Toi... » Jazlyn était si furieuse qu'elle s'est serré la po**rine pour respirer. « Marc ! Regarde-la ! Comment peux-tu la laisser se comporter comme une mé**re ? » Stella s'est tournée vers Marc en souriant froidement. « Dis-moi, Marc, n'avais-je pas toutes les raisons de te gi**er ? » L'expression de Marc s'est durcie, sa mâchoire se crispant. Il s'est avancé et lui a saisi le poignet en marmonnant : « Stella, ça suffit. Calme-toi. Tu provoques une scène. » Soudain, Haley s'est précipitée dans les bras de Marc, attirant sa main à sa taille et se plaignant en Achure du comportement scandaleux de Stella. Elle se cramponnait à lui comme du lierre, l'appelant « chéri » encore et encore, comme si elle voulait se fondre dans sa peau. Marc a murmuré des mots de réconfort en Achure, lui parlant doucement. Leur vue, si proche et si confortable, faisait rire Stella d'incrédulité. Puis, sortant de nulle part, Stella a pris la parole, son Achure fluide, son ton tranchant. « Si tu es assez audacieuse pour être la maî**esse de quelqu'un, aie au moins la décence de ne pas jouer les innocentes. Tu co**hes avec le mari d'une autre femme, ne pense même pas à le nier. Si l'Achure ne te convient pas, nous pouvons changer. Je parle seize langues. Choisis-en une, et je suivrai. Si je manque d'arguments, j'admettrai ma défaite. » Le visage d'Haley est devenu très rouge. Elle n'avait évidemment jamais imaginé que Stella était capable de parler l'Achure aussi parfaitement. Marc n'avait-il pas dit que sa femme n'était qu'une employée de bureau ordinaire ? Le visage de Marc est devenu sombre, son ton dur. « Stella... Quand as-tu appris l'Achure ? » Ce moment l'a frappée comme un co**eau qui se plantait plus profondément dans une plaie ouverte. Ses lèvres se sont retroussées en un sourire moqueur. « Ah, Marc, tu dois vraiment m'aimer, hein ? » Le sarcasme de sa voix était tranchant comme une lame de rasoir. « Allez, profite bien de ta petite virée shopping. Je ne te gênerai pas. » Et sur ce, elle a tourné les talons et s'est éloignée. Marc s'est empressé de la suivre, mais Jazlyn et Haley ont chacune attrapé un de ses bras, l'en empêchant. « Marc, divorce de cette femme éhontée ! Comment ose-t-elle te frapper ? », s'est emportée Jazlyn. Elle avait déjà dit ces mots exacts un nombre incalculable de fois auparavant, et Marc les avait toujours ignorés. Mais pour une raison ou une autre, cette fois-ci, ils étaient différents. Ils lui collaient à la peau. « Ça ne regarde qu'elle et moi », a-t-il marmonné en les secouant et en se précipitant à la suite de Stella. Par chance, il a réussi à la rattraper juste avant qu'elle n'atteigne sa voiture. « Stella. » À la seconde où ses doigts ont touché son poignet, une vague de nausée l'a frappée, et elle l'a repoussée avec dégoût. « Qu'y a-t-il, M. Walsh ? Tu as fini de jouer au ménage avec ton Petit cœur Sauvage ? » Le visage de Marc s'est déformé sous l'effet de la frustration. « Haley n'est qu'une amie. Pourquoi es-tu si jalouse ? Tu ne peux pas faire preuve de maturité pour une fois ? Faut-il que tu nous humilies en public ? » Stella a lâché un rire sec et incrédule. C'était évident. D'une manière ou d'une autre, à la fin, c'était toujours de sa faute. Très commode. « Alors, je vais être directe », s'est-elle emportée. « Même si je vous surprends au l*t, toi et ta compagne, je dois sourire, fermer les rideaux et rester à l'extérieur pour protéger le nom de ta famille ? » Il a resserré sa prise sur son poignet, ses yeux se sont mis à briller. « Combien de fois dois-je le répéter ? Ce n'est qu'une amie ! » « Une amie, c'est ça ? » Le ton de Stella dégoulinait d'ironie tandis qu'elle le regardait de haut en bas. Puis son regard est devenu enjoué, teinté de quelque chose de plus aigu, comme de la séI**ction ou peut-être de la vengeance. « D'accord, je vais me trouver un ami moi aussi. Et je ferai en sorte de faire tout ce que toi et Haley avez fait, jusqu'à la dernière chose. » Elle s'est penchée légèrement, sa voix n'étant qu'un murmure teinté de venin. « Et toi, cher mari... ne sois pas jaloux. Ce ne serait pas équitable, n'est-ce pas ? » Chapitre 4 Tu veux être mon c**p d'un s**r Les derniers mots de Stella ont frappé plus fort que n'importe quelle gi**e. La façon dont elle l'appelait « mari » avait du sens. Ce n'était pas seulement pour lui rappeler leur relation, mais plutôt pour servir d'avertissement. Comme si elle pouvait vraiment partir et trouver quelqu'un d'autre... juste comme ça. La main de Marc s'est resserrée autour de son poignet, sa voix grave et tranchante. « Ne t'avise pas de le faire. » Sa poigne était si forte qu'il avait l'impression qu'il allait lui briser un os. Mais ce n'était rien en comparaison de la douleur qu'elle ressentait dans sa po**rine. Stella avait l'impression que quelque chose avait transpercé son cœur, et à chaque battement, le co**eau s'enfonçait plus profondément. Elle a croisé son regard, la douleur et l'incrédulité nageant dans le sien. « Tu sais donc que tu es allé trop loin », a-t-elle chuchoté. Marc s'est figé une seconde, puis l'a repoussée comme si ses mots l'avaient brûlé. « Je te l'ai dit, Haley et moi n'avons pas dépassé les limites. Mais si tu veux aller te chercher un compagnon, fais ce que tu veux. » Son poignet palpitait, la douleur se répandant dans son bras. Mais c'était son cœur qui lui faisait le plus mal. Elle lui a adressé un léger sourire moqueur. « Tu l'as dit. Alors quand ça arrivera, ne t'avise pas de jouer les victimes. » Sans un autre regard, elle s'est retournée, montant dans la voiture et claquant la portière. Marc l'a suivie en courant, tout en frappant à la vitre. « Stella ! » Mais avant qu'il ne puisse ouvrir la porte, Jazlyn et Haley l'ont rattrapé, chacune prenant un bras pour le retenir. Le moment s'est écoulé, et Stella n'a pas attendu. Elle a appuyé sur l'accélérateur et les a laissés derrière elle dans un rugissement de pneus. Le b*r était inondé de néons et de fumée épaisse, bondé de gens qui essayaient d'échapper à leur solitude. Stella était assise, affalée dans une cabine dans le coin, déjà éméchée après avoir trop bu. Elle avait été témoin de la trahison de ses propres yeux. Maintenant, chaque vérité amère s'écrasait sur elle, la transperçant comme des la**s, mélangée à des souvenirs qui avaient été autrefois beaux. « Excuse-moi. » Une voix grave et douce l'a tirée de ses pensées, et son esprit est revenu au présent en un instant. Clignant des yeux, elle a relevé la tête. Il était là, grand et posé, ses longues jambes équilibrées dans un pantalon noir taillé sur mesure. Sa veste était ouverte, laissant apparaître une chemise noire impeccable, soigneusement rangée dans sa ceinture, qui mettait en valeur une taille fine et bien profilée. Sa silhouette était solide, et sa po**rine large. Il avait une mâchoire pointue, des lèvres bien dessinées et des yeux qui semblaient voir à travers elle. Il était dangereusement sé**isant. Sans hésiter, elle l'a attiré sur le canapé, a joué avec sa cravate, son souffle chaud et doux. « Tu veux être mon c**p d'un s**r ? », a-t-elle chuchoté avec audace. Ses doigts ont effleuré sa po**rine. Ses yeux brillaient, espiègles et sé**isants. « Crois-moi, nous prendrions du plaisir. » Elle se sentait perdre le contrôle, laissant sa douleur prendre le dessus. Mais l'homme s'est contenté de la fixer avec une expression indéchiffrable, sans même être tenté. Cela la faisait se sentir ridicule, comme si elle jouait seule sur une scène. En une seconde, la chaleur qui montait en elle s'est évanouie. Et s'il était déjà marié ? Allait-elle vraiment devenir une autre Haley ? Cette pensée la dégoûtait. Un sourire amer s'est dessiné sur ses lèvres. Elle a laissé sa tête reposer légèrement contre son torse, essayant de se ressaisir. À cause de Marc, elle avait failli devenir le genre de femme qu'elle détestait. « Désolée... J'ai trop bu », a-t-elle murmuré en se réfugiant dans son siège. Elle s'est recroquevillée dans un coin, vidant un autre verre d'une seule gorgée. Elle a attendu que l'homme se lève et s'éloigne avant de bouger. Ce n'était qu'à ce moment-là qu'elle s'est levée d'un pas chancelant et a disparu dans la nuit. Cette nuit-là, Marc n'est pas rentré à la maison. Quant à Stella, elle savourait le calme et la paix que cela lui procurait. Le lendemain matin, elle est allée directement à l'Institut de recherche. Même si sa participation était déjà approuvée, elle devait encore remplir quelques papiers. Lainey, qui triait des dossiers de projet à proximité, a soudain levé les yeux, un sourire malicieux aux lèvres. « Hé Stella, as-tu entendu ? Ce projet fait l'objet d'une attention particulière de la part des hautes sphères. Un VIP nous rejoint, il est très riche, issu d'une famille puissante et toujours célibataire. Tu n'es pas un peu curieuse ? » « Pourquoi le serais-je ? », a répondu calmement Stella, tout en consultant encore ses notes de recherche, sans montrer le moindre intérêt. L'Institut de recherche Hookwood avait une solide réputation, et elle avait accueilli de nombreux riches héritiers dans le but d'améliorer leur image. « Mais cet homme est d'un autre niveau », a dit Lainey en se penchant sur le bureau de Stella. « Voyons, avec ton allure et ton charme ? Tu pourrais faire manger n'importe quel homme dans le creux de ta main. Une fois les recherches lancées, tes dossiers disparaissent et ton mariage avec Marc effacé comme s'il n'avait jamais existé. Tu imagines : arriver avec quelqu'un de puissant et de séduisant, et laisser Marc réaliser exactement ce qu'il a perdu. Dis-moi que ce ne serait pas génial. » Finalement, Stella a levé les yeux. Ses yeux étaient limpides mais froids. « C'est insignifiant. Marc va perdre bien plus que ça. » À ce moment-là, quelqu'un a frappé à la porte. C'était un coordinateur administratif, leur indiquant qu'il était temps de rejoindre la salle de réunion et de rencontrer le reste de l'équipe du projet. « Tu crois que le VIP est déjà là ? », s'est exclamée Lainey avec enthousiasme, en saisissant Stella et en se précipitant vers la salle de réunion. « Attends, je n'ai même pas encore préparé mes affaires », a dit Stella en serrant son dossier pour essayer de la suivre. Lorsqu'elles sont arrivées, elle s'est assise dans un coin et s'est concentrée sur ses dossiers. Elle n'a pas relevé les yeux jusqu'à ce qu'une série d'applaudissements résonne dans la salle. Puis, levant lentement la tête, elle a croisé le regard d'un homme aux yeux intenses et perçants. Son cœur s'est mis à battre la chamade. Comment se faisait-il que ce soit lui ? ...... Que se passe-t-il ensuite? Le nombre de chapitres affichés est limité. Appuyez sur le bouton ci-dessous pour installer notre application et lire les chapitres suivants. (Accéder automatiquement à ce livre en ouvrant l'application) &5&

She wanted nothing to do with the tangled web of the ultra-rich, but a ruthless global tycoon set his sights on her. As her heart slowly gave in, the shadows in their souls and the buried secrets from their pasts started clawing their way to the surface... ===== Nina Morrison finishes her late-night shift, exhaustion weighing heavily on her. She changes out of her waitress uniform and stares through the rain-streaked window. Her heart sinks. It's well past the last bus, and she knows a taxi would cost more than five dollars-money she needs for her father's dinner. Sighing, she braces herself for the long walk home. Pulling her thin coat tighter around her, Nina steps into the storm. Cold rain pelts her face, and gusts of wind whip her hair into a mess. Her shoes, already cracked and worn, squelch with each step, but she presses forward, determined. "I have to get home," she mutters under her breath, ignoring the sting of water seeping into her shoes. Suddenly, a blinding flash of headlights cuts through the downpour. Tires screech on the wet pavement, and the loud "Creak!" of brakes fills the air. Nina freezes as a silver car careens toward her, barely stopping in time. Her body je**s, and before she can react, the force of the near-collision knocks her to the ground. Pain explodes in her knees and arms as she hits the pavement hard. Wincing, she struggles to push herself up, but her legs tremble beneath her, refusing to cooperate. The car door slams, and a man storms toward her, his voice a growl. "Are you crazy, you bi**h? Trying to get yourself k**led?" Nina looks up, her vision blurred from the rain and pain, but fury quickly replaces her shock. "You ran a red light!" she shouts, her voice shaking with both fear and rage. "You think because you're rich you can break the law? I've got your license plate. I'll report you!" The driver sneers, but before he can respond, the car window rolls down slowly. A deep, commanding voice cuts through the tension. "Give her $100,000. Let's be done with it." The driver instantly switches tones, bowing his head slightly. "Yes, sir." Without warning, a thick pile of cash is thrown at Nina, the bills slapping her cheek as they hit the wet ground around her. The in**lt stings more than the impact. Her hands shake as she glares at the driver, his smirk daring her to pick up the money like a beggar. Rage surges through her. With a swift, furious motion, Nina grabs the crumpled banknotes and hurls them back at the driver. "I don't need your filthy money!" she yells, her voice cutting through the rain. The bills hit him square in the back, and he spins around, eyes burning with fury, his fists clenching. "Ryan!" The voice from the car halts the driver's advance. The man in the backseat speaks with a chilling calm that instantly commands attention. Nina looks into the car, her eyes locking onto the man's face. His features are sharp, almost too perfect, like a sculpture carved from stone. The streetlight glints off his black eyes, which glimmer with amusement. "Come here," he says, his voice low but compelling, his finger beckoning her forward. Against her better judgment, Nina finds herself drawn to the car, her feet moving as if under a spell. Her heart pounds in her ch**t, a mixture of fear and confusion rising inside her. Just as she nears the window, his hand shoots out like a viper, grabbing her chin in a painful grip. "What the-" Nina gasps, trying to wrench herself free, but his hold is ironclad. The man's lips curl into a mocking smile. "How could there be a woman who doesn't love money?" His voice drips with condescension, as if she's just another pawn in a game only he understands. Nina's eyes blaze with defiance. "Let go of me!" she spits, her voice shaking with fury and humiliation. "You think you can get away with this just because you're rich? I'll go to the police! You ran a red light and now you're ha**ssing me!" His grip tightens, and Nina feels the sharp pain shooting up her jaw. She winces but refuses to look away, glaring at him with every ounce of strength she can muster. The man's dark eyes narrow, and for a moment, something flickers in his gaze-something cold and dangerous. "A brave little mouse," he murmurs, almost amused, before finally releasing her. Nina stumbles back, barely catching herself as her legs give way. Her heart races, adrenaline pumping through her veins as she rubs her aching jaw. Before she can respond, a sleek gold card is tossed from the window, landing in a small puddle at her feet. "Take that to the police if you want," the man says, his tone dripping with arrogance. "Or if you need medical care, you can come find me at Gray Group." Chapter 2 Not for me A Lamborghini sped off, splashing muddy water onto Nina Morrison's already drenched clothes. She sat in the dirt, her clothes clinging to her body, feeling the cold seeping in. Tears of frustration welled up and spilled down her cheeks. Grabbing the golden business card the man had tossed at her, she tried to tear it, but the thick, glossy material resisted her efforts. Even his business card mocked her! Her phone rang suddenly, pulling her from her thoughts. She shoved the card into her pocket and checked the screen. The name made her stomach twist: Doris Lauren, her stepmother. "Nina Morrison! Do you know what time it is? Why aren't you home yet? You want us all to starve?" Before Nina could answer, Doris's sharp voice rattled her ears. Of course, she would be home by now if it hadn't been for the accident. Her heart tightened at the thought of her bedridden father. With a grunt, she pushed herself off the ground and limped toward home, her soaked skirt clinging to her legs, and her wet hair sticking to her skin. The night wind bit at her, sending shivers down her spine. She pushed open the creaky gate and stepped inside, her shoes squelching on the floor. As she bent to take them off, she heard the familiar angry voice coming from inside. "Eat, eat, eat! That's all you're good for! Can't earn a dime but sure know how to pile up debts!" Nina winced. Her stepmother was berating her father again. The words stung like a s**p, but she swallowed her emotions, hurrying to change out of her wet clothes. As soon as she was dry, she darted into the kitchen, washing her hands quickly and beginning to cook. Her hands moved swiftly, years of habit guiding her through the motions. In no time, she laid out a simple meal on the table-mixed pickles, stir-fried vegetables, and tomato egg soup, the only dish with any hint of meat. She ladled out a bowl of rice and soup, picked up some vegetables, and carried the tray to the back room. Her father, Barry Morrison, lay on the bed, his eyes half-open, his mind foggy. Ever since the collapse of the Morrison Group and his heart attack, he had been in a semi-comatose state. Gently, Nina cradled his head and fed him spoonful by spoonful. Each labored breath he took tugged at her heart, deepening the ache inside her. The piercing voice of her stepsister Grace cut through the silence. "Mom, we're supposed to eat this? For dinner?" Nina glanced toward the kitchen, recognizing Grace's voice. She hadn't been around much since their father's bankruptcy. Why was she here now? "If you don't like it, then go find yourself a rich husband. Then you can eat whatever you want," Doris snapped, her tone just as venomous with her own daughter. After dinner, Nina washed the dishes mechanically, her mind wandering. She showered, changed into fresh clothes, and started on the pile of laundry. "Nina! Where did you get this?" Grace's excited voice startled her. Nina turned to see Grace holding the business card-the one from earlier. "Oh, I got hit by a car today. The driver gave me that card," Nina said nonchalantly, folding a shirt. Grace's eyes widened. "Do you know who this is?" she nearly shrieked, waving the card like it was made of gold. "Lucien