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Her stepsister stole her husband, just like her stepmother had once stolen her father. After learning she had stomach cancer, she found a way to get her husband to sign the divorce agreement. Thirty days later, they met again at a global technology conference. The arrogant man who had once looked down on her stood before her with bloodshot eyes. He desperately begged for another chance. Her brothers broke down in tears and pleaded for forgiveness. She simply turned around and walked away. ===== Stage II adenocarcinoma. The doctor slid the medical report across the polished mahogany desk. The diagnosis printed in black against the white page looked less like medical information and more like a death sentence. Roselyn Hudson watched the doctor's mouth move, yet none of his words seemed to reach her. Above them, the fluorescent lights hummed without pause, the sound pounding against her head. Breathing became difficult. The air around her felt scarce. Sweat gathered at the back of her neck before tracing a path down her spine. No tears came. Instead, she dug her nails into her palm until half-moon marks appeared in her skin, but even then, she felt nothing. What are the odds? Roselyn asked in an even voice. The doctor seemed taken aback by how calm she sounded. Patiently, he explained the treatments available to her. Targeted therapy. The possibility of surgery. The difficult months waiting ahead. Without any change in expression, Roselyn listened and nodded. Not long afterward, she left the hospital. As soon as the heavy glass door closed behind her, the strength left her legs. Down the cold tiled wall of the hallway she sank until her knees met the floor. The report remained locked against her ch**t. A sudden knot tightened in her stomach, and the tumor inside her made itself known again. Suddenly, her phone vibrated inside her purse. Her shaking fingers reached for it. The message was from her husband, Adrian Riley. Don't wait for me tonight. I have a business meeting. The text carried the same distance and indifference she had come to expect. As the successor of Riley Group, Adrian stood at the center of the city's largest real estate empire. For the past three years, Roselyn had quietly filled the role of the quiet wife behind him. She had given up a future in AI medical research. She had taken care of his home. She had tolerated the ridicule of the people around him. Through it all, she had loved him. Earlier that morning, however, a sweet unfamiliar perfume had lingered on his collar. Not long after that, his phone screen had lit up with a message from someone saved under a single name. Emma. Emma Hudson. Emma was Roselyn's half-sister. She was the daughter born from their father's af**ir with Sophia Grant. Sophia had once destroyed Roselyn's mother's marriage. Now it seemed the same story was beginning all over again. With those innocent eyes and that soft voice of hers, Emma had ended up in Adrian's bed. Roselyn's eyes remained fixed on the message. Another wave of pain tore through her stomach, spreading through her like fire. One tear slipped free. She brushed it away and her expression turned cold. Then she unlocked her phone and searched for two things. The rules for dividing assets after a divorce and the price of targeted treatment for stomach cancer. Forty minutes later, her car rolled into the garage at the Riley estate. Adrian's Aston Martin wasn't there. Good. He wasn't at home. Without hesitation, she headed for Adrian's study. The room carried the familiar scent of his cologne mixed with leather. Her destination was the safe concealed behind a painting. The code wasn't difficult to remember. It was Adrian's birthday. A click sounded from the lock. From inside, Roselyn removed a thick stack of contracts related to an acquisition Adrian was preparing for. After that, she located their prenuptial agreement. Carrying it to the shredder, she fed the document through one page at a time. Once it was gone, she printed a standard divorce agreement and carefully completed the asset division section using the information she had just researched. Afterward, she made a copy of the cancer diagnosis. The divorce agreement and medical report were then slipped into the middle of the contract stack. Next, she picked up her phone and called Jenifer Riley. Jenifer was Adrian's mother. She was also the person who controlled the Riley family's finances. For as long as Roselyn could remember, Jenifer had looked down on her and considered her nothing more than a woman after the Riley family's money. What do you want? Jenifer asked. Impatience filled her voice. Mrs. Riley, Roselyn said evenly. "I'm calling about my divorce with Adrian. I need him to sign the agreement tonight, and we need to discuss the settlement." Silence followed on the other end. A moment later, a quiet laugh escaped Jenifer. In her eyes, Roselyn had finally accepted reality and realized she would never truly fit into the Riley family. So you're finally showing your true colors, Jenifer said in a clipped tone. "Come to my place tomorrow morning. I'll handle everything from there." I'll be there, Roselyn replied before ending the call. Her eyes drifted to the documents spread across the table. A faint, bitter smile appeared on her lips. Only after midnight did the front door open. Loosening his tie, Adrian stepped into the living room. The scent of al**hol lingered on him, mixed with that familiar perfume. Roselyn remained seated on the couch. The stack of papers rested on the coffee table between them. Why haven't you gone to bed yet? Adrian asked with a frown as he ran a hand through his hair. There wasn't a trace of guilt on his face. What showed instead was irritation. These need your signature, Roselyn said as she pushed the documents toward him. "Your mother said they were related to the acquisition and needed to be handled right away." A long sigh escaped Adrian. He was well aware that his mother and Roselyn had never gotten along. Reaching into his pocket, he took out a pen and opened the thick file. Inside her ch**t, Roselyn's heart pounded relentlessly. Outwardly, however, she showed nothing. Using one finger, she indicated the last page. Sign here, and here. Tired and convinced Roselyn knew nothing about corporate matters, Adrian didn't waste time looking through the hundreds of pages. His signature quickly landed on every marked line. Without realizing it, he signed away his marriage together with the acquisition documents. Afterward, Adrian dropped the pen onto the floor. You don't look well, he said, his brow tightening further. The remark carried criticism, not concern or kindness. "Roselyn, don't start creating problems right now. I'm exhausted. Just let me get some rest." For three years, Roselyn had loved this man. Now, there was nothing left. Only an ending she could finally see clearly. It's nothing. My stomach's bothering me again, Roselyn said softly. "It's an old issue." Ask Donna to make you some soup tomorrow, Adrian said before walking toward the bedroom. Alone in the dim room, Roselyn tightened her grip on the folder. Then she took out her phone and sent a message to her best friend, Nina Parker. I have cancer. I'm divorcing Adrian. Nina replied, "What? I'm on my way!" I still need to deal with a few things. Come tomorrow, Roselyn responded. After getting to her feet, she headed upstairs. When she reached the master bedroom, she noticed the door hadn't been fully closed. A voice drifted from inside. It was Adrian. Emma, sl**p well. Roselyn stopped where she was. Pain churned through her stomach once again, but not a sound escaped her lips. Without looking inside, she continued past the room and entered the guest bedroom. They hadn't shared the same bedroom for months. After locking the door, she placed the signed documents inside the nightstand drawer. Under the faint light, she began writing. "Freedom Countdown. Sign the divorce agreement. Secure financial compensation. Return to my career. Keep the diagnosis secret." One final word was added. "Survive." Whatever happened, she had to survive. No one could know the truth. She would allow them to believe she was simply causing trouble. Without water, she swallowed two strong painkillers. Still wearing her clothes, she lay down on the bed and stared upward until daylight slipped through the curtains. By morning, Adrian was already standing near the front entrance, adjusting his watch. As Roselyn came downstairs, he glanced at her briefly. Then he walked out without another look. Soon, everything would be finished. The divorce agreement had already been signed. Drawing in a steady breath, Roselyn picked up her phone and called Jenifer. I'll arrive in thirty minutes. Chapter 2 You're A Snake Roselyn occupied a velvet armchair in the spacious living room. Across from her, Jenifer sat with a saucer in hand while her manicured nails struck against it at regular intervals. The gesture made her irritation obvious. Without a word, Roselyn pushed a document over the glass coffee table. Jenifer took the papers and looked through them. As soon as she reached the end of the document, her eyebrows shot up. She sl**ped it down onto the table. Thirty million dollars? Jenifer's sharp voice shattered the silence. "Have you completely lost your senses, Roselyn? What have you ever done for the Riley family that makes you think you're entitled to that amount? This is nothing but blackmail!" Not a single change appeared on Roselyn's face. She opened her designer handbag and removed a silver flash drive. Then she set it down in front of Jenifer. Every claim I've made can be verified, said Roselyn. "The drive contains records proving Adrian moved substantial marital assets into an offshore account under Emma's name. It also contains internal correspondence detailing how Riley Group dealt with tax issues connected to a major development project from last year." Jenifer's face immediately lost all color. Her grip tightened against the armrests. I'm only asking for what is legally mine. On top of that, I deserve compensation for the emotional harm I've endured. Roselyn settled back into her seat as she spoke. "If you choose not to agree, these documents will be submitted together with my divorce filing. The moment that happens, they'll become part of the public record. I imagine both the media and the IRS will be very interested in reviewing them." Jenifer stared at her, breathing hard. Only then did she understand how badly she had misjudged Roselyn. For years, she had seen Roselyn as someone weak and obedient. You're a snake, Jenifer spat through clenched teeth. You should know-I learned it from watching people like you, Roselyn retorted. Jenifer's expression hardened. If information like this ever got out, Riley Group could lose hundreds of millions in value. Compared to that, thirty million dollars was nothing. Fine. Jenifer gave in reluctantly. "But you're signing a nondisclosure agreement first. Then pack everything you own and leave Adrian's house." I have no problem with that, Roselyn agreed. Without hesitation, she