Gray! He's the president of Gray Group!" Nina blinked, unfazed by Grace's dramatic reaction. "And?" "The Gray Group is one of the biggest corporations in the world! They own everything-property, entertainment, oil, even mi**tary arms! Lucien Gray is the most powerful man in the world, and he's rich as sin! He's also the number one guy every woman wants to marry according to POWER magazine!" Nina stared at her, unimpressed. Grace's enthusiasm seemed almost si**y to her. So what if he was rich and powerful? "Okay. What's that got to do with me?" she asked, stifling a yawn. Grace looked at her in disbelief. "This card means you can get into T.S. Private Club-Lucien Gray's personal hangout! Do you even know what that means?" But Nina wasn't paying attention. There was still laundry to be done, and this conversation was wasting time. "Uh-huh," she mumbled absently, reaching for another wet garment. Chapter 3 A Dearing idea At night, the T.S. Club is dazzling with lights. A seven-story firework fountain sprays mist into the air, synchronized to elegant music. Fancy cars line the entrance, while men and women, dressed in the latest designer fashions, stride confidently toward the golden glass doors. Amid the luxury vehicles, a taxi comes to a sudden stop. Out steps Grace Lauren, her long legs emerging from the door first. Dressed in a tight black dress, her wavy brown hair falls down her back, and her bright red lips curl into a smile. With her stunning figure, she exudes confidence and al**re. The doorman, noticing the taxi and Grace's entrance, sneers slightly. "Another woman looking for a rich husband," he mutters under his breath as he watches her approach. Grace walks toward the door, her hips swaying, but the doorman steps in front of her. "Miss, this is a private club. Only members are allowed inside," he says coldly, though maintaining a polite façade. Without a word, Grace holds up a golden card, the light catching its surface. The doorman's eyes widen. A golden card-one that can only be held by someone connected to Lucien Gray himself. His attitude changes in an instant. "My apologies, miss. Please, go right in. Enjoy your evening," he says, bowing slightly as he steps aside. Grace flashes a satisfied smile, flipping her hair over her shoulder as she strides through the golden doors. As soon as she enters, a voice calls her name from the side. "Grace!" Surprised, Grace turns to see Ryan, an old high school classmate. "Ryan! What are you doing here?" she asks, raising an eyebrow. She remembers Ryan as a guy who once pursued her, though she had never paid him any attention. Ryan beams with pride. "I'm driving for the president of Gray now! We're here for a private party tonight." Grace's heart skips a beat at the mention of Lucien Gray. "Lucien Gray? You mean the president himself?" Her eyes sparkle with excitement. She had come to the T.S. Club to try her luck, but this-this was fate delivering her an opportunity on a silver platter. Later, inside a dimly lit suite, Ryan is pressing close to Grace. The room is filled with the heavy scent of de**re. "Ryan," Grace whispers, her voice low and breathless, "you promised. You have to help me." Ryan smirks. "I can slip something into the president's drink, but that's all I can do. He only sl**ps with vi**ins, though." Grace's body freezes, her breath catching in her throat. "What? He only sl**ps with vi**ins?" Ryan chuckles. "Yeah. Didn't you know? The president's got a rule-no matter how beautiful the woman is, if she's not pure, she's not worth his time. And even then, she only gets seven days with him before he moves on." Grace feels a chill run through her veins. Seven days? Vi**ins only? This wasn't part of her plan. She grits her teeth, her mind racing. How could she get around this? But then, an idea forms in her mind-a bold and dangerous idea. Her lips curve into a sly smile as she pulls back slightly. Later, as the two lie in the aftermath of their encounter, Grace passes Ryan a small pill. "Here. Make sure you do your part, Ryan. If I become Lucien Gray's woman, I'll make sure you're rewarded." Ryan hesitates for a moment but ultimately nods, taking the pill from her. Meanwhile, at a bustling restaurant across town, Nina Morrison is finishing up her shift. Her phone vibrates in her pocket, pulling her attention away from the customers. She answers quickly. "Hello?" A man's voice comes through the line. "Your sister's drunk. Come get her from room 1806 at the T.S. C**b." "Wait, what?" Nina asks, confused. But before she can say anything more, the call disconnects. She tries calling back, but no one picks up. Nina frowns, anxiety bubbling in her ch**t. Grace never mentioned going to the T.S. Club. Why would she be there? And dr**k, no less? Nina hurriedly explains the situation to her coworker Jennie, who offers to cover her tables. Throwing on her jacket, Nina rushes out into the cool night air and hails a taxi. As she speeds toward the club, her mind is filled with worry. Something didn't feel right. Grace was always calculating, always after something-but this? Going to the T.S. C**b and getting drunk wasn't like her. What had she gotten herself into this time? Nina leans back in the taxi seat, her heart pounding as the lights of the city blur outside the window. Whatever mess Grace had gotten herself into, Nina would have to clean it up. And she had a sinking feeling that tonight, things were about to get a whole lot worse. Chapter 4 Dearing result In the dimly lit lobby of the T.S. Club, the thick, perfumed air clung to the walls like an unseen haze. Nina, dressed in a faded blue dress that clung loosely to her slim frame, hurried inside. Her straight black hair swayed behind her, and her wide, clear eyes darted nervously as she approached the doorman. The contrast of her anxious expression against her youthful, tender features was striking, and her small, pale hands twisted the fabric of her dress as she approached. The doorman, a tall man with a stoic demeanor, gave a nod as she approached. Behind his silent acknowledgment, his mind churned with judgment. "Ah, yes, just like Ryan, Lucien Gray's driver, said. This is the woman set to meet Mr. Gray tonight," he thought, eyeing her faded attire with mild distaste, yet recognizing her natural beauty. She was the type that would easily attract the attention of a man like Lucien. "Excuse me! How do I get to Room 1806?" Nina's voice broke through her own unease, her tone urgent. The doorman's lips curled into a polite smile. "Are you Miss Nina?" he asked, his voice carrying a hint of gallantry that betrayed his inner thoughts. "Pure as water," he mused. "Lucien Gray is a lucky man to have her tonight." "Yes," she replied quickly. "How do I get there?" "The elevator to the left," the doorman gestured, his voice smooth. "It will take you to the 18th floor. Room 1806 is at the end of the corridor, the largest suite there." Nina muttered a hurried thank you and rushed toward the elevator, her breath quickening as her questions mounted. Why had a strange man called her about her sister? Why would Grace be at a place like this, a high-class club so far out of their reach? The elevator doors slid open silently, and Nina stepped inside, her heart pounding harder with each passing floor. As the doors opened on the 18th floor, she stepped out into a hallway lined with expensive wallpaper and priceless paintings from around the world. Normally, such an elegant setting would have left her wide-eyed with wonder, but tonight, her focus was singular-finding Grace. Her steps on the thick, plush white carpet were noiseless, adding to the growing tension in the silent corridor. The atmosphere felt oppressive, the air thick with something intangible, and her nerves tingled with each step toward the door marked 1806. Her pulse raced as she reached the suite at the end of the hall, her breathing shallow. She raised her trembling hand and knocked gently on the door. Silence. Her heart skipped a beat, and she knocked again, harder this time. Still nothing. Her anxiety deepened. With a shaking hand, she pushed the door, startled when it creaked open. It wasn't locked. The room beyond was shrouded in darkness, a void where sound and light seemed to vanish. Nina hesitated at the threshold, her instincts screaming to turn back, but worry for her sister propelled her forward. "Sis? Grace, are you there?" Nina's voice echoed faintly in the oppressive silence. No answer, only the vague sound of someone's ragged breathing, as if they were in pain. Her heart lurched. "Poor Grace, she must be drunk," Nina thought as she crept forward, her fingers outstretched toward the faint sound. She could imagine her sister, slumped on the floor or sprawled across the bed, needing to be taken home. Nina's mind raced, planning to get her back safely, to sober her up. The breaths grew louder. Closer. Suddenly, a wave of unease washed over Nina, raising the hairs on the back of her neck. Something was wrong. Before she could react, large, hot hands wrapped around her from behind, their grip firm and unrelenting. "Ah! Who are you?" she shrieked, panic seizing her as she struggled violently. These hands weren't Grace's-they were male, and their touch was rough, suffocating. Nina's breath hitched as the man pressed against her, his body overpowering hers. She thrashed, kicking her legs, but his muscular frame trapped her effortlessly. His hands ro**ed her body, and she screamed in terror. "Let go of me!" Her voice broke as her struggles became frantic, but the man remained silent, his actions more aggressive. Desperation clawed at her ch**t, and she bit down hard on his lips, tasting bl**d. He let out a low gr**t of pain, but instead of releasing her, he tightened his grip. "No!" Nina's scream was raw, her voice hoarse. She clawed at his face, at his arms, her nails digging into his flesh, but it was futile. He was unyielding. In the dark, his cruel strength overwhelmed her, his assault brutal and merciless. Time seemed to blur, and the agony that followed shattered her. The pain was blinding, ripping through her body and mind. Her cries faded into the heavy silence of the room, and all that remained was the dull throb of her broken spirit. A tear slid down Nina's cheek, her soul drowning in the darkness surrounding her. She was lost, her innocence stolen, her world irreparably shattered. The weight of the moment pressed down on her until all she could feel was numbness-the ache of loss etched deep into her very being. Chapter 5 Where did you go The early morning sunshine, with a soft touch of warmth, spilled through the gauze curtains onto the luxurious queen bed. Nina's long, silky hair, now tangled, sprawled across the snow-white sheets, her body littered with br**ses. Her lips, pink but stained with traces of dried bl**d, contrasted with her otherwise flawless face. She stirred with a soft gr**n, a dull ache coursing through her limbs. The pain in her head pulsed with each heartbeat, and as she blinked her bright, clear eyes open, a cold realization washed over her. Her hand instinctively flew to her mouth, stifling the scream lodged in her throat. Her eyes widened in terror when she noticed the man lying beside her, his presence jolting a flood of memories from the previous night. It all came rushing back like a nightmare she couldn't escape. Her body shuddered uncontrollably, each recollection making her tremble. Tears welled up and fell, unbidden, sliding down her bruised cheeks. She scrambled off the bed, her legs weak and trembling as she stood. With shaky hands, she reached for her dress, only to find it t**n to shreds on the floor. What should I do? Her thoughts raced wildly. The man beside her could wake at any moment. She had to get out-now. Her eyes darted across the room, scanning the mess of clothes. Among the debris, she spotted a white male shirt. She wrapped her arms around herself, trying to hide her ex**sed skin, and moved carefully off the b*d, crawling on her knees toward the shirt. Her heart pounded in her ch**t as she gingerly picked it up, making the smallest movements, terrified that any sound might wake the stranger. The man remained motionless, his breathing steady. Relief washed over Nina, allowing her to breathe a little easier, though the fear lingered in the pit of her stomach. She tied a strip of her torn dress around her waist, fashioning the oversized shirt into a makeshift dress. Her fingers combed through her tangled hair as she spared one final glance at the man's sl**ping form. Then, without a second thought, she fled from the suite. In a dark, dilapidated room in a rundown urban area, Nina frantically changed out of the shirt. Its fabric still carried the scent of the man-cold, dominating, and suffocating. The faint smell was a cruel reminder of the horrors she'd endured, and it clung to her skin like a curse. The scenes from last night replayed in her mind, and her hands trembled as she hastily st**pped it off. She had lost everything-her innocence, her control-yet she didn't even know who the man was. Suddenly, the door banged open, the noise echoing through the small room. Nina flinched violently, her heart skipping a beat. Grace stormed in, her perfume overwhelming the stale air. "Nina! Where were you last night? You didn't come home!" Grace's voice was sharp, tinged with mock anger. She surveyed Nina, taking in the sight of her half-na**d body, the br**ses, the hi**eys littering her skin. Beneath her mask of concern, a flicker of satisfaction gleamed in Grace's eyes, though it was laced with jealousy. Grace knew the ap**odisiac she'd used on Nina was potent. The man who had ra**ged Nina last night had been dr**ged as well. Grace smirked inwardly. Nina might have suffered, but Lucien Gray was the one who had touched her-Lucien, the man every woman longed to be with. Grace's narrow eyes gleamed with malice, though she hid her true feelings behind a forced smile. Nina's heart sank at her sister's words. Does she not know? Panic tightened in her ch**t. Someone had led her to the club under Grace's name, but she couldn't reveal what had happened. The shame, the confusion-no, she couldn't tell anyone. She didn't want another person to know. Her gaze dropped, her long lashes casting shadows across her pale cheeks. She looked fragile, broken, yet there was a haunting beauty in her pain. "It was a classmate's birthday," Nina whispered, pulling the shirt tighter around her body. Her voice was small, trembling with the effort of maintaining composure. "We celebrated all night." Grace's lips curled into a dark, cruel smile. Nina was hiding the truth, and it suited her just fine. Less explaining to do later. Her eyes caught sight of the white shirt Nina wore, and without warning, she snatched it from her. She examined the garment, noting its high-quality fabric and elegant craftsmanship. It was just a plain white shirt, yet the refinement in its design spoke of wealth and status. At the cuff, embroidered in fine gold thread, were the initials "L.G." Lucien Gray's initials. Grace's heart skipped. This shirt belonged to him. Lucien had given it to Nina? Jealousy surged through her, mingling with nervousness. Her voice sharpened as she demanded, "Nina! Where did you get this shirt?" Chapter 6 Such bad taste Nina's heart raced as she quickly realized that Grace could never learn the truth. The thought of her sister exposing her secret to the world sent a wave of dread crashing over her. Grace, with her spiteful nature, would take any opportunity to humiliate her, and Nina couldn't bear the shame. "Oh, well, I borrowed it from my classmates. I stained my clothes last night..." Nina's voice wavered slightly as she spoke, her eyes darting nervously to Grace's face, trying to gauge her reaction. She knew she was walking a fine line, and any misstep could unravel everything. Grace's eyes narrowed, considering Nina's words. After a moment of silence, she seemed to reach a conclusion, her lips curling into a sly smile. Clearly, Nina had no idea who Lucien Gray really was. Grace's pulse quickened with excitement. This was her chance. "Nina, this shirt is a little dirty. I'll take it and wash it for you," Grace offered, her tone unusually sweet. Nina blinked, confused. Grace never did housework. Ever. Suspicion flickered in her mind as she watched her sister leave the room with the shirt clutched in her hands. What is she up to? She wondered, but soon shrugged it off, relieved to be rid of the man's shirt. She was going to throw it away anyway. It was a symbol of everything she wanted to forget. The sleek glass façade of Gray's Company Building shimmered in the sunlight, its 27 stories towering over the bustling city below. Inside, the front hall exuded understated luxury, with elegant decor chosen to reflect the company's powerful reputation. It was said that Lucien Gray himself had designed the layout, each detail a testament to his impeccable taste. Grace Lauren strutted through the lobby, her h*ps swaying with calculated precision. Her tight, deep V-neck dress hugged her cu**es, flaunting her figure. Today, she had chosen her most expensive outfit, confident it would catch every eye. She knew how to draw attention, and she reveled in it. The young receptionist glanced at Grace with a knowing look, barely concealing her disdain. She had seen women like Grace before-many of them. Another one of the president's so-called lovers, she thought. "Miss, how may I help you?" the receptionist asked, her tone professional but distant. Grace, with a haughty tilt of her chin, replied, "I'm here to see Lucien Gray." She tossed her hair over her shoulder, her eyes flickering toward the male staff passing by, enjoying the way they looked at her. "Do you have an appointment?" the receptionist inquired politely. Grace rolled her eyes. "Do I need an appointment? Tell the president that the woman who spent the night with him is here." Her voice dripped with arrogance. In his office on the top floor, Lucien Gray leaned back in his chair, listening to his secretary's voice over the phone. He had a full schedule of meetings today and wasn't in the mood to entertain some woman's nonsense. His brow furrowed in irritation, his finger hovering over the button to dismiss her. But then, the secretary mentioned last night. Lucien's lips curled into a wicked smile. So she came after all, he thought, amused. There had been something different about her, a certain rawness that set her apart from the usual women he entertained. If other women were rich French cuisine, she had been like a simple bowl of porridge-unexpectedly satisfying in its plainness. He was intrigued. "Send her up," Lucien said, his tone light but commanding. "President Gray!" Grace's voice was sickly sweet as she sauntered into his office. Lucien lifted his head from his laptop, his eyes narrowing slightly as they took in the sight before him. The woman standing in his doorway was dressed in a tight, re**aling dress, the neckline pl**ging so low it nearly reached her na**l. Her eyes, heavily lined with makeup, gleamed at him with an overdone al**re. Lucien frowned, his mind racing. The woman from last night had been different-soft, innocent, unassuming. The garish woman in front of him didn't fit the image he had in his head. What's going on? he wondered. Has she dressed like this to impress me? How wrong she is. His dark eyes locked onto Grace, his expression hard and unreadable. The tension in the room thickened as Grace began to feel the weight of his gaze. Her confidence faltered under his silence, and she shifted nervously, her se**ctive smile wavering. Does he know? Does he see through her façade? Panic flickered in her ch**t, but she quickly masked it, pulling out the neatly folded white shirt from her bag. She stepped forward, her hips swaying as she approached his desk. "Sir," she said, her voice laced with false sweetness, "I came to return your shirt." She pointed to the embroidered initials on the cuff-L.G. Lucien's eyes flicked to the shirt, then back to Grace. He remained silent, his expression unreadable. Grace took another step forward, wriggling her body as she did so, her vo**ptuous figure now mere inches from Lucien. She leaned in slightly, her breath catching as she tried to catch his attention with her proximity. But Lucien didn't move. His eyes, cold and calculating, bored into her as if seeing right through her pathetic attempt. Grace's heart pounded in her ch**t. Why isn't he reacting? She began to second-guess her plan, the confidence she'd walked in with slowly crumbling under his unyielding stare. Chapter 7 Do you want me Lucien Gray leaned back in his chair, slouching lazily as he closed his laptop with a soft click. His lips curled into a se**ctive smile, one that seemed almost deliberate. His slightly narrowed eyes gave nothing away, their depths too dark to read A few buttons of his shirt were undone, revealing the strong, wheat-colored skin of his ch**t, radiating a potent, dangerous charm. Grace Lauren felt heat rising to her cheeks, a flush spreading like wildfire. In her mind, Lucien's relaxed posture and that smile were a clear invitation. It's time to show him what I've got, she thought, her heart racing with anticipation. She strutted confidently around the wide desk, her h*ps swaying as she approached Lucien, her heels clicking softly against the floor. Her gaze locked onto him, her vision slightly blurred with de**re. He was everything she had dreamed of-handsome, wealthy, powerful. If she could capture his attention, she would never have to worry about her future again. She would escape the shantytown she despised so much. But Lucien didn't move. He remained lounged in his chair, that same faint smile playing on his lips, though his eyes stayed cold, unblinking, like shards of ice. Grace felt a flicker of unease. Why isn't he doing anything? She wondered, her confidence wavering. Anxious now, she made her move, sliding into his lap, her body pressing against his. Lucien didn't stop her. In fact, his arms casually wrapped around her waist, pulling her closer, his fingers brushing against her skin. He smiled, but there was something unsettling about it-a smile that never reached his eyes. Grace's heart leapt. Her face flushed deeper, and a spark of triumph lit in her eyes. The rumors were wrong, she thought, giddy with excitement. All that talk about Lucien Gray only wanting big stars or untouchable women? Nonsense! She wriggled against him, her body moving se**ctively as her hands ro**ed over his ch**t. But there was still no real response from Lucien. His expression didn't change, his hands didn't explore her in return. The lack of reaction unnerved her, but she pressed on, desperate to break through his cold exterior. Leaning in close, she brought her lips to his ear, her voice dripping with se**ction. "Lucien, don't you want me?" In an instant, the atmosphere shifted. Grace barely had time to react before a strong hand gripped her hair from behind, yanking her head back sharply. Pain shot through her scalp, and she gasped, her eyes wide with shock. Lucien's face was suddenly inches from hers, his eyes no longer cold but blazing with something far more dangerous. His breath, hot and heavy, brushed against her lips, sending a shiver down her spine. Grace trembled, her mind racing, trying to understand what had just happened. Before she could say a word, Lucien stood, lifting her effortlessly from his lap. His grip was unyielding, his black eyes piercing as he stared down at her. His voice, when it came, was low and filled with venom. "Get out." Grace's heart plummeted, her mouth falling open in disbelief. What just happened? she thought, confusion and humiliation washing over her. A second ago, she had been so sure of her control, so confident that she had him wrapped around her finger. Lucien's expression showed no sign of warmth or indulgence. If anything, it had hardened. His grip tightened on her, and with a swift motion, he tossed her onto the wide sofa across the room, her body landing with a dull thud. Grace lay there, stunned, her mind reeling. What went wrong? She couldn't understand how the situation had turned so quickly. Her breath came in shallow gasps, and her heart pounded in her ch**t. Lucien, now standing behind his desk, pulled out a checkbook with the same ease as if this were just another business transaction. Scribbling down a few numbers, he tore the check from the book and flung it onto her lap. His voice was as cold as steel. "Get out. Now." Tears of humiliation stung at Grace's eyes. She looked at the check, her fingers trembling as they reached for it. The amount was more than enough to make her problems disappear, but the sting of rejection cut deep. Lucien didn't even care to look at her as she gathered herself up. She rose slowly from the sofa, clutching the check in her hand, her pride shattered. One last glance at Lucien told her all she needed to know-there would be no second chances. His back was already turned to her, his attention elsewhere, as though she had never even existed. With her head hanging low and her cheeks burning with shame, Grace walked out, the door closing behind her with a heavy finality. Chapter 8 Daydreaming Nina sprinted through the streets, her breath coming in short gasps as she raced toward the Prague Restaurant. She was already twenty minutes late for her shift, and panic gnawed at her stomach. This was her third job, and by far the most rewarding. The Prague Restaurant wasn't just any establishment-it was the best Western restaurant in the city, with strict rules to match its reputation. Three late arrivals or one guest complaint, and you were out. No exceptions. Clad in her light blue waiter uniform, Nina burst through the back entrance and hurried toward the passing area, her shoes squeaking slightly on the polished floor. Sunny must have been waiting forever, she thought, guilt surging through her as she spotted her coworker. "Sunny! I'm so sorry! The professor ran over time in class today!" Nina panted, repeating her apologies as she straightened her uniform. Sunny glanced up with a bright smile, her face lighting up with a mix of anticipation and excitement. "No worries, Nina! Actually, I kinda wish I was on duty tonight!" Nina blinked, confused by Sunny's enthusiasm. "Ah? Why's that? Is the manager handing out bonuses today?" Sunny rolled her eyes playfully and made a face. "No! Something way better than a bonus. I heard the president of Gray Enterprises is coming tonight!" Nina's heart skipped a beat. The president of Gray Enterprises? The name stirred something in her, a sense of familiarity that gnawed at the edges of her mind. *Gray... Where have I heard that before?* It had been popping up around her lately, but she couldn't quite place it. Sunny leaned in and squeezed Nina's cheek affectionately. "Lucien Gray! Haven't you heard? He's ridiculously handsome and generous. I swear, his fans could line up around the globe!" Nina snorted, shrugging off the idea with a dismissive wave. "That's got to be an exaggeration! Besides, what's it got to do with us? He's handsome and rich, sure, but we're just serving tables." Sunny wasn't ready to let the fantasy go. "Oh, come on, Nina! What if it's your turn to serve him tonight? Then Lucien Gray sees your pretty face and your tiny waist, and BAM! He falls madly in love with you, sweeps you off your feet, and next thing you know, you're married to the president of Gray Enterprises! Just don't forget me when you pull up in a Ferrari, rocking a 20-carat diamond and Chanel's latest fashion." Sunny's dramatic storytelling had Nina rolling her eyes and laughing. "You bad influence! I'll tell everyone about your crazy daydreams!" The two girls dissolved into giggles, playfully shoving each other as they made a mess of their uniforms. "Nina! Soda for table 12, let's go!" the manager called from across the room. Nina made a funny face at Sunny before grabbing the tray and heading toward the vestibule. Despite the pay being good, the job was exhausting. The restaurant's clientele consisted of powerful, demanding people, and Nina couldn't afford any mistakes. Her family was still in debt, and losing this job would be devastating. As she approached table 12, her professional smile faltered for a brief moment. Sitting at the table was none other than Sulia, the actress who had taken by storm in the past month. Wow, Sulia's even more stunning in person, Nina thought, trying to keep her composure. A month ago, she had been a barely-known actress, but after starring in a romantic movie, she'd shot to fame overnight. Rumor had it she was backed by a powerful consortium, and her publicity team was second to none. Sulia's beauty was undeniable. Her long, soft hair was casually pinned up, leaving her delicate neck exposed, and her bold makeup accentuated her striking features. She wore a flowing white gown with a deep V-cut back, revealing smooth, eye-catching skin. "Excuse me, here's your soda," Nina said politely, placing the glass on the table with a smile. "Thank you," Sulia replied, her voice polite but distant. There was no warmth in her tone, no real acknowledgment of the service. As Nina was about to step away, the phone on the table rang, catching her attention. It wasn't just any phone-it was a Vertu, one of the most exclusive luxury phones in the world, encrusted with diamonds. There were only 200 of them in existence, and owning one wasn't just about having money. That's worth more than I'll probably make in years, Nina thought, curiosity tingling inside her. Sulia was a rising star, sure, but even with her newfound fame, a phone like that seemed excessive. Maybe the rumors are true. She must really have some serious backing. Still, it wasn't her place to wonder. Nina forced herself to refocus on her work, turning away from the table with the same professional smile, but the brief encounter lingered in her thoughts. "People like her live in a completely different world," she mused. One I'll never touch. Sulia glanced down at the massive screen of her diamond-encrusted phone, her lips curling into a sweet smile as her manicured fingers pressed the call button. Her expression softened instantly, and her voice took on a sugary tone. "Darling, where are you? Why aren't you here yet? I'm so bored waiting for you all alone!" Her voice was so soft, dripping with sweetness that most men would have found impossible to resist. Nina, busy refilling water glasses nearby, couldn't help but overhear. She blinked in surprise at the transformation in Sulia's demeanor. The icy, untouchable beauty had morphed into a playful, almost girlish version of herself. Who could be on the other end of that call? Nina wondered, her curiosity piqued. "What? You want me to guess where you are? You're such a bad guy!" Sulia pouted, her full lips forming a sulky, playful expression. "Haven't you even taken off yet?" Nina inwardly cringed, suppressing a gr**n. Couples can be so nauseating sometimes. Even big stars play these cheesy games, she thought, rolling her eyes as she walked past with the tray. Suddenly, a deep, smooth voice came through the phone's speaker, oozing charisma. "Baby, don't you have faith in me?" The sound made Nina's ears perk up. The voice was so rich and captivating that it seemed to fill the room, but what startled her even more was that it didn't come from the phone. It came from behind her. Both Nina and Sulia turned around simultaneously. There, standing at the entrance of the restaurant, was a man whose presence commanded the entire room. He wore a perfectly tailored black Armani suit that clung to his athletic frame. He had to be at least six feet tall, his broad shoulders straight, his posture relaxed but exuding authority. His features were godlike-sharp, symmetrical, with a jawline that could cut glass. His eyes, a deep, piercing black, locked onto Sulia for a moment, but they were filled with a detached amusement. Then, they moved to Nina. Nina's breath caught in her throat. Where have I seen him before? she thought, her mind racing. He looks so familiar... But she quickly dismissed it. There was no way someone like her, from a struggling family, could have crossed paths with someone like him-a top-tier billionaire. Lucien Gray's lips curled into a slow, wicked smile as he strolled casually toward them, his long strides commanding attention from every person in the restaurant. "How about my card? Did it come in handy?" he said smoothly, his voice directed at Nina. ...... What happens next? 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) &5&

Hace tres años, se casó con un CEO en coma para pagar la bondad de su abuelo, y lo curó en secreto usando habilidades médicas. Después de despertarse, ellos tuvieron un entendimiento tácito en la aventura amorosa. Poco a poco se enamoró de él y comenzó a pensar en tener un hijo suyo, pero él entregó un acuerdo de divorcio para poder casarse con su verdadero amor, que acaba de regresar al país... ===== "Derek, tu abuelo volvió a insinuar que es hora de que tengamos un bebé". Allison Evans, tendida sobre la lujosa c*ma, murmuró ella en la oscuridad, con una voz suave y firme, mientras entrelazaba los dedos con los de su esposo. Los dos se aferraron en el éxtasis postc**tal, podía sentir el cálido aliento del hombre contra su oído; de hecho, cada una de sus exhalaciones le causaba escalofríos. "¿Un bebé?", repitió Derek Evans, con una sonrisa juguetona, mientras le ac**iciaba suavemente el cuello. Allison no podía ver el rostro del otro, pero el hecho de que él no hubiera rechazado la idea de inmediato hizo que una frágil esperanza se instalara en su corazón. "Sí. Todavía soy joven, así que recuperarme en este momento del parto sería mucho más fácil para mí. Y tendría sentido que empezáramos a tener niños pronto, especialmente si decidimos que queremos más en el futuro". Derek, que segundos antes le había estado ac**iciando el pelo, de repente bajó su mano hasta su rostro y le apretó con fuerza la barbilla, dejándole una marca roja sobre la piel. "¿Entonces planeas atarme con un hijo? Qué patético". Esas palabras, frías y cortantes, la golpearon. Sin detenerse, él se apartó bruscamente, dejándola sola y exhausta en la c*ma. Allison sintió que el pánico la invadía al ver la reacción de su amado, así que se apresuró a desdecirse: "Fue una sugerencia de tu abuelo, no mía...". El silencio se prolongó insoportablemente, antes de que Derek finalmente hablara de nuevo, en un tono bajo y cortante: "Ni se te ocurra aparecerte en la cena familiar mañana". "¿Por qué no?", preguntó ella, visiblemente confundida, girándose para verlo. Se preguntó si él se había enojado tanto solo por la mención del bebé. Mañana sería su tercer aniversario de bodas; toda la familia Evans se reuniría en la casa de su abuelo. "Kaylyn ha regresado", respondió el joven. En la densa oscuridad, solo el contorno de su rostro era tenuemente visible. Tras decir eso, las luces del techo se encendieron, iluminándolo todo con su frío resplandor. El primer instinto de Allison fue jalar las sábanas para cubrir, mientras se le quedaba viendo, boquiabierta. Derek no le dirigió ni una sola mirada. Salió de la c*ama, y se dirigió al baño. Segundos después, el constante sonido del agua fluyendo llenó la habitación. Allison sintió un peso invisible instalándose en su p**ho, seguido de un dolor tenso y ensordecedor. Se quedó inmóvil, aún aferrándose a la manta. En sus oídos resonaba el agua cayendo, mientras viejos recuerdos cruzaban por su mente. Tres años antes, había sufrido una grave lesión. Glenn Evans, el abuelo de Derek, intervino y la salvó. Cuando finalmente se recuperó, el anciano solo le pidió una cosa: que se casara con su nieto, quien había caído en coma tras un devastador accidente automovilístico. Agradecida por la bondad de Glenn y desesperada por mantener oculto su paradero, la joven aceptó sin protestar y firmó el contrato matrimonial que la uniría con Derek por tres años. Cuando el tiempo acordado terminara, ambos decidirían si permanecer juntos o separarse. Desde entonces, ella asumió el papel de la esposa de Derek y lo cuidó con una dedicación inquebrantable. Fue gracias a eso que él finalmente abrió los ojos. En algún momento, Allison se enamoró de su esposo. Aunque llevaban tres años casados, el tiempo real que habían pasado juntos era aproximadamente de un año y medio. Y Derek nunca fingió: su corazón siempre le había pertenecido a su primer amor, Kaylyn Stevens. Fue Glenn quien le contó a Allison que, en el momento en que su nieto cayó en coma, Kaylyn no perdió tiempo y se fue inmediatamente del país. Aunque aseguró que lo hacía para cumplir su sueño de convertirse en diseñadora de moda, la realidad era muy diferente: anduvo con uno y otro hombre, sin mirar atrás ni una sola vez. Ahora, por algún cruel giro del destino, el final de su contrato matrimonial coincidía exactamente con el regreso de Kaylyn. Tres años de cuidados, tiernas palabras al oído y pequeños gestos de devoción no podían compararse con el lugar que Kaylyn tenía en el corazón de Derek. De hecho, ninguna cantidad de amor podría ablandar ese corazón que ya tenía dueña. El agua finalmente se detuvo, permitiendo que un silencio inquietante llenara el aire. Un