accepted the NDA from Jenifer, signed it, and stood. You have three days to transfer the money into my account. If that deadline passes, the files will be released automatically. Leaving the house behind, Roselyn headed for the exit. The oak door shut behind her with a heavy sound. The moment she settled into her car, a slight tremor ran through her hands. She had succeeded. Instead of going home, she drove to her office. Long before she became Adrian's wife, Roselyn had helped establish a medical AI technology company as one of its founding engineers. After the marriage, however, fewer and fewer people viewed her the same way. She walked through the familiar hallways. The efficient, professional atmosphere felt completely different from the endless conflict surrounding the Riley family. Outside the office of Gerald Hardy, the company's operations director, she paused and knocked on the door. Surprise flashed across Gerald's face when he saw her. "Roselyn? I wasn't expecting you. Come in and have a seat." From her bag, Roselyn took out a white envelope and handed it over. "Gerald, I've decided to step down from my nonexecutive board position. For now, I'll also be transferring my voting rights." As Gerald reviewed the letter, a frown slowly appeared. "Does this have something to do with Mr. Riley's af**ir?" My health is the reason, Roselyn answered. She offered no further explanation. "Right now, I need time to rest." After signing the paperwork, Gerald let out a sigh. "No matter what happens, there'll always be a place for you here." Thank you. For the first time that day, Roselyn truly felt grateful. After leaving his office, she made her way toward the elevators. A hand suddenly caught the doors before they could shut completely. Nate Robinson stepped into the elevator. As Adrian's executive assistant, his arrogance rivaled that of his employer. Mrs. Riley, Nate sneered as his gaze swept over her. What brings you here? To see Mr. Riley? You know he can't stand it when you follow him around. Roselyn felt her stomach tighten. To steady herself, she rested a hand against her abdomen and kept her breathing under control. I'm here to complete the process of leaving the board, Roselyn replied calmly. "And from this point forward, you'll address me as Ms. Hudson." A moment of surprise crossed Nate's face before he burst out laughing. "Leaving the board? Is this another one of your attempts to get attention? Does Mr. Riley even know you're doing this?" Roselyn kept her eyes on the elevator doors and didn't look at him. "That's not something you need to concern yourself with." When the elevator reached the lobby, the doors opened. Without another word, Roselyn stepped out. Behind her, Nate remained where he was, still wearing that disdainful look. Once she returned to her car, Roselyn pulled out a notebook. She crossed off the second item on her list-secure financial compensation. Then she placed a check mark beside the first item-sign the divorce agreement. Below the four items, she wrote something new. "Freedom Countdown: 30 Days." A vibration came from her phone. A message appeared on her phone from her cousin, Stefan Hudson. Roselyn, there's a private dinner happening tonight. Would you like to come with me? For several seconds, Roselyn looked at the text. Exhaustion weighed on her. The stress and the tumor had left her body aching. Even so, she needed to start rebuilding her connections. She needed to find the version of herself that existed before Adrian became part of her life. Her fingers moved across the screen. "Where is it, and what time does it start?" Silence filled the house when Roselyn arrived home. In the hallway, Donna Flynn, the elderly housekeeper who had always been kind to her, was busy dusting. The moment Donna saw her, concern showed on her face. Roselyn's pale appearance was impossible to miss. Mrs. Riley, are you alright? Donna, I'd rather you call me Roselyn. I'm alright. Just a little tired. Actually, I'll be moving out soon. Shock spread across Donna's face. "Moving out? Oh dear... I'm sorry to hear that." Donna understood better than anyone how Roselyn had been treated under that roof. You don't need to be sorry. A smile appeared on Roselyn's lips. Though tired, it was genuine. "This is the right decision." Roselyn headed for the guest room upstairs. A suitcase came out, and she started packing her belongings. Everything Adrian had purchased for her remained exactly where it was. Her gaze settled on the closet after it had been emptied. At that moment, something she hadn't felt in years stirred inside her-anticipation. Sitting down on the edge of the bed, she opened her laptop and began writing an email to the mentor who had guided her in the past. Is there still room for me on the new AI diagnostics project we talked about last year? The email was sent. Before two minutes had passed, a response arrived. Roselyn! We've been waiting for you. After closing the laptop, Roselyn sat quietly for a moment. Goodbye, Adrian, she whispered to the empty room. Chapter 3 I Owe Him My Life For the private dinner, Roselyn picked out a black dress with a clean, elegant design. Just as she prepared to head out, her phone started ringing. Roselyn, I owe you an apology. An inspection came up and delayed me. Stefan sounded rushed. "So I asked a friend to pick you up instead. He's already outside waiting." A frown crossed Roselyn's face. "Stefan, that's unnecessary. I can make it there myself." Relax, you'll be fine with him. I'll see you at the restaurant. Before she could respond, Stefan ended the call. With her clutch in hand, Roselyn took the elevator down to the first floor. At the curb, a black Maybach was already parked. When she neared the vehicle, the driver got out and opened the rear door. Roselyn stepped inside. Someone else was already seated on the opposite side. The light from a tablet cast a glow across his features. Sharp bone structure. A calm expression. An authority that didn't need to be announced. His presence alone was difficult to ignore. The man sitting there was Kevin Wheeler. Roselyn stopped cold. Kevin turned to look at her. For a split second, something intense flickered across his face before disappearing. The change vanished so quickly that she couldn't be certain she had seen it at all. Hello, Roselyn greeted with a courteous smile. My name is Roselyn Hudson. I'm Stefan's cousin. Thank you for coming to get me. Kevin Wheeler. His voice was low and steady. "Stefan talks about you often. From what I understand, you've had a difficult time recently." Roselyn immediately grew guarded. Without thinking, she closed her fingers into her palms. Why would Stefan tell him something so personal? There are a few things in my life that need to be dealt with, she said after a pause. Rather than questioning her further, Kevin offered, "If you find yourself needing assistance, you can reach out to me." His tone remained casual, yet the offer felt far more significant than it should have. Confusion flickered across Roselyn's face. She couldn't understand why someone she had only just met would extend that kind of offer. Soon afterward, the Maybach rolled into the underground parking area of an upscale restaurant. Kevin stepped out and opened the door for her. Standing next to him made most people feel diminished by comparison. Roselyn rarely experienced anything like that. Together, they made their way into a private dining room where Stefan was already seated and motioning for them to join him. As the dinner continued, Roselyn began to understand the extent of Kevin's influence. He wasn't simply a friend of Stefan's. He was one of the investment world's most influential figures, someone capable of shaping the future of countless companies with a single decision. Even so, he spent most of the evening listening rather than speaking. Stefan carried much of the conversation with one story after another. Several glasses of w**e later, Stefan started talking about their family's past. Roselyn's uncle, Arthur Cunningham, was a legend, Stefan said with a grin. Arthur Cunningham? Kevin repeated. The way he said the name was noticeably quieter. "He is your uncle?" A nod came from Roselyn as a familiar sadness surfaced inside her. "That's right. He passed away many years ago." Kevin didn't look away. Something about the way he watched her sent a sudden shock through Roselyn. I owe him my life, Kevin said. The amusement vanished from Stefan's face. Roselyn became completely still. Many years ago, he pulled me out of a situation that should have ki**ed me, Kevin continued. His gaze remained fixed on her. "Afterward, he never asked for anything in return." An old memory surfaced in Roselyn's mind. She remembered hearing that Arthur had once rescued a boy from a vehicle engulfed in flames. He had been so happy because of that, but he had never revealed who that boy was. Since then, I've never forgotten what I owe him, Kevin said. "Meeting you tonight finally gives me a chance to repay that debt." Roselyn thought of the uncle who had always shown her kindness. Her throat tightened as emotion rose inside her. "That's not necessary. My uncle would've done the same for anyone. You don't owe me anything." I disagree. I know exactly what I owe. Kevin's voice made it clear he wasn't open to debate. "If there's ever something you need, all you have to do is tell me." Sensing the atmosphere growing heavier, Stefan cut in, "Roselyn, do you realize how valuable that offer is? Getting a favor from Kevin is like hitting the jackpot." Roselyn turned her attention to Kevin. There was no trace of pity in his eyes. All she found there was sincerity. She needed support now more than ever. Even so, she wanted to hold on to what remained of her pride. Thank you, Kevin, Roselyn whispered. "If the day comes when I have nowhere else to turn, I'll remember what you've offered." The corner of Kevin's mouth lifted slightly. Once dinner ended, Kevin refused to let her find her own way home and arranged for the driver to take her back. The ride passed in silence. When the car finally arrived outside her apartment building, Roselyn stepped out onto the sidewalk. Roselyn. Kevin's voice stopped her before she could walk away. "Don't forget what I said." Roselyn caught her breath. Before any response could leave her lips, the darkened window rose, and the Maybach disappeared into the night. A cool breeze brushed against her coat while she remained standing on the sidewalk. Her arms folded across her body as one thought after another ran through her mind. There was no doubt that Kevin was a dangerous man. Yet after everything she had gone through, he was also the first person to offer her something completely genuine. Chapter 4 Stop Making A Scene The following day, Roselyn met Nina at the hotel cafe. Across the table, Nina used the edge of her fork to cut into a slice of red velvet cake. I still don't know how you pulled that off. Thirty million dollars from Jenifer? That's unbelievable. Disbelief filled Nina's face as she shook her head. "Once she saw those financial records, she didn't have anywhere to run." Only