momento después, la puerta del baño se abrió y Derek salió, con una toalla colgada descuidadamente alrededor de sus c**eras. Cada detalle de su cuerpo parecía esculpido con perfección: era delgado y poderoso, con m**culos definidos, piernas largas. Allison había llegado a conocer ese físico de formas muy íntimas. Él miró hacia la c*ma y frunció ligeramente el ceño al darse cuenta de que ella se había quedado allí, inmóvil. Cruzó la habitación, abrió el clóset y sacó una impecable camisa blanca y un pantalón ajustado. Con movimientos lentos y precisos, dejó caer la toalla y se vistió; se abrochó cada botón con una facilidad practicada. "Dile al abuelo que no te sientes bien y que no asistirás a la cena familiar", indicó Derek, con un tono distante. A pesar de las perfectas líneas de su rostro y los ángulos afilados de su perfil, no había nada cálido en él. Parecía que cada una de las sílabas que pronunciaba atravesaban el aire, haciendo que la recámara estuviera más fría. De repente se detuvo y, como si se hubiera acordado de algo, se inclinó para rebuscar en el bolsillo de su saco, que estaba sobre la silla. e allí sacó una pequeña caja de p*stillas y la arrojó, sin ceremonia, sobre la c*ma. "Asegúrate de tomar tus ant**onceptivos". Allison miró con pesadez la caja. Cuando finalmente habló, su voz sonó áspera y ronca. "Lo sé". No importaba cuántas veces estuvieran juntos; Derek siempre se aseguraba de que su esposa se tomara las p**tillas después, para no dejar ningún margen de error. Glenn había estado insistiendo en que ella quedara em**razada no solo para unirla a Derek, sino también para mantenerla en la familia Evans. Con la mayoría de las personas, el joven apenas disimulaba su falta de interés. Solo dos habían logrado romper ese muro: su abuelo y Kaylyn. "Ya es hora de terminar con este matrimonio", declaró Derek, tras abotonarse por completo la camisa. Acto seguido, abrió bruscamente un cajón de la mesita de noche, sacó un documento y lo dejó caer sobre la c*ma, justo frente a su esposa. "Fírmalo. Después de eso, tú y yo habremos terminado". En la parte superior de los papeles se leían las palabras: "Acuerdo de Divorcio". Estas se clavaron en el p**ho de Allison como un hierro candente. Con una mano temblorosa, ella agarró el documento y le pareció que los bordes de las hojas le cortaban la piel, como si quisieran lastimarla. Capítulo 2 Una a**nte El momento de terminar con su matrimonio había llegado, pero Allison dudaba en aceptarlo Levantó la mirada para encontrarse con la de su esposo; sus ojos llorosos brillaban bajo la suave luz. Le temblaban los labios, pero se esforzó por controlarse, hasta que logró preguntar: "¿De verdad estás decidido a divorciarte de mí?". "Nunca fuiste la mujer destinada a ser mi esposa. Sin embargo, si d**eas permanecer cerca, no me opongo a tomarte como mi a**nte", respondió Derek, de pie junto a la c*ma, con el semblante inexpresivo y mirándola con fría indiferencia. Una leve sonrisa apareció brevemente en el borde de sus labios, mientras que en sus ojos centelleó un toque de diversión distante. La conexión que tenían en el plano s**ual era innegable. Y si ella aceptaba el acuerdo, estaba dispuesto a mantenerla cerca. Esas palabras cayeron sobre Allison como un trueno, rompiendo las esperanzas que le quedaban. La pri*era vez que tuvieron s**o fue prácticamente un accidente, una noche impulsada por el al**hol y la p**ión d**controlada. No obstante, al amanecer, cuando ambos recuperaron la claridad mental, él la miraba con tal intensidad que la hizo temer por su vida. Todavía recordaba el remordimiento y el dolor en los ojos enrojecidos de Derek; sabía que él veía esa noche como una traición a Kaylyn. El joven solo había contenido su ira por respeto a Glenn. Pero desde entonces, siempre variaba la forma de tratar a Allison en la c*ma. De hecho, nunca compartieron un hogar. Cuando Derek despertó del coma, empacó sus cosas y se fue sin mirar atrás, dejando a la mujer en la villa vacía, esperando por él como una sombra atrapada en un recuerdo. Y cuando aparecía, nunca era para conversar o consolarla, sino para su propio beneficio. ¿En qué se diferenciaba eso de ser simplemente una a**nte? Además, a los ojos de la familia Evans, Allison nunca había sido realmente la señora Evans. Glenn y su esposa eran los únicos que la habían tratado como si realmente importara. Allison sintió que la furia, rápida y abrasadora, se encendía en su interior, ahogando el último vestigio de cordura que le quedaba. "Con la cantidad de mujeres d**esperadas por estar contigo, dudo que alguien como yo siquiera figure en la lista de espera", dijo, con una risa amarga. Los ojos de Derek, que en ese momento estaban fijos en ella, se oscurecieron. Era innegablemente hermosa, especialmente con el contorno de sus ojos enrojecidos y su boca curvada en una sonrisa burlona y rota. Él nunca negaría que Allison había sido una buena esposa. Aunque apenas la visitaba, cada vez que cruzaba esa puerta, ella lo recibía como si fuera el único hombre en el mundo. Lo hacía sentir como si fuera alguien especial, casi sagrado. Pronto, percibió que ese lugar era un refugio al que podía acudir cuando las cosas se pusieran pesadas. Sin embargo, encontrar otra mujer no sería un desafío; Allison era reemplazable. Todavía tenía a Kaylyn y a muchas otras dispuestas a llenar el vacío. "Si así es como lo quieres ver, no tengo problema", contestó Derek con indiferencia. "Revisa el acuerdo. Si te parece que todo está en orden, solo fírmalo". Acto seguido, miró su reloj y se dio cuenta de que ya eran más de las nueve. Había llegado la hora de irse de la villa. Allison sintió el dolor irradiando de su p**ho mientras hojeaba temblorosamente los papeles con los términos de la separación. Conseguiría treinta millones, un carro, dos propiedades... La generosidad rayaba en lo extravagante. La mirada de Derek se endureció con desprecio al ver la incredulidad dibujada en su rostro. A fin de cuentas, la codicia, por muy cuidadosamente oculta que estuviera, siempre salía a la superficie. "Si no es suficiente, siéntete libre de decirlo", soltó con un desdén lánguido. "Quizás incluso añada algo más". Después de todo, ella lo había cuidado con dedicación durante tres años, así que un pequeño gasto extra no significaba nada. "Es suficiente", susurró Allison, en un tono apenas audible. Luego agarró la pluma y pasó a la última página, en donde ya la esperaba la audaz firma de su esposo: cada trazo era afilado y decisivo. Ella añadió lentamente su nombre abajo del de su cónyuge. Apenas dejó la pluma, una ola de debilidad la invadió. Cerró los ojos y una silente lágrima se deslizó por su rostro y cayó en la s**ana. Con eso se finiquitaban tres años de esperanzas e ilusiones. Derek vio caer esa solitaria lágrima y, por alguna razón desconocida, se enfureció. Ahora que ella había firmado el acuerdo de divorcio, debería sentirse aliviado, pero en cambio, la inquietud lo desestabilizaba, lo que lo hizo fruncir el ceño con frustración. "Nos vemos en el juzgado, a las nueve de la mañana". Luego, sin esperar respuesta, agarró una copia del acuerdo de divorcio, se dio la vuelta y se marchó. Su figura al retirarse se veía distante y fría contra el marco de la puerta. Un pesado e implacable silencio se instaló en la habitación. Allison abrazó sus rodillas contra su p**ho mientras sollozaba. Cuando derramó su última lágrima, guardó los pedazos rotos de su amor por Derek y los encerró donde él nunca podría encontrarlos. Tres largos años se habían escapado de sus manos. Sabía que no tenía sentido aferrarse al dolor por un hombre que nunca había sido realmente suyo. A las ocho cincuenta de la mañana siguiente, el auto de Derek se estacionó en la acera frente al juzgado. Él estaba sentado en el asiento trasero del lujoso Lincoln negro, revisando correos electrónicos en su laptop, con la cabeza inclinada. Mantenía una expresión estoica, aunque había una frialdad inmóvil que se asentaba en sus rasgos, lo que le daba un aire que casi lo hacía parecer intocable. Rylan Holt, su asistente, estaba en el asiento del copiloto. Con el corazón latiéndole con inquietud, miró a su jefe por el espejo retrovisor. La llamada de Derek lo había despertado esa mañana y, al escuchar su solicitud, casi se le había caído su celular del susto. ¡¿Un divorcio?! ¡¿Derek y Allison se separarían hoy?! Había trabajado junto al hombre desde que Derek tenía doce años y se había mantenido leal a través de cada tormenta. Había estado allí cuando el joven cayó en coma, y vio cómo Glenn le arreglaba un matrimonio. Rylan había pensado que Derek nunca despertaría y sintió pena por la chica. Sin embargo, para su sorpresa, su jefe despertó y su matrimonio había durado sin problemas todos esos años, hasta ahora. La cuestión era que Glenn había elegido a Allison personalmente para Derek. ¿Qué haría el anciano cuando se enterara del divorcio? "¿Qué hora es?", preguntó Derek, con voz firme y fría, sacando a su asistente de sus pensamientos. "Ocho cincuenta y cinco, señor", respondió el otro, tras revisar su celular. "Hemos estado esperando unos veinte minutos". Un silencio espeso y sofocante volvió a instalarse en el interior del vehículo, roto únicamente por el leve sonido de sus respiraciones. "Señor, ¿su abuelo lo sabe?", soltó Rylan con cautela, incapaz de contenerse más. Derek bajó la mirada a sus manos. Él entendía mejor que nadie el profundo afecto que Glenn tenía por Allison. De hecho, era consciente de que, si su abuelo se enteraba, se desataría una tormenta. Por eso, había decidido proceder con el divorcio sin decirle nada. El significado detrás del silencio de Derek se hizo evidente de inmediato, y Rylan sintió cómo la tensión dentro del auto se apretaba a su alrededor como un nudo corredizo. Cuando Derek tomaba una decisión, nada ni nadie podía detenerlo, exceptuando una orden directa de su abuelo. Capítulo 3 Es hora de empezar a preparar el funeral Rylan, mirando inquietamente por la ventana, comenzó a buscar a alguien por la acera, hasta que finalmente sus ojos se posaron en una figura familiar. "Señor Evans, su esposa está aquí", informó. Al escuchar eso, Derek levantó la cabeza. A través del cristal polarizado, vio a Allison descender con gracia de un taxi. Iba con un llamativo vestido rojo que se ceñía a su cuerpo como una segunda piel, y que terminaba atrevidamente justo encima de las rodillas. Además, la parte posterior estaba recogida en delicados pliegues con forma de rosas, y se movía y ondeaba con cada paso que ella daba. La cintura esbelta y la cascada de cabello oscuro y largo que caía por su espalda le daban a la joven un aire de encanto natural, convirtiendo la calle en su propia pasarela. "Parece que acaba de salir de un sueño", soltó el asombrado Rylan, incapaz de contenerse. Derek clavó su dura mirada en él, advirtiéndole que se callara y lo pensara muy bien antes de volver a posar su mirada en Allison. '¿A quién planea encantar apenas se separe de mí?', se preguntó, pero antes de que pudiera pensar en eso, su celular vibró en el asiento, sacándolo de sus pensamientos. Derek contestó con un movimiento rápido y, tras escuchar unas pocas y cortantes palabras del otro lado, su rostro se endureció. Una tormenta de emociones se desataba en su mirada. "Vamos a casa de mis abuelos", indicó. "¿Y la señora Evans?", inquirió Rylan, con los ojos abiertos de par en par. "Ella también debería venir". Allison ya se había percatado del Lincoln estacionado a un lado de la banqueta, pero no veía movimiento en él. ¿Acaso Derek esperaba que ella lo invitara a salir? Se acercó al auto y estaba a punto de golpear la ventanilla cuando la puerta trasera se abrió de golpe y, al momento siguiente, un brazo fuerte la jaló al interior. Acto seguido, el auto arrancó, con el motor rugiendo con fuerza. La rápida aceleración empujó a la chica hacia delante, lo que hizo que perdiera el equilibrio y cayera en el regazo del hombre. En el acto, ella se sonrojó y se apartó con brusquedad, lo que ocasionó que se golpeara la cabeza contra el techo del carro. Hizo una mueca y se sobó el área afectada, mientras su habitual porte elegante se desmoronaba. "Creí que estábamos aquí para concretar nuestro divorcio", dijo Allison, con la voz tensa por la incomodidad. "¿A dónde me llevas?". Rylan se animó, creyendo que su jefe había dudado en el último momento sobre su separación. Siempre había creído que Derek había desarrollado sentimientos por su esposa después de todos los años que pasaron juntos. Sin embargo, el otro parecía imperturbable por el incidente anterior. Con una expresión sombría, respondió: "Lo sabrás cuando lleguemos". Después, metió la mano en su chaqueta, sacó un caramelo de menta, lo desenvolvió lentamente y se lo metió a la boca, presionándolo contra su paladar, en un intento por calmar su inquietud. Allison, al darse cuenta de que no obtendría más respuestas, se quedó callada, bajó la cabeza y comenzó a escribir en su celular. Viajaron por más de una hora hasta que finalmente llegaron a su destino: la finca de la familia Evans. Esta se extendía por hectáreas, fusionando arquitectura tradicional con un diseño paisajístico elegante que incluía puentes, arroyos, glorietas y caminos intrincados. Justo después de enviar un mensaje, Allison levantó la vista y quedó impactada por el paisaje familiar que se desplegaba ante ella. "¿Por qué me traes aquí?", preguntó. Ese día era su tercer aniversario de bodas y los Evans tenían la costumbre de reunirse para cenar, con la intención de celebrar la ocasión. A pesar de eso, la noche anterior, Derek le había ordenado tajantemente que no asistiera. Y como estaban a punto de concretar su divorcio, la desconcertaba el hecho de que él la hubiera llevado ahí. Al llegar a una villa junto al lago, Derek salió del Lincoln de inmediato, agarró firmemente a Allison de la muñeca y pasaron al lado del preocupado mayordomo, pues su destino era la planta alta. Jadeando por aire, el mayordomo los siguió, mientras les explicaba apresuradamente: "Señor Evans, su abuela no había despertado en toda la mañana, y justo al hacerlo, de repente colapsó. Desde entonces, entró en coma. Por suerte, su abuelo la encontró a tiempo. El doctor Jackson está atendiéndola ahora mismo". Con la voz quebrada por la preocupación, continuó: "Esta es la segunda vez que colapsa de esta manera, s**grando por la boca y la nariz. Según el doctor Jackson, sus órganos están fallando. La situación es muy preocupante...". La mayoría de la familia Evans estaba en el segundo piso, apostada afuera de la recámara. Glenn y su esposa, Jane Evans, tenían tres hijos. El primogénito, Eric Evans, estaba profundamente involucrado en sus deberes militares y rara vez salía de su base. Michael Evans, el padre de Derek y el hijo de en medio, había gestionado previamente las responsabilidades principales del Grupo Evans, pero ahora disfrutaba de su jubilación. El menor, Roger Evans, era alcalde de Oregend, y estaba ausente debido a compromisos laborales. "Hay quienes no muestran compasión. Valoran el dinero más que a la familia y no aparecen ni siquiera en momentos de vida o muerte", bufó Pamela Evans, la madrastra de Derek, apenas lo vio. Luego, al ver a Allison junto a su hijastro, chasqueó la lengua con desaprobación y añadió: "Vaya, miren nada más quién está aquí. Todavía no se han divorciado y ya actúa como una extraña". Pamela estaba ataviada con un vestido de seda, y cruzaba los brazos desafiantemente. Aunque su maquillaje era impecable, no ocultaba el desdén en su rostro. "Derek, tu abuela siempre te ha tenido un cariño especial. Si hubieras llegado un poco más tarde, te habrías perdido la oportunidad de despedirte de ella. Dime algo, ¿para qué sirve todo ese imperio que estás construyendo? Quizás sea hora de soltar un poco esa carga", suspiró Michael, volteando a ver a su hijo. El recién llegado, cansando de las frecuentes disputas, se acercó a su abuelo y le preguntó: "¿Cómo está ella?". Glenn, con los rasgos marcados por el cansancio y el cabello y la barba de un blanco más pronunciado por el dolor, parecía encogerse frente a la puerta cerrada de la recámara; además, le temblaban ligeramente las manos. "El doctor Jackson no es optimista", empezó el anciano, antes de agarrar a su nieto por la muñeca, con una fuerza que desmentía su frágil apariencia. Luego, luchando por hablar, articuló: "Derek, estamos perdiendo a Jane". Su firme agarre le transmitió al joven la gravedad de la situación. Derek endureció su expresión y dijo con voz áspera: "No. La abuela es una guerrera. No se rendirá fácilmente". Allison saludó a las personas reunidas cerca de la puerta antes de colocarse justo detrás de Derek. Se quedó allí, con las manos fuertemente entrelazadas, mirando con preocupación la puerta de la habitación. Jane, al igual que Glenn, siempre le había mostrado una calidez sincera. Y sabía que la situación debía ser grave, pues Derek solo la involucraba en asuntos familiares en situaciones extremas, e incluso la había llevado a pesar de que estaban a punto de divorciarse. Poco después, la puerta se abrió lentamente y el doctor, Simon Jackson, salió e informó: "La situación fue crítica. Intentamos hacer todo lo posible por ella, pero... Lo siento. Es hora de empezar a preparar el funeral". Capítulo 4 Déjame intentarlo Cuando el médico anunció la devastadora noticia, toda esperanza se desvaneció. El pasillo afuera de la habitación se llenó de llantos de dolor. Los presentes, desde la puerta, podían ver a Jane, inmóvil y pálida en la c*ma, con los ojos cerrados y el rostro ceniciento. Las líneas en el monitor cardíaco junto a ella, que antes eran erráticas, ahora trazaban una línea continua y estable. A Glenn le fallaron las rodillas y estuvo a punto de desplomarse, pero Derek lo sostuvo rápidamente. "Este no puede ser el final. ¡Continúen con los esfuerzos!", gritó el joven, con los ojos enrojecidos, irradiando un aura de profunda ira. "Lo siento mucho, señor. Debe aceptar esto", respondió Simon, con un movimiento de cabeza lleno de pesar. Derek sintió que una súbita debilidad lo invadía, haciendo que se tambaleara e impactara contra la pared. Allison, actuando por impulso, extendió la mano para estabilizarlo, pero la retiró tras una breve pausa. Él estaba al borde del abismo y parecía que sus emociones lo desbordarían en cualquier momento. Su madre había fallecido cuando era un niño pequeño, dejándolo a la deriva, hasta que la familia Evans lo encontró; en ese momento, ya cumplió doce años. Para entonces, su padre ya se había vuelto a casar y había formado una nueva familia, tratándolo siempre como si fuera un extraño. Solo Glenn y Jane lo aceptaron verdaderamente; ellos eran su única familia real en el mundo. A