a small smile appeared on Roselyn's face. Beneath the table, she quietly pressed her fist against her abdomen as a sharp cramp tore through her stomach. I just had something valuable enough to negotiate with. The strain in Roselyn's voice was difficult to hide. Nina was too caught up in the conversation to notice how drained Roselyn looked. "Oh, right. I think I spotted Kevin upstairs earlier." A playful smile spread across her face. "The man who offered to help you." Getting to her feet, Roselyn moved quickly. "Excuse me. I need to go to the restroom." Leaving the cafe behind, she walked into the hotel's grand main corridor. Without warning, another surge of pain hit her. The pain became so severe that she had no choice but to stop beside a marble column and brace herself against it. Her eyes closed as she concentrated on the breathing techniques her doctor had taught her. Several moments later, the pain finally began to ease. Slowly, she opened her eyes again. Directly across the corridor stood a luxury jewelry boutique. Carefully arranged lighting reflected against rows of glass display cases. One particular piece drew Roselyn's attention. An extraordinary sapphire and diamond necklace occupied the center of the display. Its name was "True Love." Roselyn caught sight of it and froze for a moment. Six months ago, Adrian had brought her to this same boutique. Standing beside her, he had pointed at the necklace and spoken in a low voice. "That necklace belongs to you, Roselyn. No one else should wear it." Back then, she had accepted every word as truth. Looking back, she felt fo**ish. Roselyn was ready to leave when movement inside the boutique caught her attention. All the color vanished from her face. For a moment, she couldn't move. The two people entering the store were Adrian and Emma. Through the spotless glass, Roselyn watched Adrian speak with the store manager. With an eager nod, the manager unlocked the display at the center of the boutique. Carefully, he removed the necklace and handed it over to Adrian. Adrian turned toward Emma. Using his own hands, he secured the necklace around her neck. An exaggerated g**p escaped Emma. Without any hesitation, she wrapped her arms around Adrian and ki**ed him. As he drew her closer, his hand came to rest at her waist. Concealed behind the marble column, Roselyn didn't move. Her nails bit into her palms until pain spread through her hands. A metallic bitterness settled in her mouth. The pain in her stomach intensified. Soon, the burning sensation rose into her throat. Breath became difficult to draw, yet her eyes remained fixed on them. With a shopping bag, Adrian and Emma eventually left the boutique. Roselyn tried to retreat farther into the shadows, but it was too late. Emma's sharp gaze locked onto her. A victorious gleam flashed across her eyes. Roselyn! What a surprise. Her sweet voice echoed through the corridor. Holding tightly to Adrian's arm, she guided him straight toward Roselyn. The moment Adrian noticed her, he stopped walking. Look at this. Adrian bought it for me. Lifting her chin, Emma made sure the newly acquired necklace was impossible to miss. "He told me the sapphires made him think of me." Nausea churned inside Roselyn, but she refused to let it show. What are you doing here, Roselyn? The question came from Adrian, and his voice carried nothing but cold disapproval. Anyone listening would've thought he was confronting a stranger instead of speaking to his wife. Roselyn met his gaze. How disappointing. This was the man she had given up her career for. This was the man she had once imagined spending her future with. I stopped by for coffee. Though Roselyn's voice sounded strained, it didn't waver. "I didn't expect to see you two." A frown appeared on Adrian's face. For the first time, he seemed to register how pale and unwell she looked. "Stop making a scene, Roselyn." Making a scene? A humorless laugh slipped from Roselyn's lips. "All I'm doing is standing here." Leaning against Adrian, Emma rested her head on his shoulder. "Adrian, we should leave. We still have to pick up my gown." Without another look at Roselyn, Adrian turned away. "You're right. Let's go." Roselyn remained where she was and watched them disappear around the corner. The moment they were gone, the adrenaline left her. The pain came rushing back with even greater force. It ripped through her body and almost drove her to her knees. She reached toward the marble column for support, but her hand missed. A strong arm caught her around the waist before she could fall. In the next second, she found herself held firmly against a solid ch**t. I've got you. The quiet voice sounded near her ear. Struggling for breath, Roselyn lifted her head through blurred vision. Kevin. Without any effort, he steadied her and led her toward a velvet bench tucked away from the main corridor. Kevin asked, "That man... is he your husband?" Roselyn shut her eyes. At last, a tear slipped free. "Yes, and the woman beside him is my half-sister." Something changed in Kevin's expression. Anyone could tell he was angry. "He humiliated you for another woman." It doesn't matter anymore, Roselyn whispered. Kevin's gaze shifted to the arm she still kept pressed across her stomach. "You don't look well." It's just an ulcer. I'll be alright. The answer came naturally, but her uneven breathing exposed the lie. For a long moment, Kevin said nothing. He clearly didn't accept her explanation, yet he let it go. What I said before still stands. The edge in his voice softened. "Whenever you're ready to be honest with me, I'll listen." Footsteps suddenly echoed from around the corner. Moments later, Nina appeared, panic written across her face. "Roselyn! I've been looking everywhere for you! I saw Adrian and..." The rest of her sentence vanished when she noticed Kevin. With a brief nod, Kevin acknowledged her presence. Before leaving, he gave Roselyn one last look. "Take care of her," he said to Nina. Then he turned away and disappeared into the crowd without another word. Nina hurried over and took hold of Roselyn's hands. "Roselyn, your hands are freezing. What happened? And why was Kevin with you?" Drawing in a shaky breath, Roselyn tried to steady herself. "He helped me." Slowly, she rose from the bench. Her body still felt weak, but her thoughts had never been more certain. "Nina, please take me home. There's something I need to do first." ...... 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) &4&

She woke up in an interstellar beast-world novel as the fake heiress everyone hated—a spoiled, low-ranked female doomed to a brutal ending. The real heiress would return in two years, so she got to work fast: stealing opportunities, making money, and building connections with anyone powerful enough to keep her alive. She wouldn't touch the heroine's chosen men, but the ones the heroine kept around and never valued? She took every last one. ===== "Your Highness, take a look at this one. He's strong and sturdy." "And there's this one. He's thinner, but very attractive." "This one over here is very timid. Perfect if you enjoy something unusual..." People hurried to crowd around Ella Morgan, their faces glowing with eager flattery. Everyone knew that Ella, the third Princess, despite being only a C-level female with weak spiritual power, always spent money lavishly without hesitation. In their eyes, there was only one reason she would appear in a small market like this. She had obviously come to choose a few males as her servant. Their constant chatter made Ella's head pound. It had been three days since she transmigrated into this werecreature universe. In her previous life, she had been an ordinary office worker, squeezed dry by endless overtime until she worked herself to death at her desk. When she first woke up and realized she had become a princess, she nearly wanted to celebrate with ch**pagne. Unfortunately, that excitement disappeared the moment she absorbed the memories of this body. She realized she had transmigrated into a novel. She had read this novel before. The story centered around the true princess of the Central Empire, an S-level female who had been separated from her family and raised elsewhere. After finally returning home, she was treasured by her parents, adored by her two older brothers, and became deeply involved with more than a dozen exceptional males. Back then, Ella had enjoyed reading it quite a lot. Watching so many outstanding males grow jealous and compete for the heroine's affection had been undeniably entertaining. But the problem was that she had not become the heroine. She had become the fake princess, Ella. Even while reading the novel before, Ella had disliked this character who shared the same name as her. It wasn't even because the character was especially evil. Compared to typical villainesses who poisoned people, framed others, or hired assassins, the character had never committed any unforgivable crimes. She was merely obsessed with handsome males, spoiled by her status, and burdened with weak spiritual power. Even so, the author of the novel seemed determined to pour every ounce of malice onto her. The moment the true princess returned, the parents who had once spoiled Ella immediately viewed her as a fraud who had stolen their daughter's place. Her two older brothers, who had once protected her so fiercely, began to resent her for taking everything that rightfully belonged to their real sister. The males Ella had once admired turned against her with cruel words, while the nobles who had once flattered her openly ridiculed her. Later in the story, even after the character Ella experienced a dramatic rise in spiritual power and became a rare S-level female, she still lost completely to the heroine's overwhelming plot armor. In the end, everything was taken from her, and she was exiled to the Barren Star. Meanwhile, the heroine was living a sweet and carefree life. Back when Ella read that ending, it had infuriated her. She had never expected that one day, she would have to face that fate herself. After transmigrating, she spent a long time thinking things through and came to one conclusion. The story had only just begun. She still had a chance to change her future. There were still two full years before the real princess returned. And Ella's spiritual power had not gone through its second awakening yet. She was still only at C-level. What she needed to do now was secure enough resources to protect herself before the real princess came back. Money? Because of her weak spiritual power, the old Ella had developed a habit of spending recklessly to hide her insecurity. Even with an enormous monthly allowance, almost nothing remained in her account. Power? Although the old Ella was a female, who had a high social status in this universe, her spiritual power was painfully weak. On top of that, she had been spoiled as a princess and refused to take on any responsibilities, leaving her without any real authority in the empire. Ella spent the entire night thinking before finally setting her sights on the males. She planned to compete with the real princess for