su alrededor, el aire estaba lleno de sollozos de otros familiares, aunque era difícil saber si su dolor era genuino. "Llegaste bastante tarde para ser el favorito de la abuela", señaló una voz, cargada de burla. El alborotador era Jaycob Evans, el medio hermano de Derek. El primero siempre había guardado un amargo resentimiento hacia el segundo, alimentado por las narrativas sesgadas de su madre. Lo veía como un intruso que competía por la riqueza familiar, que él consideraba que debía ser solo suya. A fin de cuentas, su mera existencia hacía que no fuera el único heredero. Derek inclinó la cabeza y tensó la mandíbula, mientras luchaba contra una oleada de emociones. Desde que alcanzó la adultez, había dirigido con firmeza el negocio familiar, asegurando su lugar como el presidente más joven en la historia de la familia, lo que desató la furia de sus familiares varones. Él siempre había ignorado sus quejas insignificantes, pero ese día, no tenía paciencia para acusaciones absurdas. "Ayúdame a entrar... Quiero verla", le pidió Glenn a su nieto, apoyándose en él. Allison se apresuró a agarrar al anciano del otro brazo y, junto a Derek, lo llevó al interior de la habitación. Los demás miembros de la familia los siguieron. "¿Cómo puedes apartarnos solo porque eres el presidente?", se quejó Jaycob con brusquedad, pues seguía molesto. "Basta", respondió Derek, cuya voz cortó la tensión como un látigo. Luego, se giró para clavar su mirada helada en su hermano y le advirtió: "Si dices una palabra más, lo lamentarás". Jaycob se detuvo; la intensidad lo hizo sentir que era el mismo diablo quien lo estaba mirando. Tras experimentar un escalofrío, se quedó callado. Todavía recordaba perfectamente que, cuando Derek regresó a la familia, él y su madre se habían deleitado atormentándolo. Sin embargo, el chico soportó el acoso en silencio, sin acudir con sus abuelos en busca de ayuda. Jaycob había interpretado ese silencio como señal de debilidad, creyendo que podría manipularlo fácilmente. Pero cuando Derek creció, asumió el control del negocio familiar con una determinación calculada e implacable. Y desde entonces, ejercía su poder sobre sus parientes, sin mostrar piedad alguna. En ese instante, Jaycob lo observaba con una mezcla de miedo y amargura. En el dormitorio, Glenn se colocó junto a la c*ma y extendió su mano temblorosa sobre los fríos dedos de su esposa. "Jane, ¿por qué tienes que irte tan pronto?", murmuró, con la voz quebrada por las lágrimas. Allison se quedó callada junto a la c*ma, mirando fijamente a la inmóvil Jane. Mientras los llantos del anciano se hacían más fuertes, ella musitó: "Todavía hay esperanza". En el acto, la habitación se sumió en un profundo silencio y todas las miradas se posaron sobre ella. Renee Evans, la esposa de Eric, se llevó una mano a la boca, y exclamó sorprendida: "Allison, ¿de verdad crees que sabes más que el doctor? ¿Conoces a algún médico milagroso? Por si no lo sabes, el doctor Jackson es el jefe de cardiología en el Hospital General Oregend y él declaró que ya no se puede hacer nada". Pamela endureció su expresión. Su relación con Derek siempre había sido tensa, y tenía poco interés en entender a Allison, quien solía quedarse en la villa de su hijastro y solo se aparecía en las vacaciones y ocasiones especiales. Predeciblemente, su desprecio solo se hizo más fuerte y evidente. "¿Qué posibilidades hay de que una huérfana que se pasó los últimos tres años como ama de casa conozca a un médico milagroso?", se burló. "Aunque los cielos mismos intervinieran, dudo que quede alguna esperanza", intervino Lydia Evans, la esposa de Roger, con una aguda carcajada. Allison permaneció perfectamente serena, en medio del mar de in**ltos y risas burlonas. Sin desperdiciar ni un ápice de atención en Derek, ni molestarse en buscar su opinión, le dijo directamente a Glenn: "Quiero examinarla yo misma". Su tranquila petición solo alimentó las burlas, y una nueva ola de risas se desató en la habitación. Aparte de Glenn y Jane, nadie más la respetaba y mucho menos la trataba como parte de la familia Evans. Además, cada vez que los familiares se reunían y se burlaban de ella, Derek permanecía callado, sin mover ni un dedo para defenderla. Todos sabían exactamente lo poco que ella significaba para él. "¿Crees que eres una heroína? ¿Qué podrías hacer tú para cambiar algo?", bufó desdeñosamente Pamela. Allison no se inmutó por el comentario; de hecho, ignoró por completo a la mujer. Sin dejar de mirar a Glenn, pidió con voz firme: "Déjame intentarlo". ...... ¿Qué sucederá en adelante? Los capítulos disponibles son limitados aquí, haga click el botón abajo para instalar APP y disfrutar leyendo más contenidos maravillosos. (Al abrir el APP, directo accederá a este libro) &4&

The real heiress stole her family and husband, forcing her out with nothing. Unexpectedly, she reunited with her childhood rival. She had braced for his mockery, but he proposed instead. This power couple, hiding countless identities, dominated the elite circle, leaving her ex-husband regret. ===== "Mrs. Gibson, do you have anything to say about your husband showing up at Marilee Jenkins' birthday party today and announcing that he's going to divorce you?" "People are saying Marilee is Mr. Gibson's first love and the real daughter of your parents, while you're the fake. You've been enjoying her parents' love all this time and married to the man meant for her. Do you feel bad about that?" The birthday party was crowded, and Alexia Gibson found herself completely trapped. Reporters quickly closed in on her, pushing cameras and microphones into her face as camera flashes burst from every direction, giving her no space to breathe. "Your parents just said you're not really their daughter and cut off your money." "You've been out of work for two years, living as a housewife, so how exactly do you plan to support yourself now? Mrs. Gibson, any comments?" Alexia just stood there, frozen. Her mind was still spinning from everything she'd just heard. So this Marilee Jenkins was the real daughter of her so-called parents and her husband's true love. And her? She was Roger Gibson's wife on paper, but clearly, just a joke to everyone else. Years ago, the Jenkins couple had pulled her out of some run-down neighborhood overseas, saying she was their long-lost daughter. But had they really not bothered doing a simple DNA test before welcoming her in? Why did they only discover the mistake now? Alexia's body tensed up. Her eyes drifted over to the man standing next to her. However, Roger's attention was not on her. He was looking at Marilee, as if they were the only ones in the room. Her voice came out strained as she asked, "Why? You didn't even tell me." Roger's face was as cold as stone. "Now you know. That's all that matters. It's over, Alexia. You were never good enough for me. Our marriage? Just a transaction. The only woman I've ever loved is Marilee. And you know why I never touched you after the wedding? Because you disgust me. You're like a spoiled dish--completely unappetizing." His eyes swept over her from head to toe, full of scorn. Her simple clothes, those outdated glasses--everything about her clashed with the glossy, high-class world he lived in. Before his harsh words even fully sank in, Alexia lifted her glass and threw the ch**pagne right into his face. The drink hit him with a loud splash, soaking his face and pricey suit. He just stood there, stunned, as the li**id dripped from his hair and down his face. "A spoiled dish? You told me you wanted an ordinary housewife. Dad and Mom told me they wanted an obedient daughter, who never outdid anyone!" Without hesitation, she threw the glass to the floor. The sharp crash instantly silenced the whole room. Roger's face turned red with embarrassment. His jaw tightened. "Have you lost your mind?" From the stage, the Jenkins couple yelled at her. "Alexia, this is Marilee's birthday, not a place for your drama!" People in the crowd rolled their eyes and muttered that she was nuts. None of them had a clue what she had given up for the two families all these years. Shoving through the crowd, Alexia made a beeline for the exit. Reporters swarmed after her like a flood. She shoved past them all, blind to the pouring rain, deaf to the murmurs and judgment surrounding her. Right now, all she wanted was to get away--far from the noise, the eyes, and the humiliation. But just as she broke through the crowd and made it outside, a bunch of Marilee's wild fans shoved her hard, and she slipped, landing on the wet road. Marilee was an A-list star in showbiz. Her birthday party was being livestreamed, and tons of fans had gathered outside. The second they saw Alexia step out, the crowd lost it, shouting like wild animals who had just found something to attack. "Alexia, you've got some nerve attending Marilee's birthday party. You've got no shame!" "You're not even the real daughter. Just go back to whatever dump you came from, or are you too hooked on the Jenkins' money?" "Roger's going to divorce you, and you still think it's okay to show your face around Marilee? Who do you think you are?" "Go away already!" Alexia lay there on the wet street, frozen for a second, while their nasty words echoed all around her. She let out a dry, bitter laugh. Everything was such a joke. A broken marriage, a cold family, and now they'd left her completely humiliated. What was the point of pretending for so long? She had kept her head down, put up with everything, and this was what she got in the end? A wave of helplessness washed over her. She closed her eyes, not even caring anymore as the freezing rain drenched her. Through the noise and chaos, a flattering voice broke through. "Mr. Mason." The polite greeting was followed by firm, steady footsteps coming closer in the rain. Moments later, a black umbrella appeared above her, silently cutting through the rain and offering her shelter from the storm. Chapter 2 Meeting Him Again At Her Absolute Worst Alexia slowly looked up and met a sharp, intense gaze. The streetlights flickered in the rain. Waylon Mason stood there, tall and intimidating, with a strong presence that made people uncomfortable. Behind him was a row of fancy cars parked along the street, catching everyone's eye. His assistants were standing on both sides of him, and one was holding an umbrella over his head. But the umbrella Waylon was holding was tilted just to cover Alexia. Waylon took a slow step forward and leaned in. Before she could react, his fingers reached up and removed the heavy, black-rimmed glasses from her face. Her bright, beautiful eyes were now fully visible. He looked down at her with a smirk. "It's been years, Alexia. Look at you--what a mess. Did you finally stop being that love-crazy girl, or are you still dreaming useless dreams?" Every word cut deeper. Alexia's eyes started to tear up, and the little bit of strength she had left broke down under his harsh voice. She opened her mouth to retort, but before she could speak, Waylon suddenly picked her up in his arms in front of everyone, protecting her from the rain and everything around them. He walked toward the black car waiting nearby, carrying her as the bodyguards quickly stepped aside to make way. All the noise and the rude comments around them faded away. Everyone just stood there, stunned, watching them leave with shock written all over their faces. ... Inside the car, Alexia held onto her muddy, soaked dress with trembling hands. She looked down, her voice rough. "Waylon, why'd you have to show up now?" Why now...when everything in her life was falling apart? Waylon tilted his head at her question, then reached out and took her chin in his hand, gently but firmly lifting her face. His voice was calm, yet carried a cold edge. "Why else? I came to check on the woman I liked the least." His eyes darkened, a smirk playing on his lips. "So, Alexia, do you remember what I said to you seven years ago?" Of course she did. Waylon was the golden child of the Mason family. Her biggest rival back in the day. The last time they met was at the airport, seven years ago. What was meant to be a goodbye turned into their worst fight. Waylon always hated how she begged for the Jenkins family's approval and how she held onto Roger like she had no pride. And she couldn't stand his ego and how he judged everyone she cared about. Back then, he'd warned her clearly--chasing approval from people who'd never truly accept her would only end in disappointment, leaving her with nothing in the end. But she was too hopeful to see it. She had told herself, "It's okay if they don't like me now. If I work hard and put them first, they'll accept me eventually." They wanted her to marry Roger, so she agreed. Her brothers didn't want her getting too powerful, so she acted clueless and average. But behind the scenes, she was quietly taking out their threats and protecting both the Jenkins and the Gibson families. As Waylon's fingers held her jaw tightly, her warm tears fell on his hand, running down his knuckles. His expression wavered. The coldness faded just for a second. Then, he let go. Alexia's voice shook, still raspy from the rain. "Waylon, you were right. They tossed me aside after exploiting me. For more than twenty years, I gave them everything I had. I was so st**id." It was a long time before Waylon finally spoke again. "You were not st**id. They just weren't worth it." But Alexia didn't respond. He turned to look at her and saw her fast asleep. Later that night, Alexia suddenly came down with a high fever. Santino Blake, Waylon's personal doctor, got pulled out of bed by a single call and had to grab his stuff and rush over late at night. With his years of experience, Santino quickly ran a full checkup. He stood by the bed, looking at Alexia's pale, tired face, and let out a soft sigh. Chapter 3 Our Luna Is Back Santino glanced over his shoulder and caught sight of Waylon on the balcony, ci**rette burning slowly between his fingers. Sm**e curled up in lazy spirals, casting a ghostly veil over Waylon's sharp features, softening them with each exhale. Waylon rarely sm**ked. Santino could only recall one other time Waylon had smoked like this--two years ago. Santino stepped outside and joined him. "She's stable now. She just picked up a chill from being stuck in the rain and took the shock pretty hard. I've given her an injection and some medication--she'll be all right." A brief pause allowed Santino to scan the night sky. "I checked the headlines. The Jenkins family didn't just cut her off; they humiliated her for everyone to see--right in the middle of Marilee's birthday party." Anger edged into Santino's voice. "Hadn't they done a DNA test before taking her back from abroad? This whole thing smells like a setup." A sudden vibration broke his focus--Alexia's phone was buzzing on the nightstand. Waylon strode inside, intent on ending the call, but the name flashing on the screen stopped him cold. A flicker of something dark flashed across his eyes as he picked up and put on the speaker. Shouting erupted instantly, the caller's anger unmistakable. "Alexia, you've ignored every call and message. What exactly are you trying to pull? Faking your own disappearance won't help. Tomorrow, you're signing the divorce agreement, and that's the end of it. I've shown enough patience. Stop standing in the way of Marilee and me. You've lived off the Jenkins family long enough." "If you have any dignity left, walk away for good--it's the least you can do for Marilee. Don't worry about your share--you'll get what's coming. You looked after my grandmother and my mother these past years, fine. But don't overstep. Learn when to quit. Why aren't you answering me? Where are you?" The stillness that lingered on the line finally made Roger uneasy. His confidence wavered and his words lost their edge. Santino internally begged for someone to step in and stop what was happening, feeling panic surge as things slipped further from control. From the moment Roger started speaking, Santino caught the way Waylon's face darkened. His eyes went cold and every hint of warmth vanished, leaving the atmosphere icy and suffocating. Santino could barely stand, knees threatening to give way. Waylon's expression turned sharp, his smile edged with cruelty. "So that's the way you speak to her, huh?" Every mu**le in Roger's body tensed, instincts screaming a warning. His voice grew cautious. "Who are you? Where is Alexia?" Waylon let his gaze settle on the b*d, where Alexia rested, her breathing faint but even. His response came as a gentle murmur, almost lost in the tension. "She's asleep." He let a short silence hang before adding, "And she's right here with me." The only thing that answered him was the explosive sound of rage through the phone. Roger's voice thundered down the line. "What did you just say? Who are you?" Amusement glimmered in Waylon's eyes as a low chuckle slipped out. "Relax. You'll figure it out...assuming you live long enough." Without another word, he ended the call. By morning, the rain had vanished, leaving sunlight streaming through the windows as Alexia stirred awake. She reached for her phone, greeted by a storm of missed calls and furious messages from Roger. Without reacting, she scrolled through the flood of texts, then let the device drop onto the sheets. Right now, a hot shower mattered more. Steam fogged the bathroom mirror as she faced her reflection. Something had changed--her eyes, once dull, now held a spark she hadn't seen in ages. For the first time in ages, she tried out a smile, and this one actually reached her eyes, genuine and alive. It felt like a fever had burned away all her confusion, stripping her heart of old pain and fo**ish loyalty to those who never deserved it. No more playing the fool. No more pretending everything was fine. This sad story was over. Wrapped in a towel after the shower, she scanned her contacts and paused on a name untouched for years. Her call barely rang once before chaos exploded on the other end. "Luna! It's about d**mn time! Tell me--are the rumors true? You're finally getting a divorce?" Laughter and shouting burst from the background, her friends making no attempt to hide their eavesdropping. Alexia replied calmly, "Yes, I'm going to sign the divorce agreement today." Celebration roared through the phone. Whistles, cheers, the clink of glasses--her friends were clearly turning it into a full-blown party. "Took you long enough to snap out of that trance! No more housewife blues. Our Luna is back!" "Divorce is the best thing to happen to you! Roger never deserved you. Say the word and I'll handle him