them. Naturally, she had no intention of fighting over the male leads who were completely devoted to the heroine. The males she wanted were the important characters who didn't end up with the heroine. To put it simply, she planned to win over the males the heroine had overlooked. For example, Kyson Howe, the heroine's most loyal guard later in the story. Kyson came from the family of a convicted traitor. Two years ago, his family collapsed. Some relatives were executed, while the rest were exiled. As for him, he was reduced to a mere servant. In the original novel, after the heroine bought him and treated his injuries, Kyson became deeply devoted to her. Now, Ella was here two years before the heroine would arrive. Getting Kyson to pledge that loyalty to her sounded like a great idea. With that thought, Ella continued walking deeper into the market. In the novel, Kyson was described as a werewolf. Ella searched for nearly ten minutes but still could not find any werewolf. The male beside her continued rambling. Ella interrupted him coldly. "Do you have any werewolves?" The male paused for a moment at her words. At that moment, another male nearby, who had failed to squeeze through the crowd earlier, suddenly brightened. "Your Highness, I have exactly the one you're looking for!" Ella lifted a brow and tipped her chin slightly. "Lead the way." The male instantly bent over with eager politeness and hurried to guide her farther into the market. At last, they stopped in front of a door. With a flattering smile, the male pushed the door open. "This one is tough and can endure all kinds of labor. He's still young, too. And he's really cute..." Kyson listened quietly as the male listed his so-called "merits." He wondered who had come for him this time. Suddenly, light poured into the room, so bright that he instinctively narrowed his eyes. Through his blurred vision, he could barely make out a slender figure standing outside. A sweet, clean scent drifted through and rushed into his nose. Kyson forced himself to lift his head, trying to see the female more clearly. Under the glare of the light, all he could distinguish was a pair of eyes that suddenly seemed to shine brightly. Then, he heard her clear voice. "I'll take him!" Chapter 2 We're Done The male was quick to read the situation. The moment he noticed the satisfaction in Ella's expression, he immediately raised the salary. Ella didn't find it unacceptable. There were a hundred thousand coins left in her account. Without hesitation, she handed over her bank card. The male accepted it with a wide grin. "Get out! Greet your new employer!" The silver-haired young male remained motionless, and the male lifted his foot, about to kick him. Ella immediately placed her hands on her hips and snapped, "How dare you kick him? Who gave you permission to touch what's mine?" The male instantly bent over in apology and retreated a step. "Please forgive me, Your Highness." Ella signed the contract, excitement rising in her ch**t. Her plan had succeeded! "Let's go," she said to Kyson. From Kyson's position, all he could see were a pair of slim ankles and the gently swaying hem of her dress. He forced his stiff body to crawl after her. After only a short distance, the footsteps ahead suddenly stopped. Kyson's body instantly tensed. He prepared himself for the pain that was about to come. Ella looked down at him and let out a quiet sigh. She lowered her gaze toward Kyson. "Can you stand straighter?" For a moment, Kyson almost failed to process her words. Then, he gave a small nod and tried to straighten his back. Ella quietly let out a breath of relief and led him outside. The moment they stepped out of the market, a bright female voice suddenly called out, "Your Highness!" Ella looked up instinctively. A young female with a ponytail was hurrying toward her with obvious delight written across her face. It was Zoey Dixon, the old Ella's closest friend. Ella looked away indifferently, her expression turning cold. A low gr**n suddenly sounded behind her. She turned around at once and saw Kyson's body swaying unsteadily. She quickly reached out to catch him. The pain from Kyson's injuries had made him dizzy for a moment. When his thoughts finally cleared, he realized he had collapsed into Ella's arms. Shock filled his widened eyes as he immediately struggled to stand upright again. Unfortunately, his weakened body failed him, and bl**d from his wounds smeared onto her clothes. This was bad. Kyson froze completely, not daring to move another inch. Males were naturally tall and big, and supporting him took more effort than Ella expected. She immediately gestured for a nearby guard to bring the car over. Feeling Kyson trembling against her, she assumed he was just too weak. By then, Zoey had already reached them. "Your Highness, I finally found you! Why did you come to a place like this?" Zoey's voice sounded warm, but her face showed clear disapproval. The moment her eyes landed on Kyson, disgust appeared in them. "This kind of place doesn't suit you at all! And you're even getting close to a servant like him. If Jonathan finds out about this, he'll dislike you even more!" Ella gave her a faint glance. Taking that as encouragement, Zoey continued, "Honestly, I think you should spend more time learning royal etiquette. Be more elegant and gentle. That's the kind of female Jonathan likes!" Ella finally lost her patience. "Shut up," she said coldly. Zoey was stunned into silence by her harsh attitude. Ella ignored her reaction. This so-called best friend came from an insignificant family with little status. Her spiritual power was just as weak as the old Ella's. Because they shared similar circumstances, the old Ella had treated Zoey as a close friend and cared deeply about her. Unfortunately, this friend had always relied on the old Ella's identity as a princess to benefit herself. She constantly used Jonathan Ford, the male the old Ella liked, to manipulate her. After the true princess returned, Zoey was also the first person to betray her and side with the heroine instead. Ella had no interest in maintaining this fake friendship. Right now, all her attention was focused on the male leaning weakly against her. The guard arrived and helped the half-conscious Kyson into the car. Ella stepped forward to get in as well, but Zoey suddenly blocked her way. "Your Highness, what is wrong with you today? I'm only saying this for your own good. If you keep refusing to listen to me, Jonathan will never pay attention to you again!" "Enough. I heard you already," Ella said and waved her hand impatiently. "Now move. You're blocking my way." Zoey stared at her in pure shock. In the past, Ella would have panicked the moment Jonathan was mentioned. As long as it involved him, she would obediently listen to every word she said. So why was Ella acting so differently today? "Your Highness! It's Jonathan's birthday party tonight. We're already running late. You should ditch this male and go to the birthday party with me now." Ella did not even bother looking at her. "You can go on your own. Move." Zoey was taken aback, embarrassment flashing across her face. Without the accompany of a royal, someone of her status would never be allowed into Jonathan's birthday party. For a moment, she even suspected Ella was deliberately humiliating her by doing this. Zoey clenched her teeth and threw out her final card. "Your Highness, if you refuse to listen to me, then I'll never talk to you again!" Only then did Ella finally look at her. She pointed at herself and asked, "What did you just call me?" Zoey blinked in confusion. "Your Highness..." "That's right," Ella replied with a faint smile. "So what gives you the right to order a princess like me around?" Zoey's face instantly turned red with humiliation. Ella brushed past her and stepped into the car. Furious, Zoey rushed to the door and shouted, "What is this supposed to mean? I'm your only friend!" The car window slowly lowered. Zoey's eyes brightened immediately, thinking Ella had changed her mind. But Ella leaned halfway out of the window and said, "Oh, right. I almost forgot to mention it. I don't think you're qualified to be my friend anymore. We're done. Also, make sure you return all the clothes, handbags, jewelry, and money you've borrowed from me over the years." "What... what are you talking about..." Ella's smile widened. "If you refuse, I'll have my eldest brother deal with your family." The car window rolled back up, and the hovercar quickly disappeared. Zoey remained standing there in a daze. She felt certain that Ella had gone crazy. *** Kyson thought he must be dead. Otherwise, why would someone be treating him so gently now? Ella pulled her hand back with a sigh. After returning home, she had tried using her spiritual power to soothe Kyson. Unfortunately, the results were barely noticeable. He still had not opened his eyes. Letting out another sigh, Ella took out the medical kit and personally tending to Kyson. Chapter 3 The Expensive Gift This wasn't something Ella should've handled herself, but she didn't trust anyone else to do it. She was worried rumors would start spreading. Especially if her eldest brother, Chris, heard about this. Although the old Ella was a useless female at this time, her father doted on her, and her mother was also very patient with her. Her second-eldest brother, Ricky Morgan, was an oddball in the royal family. He spent his days in the entertainment industry and rarely returned home. Still, they were close enough. But her eldest brother, Chris Morgan, was completely different. He was extremely stern. He was ten years older than her and currently served as a major general of the empire. He was stationed in the border sector year-round, but whenever he occasionally returned to Capital Star, his discipline toward the younger generation was so harsh that it bordered on unreasonable. Even the old Ella, despite being a female, couldn't escape it. She was terrified of him. If Chris found out she'd bought a male servant and kept him at her side, he would definitely scold her. So, Ella hid the unconscious Kyson in her room. The technology in this world was highly advanced. The medicine used to treat wounds came in the form of a nano-repair spray that could quickly stop bl**ding and stimulate cell regeneration. However, no matter how advanced the technology was, it still couldn't remove the pain caused when the medicine stimulated the wounds. "Ugh!" His eyes flew open, and he instinctively struggled, his arms lashing out in resistance. "Ouch!" A female's startled cry rang out beside him. Kyson immediately froze, cold sweat spreading across his body. He wondered if... in his struggle just now, he had accidentally hurt the female who had taken him in. Ella hadn't expected Kyson to accidentally hit her. Only after a while did she finally recover enough to straighten herself. When she looked back, her gaze met Kyson's half-open eyes. Ella bent down slightly until her face was close to his. "You're awake?" Kyson still looked somewhat dazed. Ella picked up the spray bottle and shook it lightly. "I'm applying the