myself!" "And don't get me started on that overrated Jenkins family. If not for you, they'd have collapsed during last year's crash. Luna, we're ready when you are--the Helix Consortium stands with you." Their laughter and support brought a genuine grin to Alexia's lips. "In that case, I need a ride." Without missing a beat, a man's voice broke in, buzzing with excitement. "A ride? For your grand return? Name it. I'll send the reigning racing champion to pick you up!" Chapter 4 Do You Believe Me The call had barely ended when the soft click of the door caught Alexia's attention, her head snapping up. There in the doorway stood Waylon, his height casting a shadow, his expression giving nothing away as their eyes met. Neither of them had anticipated this kind of encounter. Fresh from the shower, Alexia's hair clung damply to her cheeks, a robe slipping low on her shoulders, skin flushed and eyes still hazy with warmth. That oversized bathrobe, threatening to slip further, revealed soft lines of skin; the faint scent of shampoo lingered in the air, sweet and impossible to ignore. Waylon's gaze swept over her, lingering just long enough for her cheeks to flush, before he looked away calmly. "Get ready. Breakfast is on the table." Moments later, Alexia emerged dressed, met by the aroma of a beautifully arranged breakfast. Hunger won out over pride; she took her seat without pretense, finishing most of the meal before pausing for breath. Little was said as Waylon let her eat in peace, only breaking the silence after she'd nearly cleared her plate. "You need a lawyer?" She set down her coffee cup, eyes meeting his squarely. "So you've heard." Amusement tugged at his mouth, though his eyes stayed cold. "Is there anyone left who doesn't?" Alexia tasted the bitterness of the coffee and grimaced for just a moment, though she quickly composed herself. "I can deal with it." As the words left her mouth, she realized he might think she was too stubborn to admit she needed help. After all, in most people's eyes, women being dumped were pathetic. "Do you believe me when I say that?" she asked. A smirk played on Waylon's face, eyes narrowing with a knowing glint. "Why wouldn't I? Alexia, he's the one who should've fallen apart." That unwavering gaze held her still, though she managed a small, genuine smile in return. "You've always known how to make a good point." Once breakfast was done, Alexia got ready to leave. Reaching the doorway, she stopped and glanced back. "Thank you," she said quietly, her gratitude unmistakable. There was no chance she'd forget his kindness. ... Ten minutes had ticked past their appointment, and Roger's patience was quickly wearing thin as he and Marilee waited for Alexia in a private club. "Why isn't she here yet? Is she refusing to divorce you?" Marilee pressed herself closer to him, sugar in her tone as she pouted. "You haven't forgotten our shopping plans, right? You promised you'd buy me a gown after this." Roger hummed in response. The weekend's banquet held by the Chamber of Commerce would be the perfect stage to introduce Marilee--the timing of her comeback couldn't have been more ideal. Every influential name in town would be present, all eyes fixed on Waylon's much-anticipated return. Just thinking about Waylon sent a flicker of unease across Roger's face. The Chamber of Commerce's open support for Waylon right before the election of its new president wasn't exactly good news for the Gibson family. A sudden uproar near the doorway snapped Roger's focus. His head turned, and in that instant, it felt as though the atmosphere in the room shifted. Everyone's attention zeroed in on a single figure gliding inside with effortless grace. Alexia walked in, her crimson dress hugging every curve, heels whispering over the polished floor. Each stride radiated poise and quiet confidence. The scarlet hue, that unmistakable glow--she looked like the sunrise brought to life. With each step Alexia took, Marilee's smile grew tighter, until it disappeared altogether when Alexia claimed the seat across from them. Roger couldn't hide his shock either; his eyes remained glued to Alexia's artfully made-up features. "You..." Words caught in his throat, visible in the small, nervous bob of his Adam's apple. Nobody present could believe this woman was the same person from last night--the awkward glasses, the baggy checkered shirt, the sopping hair. Yesterday's pitiful girl had been replaced by someone utterly different, confident, unrecognizable. Nothing about their surprise caught Alexia off guard. Her beauty wasn't news to her; she'd just chosen not to make a show of it. Childhood lessons had always emphasized modesty, staying out of the spotlight, never inviting too much notice. Marriage only tightened the leash. Years spent tending to Roger's grandmother and fielding disapproval from a mother-in-law who'd been fed tales of her so-called wild youth. Not even her hair or the color of her clothes escaped scrutiny. Every detail had been censored into drab submission. Vibrant dresses never made it to her closet--only baggy, forgettable options filled the shelves. That chapter, though, was behind her. With unhurried confidence, Alexia called over a server, ordered a te**ila, and began paging through the divorce agreement--unfazed by the attention. Marilee recovered her composure first, flashing a sweet smile. "Alexia, I hope you're alright after yesterday. The reporters caught us all off guard. Someone told me you slipped in the rain. It must have been miserable out there." Chapter 5 Watching Her Unravel Patience faded on Marilee's face as she waited for a reaction, but Alexia wouldn't even meet her eyes. Instead, she directed her attention to Roger. "Is the Gibson fortune going up in flames? This is all I'm worth?" A shadow crossed Roger's face. "That's what the prenup says, so that's all you're entitled to." Even before they got married, he'd closed every door to the family's fortune, making sure she'd never find a loophole. Realizing Alexia was blatantly ignoring her, Marilee butted in, "You're getting more than enough, Alexia. Was it love or money you wanted from Roger, anyway?" Alexia still refused to acknowledge her, not so much as a glance. "With an amount this pitiful? Hang on to it--you'll need every last cent when the Gibson empire falls apart." Those words wiped any patience from Roger's face. "Don't push it, Alexia." Suddenly, Marilee's eyes shimmered with tears and her voice went brittle, as though her heart might break. "Please, Alexia, don't do this to Roger," she whimpered. The crowd's attention snapped toward her as sobs and sniffles filled the space. Marilee reached for the delicate pink diamond at her throat. "Maybe you never knew, but Roger and I have loved each other for years. He gave me this necklace on your wedding day--it's a symbol of his devotion. That cherry blossom garden in your backyard? Roger built it just for me, hoping I'd smile. You stole my life. Everything you have should have been mine. Don't you think it's time you let go and left quietly, without asking for more?" An uncomfortable hush settled over the room. It was rare to see a mi**ress acting so brazenly, demanding the wife walk away with empty hands. Finally, Alexia turned to meet Marilee's eyes, her voice colder than ice. "I stole your life? Was it me who went to the Jenkins family, begging them to accept me? Was I the one who refused a DNA test and strutted around calling myself their true daughter? Did I chase after Roger, desperate for a marriage?" Every pointed question shattered the silence, each one sharp enough to cut. All color drained from Marilee's face, her body rigid beneath Alexia's icy stare. Not missing a beat, Alexia delivered the final blow. "Go blame your own fo**ish parents." That snapped the last of Marilee's restraint. "If it weren't for them, you'd still be digging through ga**age. You've been living a luxurious life for twenty years. Without them, you'd be nothing but a pauper." A sharp laugh spilled from Alexia. Her gaze drifted to the faded needle marks on her wrist. "If this is what luxury looks like, I must have missed out. Pain, though? There was always enough of that to go around." Disbelief filled Marilee's eyes, her words trembling with contempt. "Lies. You grew up surrounded by filth--you're nothing but ga**age. If my parents hadn't stepped in, you'd be gone by now. Some gang would have had its way with you and left you in the gutter--" The rest never left her mouth. A sharp s**p rang out, echoing in the room. Stunned, Marilee pressed trembling fingers to the swelling red mark, speechless. A cold smile curved Alexia's lips. "There's nothing I despise more than people who never learned basic decency. The Jenkins family or not, I'd still be standing here as myself. But you? Without that divorce agreement, you're nothing more than a shameless mi**ress." Not waiting for a reaction, Alexia hurled the signed divorce agreement straight at Marilee, landing the hit with brutal precision. "Think of it as my parting gift." Marilee flinched as the edges nicked her forehead, letting out a startled cry. The shock left her shaking, the color draining from her lips. Alexia watched the panic unraveling Marilee's composure, noticing the nervous twitch on her face. Pretending to care, she cocked her head and offered, "Do you need me to call an ambulance for you?" That question broke whatever restraint Marilee had left. "Why would you ever do that?" she snapped. Alexia gave her a look laced with fake concern. "It just seems like you're not well at all." Marilee's voice cracked as she screamed, "I am not sick!" Even Roger turned, uncertain and uneasy as her shrill denial filled the room. Unbothered, Alexia let her reply drip with venom, hitting every nerve. "Funny. People who are actually unwell always insist they're fine. Might be time to book yourself a session with a psychiatrist. And before I forget...cute necklace. But honestly? Junk stones aren't worth much these days." Marilee's face turned ashen, her fury and humiliation overwhelming her. Without warning, she collapsed straight into Roger's arms. Anger carved hard lines into Roger's face as he pulled Marilee close, glaring at Alexia. "I never realized you could be so cruel. Just because you wore my ring, you think you can say whatever you want?" Before Alexia could offer a comeback, a familiar voice cut through the tension, heavy with mockery. "Really? That's your angle? Just because she wore your ring, you think you could speak to her like that?" A collective g**p swept through the crowd, all attention snapping to the doorway. There, tall and dangerously handsome, a man entered, charm radiating effortlessly with every step. ...... What happens next? 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) &5&

She spent five years trying to please her family, but her adoptive sister's casual slander undid it all. She was exposed as a fraud. Her fiancé rejected her, her friends distanced themselves from her, and her brothers sent her to the countryside to find her birth parents. She never expected her parents, whom she assumed were peasants, to be the country's wealthiest. ===== "How could you do such a thing? What kind of sister would wish harm on her own brother?" he said, his words splintered by a violent cough. "I should've listened to Stacey. She warned me about the poison!" Nicolas Kirk's hand trembled as he flung the bowl at Rylie Kirk's feet, the crash ringing out across the room. Bl**d stained his lips while fury contorted his face. Rylie's expression flickered as she looked down at the ruined medicine, disappointment shadowing her features. "I keep telling you, Nicolas, there's nothing deadly in the medicine. It contains an ingredient that purges the old bl**d, which you need if you ever want to recover," said Rylie. Watching the medicine soak into the carpet, she winced inwardly, knowing how much effort and money she had poured into finding the right remedy for her eldest brother. Stacey Kirk, the adopted daughter of the Kirk family, stood at Nicolas' side, her arms wrapped protectively around the medical text that she always carried. She raised her voice, tears prickling at her eyes. "Please, Rylie, just stop making excuses. Leland ran tests on your concoction, and the results were dangerous. It's full of toxins!" Cold skepticism crossed Rylie's face as she met Stacey's gaze. "You complete f**l," Rylie said. "There isn't a medicine in this world that's entirely safe, especially not for what Nicolas is suffering from. The only way to fight back is with a powerful dose. There's nothing mild that could work on him." Stacey could barely contain her tears, her voice quivering as she pleaded with Rylie, "He's spitting up bl**d right in front of us, and you're still insisting this is the only way? We're just medical students, Rylie, not miracle workers. Don't put your pride above Nicolas' life." Taking a shaky step toward Rylie, Stacey continued, her words thick with emotion, "I found a well-known specialist. He's already written a prescription that might actually save Nicolas. Admit you were wrong and let us try. Please." Nicolas doubled over, hacking up bl**d, and fixed Rylie with a glare that burned with outrage. "It wasn't enough that you fed me that mystery medicine, now you turn on Stacey too? If you had even a fraction of her compassion, things wouldn't have come to this," Nicolas snapped. "Apologize to her, right now!" Rylie straightened her shoulders and faced Nicolas with an unflinching stare. "All I ever wanted was to help you. I have done nothing that warrants an apology. I owe her nothing." Desperation twisted Nicolas' features as he scrambled to his feet, snatching a whip from the wall in a blind rage. "That's it! You're going to push me into an early grave! Why can't you ever listen?" he shouted. "Get out! I don't want you here!" Before the whip could lash out, Rylie shifted away, nimble and unafraid. From the upper landing, someone's measured steps echoed, and a battered backpack landed at her toes. Leland Kirk, her second brother, stood at the base of the stairs. His tone cut through the air. "Let's lay it out plainly. You're just an outsider, and Stacey is our true sibling. We've kept this secret for your sake, hoping you wouldn't resent her, but today, we see just how cruel you can be. If you refuse to admit your mistakes, pack your things. We'll announce Stacey as our one and only sister. Your fortune goes with your name -- you'll have to go back to your birth family and live as they do." Such a threat didn't faze Rylie. Years of living in the Kirk household had worn down her patience. However, the revelation that she was not bound to them by bl**d came almost as a blessing. Her ch**t felt unburdened, lighter than it had in years. There was no need to waste any more of her knowledge or talent on a house that never valued her. The thought had struck her as odd -- she always wondered why she stood out among siblings who never seemed to measure up. "That suits me just fine." Rylie's voice held not a hint of regret. With quick fingers, she snatched up the backpack, plucked a candy from the bowl, and let it dissolve on her tongue as she strode for the door. Left in the hallway, Stacey could not hold back a grin of satisfaction. Five years of plotting had finally paid off. With Rylie gone, she would be the Kirk family's prized daughter, adored and indulged by her brothers. Still, she could not resist a final performance. She darted after Rylie, her voice ringing out. "Rylie! Don't leave like this! You'll always have a place here! Please, don't make me feel like the villain. I'm begging you!" Nicolas interjected sharply, "Enough, Stacey! Let her go. A heart as cold as hers belongs to her own impoverished family. She never deserved this home." A cold laugh escaped Rylie when she overheard him. Was everyone in the Kirk family so easily fooled? Did they genuinely believe that it was sheer luck that had brought Nicolas back to health, gotten him out of bed, and made him able to walk again? Without her hands and her medicine, they'd see soon enough just how far good fortune could take him. Drawing the hood over her head, Rylie let the breeze whip strands of hair across her vivid lips, a flicker of scorn glinting in her eyes. ... Far away, inside the bustling capital city of Kouhron, the imposing Owen Mansion stood as a symbol of influence and wealth. Within that opulent hall, Kendrick Owen struck his ornate cane against the marble floor. "You all promised she'd been located. Why is she still not here?" Arrayed around him stood his three grandsons -- each a commanding presence in his own right, men whose names carried enough weight that even the highest government officials paid their respects. Yet, despite their stature, the shadow of their missing youngest sister dimmed their confidence, and their faces bore deep lines of worry. "Our search stalled in Crolens. According to the latest report, she spent some years in a mountain village, but after being trafficked, her whereabouts vanished from every record." Agony creased Kendrick's expression. "For eighteen years, that child has been gone. Imagine the hardships she's endured in a place like that." "Grandfather, there's been progress. One of the kidnappers came forward and claimed she was later sold to a rich woman in Crolens. We only need a bit more time -- her discovery is within reach." Relief softened Kendrick's features. No trace of irritation remained as he rose from his chair, hope radiating from his gaze. "In that case, let's not delay. I'm coming with you. We'll search together." Chapter 2 Versatile Rylie A heavy backpack slung over her shoulder, Rylie walked out of the Kirk residence without a backward glance, heading directly to the parking lot where her prized, limited-edition motorcycle waited. Years of downplaying her skills and masking her sharpness for the sake of the Kirk family's fragile peace were finally behind her. Freedom now tasted real. Down the city streets, her motorcycle roared, slicing through the afternoon air until she arrived at the imposing entrance of a gated community near a military compound. At the checkpoint, security protocols ran tight as always, but the instant Rylie's motorcycle appeared, the guard broke into a broad smile and opened the gate wide. "Miss Kirk, your visits are always a welcome surprise." With a practiced motion, Rylie flipped up her visor and gave a polite nod. Inside, cherry blossom petals scented the breeze, and several retired officers meandered beneath the blooming trees. Spotting her approach, they made their way over. "Look who's back -- Rylie, I was just about to see you. I've run out of those pills you mixed up for me last time." Her motorcycle came to a halt as she peeled off her helmet, her gentle features drawing nods of approval. "You can swing by the clinic tomorrow. I'll be here all day if you need a refill." Catching sight of another familiar face, she gestured toward an elderly man still sporting a neck brace. "As for you, I've told you before that brace is only making things worse for your neck." An embarrassed grin spread across his face as he removed the brace. "Would you at least allow me to try a few easy exercises?" "Take it slow, and don't do anything reckless," said Rylie, stepping inside an apartment building. Long ago, her connection to this community began unexpectedly. During a visit to the Military General Hospital to buy medicine, she had encountered an elderly man suffering from epilepsy. With a prescription that targeted his condition at the root, she gave him relief that no other doctor had managed. That stranger turned out to be a celebrated, now-retired clinical specialist. Awed by Rylie's abilities, he insisted on calling her his savior and offered her an apartment in the community as thanks. Easy rapport filled the community, and its prime location made life peaceful and convenient. In time, Rylie had come to see this place as the home that she had always needed. As soon as she stepped inside her apartment, lights flickered on and a soft, familiar mechanical voice greeted her. "Welcome home, Rylie. You've been gone for three days. There are two encrypted voicemails waiting, your email inbox has new messages, and your bath is ready." Her backpack landed with a thud on the floor, sending the zipper flying open. A thick bundle of cash spilled out, scattering across the entryway. She stared at the pile of bills, guessing that it must total around ten grand. The sound that escaped her lips was half a chuckle, half a sneer. Was that really all the Kirks thought she was worth, tossing money her way like she was some beggar? "Play my messages," she said. Britton Davies' voice filled the room first, recorded late the previous evening. "Hey, Rylie, registration for the relay's almost up -- two practice runs down already! Are you honestly still clinging to the Kirks? For real? I've been wiping the floor with Phillip these past few days!" A slight arch in her brow gave away her recognition. Phillip Kirk, her third brother, ran one of the most exclusive racing clubs in the world, churning out champions and stacking up prize money. Long nights spent behind the wheel were her secret, pushing his team to one victory after another. Yet each season, as the finals approached, Phillip would swap her out for Stacey, handing over the glory and the gold. Year after year, her skills powered their success, but when the spotlight appeared, Stacey was ushered in for the celebration, leaving Rylie invisible to the crowd. Trophies meant little to her. In those days, protecting her family's ego mattered more. But now... A grin spread across her face as she called Britton. "I want half of the prize money." Whatever disappointment Britton had felt vanished at once. "Done! Phillip's team doesn't scare me. I've mapped out every move they make, but when you're behind the wheel, nobody can keep up. I never lose to him, Rylie -- I always lose to you!" A small laugh escaped Rylie as she let out a soft sigh. "You've noticed it too. Funny how obvious it is, but they still manage to overlook everything I do." Curiosity lit Britton's voice as he switched topics. "By the way, something else came up. There's been chatter on the dark web about the Owen family -- the wealthiest folks in Kouhron. Word is, they're here in Crolens, searching for their missing daughter and throwing around serious money for information. Think we should get involved?" Without hesitation, Rylie answered, "No interest. I have finals coming up, so I'll pass. See you." On Britton's end, confusion crept in. Of all the reasons to bail, exams were the last thing that he would expect from Rylie. As far as he could recall, she never even showed up for tests. The truth was, she was the one who wrote them. Chapter 3 Invitation Rylie moved on to the next voicemail, which turned out to be from Rory Carter, one of the most respected physicians at the Military General Hospital. A note of flattery colored Rory's tone as he spoke. "Rylie, I'm really in a bind. One of my old friend's sons has battled a rare illness for years, and his health is declining again. Those special pills you provided aren't helping him any longer. Is there any chance you could stop by and take a look?" Pulling out her phone, Rylie dialed him back. "I'll come to the clinic after classes tomorrow evening. Tell him to swing by then." Rory cut in with an apologetic sigh, saying, "He's stuck in the VIP wing at the hospital, and strict protocols mean he can't leave." Drumming her fingers on the tabletop, Rylie pressed for details. "Enough stalling, Rory. Who's the patient?" After a pause, Rory's voice dropped to a whisper, saying, "It's Brad Morgan. Yes, the grandson of General Sean Morgan. This isn't just any case -- the Morgans have discreetly reached out to top doctors nationwide. They're offering twenty million dollars to anyone who can cure him." An arched eyebrow was all the reaction Rylie gave. The Morgan family was legendary, led by Sean Morgan, a formidable general. He was a man even the President deferred to. The name Brad Morgan brought back memories -- she remembered reading about him in the news. Only thirty and already hailed as the youngest admiral of his era, his string of military victories made headlines everywhere. That revelation puzzled Rylie. Something could actually bring down a man like Brad? Her next move was to check her encrypted contract inbox, and sure enough, there sat an official invitation from the National Healthcare Department. Working under the codename "Healing Hand" on the dark web, she had built a reputation for tackling medical mysteries, and eventually gathered an elite team of her own. It seemed natural that the government would come looking for her. Keeping her composure, Rylie responded, "I see the message. That reward would tempt anyone. I'll take the case." Meanwhile, word of the Morgan family's urgent call reached the Kirks as well. Leland sprang into action, already strategizing and dialing contacts in hopes of getting their foot in the door. Always just out of reach of the upper society, the Kirk family saw this as their shot. Healing Brad would mean acceptance into the highest social circles at last. Another rumor had set the city abuzz: the wealthiest family in Kouhron landed in Crolens, promising a mind-blowing sum to anyone who could lead them to their missing daughter. People all across town had dropped everything, desperate for a piece of the reward. ... The next day. The shrill ring of her phone yanked Rylie from sleep. She stretched and dragged herself out of bed. On the other end was Timothy Powell -- her research advisor -- barely masking his irritation. "Rylie! I told you to handle the data organization, but you're nowhere in sight. Are you trying to get yourself kicked out of my research group? Stacey was here right at dawn. I expect you here immediately!" She offered no answer, choosing instead to end the call and glance at the clock. The digits read ten o'clock. Her mind flashed back to the previous night. Lost in old medical texts, she'd worked long hours sorting through ancient prescriptions, and now she had overslept, letting Timothy's task slip her mind. A yawn escaped as she flipped open her laptop, sent off a quick email, and hurried to get ready. Backpack in tow, she stepped out the door. Her motorcycle zipped through city streets until she pulled up in front of the university lab. After finding a spot, she strode toward the entrance. She pulled out her pass and swiped it, only to watch the screen blink and flash a denial -- her access had been revoked. At that moment, the lab doors swung open and out came Stacey, flanked by two upperclassmen from the research team. A mocking smile twisted one guy's lips as he spotted her dilemma. "So, Rylie, you think you're special? Turning up late, ditching your work -- looks like you finally pushed Professor Powell too far. Lab access is locked, and your days here are over!" Chapter 4 I'm Expelling You Stacey tugged at the man's sleeve and said with a hint of grievance, "Rylie was late because she was in a bad mood. You should go and plead with Professor Powell on her behalf. If she's kicked out of this project, how will she maintain her reputation at school? No professor would risk taking her on, and she'd never graduate." Even as she spoke, excitement flickered in Stacey's eyes, barely masked by her sympathetic tone. The prospect of Rylie's downfall was almost too delicious to hide. If Rylie really got expelled, surely she would have no choice but to come back pleading. But the scene didn't play out the way Stacey had hoped. Rylie's answer was blunt and left no room for argument. "That's perfect. I never intended to stick around. I'm out of the project. I already sent my withdrawal report to Professor Powell this morning. Tell him to approve it." Her trip here wasn't for the team -- it was to collect her carefully developed Nexo-7 compound, the key ingredient that she had been growing for months for a rare genetic remedy. Stacey's face faltered at that. "You're quitting the group?" Without missing a beat, Rylie nodded and stepped past them, but Stacey's grip shot out, latching onto her wrist. "Please don't let impulse get the better of you, Rylie! We're nearly done with this phase, and the medical competition's coming up. This isn't just about you -- there's a team counting on you! You can't just walk away." The man cast Stacey a critical look. "You shouldn't give her special treatment just because you're related, Stacey." Rylie turned her gaze on Stacey, arching a brow. "Is your concern for me genuine, or is this just another act?" "Absolutely, I am really concerned," Stacey insisted, nodding eagerly. The urge to laugh nearly escaped Rylie, her tone laced with derision. "Be serious. You've seen what your team can do even with my help -- and it's not much. Six months, and you haven't achieved a thing. You're all lost causes, so of course I'm leaving." Everything about the research group's progress came down to Rylie -- her organization, her direction, her experimental designs. Without her, Timothy's grand ambitions in clinical medicine and AI were just wishful thinking. The others fumbled through experiments, never getting close to real breakthroughs. With a dismissive snort, Rylie reached out and tapped Stacey's cheek, her words cold. "Don't fool yourself. You're not family, and I'm not here to babysit incompetence in the lab." A surge of tears filled Stacey's eyes, her voice tight with shock. Ever since Rylie had been shown the door at home, she had turned into someone unrecognizable -- brazen, stubborn, completely unwilling to listen. It drove Stacey mad. "Rylie! Don't flatter yourself -- the research doesn't revolve around you. You wouldn't even be part of this team if Stacey hadn't vouched for you in the first place!" Patience snapping, the man lunged at Rylie, intending to shove her aside. But Rylie moved first, gripping his wrist and twisting it sharply. "Ah!" A cry of pain erupted from him as he doubled over, hand clutching his now-dislocated arm, disbelief written all over his face. Rylie merely dusted off her hands and shot the group a cold glance. "Aren't you all future doctors? Surely setting a joint isn't beyond your skills." Without wasting another word, she brushed past them, entered the lab through the open doors, and collected her prized compound. While inside, she fed the latest core AI research notes into the shredder, ensuring that her work would not be stolen. Moments later, Rylie stepped back out, vial in hand, just as Timothy stormed into the hallway. One glance at the scene -- a student whimpering, the others shaken -- and Timothy's anger boiled over. He jabbed a finger at Rylie. "You're always scraping by in class, using the lab for naps, and now you're assaulting your own teammates? Do you honestly believe my research team has any need for someone like you? From now on, you're no longer a member of the team! And I--" Growing impatient, Rylie interjected, "Didn't you read my email? I already sent in my resignation." Timothy hesitated, then fumbled for his phone and scanned his inbox. Sure enough, there was Rylie's formal withdrawal. He scoffed, shaking his head as if the idea was ridiculous, "You must be out of your mind, Rylie. Do you know how many students would k**l for a place on my team? Let me make this clear: you don't get to quit -- I'm expelling you. I'll post the official notice on the university website for everyone to see." Timothy had expected her to back down, maybe beg for another chance. But he had clearly misjudged her resolve. Rylie shrugged, tossing out a dismissive, "Whatever," and was halfway out the door when sudden shouts erupted nearby. A frantic voice cut through the noise. "Somebody just collapsed!" Instinct overriding her exit, Rylie pivoted toward the commotion. A small knot of medical students clustered around the person sprawled on the floor. She wasted no time barking instructions. "Give him space -- don't crowd, let some air in." These were all medical students, and certainly, they knew this knowledge. Immediately, they stepped back, forming a loose circle. Dropping to one knee, Rylie sized up the unconscious man. His face, pale but striking, caught her attention for only a second before her hands moved to assess his condition. Her fingers quickly found his trachea -- shifted, not where it should be. She was about to examine his ch**t when Timothy charged onto the scene, voice booming. "Out of the way! Let me through!" Without hesitating, Rylie grabbed her portable medical kit, but Timothy shouted at her, "You have no business treating anyone! You're just an inexperienced student, not a doctor!" Stacey hustled over, siding with Timothy. "Rylie, listen to Professor Powell. If something goes wrong, it's on you. He's the expert here, not you." Chapter 5 Anything But Ordinary Rylie ignored Timothy and Stacey and busied herself with the medical kit. She took out a decompression needle, felt the patient's ch**t, and unbuttoned his shirt to prepare for the procedure. Her calm defiance caught Timothy's eye, prompting him to step directly in her path. "Look at him -- clammy skin, ghostly complexion, and he collapsed in this sweltering heat. This is textbook heatstroke, maybe worsened by heart trouble. The right call is CPR. Bring him back that way!" Stacey didn't waste a moment piling on. "Rylie, for once, just do as Professor Powell says. You nearly k**led Nicolas with the wrong medicine yesterday. If you keep going like this, you'll end up in court!" With Stacey stirring things up, murmurs rippled through the crowd. Hidden among the onlookers, some of Stacey's friends chimed in about Rylie's supposed poor grades, spreading doubt and fanning resentment. At the edge of the crowd, a team from the nearby bio-research institute took notice and started moving closer. Rylie's expression chilled as she seized Timothy's hands, halting his attempt at ch**t compressions. "This man's not drawing a single breath, and his trachea's off-center. He's got a tension pneumothorax. If you start CPR now, you'll just make things worse." Such a challenge to his expertise -- especially in front of his students -- left Timothy red-faced. Yet, several research group members rallied around him, echoing his diagnosis. "Rylie, stop spreading nonsense. Professor Powell's the expert here, not you!" Unfazed, Rylie shook off Timothy's grasp, disinfected her instruments, and replied, "Cold sweats, pallor, collapse -- pneumothorax can look just like heatstroke. But if you bother to check for a shifted trachea or a drum-like ch**t, you'll see the difference. Guess that's lost on a quack." Her sharp words prompted a few medical students to lean in and study the patient themselves, curiosity overtaking their doubt. "It looks like Rylie's diagnosis holds up," one student admitted, and Timothy's expression turned even grimmer. Back straight and voice steady, Timothy retorted, "You're nothing more than a glorified assistant who just files paperwork, yet you think you're an expert? If you can revive him with that needle, the mentor's chair is yours!" Rylie didn't waste another word. She finished sterilizing, deftly inserted the decompression needle, and with a sharp hiss, trapped air rushed out. Color crept back into the patient's face as his breathing returned at once. "She was right all along! He had a pneumothorax!" a student shouted, awe coloring every word. Recognition dawned across the faces in the room as those with medical training pieced together what had just happened -- Timothy's assessment had been mistaken. One student voiced what everyone was thinking. "If Rylie hadn't stood her ground and Professor Powell had pushed on with CPR, we would have had a disaster on our hands." Even so, Timothy scrambled for justification. "Well... you've all misunderstood me. I actually recognized it was pneumothorax all along." In an attempt to salvage his authority, he looked down at Rylie and the group, adding, "My intention was only to test Rylie. She has a reputation for cutting corners, after all." Before she could get a word out, the patient -- still weak, yet now radiating a quiet power -- interrupted from the floor. "Did you risk my life just to prove a point with your student? That hardly qualifies you as a doctor, let alone a teacher." Despite his lingering frailty, this man rose, his commanding presence impossible to ignore. Those striking features, combined with an unmistakable force of will, made Rylie sense that his identity was anything but ordinary. She regarded him calmly and gave a simple instruction. "Save your strength and let the campus hospital run further tests." The man nodded and, with a hoarse voice, said to Timothy, "You should apologize to my savior." When he heard this, Timothy's composure slipped. "Excuse me? What did you just say?" Not missing her chance to gain approval, Stacey chimed in quickly, "Rylie, Professor Powell's intentions were good. He cares about your growth. A kind teacher like him shouldn't have to apologize." "And why shouldn't he?" A sharp retort cut through the crowd... ...... What happens next? 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&