medicine to you now. Bear with it for a bit, and don't move." Kyson remained silent. His unfocused eyes stayed fixed stubbornly on her. In fact, he couldn't see clearly at all. Ever since suffering a head injury, his vision had remained blurry. But his hearing was perfectly fine. She was going to treat his wounds? For a moment, Kyson thought he must be dreaming. His whole body stiffened as fear crept into him. He was afraid the dream would suddenly shatter. Seeing that Kyson had gone still, Ella hurriedly finished applying the medicine. After treating his wounds, she looked at him and said, "Can you stand up? If you can, go sl**p on the sofa." Only then did Kyson slowly realize this might not be a dream after all. Even in his dreams, he wouldn't dare imagine a female telling him to sl**p on a sofa in her own room. Still dazed, he slowly pushed himself upright and tried hard to make out Ella's appearance. Ella pointed toward the sofa across the room. "Go." The sofa was large enough for him to lie down comfortably. Kyson moved slightly and realized his wounds had even been treated and wrapped with bandages. He nodded awkwardly and made his way forward. Then came a dull thump as his head slammed hard into the leg of a table. Only then did Ella realize something wasn't right. She walked over to Kyson and waved a hand in front of his eyes. Kyson's unfocused gaze shifted faintly. "You can't see clearly?" she asked. Kyson hesitated briefly before giving a small nod. A complicated look crossed Ella's face. She hadn't expected Kyson to have problems with his eyesight. In the original storyline she remembered, the heroine's rescue of him had only been mentioned briefly. Most likely, his eyes had later been healed by the heroine's spiritual power. But Ella couldn't do that. She didn't possess that level of spiritual power. Ella sighed to herself. The gap between a heroine and someone like her-a side character-was just too wide. After letting out another quiet sigh, she helped Kyson lie down on the sofa. "Just sl**p here for tonight." Kyson's body remained stiff as he lay there. Ella tossed a thin blanket over him before climbing into her own bed and shutting her eyes to rest. She was completely exhausted. Anything else could wait until after she woke up. Kyson lay motionless on the sofa for a long time, not daring to move. He hadn't expected this kind of reaction from her. This female had treated his wounds and even allowed him to sl**p on the sofa... Was this real? Kyson couldn't tell anymore. Exhaustion finally overtook him, and he slowly closed his eyes. Even if something waited for him tomorrow, at least tonight, he could rest for real. Not long after Ella fell asleep, the sharp ringing of her communicator jolted her awake. Still half asleep, she accepted the call without even checking who it was. "Hello?" A loud voice immediately burst from the other end of the call. "Ella! It's almost midnight already! Weren't you supposed to personally deliver Jonathan's gift? If you don't get over here now, you'll miss your chance! I've already covered for you for a long time, so where are you?" It was Ricky. Ella sat up groggily as the relevant memories slowly surfaced in her mind. Jonathan was an unfavored male from a noble family, the Ford family. By relying on the old Ella's status as a royal princess along with her popularity and resources, he'd managed to become a fairly well-known celebrity in the entertainment industry. The old Ella was one of Jonathan's most devoted fans. Every year on his birthday, she personally handled everything and showered him with ridiculously expensive gifts. Last year, she had given him a limited-edition Star Sea series hovercar, but Jonathan had complained that it was too flashy. So after learning from that mistake, the old Ella decided to give him something more practical this year. She'd asked Ricky to order a spiritual power bond crystal from another sector for her. It was said to help nourish a male's spiritual power, and it cost her a full one million coins. One million coins! Thinking of that, Ella became fully alert in an instant. "Ricky! You didn't give him the gift yet, did you?" Ricky let out a snort. "Now you're panicking? There are only eight minutes left before midnight. Hurry up and get over here already. I've brought the crystal with me. I'm just waiting for you to hand it to him personally." "Don't give it to him!" Ella nearly screamed. "Just wait for me! I'm coming right now!" But Ricky apparently didn't catch the rest of her shouting and abruptly ended the call. Ella jumped out of bed, threw on some clothes in a rush, and sprinted out the door. On the sofa, Kyson slowly sat up, confusion filling his face as his unfocused eyes stared toward the direction she'd disappeared. *** The party hall blazed with bright lights, and beautifully wrapped gifts were piled high in the center of the room. The guests kept glancing toward the second-floor terrace. Leaning lazily against the railing, Ricky casually held a small gift box in his hand. Excited gasps rose from the crowd below. "Oh my God! That's Prince Ricky! He's so handsome!" "Wait, aren't you a male, too? Why are you acting this excited? Ah! He just looked over here! He looked at me!" Clearly bored, Ricky tossed a few charming looks toward the crowd before withdrawing his gaze again. He sneered inwardly. If his sister hadn't begged him to show up at Jonathan's birthday party, a superstar like him would've never attended an event like this. And after making him come all the way here, Ella herself hadn't even appeared. Once he got home, he was definitely going to scold her for this. "Your Highness," someone called out behind him. Ricky turned his head, and annoyance immediately flashed across his face when he saw who it was. At some point, Jonathan had walked up behind him. As a male werepavo, Jonathan was undeniably good-looking. He was tall, with delicate skin and eyes that naturally gave him a gentle appearance. But Ricky still caught the trace of arrogance hidden in his gaze. "Princess Ella still hasn't arrived?" Jonathan asked, unable to hide the impatience in his tone. He found the situation strange. Every other time, Ella would've arrived long ago. But today, there was still no sign of her now. Ricky was losing patience as well. He lifted his hand, ready to hand the gift box directly to Jonathan. Once the gift was delivered, he could finally leave this place that made him uncomfortable all over. But just as he was about to pass over the box, an anxious voice suddenly rang out. "Wait!" Chapter 4 Ready To Choose A Prime Mate Ella's shout rang through the banquet hall, instantly drawing everyone's attention toward her. Under the stunned gaze of the entire crowd, she rushed onto the terrace, grabbed the gift box straight out of Ricky's hands, and clutched it tightly against her ch**t. Thank goodness. She'd made it in time. Ricky stared at her in surprise before slowly looking her over. "What exactly are you wearing?" A coat tossed over a nightgown. Was this supposed to be some new trend? Ella was still catching her breath when another voice suddenly interrupted with clear dissatisfaction. "Your Highness, you're late." Ella turned toward the speaker and finally got a proper look at the male standing beside her. Jonathan was tall and lean, with handsome features. Unfortunately, he wasn't remotely her type. Jonathan frowned slightly as he looked at her. "Your Highness, why did you come dressed like this?" Attending a banquet without even wearing a formal gown was an outrageous breach of etiquette. Ella paused for a second. The audacity of him! She was a princess, yet he dared to speak to her like this? If not for the expensive gift, she wouldn't even have bothered coming here tonight. Still, Ella kept a polite smile on her face. "Sorry about that. I was in a bit of a hurry when I left home." Beside them, Ricky silently turned his face away, his expression dark. He'd disliked watching his sister chase after this weak-looking male for a long time already. Unfortunately, Ella had always been hopelessly devoted to him, so he could only pretend not to care. He genuinely couldn't understand what Ella saw in Jonathan. In his opinion, if she really wanted Jonathan, all she had to do was pressure the Ford family a little, and Jonathan would've been her mate. Noticing Ricky's dark expression, Jonathan suppressed his irritation and decided not to pursue the matter of Ella arriving late. He generously let the issue slide. "It's fine. I'm happy you came, Your Highness." His eyes shifted toward the gift box in Ella's arms. Zoey had already told him that Ella had asked Ricky to order an extremely valuable bond crystal for him. He was waiting for Ella to personally hand over the gift. Ella blinked her wide eyes and spoke with visible nervousness. "I... I have something I need to tell you." The terrace wasn't far from the main hall, so the guests below heard her clearly. Instantly, they exchanged amused looks and let out knowing chuckles. Here it came again. Everyone assumed Ella was about to confess her love to Jonathan all over again. Every year on Jonathan's birthday, something like this would happen. Every year, Ella confessed her love and got rejected. And after every rejection, she ended up crying. The males who had witnessed this before were already used to it and practically treated it as part of the entertainment. But to everyone's shock, Ella hesitated briefly before continuing, "I came here today because I want to make things clear between us. We shouldn't keep seeing each other anymore. I can't keep fooling around like this." Jonathan stared at her in disbelief, convinced he'd heard her wrong. "What did you just say?" The surrounding guests instantly became interested. Something felt completely different this year. Had Ella suddenly changed her approach? Ella kept a serious expression as she spoke sincerely. "My mother has already started arranging a future prime mate for me. You know my spiritual power is weak, so my future prime mate will already be making a sacrifice by bonding with me. If I continue getting involved with other males, it'll hurt him. I've thought about it carefully, and I think I should start behaving more appropriately from now on. After all, if I keep getting tangled up with other males, my prime mate will suffer because of it. I can't do that to him. Don't you think I'm right?" Everyone present was completely stunned. The banquet hall fell silent in an instant. So everything Ella had done for Jonathan before had only been her... fooling around? And she valued her future prime mate this much? Thinking about it carefully, everyone started to envy her future prime mate. If Ella could lavish that much money and attention on Jonathan when she was merely "fooling around" with him, then once she truly chose a prime mate... just how much she would spoil him? Several young males immediately sensed an opportunity, and the way they looked at Ella quickly changed. Even Ricky was shocked. He snapped his head toward his sister in disbelief. Jonathan's face shifted from shock to humiliation before finally hardening