What began as a fleeting a**air led to him keeping her close. Still, she could only watch as he built relationships with other women. Accepting he would never marry her, she agreed to her first love's marriage proposal. But on her wedding day, he, the president of a nation, knelt before everyone and begged her not to marry. ===== "Don't make a sound, and I won't hurt you. Blink if you understand." The voice rolled out from the back seat--low, smooth, and commanding. The calmness in his words clashed with the intensity of his action, the barrel of his g*n was locked on the back of her skull. One wrong move, and she knew it'd be over. A shiver crept down Roselyn White's spine. She blinked, giving in. She had just wrapped up her first Ub*r trip for the night when a stranger forced his way in and hijacked her ride home. Paralyzed with fear, Roselyn sat motionless. Just a short distance away, several men in black suits advanced with drawn w*apons, their expressions fierce, scanning the area like hunters closing in on prey. "He's out alone today. This is our best shot to as**ssinate him. Besides, he's inhaled a high dose of that potent ap**odisiac, and it's about to take effect. He can't have gone far. If we don't find Nathan Lawson, the boss will make us disappear down in Crocodile Bay." As the footsteps of the group gradually faded, Roselyn glanced up at the rearview mirror. The man in the back seat had an unusual flush on his face. He was clearly Nathan--the target they were after. His name sounded familiar to her. She felt like she had heard it somewhere before. "Don't try anything funny. Start the car," Nathan said, as if reading Roselyn's thoughts. His thumb disengaged the safety, and his gaze turned sharp. Roselyn stayed stiff, her pulse racing. The g*n alone was reason enough to stay cautious. "Look, I can give you some money instead, sir. You could book another ride, okay? My grandpa's in the ICU, and I'm just trying to make enough to help him. I've been juggling two jobs to stay afloat--and now, here you are with a g*n to my head. Why is this happening to me?" Her eyes welled as she clutched at whatever shred of mercy he might still have. Nathan sat slumped in the back, his breath un**en, his body burning from within. The ap**odisiac he'd been dr**ged with was tearing through his system, blurring his grip on reality. He caught the tremor in her voice--genuine and worn. He hadn't planned to endanger anyone tonight. It had just been his mentor's birthday party, no guards, no entourage--and now, here he was, backed into a corner with no choice but to involve a stranger. "Take me here. Fast..." he muttered, barely holding it together as he handed her the destination. Roselyn thought to resist, but the steel of the g*n pressed against her skin ended that quickly. Her legs trembled beneath her, but with the danger thick in the air, she quickly punched in the address and pulled the car out of the underground lot, Nathan g**ping in the back seat. After months on the road, Roselyn knew the city's hotspots like the back of her hand. But the destination on her screen was unfamiliar, far outside her usual route. Even the GPS marked it with a star--odd. There wasn't time to dwell on it. The car followed the signal into a dense patch of forest. When she finally parked, she glanced back. "Sir, is this the place?" Nathan slouched against the seat, still clutching the w**pon like his life depended on it. He didn't answer. With a tired sigh, she unlatched her seatbelt, stepped out, and opened the rear door. As she leaned in, fingers clamped around her wrist. She lost her footing and fell forward, landing right on top of Nathan. An intense heat surged from his body--hot enough to feel like it might burn right through her skin. "You should at least pay the fare," she said shakily, trying to shove him off. Her cool palm brushed against his blazing ch*st. Nathan's composure had been hanging on by a thread. That one touch snapped it clean. She wasn't oblivious. When his hand found her chin, the fire in his eyes--r*w and h*ngry--told her exactly what he wanted. Inside the tight, shadowy back seat, danger hung heavy, building slowly as the night breeze stirred outside. Chapter 2 Mistaken For A Thief Roselyn twisted her wrist, trying to break free, but before she could even brush the door handle, Nathan yanked her into his arms. With a sharp pivot, he shoved her back against the seat, trapping her b**eath him. "Sir, what are you doing? Please--don't do anything foolish. I don't want your fare now!" Roselyn stammered in panic as she tried to wriggle off his arms. "I'll make it worth your time if you help me." With what little composure he still had, Nathan slid a gold bank card from his pocket and held it just above her head. Her instincts screamed to turn him down, but the card's gleam flashed like a cruel reminder--her grandfather lying in the ICU, the hospital fees looming like a shadow. She swallowed hard and gave in. Thankfully, Nathan was unnervingly attractive, with a face so refined it looked sculpted--easily the most handsome man she had ever laid eyes on. The h*at building inside Nathan refused to stay contained. Beneath the trees, the white sedan rocked gently under the silver glow of the moon, like a lone vessel adrift on a quiet sea. Roselyn knew nothing of int**acy. Her first encounter left her with nothing but intense memories of pain. She cr*ed out more than once. Each time she believed he'd finished, he surged forward again, relentless in his rhythm. By the final round, she couldn't even s**eam. Her throat had given out, r*w from pl*ading. Drifting between wakefulness and sleep, she vaguely heard him on the phone. But soon, sleep pulled her under. The morning breeze slipping in through the cracked window nudged her awake. "It h*rts," she whispered, the words barely forming. Flat on her back in the car, her a**ing body reminded her with brutal clarity just how unreal the night before had been--ent**gled in the arms of a stranger. Snapping to attention, she remembered the card. She shot upright and scanned the back seat. There it was. The gold card lay beside a note that read, "No password required." Clutching the card, she sat up straight, trying to process the reality of spending the n*ght with a stranger. She couldn't tell if she should laugh or cry. Her phone shrilled, cutting through the silence. It was the hospital again, demanding payment. Steeling herself, she opened the door. The moment her feet hit the ground, a jolt of p*in tore through her legs, almost buckling her knees. Grumbling Nathan's name under her breath, she limped to the driver's side, wincing with every step. She snapped on her seatbelt, tossed her phone onto the dashboard, and drove away--leaving behind the forest she never wanted to see again. Nathan had been scheming against her since the moment he set foot in her car. She had never encountered someone so brazen. Back at her apartment, Roselyn showered off the night, slipped into fresh clothes, and headed straight to the hospital to settle the bill. Thirty minutes later, feeling refreshed, she arrived at the hospital's billing counter. But as soon as she swiped the gold card Nathan had given her, the bank quickly alerted certain personnel. What she didn't know was that the card had already placed her under covert surveillance. After making the payment, Roselyn planned to visit her grandfather. But as she stepped out of the building, a commotion ahead grabbed her attention. Three luxury cars were parked neatly in front, their distinctive license plates unmistakably identifying their owners as individuals of wealth and status. Hoping to avoid any trouble, she intended to pass by the vehicles and head to the inpatient department. Sebastian Brown, the President's Chief of Staff, approached Roselyn with calm, respectful composure. "Excuse me, are you Miss Roselyn White?" She hesitated, then nodded. "I am." "Our superior would like a word with you, Miss White. Please, come with us," Sebastian, after confirming Roselyn's identity, said. Roselyn bristled. She didn't know this "superior" and had no interest in meeting him. But Sebastian, already anticipating her refusal, held out his phone. On screen was security footage of her using the bank card. "If you want to see your grandfather again, you'll get in the car. Otherwise, I'll have to report you for theft. And if you're charged, well, it could be a long time before you're allowed near him again," Sebastian said, his smile still intact. Roselyn didn't need more explanation. Her freedom--and her grandfather--hung in the balance. Nathan's promise echoed in her memory. Her ch*st burned with a mix of shame and fury. Chapter 3 You Don't Need To S**ip Me Roselyn withdrew the bank card, holding it up with quiet defiance. "Let me make this clear first--the card was given to me. I didn't steal it. I'll come with you, but only because I want to see your boss for myself. Who does he think he is, threatening me and telling me what to do?" Sebastian didn't bother responding. Instead, he flicked his hand, prompting the bodyguard to step forward and open the car door with polished precision. "Miss White, whether you stole that card or simply stumbled upon it, my boss will hear your explanation himself." Sebastian guided her into the car and shut the door behind her. Roselyn sat inside, her heart uneasy and full of dread about what lay ahead. She had no sense of how long the ride lasted before the car eased to a stop. As she stepped out, the sight of the sprawling estate struck her silent, its grand architecture momentarily stunning her. The mansion towered before her, easily a thousand times larger than the modest apartment she rented. Roselyn paused at the doorway, uncertain about stepping inside, when a maid in uniform came up to her. "Follow me," she said, her tone edged with arrogance, before turning ahead. Even a standard maid role in this upscale household demanded a degree from a prestigious university. In this place, maids weren't just hired to cook and clean--they were expected to bring a solid educational background with them. It was Roselyn's first time inside a home so elaborately designed. Even the ceiling of the greenhouse shimmered with extravagant luxury. In a guest room on the ground floor, several maids dressed in black and white circled Roselyn. She recoiled, panic flaring. "What are you doing? You don't need to st**p me just to get the card back." The maids escorted Roselyn into an opulent bathroom, where even the mirror frames, faucets, and showerheads gleamed with solid gold. "Before you see our boss, you need to have a bath and let us check your body. If you're hiding anything, it'll only cause trouble," said the same maid who'd guided her in. "What kind of absurd rule is this? Is your boss supposed to be the President or what? Do I seriously have to be bathed and searched just to see him?" Roselyn objected, but in her dazed state, they forcefully pushed her into the bath. The water was warm, held at a perfect temperature, and a faint scent of luxurious essential oil lingered in the air. Roselyn's mind drifted, wondering just who this "boss" could be. Once the maids left, she hesitated before removing her und**wear. At first, she felt a pang of shyness, but the soothing warmth of the water, infused with the calming scent of oil, soon eased her tension. She leaned back, her body sinking into the bath, and exhaled deeply in satisfaction. Her thoughts wandered. Could the man from the previous night have given her a stolen bank card? And now, the rightful owner had come to make trouble for her. But what kind of remarkable person could call a castle like this home? When the bath ended, the maids returned, draping her in the latest haute couture dress, applying a subtle touch of makeup, and styling her hair simply but elegantly. Roselyn watched in confusion. She had come here only to return the card--why were they so focused on her appearance? "Our boss has arrived. Miss White, please come with me," a middle-aged butler said, his tone calm and polite as he ushered Roselyn out of the room. Her heart quickened as she followed him down the stairs. The idea of an unknown man demanding the bank card, the maids using the bath as a pretext to search her, and then fussing over her makeup and hair--each step felt less like confronting a "thief" and more like a deliberate act of h*miliation. She stepped into the courtyard, where a line of luxury cars gleamed in the sunlight. From the first car, a tall figure emerged, his silhouette cutting a sharp contrast against the light. His long legs, clad in tailored suit pants, and the three-piece suit he wore added to his aura of distinction and aloofness. As the man got closer, Roselyn was able to see his face properly at last. "It's you," she said, her voice filled with surprise. Chapter 4 Powerful Figure "Roselyn." Nathan looked down at her, his tone cold and distant, his eyes carrying an unmistakable air of superiority. Roselyn recalled the night before--how he'd held her, how he'd promised to repay her if she helped him. But when the memory of his people tracking her down that morning, demanding the bank card back and accusing her of theft surfaced, her frustration finally boiled over. "Here, take it back." Roselyn yanked the solid gold card from her pocket and flung it at Nathan. The card smacked him directly in the face, leaving a vivid red mark on his otherwise flawless features. The bodyguards, the butler, and the maids all gasped, a cold shiver creeping over them as they watched Roselyn cross a line she clearly didn't see. Nathan's jaw tightened, his deep-set eyes clouded with rage. A frigid, crushing pressure seemed to roll off him. Sebastian moved first, gesturing briskly to the bodyguards nearby. Before Roselyn could react, the bodyguards grabbed her and forced her in front of Nathan. "How dare you! Who gave you the nerve?" Sebastian scolded in a low voice, glaring sharply as he approached her. But when Nathan's icy gaze shifted toward him, he instantly lowered his head. "Sir…" Nathan's brow creased slightly, and he signaled the bodyguards to let her go. His sheer presence was so commanding that no one dared breathe. Once freed, Roselyn appeared slightly indignant. She bit her lip, and though her starry eyes shimmered with unshed tears, they burned with unwavering defiance. "Keep your false kindness," she shot back. "I've returned the card. Next time, don't let your people call me a thief." Sebastian's fists clenched at his sides. If Nathan hadn't forbidden them from touching her, he would've made sure this defiant woman paid for her insolence. Nathan glared at Roselyn with an intensity that made her heart race. His eyes never wavered, piercing through her with unrelenting focus. The bitterness and frustration of the morning lingered, but under his unflinching stare, she dared not let them show. She had already returned the card. She told herself to dismiss the label of "thief" as a cruel joke, as it deserved no more than a brief, frustrated thought. "Sebastian, take her to the living room." The command shattered whatever resolve Roselyn had left to retreat. His voice, deep and magnetic, sent a tremor through Roselyn. With purposeful strides, he moved forward, his long legs encased in tailored suit pants as he entered the estate, while the bodyguards forcefully pulled her along behind him. They arrived in the living room, where she saw him standing tall by the expansive window. The servants had quietly slipped away, leaving just the two of them in the room's stillness. Nathan stood with his back straight, one hand casually tucked into his pocket. The space between them may have been more than a meter, but the pressure he exuded was suffocating--his presence absolute, his authority unmistakable. The quiet, oppressive solitude of being alone with him stole her breath away. Roselyn swallowed, the courage she had earlier mustered now slipping through her fingers. She could hardly speak. Nathan's lips barely parted, his voice steady and cold, his gaze never wavering. "Tell me who told you to return the card and accused you of theft?" His question brought all the resentment she had worked to hold in check flooding to the surface--especially the memory of his people threatening her using her grandfather. In that moment, her frustration boiled over. She sprang forward, her small frame rushing to headbutt his chin. A large hand gripped her neck, halting her mid-air. Nathan's hold was firm, the sheer strength in his fingers making her feel as small and helpless as a child. He squeezed, and a sharp g**sp escaped her lips. "It hurts! Let go!" she cried, flailing her arms. But the difference in their strength was too vast; she couldn't budge him at all. The more Roselyn dwelled on it, the sharper her anger became. She swung her leg at Nathan in a forceful kick. Nathan's frown deepened, and with quick reflexes, he sidestepped her attack. Her foot narrowly missed his g**in. His eyes, piercing and unyielding, remained on her. The chill in his eyes intensified with every passing moment. Roselyn, unfazed by the danger, pressed on, testing his boundaries. "Roselyn, know when to quit while you're ahead." Nathan's voice was low, dark eyes locking onto hers with an unmistakable warning. The pain in Roselyn's neck flared, and she fought to hold it back, her vision blurring as tears threatened to spill. She scoffed, bitterness lacing her words. "That's rich coming from you. You're the one full of lies. Just last night, you solicited my assistance and willingly handed me that bank card. If you think this is your idea of a joke, then please know when to quit while you're ahead." Her ch*st tightened with the weight of the injustice. She had given him her f*rst time--and now his people were treating her like a criminal. She had let out too much too quickly, and the emotional toll left her momentarily drained. After a deep breath, she straightened, forcing the strength back into her voice. "Sir, I've returned your bank card. Now, can you tell your people I'm not a thief?" Her grandfather's words echoed in her mind--one could be poor, but not immoral. She hadn't done anything wrong, not this time. "Someone come here," Nathan called sharply. Sebastian stepped into the doorway, standing with a respectful demeanor. "Mr. President, how may I assist you?" "Mr. President?" Roselyn's mind went utterly blank, her thoughts stumbling over each other. She had to have misheard him. Oh God. What kind of powerful figure had she just set off? ...... What happens next? 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) &5&