into a cold expression. "Oh? Is that so?" he sneered. "Your Highness, what does your decision to choose a prime mate have to do with me? Choose whoever you want. Honestly, I'm curious myself to see how many males would actually want that position." He thought she'd gone crazy. Was she trying to play hard to get by doing this? This wasn't even the first time she'd done something like this. Every other time, she'd come back after a few days to apologize to him. But today was his birthday, and she was embarrassing him in front of everyone. A prime mate? She was nothing more than a useless female with C-level spiritual power. Who would want to be her prime mate? Ricky had finally heard enough. He looked at Jonathan coldly and said, "Forget everyone else. You're not even qualified to stand among the candidates." Inside, he cursed Jonathan repeatedly for daring to speak to his sister so arrogantly. Jonathan froze immediately, his face turning dark. His lips twitched slightly, but in the end, he didn't dare argue with Ricky. Ella might indulge him, but Ricky absolutely wouldn't. Not only was Ricky a prince, but he also possessed enormous influence in the entertainment industry. He simply couldn't afford to offend someone like Ricky. Ella nearly applauded Ricky on the spot, cheering wildly for him in her heart. Below the terrace, the guests had already started whispering among themselves. "Exactly. A royal female choosing a prime mate is a serious matter. The Ford family's status is still too low, and Jonathan's background isn't nearly good enough for that..." "What happened to Her Royal Highness this year? Why did she suddenly fall out with Jonathan?" "Didn't you hear what she said? She's done playing around. Hey, do you think I'd have a chance if I tried becoming her prime mate?" "You? Forget it. The prime mate of a royal female has to come from a first-class noble family..." As those scattered conversations drifted upward, Jonathan's expression turned stormy. For years, he'd worked desperately to make people forget that his father had once been nothing more than a servant. But now, all those efforts had been ruined. Meanwhile, Ella's full attention was fixed on the crystal in her arms. After saying everything she needed to say, she linked arms with Ricky and prepared to leave, even politely saying goodbye to Jonathan before going. "Now that everything's settled, Ricky and I should head back. Goodbye." With that, the two of them left the banquet under the watchful eyes of the entire crowd. The moment she climbed into the hovercar, Ella hugged the gift box and patted it with relief. This was worth about one million coins. She'd almost handed it away for nothing. But in the next second, Ricky snatched the box straight out of her arms. A faint smile appeared on his face. "Alright. Start talking. What exactly is going on with you?" Ella immediately fell silent. She looked at Ricky's handsome face and quickly searched through the old Ella's memories. Fortunately, although the old Ella had spent the past few years in a rebellious phase, she'd always been extremely close to Ricky. He'd spoiled her almost without limits. So, Ella copied the attitude of the old Ella from her memories, straightening her back with stubbornness. "Everything I said was true. You don't believe me?" Ricky narrowed his eyes. "Weren't you completely obsessed with your Jonathan? Just last month, you got into a huge fight with Mom over him and refused to accept anyone else as your prime mate." Ella touched her nose awkwardly. That was true. Because of that matter, the old Ella had argued fiercely with her mother last month, then stormed out of the royal palace and moved into her current house. Ella let out a dry laugh. "I was just... a little resistant to marrying a total stranger." Ricky thought for a moment and replied, "So as long as the male isn't a stranger, you're willing to accept it?" Ella nodded so fast that it was almost frantic. "I'll fully cooperate with the arrangements!" Jonathan honestly wasn't wrong about one thing. There probably weren't many noble males willing to become her prime mate anyway. And even if there were, she'd only just reached the age for bonding. There was still plenty of time before she actually had to deal with the matter. Ricky stared at her for a while before muttering under his breath, "How did you suddenly become this sensible?" Then, he tossed the gift box back into her lap. Ella immediately hugged the box tightly like it was a treasure. Just as she finally relaxed, Ricky casually dropped a bombshell. "Perfect timing. You'd better behave yourself these next few days. Chris is being transferred back to Capital Star soon to report on his duties. Don't let him catch you causing trouble again." Ella instantly felt her scalp prickle with dread. "Soon? When exactly is he coming back?" she asked. "Probably in about three days. He'll stay in Capital Star for about half a month, so you'd better behave." Ricky paused when he noticed the panic written all over her face. "You already did something bad, didn't you?" Chapter 5 Kyson Is Having A Fever Ella immediately shook her head and repeatedly insisted that she'd been behaving perfectly well. Ricky still looked doubtful, but he only gave a casual nod. "Relax. Haven't I always cleaned up your messes for you? Even if something bad really happens, just push the blame onto me. I'll handle it." Ella was genuinely touched. She immediately wrapped herself around Ricky's arm and shook it lightly. "You're seriously the best brother in the world!" Ricky went still for a brief second. At some point, his sister had gradually become quieter and more distant. It had been a very long time since she'd acted this close to him. Now, with her hugging his arm and speaking to him in such a soft tone, she reminded him of the little girl who used to cling to him when they were children. The thought made the corners of Ricky's lips curve upward slightly, and his mood instantly improved. *** The hovercar slowly stopped in front of Ella's house. Still unwilling to give up completely, Ella climbed out while holding the gift box up toward Ricky. "Are you absolutely sure this crystal can't be returned?" "Something like this can't be returned. Just keep it for yourself." The moment Ricky finished speaking, he watched his sister's face visibly collapse in disappointment. Only then did he remember that, with how weak her spiritual power was, she probably wouldn't even be able to activate the crystal properly. "Well... you can at least keep it as decoration," he added sympathetically. Ella stood there and watched Ricky's hovercar disappear into the distance. Finally accepting reality, she turned and walked back to her house. It was already deep into the night, and the entire place was dark. She shut the door behind her and turned around, only to freeze in shock. Kyson was standing a short distance away, silently watching her with his gray-blue eyes. Ella stared at him in confusion, unable to understand why he was standing there instead of resting. Moonlight streamed through the window, and under the pale glow, she noticed a pair of wolf ears had appeared on top of Kyson's head. They twitched faintly. At that moment, Ella still saw him as the future loyal guard. It instinctively lowered her guard. She even stepped closer in concern. "Your ears... why are they-ah!" Before she could finish speaking, Kyson suddenly staggered forward and threw himself at her. Ella was too stunned to react in time. "What are you doing?" Only then did she slowly realize how st**id she had been. She had actually allowed an adult male to stay alone with her in the same room. To hide him and take care of him secretly, she'd even dismissed all the guards stationed around the house. She'd completely forgotten that Kyson was destined to become the heroine's loyal guard, not hers. "Kyson! What are you trying to do? Just let me go!" But no matter how loudly she shouted, Kyson gave no response. "Kyson, I saved you, and this is how you repay me?" She couldn't understand it at all. Perhaps because Ella struggled too hard, Kyson unconsciously used more strength to hug her. Ella shuddered at the scorching heat pouring off him. Why was his body so hot? Then, a terrible realization hit her-he was having a fever. This was a critical detail she'd completely forgotten. In this world, male spiritual power was naturally unstable. At certain periods, they would experience a fever due to hormone instability. The period could last anywhere from one to three days. If a male going through it didn't receive soothing from a female, his spiritual power could spiral completely out of control. Kyson was actually having a fever right now? Panic instantly flooded Ella. Her spiritual power was pitifully weak. There was no way she could soothe him. Kyson felt as though his entire body had been dragged into a raging storm of heat. He'd already exhausted nearly all his strength trying to hold onto the only thread of reason he had left. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he vaguely understood what he was doing, but he couldn't stop himself. The scent coming from the female before him was unbearably attractive. It made him want to get closer to her. Kyson lowered his head instinctively and rubbed against her cheek, using his face to wipe away the tears running down her skin. With trembling fingers, Ella reached for the communicator wrapped around her wrist. Right now, all she wanted was to eliminate the threat in front of her. Just as she was about to activate the sequence, a strained whimper sounded beside her ear. A moment later, something warm and wet landed on her neck. He was crying? Ella was stunned. Her eyes met Kyson's. Those gray-blue eyes were overflowing with tears, completely filled with despair. Ella froze. In the end, she still couldn't do it. Blaming herself for being too soft-hearted, she desperately tried to gather the tiny amount of spiritual power inside her body to soothe him. Kyson's body suddenly trembled violently. He panted a few times, his breathing rough and uneven, before gradually calming down. Then, almost unconsciously, he lowered his head and rubbed affectionately against the side of her neck. Ella's body slowly relaxed. After a long while, Kyson held the unconscious female in his arms, bewildered. He recalled the burst of fragrance that had suddenly spread through the air earlier... What exactly was that? Why had the spiritual power raging inside him calmed down just because of that scent alone? And why hadn't she ki**ed him? ...... 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&

When they met again, her ex-husband tearfully begged for remarriage. However, the wheelchair-bound tycoon of business lore, rumored to be unable to walk, rose to his feet, clasping her hands tightly, "You are worthy of pursuing her?!" ===== "I've filed for divorce. Four million should set you up for life." Colton Stevens impatiently walked over, his frustration almost palpable. "It's our third wedding anniversary today, can't we at least finish this meal together?" Allison Clarke's face froze for a heartbeat. Her nails dug painfully into her palm as she fought to keep her composure. Colton scoffed, his eyes cold and distant. "Even if we finish this meal together, I'll never love you. Besides, Melany's back. She's proud, and she won't stand for this whole situation." A flicker of softness crossed his face at the mention of Melany Johnson, a warmth that had never been reserved for Allison, no matter how hard she'd tried. She had bent over backward for him, cared for his parents, and sacrificed everything for years. But none of it had earned her more than a passing glance. Melany was the one who held his heart--had always held it. She had walked out on him three years ago, breaking off their engagement and leaving for abroad. Yet now, with a mere word from her, Colton had easily embraced her return and chosen to divorce Allison without a second thought. Allison gripped the table's edge as if trying to steady herself against a sudden gust of wind. "Does your grandpa know about this?" Colton let out a sharp, mocking laugh. "Don't think you can hide behind Grandpa. He's in the hospital and can't handle any stress. My parents are on board with the divorce. In fact, Melany met with them just today." Allison's heart sank, an icy chill creeping through her veins. She had once been celebrated as a genius perfumer, renowned hacker. For three years, she'd buried every trace of that brilliance, molding herself into the perfect housewife. Just recently, she had secured a rare opportunity with Cobweb--the most elusive intelligence network--hoping to help the Stevens family clinch a crucial deal. A chance like that was nearly impossible to come by. Yet now, it all seemed like a cruel farce. "So, Melany's at your parents' place?" she asked, her voice brittle. "Naturally." Colton smiled, his features softening as if the thought of Melany made everything brighter. "They just had dinner. Melany's always gotten along with my parents. They've been singing her praises all evening -- saying how thoughtful and understanding she is." "And you all knew she was coming back," Allison murmured, her voice thick with disbelief, "but left me in the dark." Her eyes glistened, the sting of betrayal cutting deep. Thoughtful and understanding -- how ridiculous. His parents used to make the same comments about her. Colton shot her an impatient glare. "It wasn't on purpose. The butler just forgot to mention it. Don't start creating drama where there isn't any." He looked at her then, truly looked at her, and for a moment, his expression shifted to one of disdain. Allison had always been delicate, her skin flawless, and her features striking, especially her bright, clear eyes. But none of that mattered. She was boring, and that was all. The ideal housewife, yes--everything he could have wanted in a caretaker for his parents--but living with her was stifling. Allison ironed clothes and prepared meals with precision every day. Her routine was so predictable that Colton never had to wonder what she was doing. She was the picture-perfect housewife--dutiful and entirely devoted to staying home. But he was beyond tired of it. "And whether you accept the fact or not, you're leaving tonight." Colton hesitated, realizing how harsh he sounded. "You can move to Starfish Villas. Take the villa, it's yours." He had done his research on Allison. She came from a modest rural background, dropped out of school early, and hadn't seen much of the world. If it weren't for the fact that she had saved his grandfather's life, she would never have married into the Stevens family. In his mind, offering her the villa seemed more than generous for someone with her humble beginnings. But Allison's face didn't show gratitude. Instead, she offered him a thin, cold smile. "So, she's moving in now?" Allison didn't care about the villa or the four million he offered. She could make far more as a top-tier hacker. What hurt was being discarded after three years of loyalty. Colton sighed and said, "The room on the second floor was always hers. Melany's back and has nowhere else to stay, so I told her she could move in. If you're still here, she'll feel uncomfortable." Her silence was enough to annoy him, assuming she was unhappy with the deal. His frustration grew. "Don't push it. You need to know when enough is enough." He glanced at his watch, clearly counting down the time. "Now that I've lodged my divorce petition, we'll meet in the courthouse in a few days. You'd better make preparations and hire a lawyer..." He did not get to finish. "I know what to do," Allison cut him off, her voice laced with disgust. Her mind wandered back to a childhood memory--when she was blinded and in grave danger. A boy carried her on his back for three days and nights, saving her life. That boy had said his name was Colton Stevens. Now, three years after their marriage, that same boy was forcing her to leave. Time had an uncanny way of warping people into strangers. "I'll go," Allison said, snapping back to the moment. She stood up and looked at Colton firmly with detachment. "From now on, we owe each other nothing." Colton let out a breath, relieved. "Good." As if on cue, the housekeeper, Kaelyn Thorpe, appeared at the top of the stairs, struggling with a suitcase. "Sir, your parents called and said Ms. Clarke needs to leave right away, so I packed her things... Oh no!" Before she could finish, she dramatically yelped and pretended to twist her ankle. Allison's suitcase tumbled down the stairs, spilling her belongings everywhere. Chapter 2 Return "Ms. Clarke, I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to!" Kaelyn hurried down the stairs, her face a picture of exaggerated concern. "Maybe you can just toss everything in a bag for now?" she added, hiding her disdain behind a sweet smile. Kaelyn had always looked down on Allison, seeing her as nothing more than a poor country girl who'd shamelessly latched onto Colton for a better life. Colton frowned in frustration. "You're so clumsy!" he snapped, glancing at the scattered clothes. Allison's suitcase contained so little--a few clothes and hardly any jewelry. She hadn't even spent much of the money he had given her over the years. She lived simply, frugally, and it was a reflection of how she had never tried to take advantage of her status. But love couldn't be forced or faked. "Melany's luggage takes priority. Just toss Allison's things in a storage bag," Colton added dismissively, eyeing the broken suitcase. "I'll have the housekeeper buy you a new one tomorrow." Allison gave a faint, bitter smile. "That suitcase was the one I stole from the kidnappers when we were running for our lives. If it hadn't been for it, we would've drowned back then." For years, she had taken care of that suitcase--just as she had taken care of their marriage. And now, like their relationship, it lay shattered. Colton let out a cold laugh. "That story might fool my grandfather, but it doesn't work on me." The memory of being kidnapped as a child was too vague, and he always doubted that Allison had been with him during that time. Turning to Kaelyn, Colton raised his voice. "Hurry up and pack her things!" "Yes, sir," Kaelyn eagerly began to gather Allison's clothes, but she deliberately stepped on them, dirtying them in the process. With a sickly sweet tone, she mocked, "Ms. Clarke, Mr. Stevens' grandmother always says that people are like clothes. Once a person's clothes are stained, it doesn't matter how much you wash; the marks never truly fade." Allison had always been kind to Kaelyn, even when she didn't have to be. After all, Kaelyn was a distant relative of Colton's grandmother. Years ago, when Kaelyn had made a blunder that nearly put the Stevens family at odds with Kellan Lloyd, the eldest son of the Lloyd family, it was Allison who had smoothed the waters. She had negotiated a deal with Kellan, who was paralyzed, securing the critical land for the Stevens' commercial project. Back then, Kaelyn had been grateful, almost humbled. But now, emboldened by the winds of change within the Stevens family, Kaelyn acted as if she had never bent the knee. It all boiled down to one thing--Colton's grandmother's favor had drifted, and with it, so had the family's attitude. "If clothes get dirty, you're right," Allison said, her eyes flicking to Colton, "they're impossible to clean completely." She shrugged, a casual finality in her voice. "So, I won't be needing them anymore." She had never liked those bland, shapeless things anyway. They had never quite suited her. For the first time, Colton looked at Allison as if seeing her through a new lens--her usual softness was now replaced with a sharp edge. After saying that, Alison turned and walked away. Stepping out of the villa, Allison dialed a familiar number. When the call connected, her voice was calm, almost light. "Rebecca, I'm divorced, and I've moved out of his villa. My house and car are still in Vrining. Mind if I crash at your place for the night?" On the other end of the line, Rebecca Green went from silence to squealing joy within seconds. "Holy crap! You finally divorced that i**ot! Forget crashing--you're staying over for a party! A single's party!" Even from a distance, Allison could hear Rebecca's exaggerated laughter bubbling through the phone. "If the folks at Cobweb find out the founder is back, the servers will explode!" Chapter 3 Cruise Party Inside the villa, Colton's gaze falling on the dining table loaded with food. Frustration flared inside him, especially as his mind flashed back to the memory of Allison just left earlier. Allison had stayed composed, but something about her felt colder, harsher than before--far from the docile, compliant woman he once knew. But the thought slipped away quickly. To him, Allison would always be that dull, submissive housewife. Without him, she'd be nothing. Outside the villa, a sleek Lamborghini pulled up, and a woman stepped out. "Allison, darling!" Rebecca rushed over and wrapped Allison in a warm embrace. "You know, you could live at my place forever if you wanted to!" Rebecca, the only daughter of the Eternity Group's owners, practically owned half the city's skyline. A roof over Allison's head was hardly an issue. "So, what on earth happened tonight?" Rebecca asked, pressing close, her cheek resting against Allison's neck. "You still smell like cooking oil. Don't tell me you were cooking for that m**on again?" Allison felt the familiar tightness in her throat, emotions rising as Rebecca's hug warmed her. "Let's talk in the car," she said. Once inside the Lamborghini, Allison began to recount what had happened this whole day. Her voice remained steady, but Rebecca's temper flared like a spark igniting dry wood. "Can you believe this? Colton got dumped by Melany on their wedding day, and now he's trying to crawl back to her by divorcing you? They're made for each other--two peas in a rotten pod!" Rebecca raged. "And his parents!" Rebecca added, her anger rising like a storm. "You've been looking after them for three years, bending over backward for that family, and this is the thanks you get?" Rebecca continued her tirade, her words like b*llets. "Listen, he's lost his memory of that incident in his childhood, sure, but that doesn't excuse what he's done. You've more than paid your dues over the last three years. There's no point pretending to be the woman he wants anymore. You've wiped that slate clean." Allison slouched in the passenger seat, her gaze distant as the world blurred past her window. "It's done. We're even now." For three years, she'd molded herself into Colton's image of the perfect woman. She'd ditched her heels, pulled her hair back, and settled for modest, boring outfits--ones she didn't even like--all to mirror Melany. But no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't compete with the woman he truly loved. "Allison, the truth is, the Stevens family doesn't deserve someone like you." Rebecca's voice softened, thick with the weight of emotions as she sensed Allison's exhaustion. "Divorce is a process, but until it's settled, you'll stay with me. You're like a sister to me, anyway." Allison managed a small smile. "Okay." Growing up in an orphanage, Allison had never had any family members. But Rebecca had always treated her better than anyone ever had. Their conversation trailed off as they arrived at an exclusive makeup studio. Rebecca rolled down the window and waved enthusiastically at Mary Brown, a famous makeup artist. "Hey, Mary! Got a little project for you!" Allison rubbed her temples, g**aning softly, "Honestly, I'm wiped. I don't think I can handle makeup tonight." "Oh, come on! You're not planning to keep that whole tired, 'still-waiting-for-him' look, are you?" "Yeah... Definitely not." "Exactly!" Rebecca's face lit up. "Relax and let the pros do their magic. These are top-tier, international artists. Tonight, they're bringing out the version of you the world's been missing!" Thirty minutes later, the transformation was undeniable. Nearly everyone who saw her in the mirror was momentarily stunned. Allison's naturally striking features had always been overshadowed by exhaustion. But now, with just a touch of makeup, she was breathtaking. Her long, feline eyes, accentuated by just the right amount of shadow, were captivating without going overboard. A delicate beauty mark drawn near the corner of her eye added a hint of daring that felt almost rebellious. Even Rebecca couldn't contain her excitement. "This... this is the Allison I remember!" She gestured to a rack of dresses being brought in. "Sweetheart, pick any gown that calls to you. I pulled out all the stops for tonight. We're celebrating your freedom on a luxury yacht. I swear, it's going to be a night you won't forget!" Allison waved it off. "I'm not in the mood." Rebecca watched her closely, sensing she could still be holding onto the past. Time to pull out the big guns! "You know there are going to be international perfumers at this party, right? Including the brains behind Charisma Company! Don't tell me you're not curious to finally meet him." Charisma was the country's most prestigious perfume brand. Allison had crossed paths with the CEO at an international perfumery competition. His creations had been nothing short of art. For the first time in forever, they evoked a feeling of déjà vu, something about them reminding her of her mother's style. But like her, the CEO was an enigma. He'd never showed up in public, even as Charisma shot to global fame. No one knew what he looked like, not even now. "Alright, let's check it out." Allison finally relented, her curiosity piqued. After all, she'd once hacked into Charisma's database, coming up empty-handed. And something in her gut still whispered that this mysterious perfumer could be linked to her mother, somehow... ...... 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&

~ 1 ~ Lynn ~ The graduation cap hit the back of my head before I even heard the laughter. I didn't turn around. After three years at Ravencrest High School, I'd learned that turning around only gave them the satisfaction of seeing your face. "Sorry!" a voice sang behind me — too sweet, too deliberate. Vanessa Quinn. I'd know that honeyed poison anywhere. I kept walking, hugging my books tighter against my chest, chin level, eyes forward. That was the only armor I had in a place like this — the appearance of not caring, even when everything inside me was caving. Ravencrest wasn't a school. It was a kingdom, and everyone here knew exactly where they stood in it. The children of old money sat at the top — untouchable, golden, and cruel in the effortless way that only the truly privileged could manage. Then there were the new rich, desperate to prove they belonged. And then there was me. Lynnette Hawthorne. Scholarship student. The principal's pity project. The girl whose grandmother sold fish at the local market. I had spent three years being invisible when it suited them and a target when it didn't. Today was supposed to be the last day of all that. The graduation hall buzzed with the kind of joy I couldn't access — cameras flashing, confetti spinning down like colored snow, parents in expensive perfume pressing their children into hugs. Everyone was crying and laughing at the same time, the way people do when something is ending and they're sad and relieved all at once. I was just relieved. I pressed myself toward the edge of the crowd, looking for a quiet wall to hold up until my name was called. That was my entire plan for today. Survive the ceremony. Collect my certificate. Disappear forever. Then I felt it — that particular prickling at the back of my neck that I had learned to recognize over three years. I looked up without meaning to. Ryker Vaughn was standing across the hall. He wasn't doing anything dramatic. He was just standing there in his graduation gown, one hand in his pocket, laughing at something Zane Carter, his best friend had said. But he was the kind of person whose presence rearranged the air in a room. Tall, effortlessly put together, with that sharp jaw and those dark brown eyes that always looked like they were calculating something. For exactly two seconds, his gaze drifted across the room and landed on me. My breath caught. Then he looked away. Straight through me, like I was part of the wall. Like I was nothing. I exhaled slowly. That was Ryker Vaughn in a nutshell — the boy who had spent three years making my life miserable, and still somehow made my stupid heart trip every single time he accidentally looked in my direction. I hated him. I hated myself more for the way my pulse behaved around him. Get it together, Lynn. "And now," the principal's voice cut through the noise, sharp and proud, "let's hear from our student body president — Lynnette Hawthorne." Polite applause. A few soft boos woven in just to remind me where I stood. I made my way toward the stage, keeping my breathing even. I had written this speech three times. I knew every word. I just had to get through it without falling apart in front of people who would absolutely screenshot it. I was on the second step when my foot caught something solid. I pitched forward, arms flying, and hit the stage floor hard on my palms. The laughter was instant — sharp and collective, the kind that has been waiting for exactly this moment. "Oops." Vanessa's voice floated down from behind me, soft as silk. "Didn't see your foot there." My palms stung. My cheeks burned hotter. I pushed myself up slowly, refusing to rush, refusing to give them the pleasure of watching me scramble. When I finally stood and turned to face the crowd, my eyes found Ryker without my permission. He was leaning back in his chair, arm draped lazily around Vanessa's empty seat, watching me with that cold half-smile. He didn't laugh. He didn't shout anything. He just watched, like I was mildly entertaining. Like I was a small, predictable thing that had done exactly what he expected. Somehow that was worse than the laughter. "Come on, Lynn — you've got this!" Adam. My best friend's voice cut through the noise from the front row, warm and steady, an anchor in the middle of a storm. He was grinning at me, his eyes full of the kind of quiet encouragement that had gotten me through three years of this place. I straightened. Picked up the microphone. "My name is Lynnette Hawthorne," I began, my voice shakier than I wanted but loud enough to carry. "And we have all come a very long way to get here." I didn't look at Ryker again. I gave the speech. Every word, every pause, exactly as I'd rehearsed. When I stepped back from the podium, my hands were still trembling, but I had done it. Three years of surviving Ravencrest, and I had done it. I was almost off the stage when a hard shove caught my shoulder. "Make way, President," Zane muttered, laughing as he pushed past me like I was a door. I steadied myself against the podium, jaw tight. Then Ryker stepped up beside him, reaching past me for the microphone like I wasn't standing right there. His arm brushed mine — brief, warm, and completely indifferent. "Who's ready to party?" he shouted into the mic. The hall erupted. Vanessa appeared at his side instantly, sliding her hands around his neck and pulling him into a kiss that the crowd screamed over. I turned away before I could see more of it, pressing through the bodies toward the exit. Adam found me near the doors, his face bright. "Hey — there's an afterparty tonight. Lakeshore Club. Come with me." "Absolutely not." "Lynn." "Adam, that place will be wall-to-wall people who just watched me eat the stage floor." He laughed softly. "And you'll walk in tonight looking so good they'll all forget about it. Come on." His voice dropped, quieter now, more honest. "I don't want to go alone. You're my person in this school. You've always been." That was the part that got me. It always was with Adam. I sighed. "Fine. One hour." His grin widened. "That's my girl." "Don't say it like that." He was already walking backward toward a group of friends, laughing. "Don't be late!" I watched him disappear into the crowd and stood there for a moment in the thinning hall, certificate in hand, the noise fading around me. Three years of this place, and tonight was the last impression I would ever make on any of them. If I was going out, I was going out like I meant it. ~ 2 ~ 2 ~ Lynn ~ My bestfriend, Brielle Knox had a gift for arriving exactly when she was needed most. I was standing in front of the cracked mirror in my bedroom, holding a faded pink dress against my body for the third time as if it would somehow look different, when the front door burst open and she walked in like the answer to a prayer I hadn't finished praying. "Put that down," she said, not even breaking stride, dropping her bag onto my bed with the confidence of someone who lived here. "I'm not letting you walk into that party looking like you're going to a church picnic." "Hello to you too, Brielle." "Hello." She was already unzipping her bag. "Now put it down." I dropped the dress onto the bed and watched her rummage through what appeared to be half her wardrobe stuffed into one tote. Brielle wasn't rich either — not even close — but she had a talent for looking expensive that I had never been able to reverse-engineer, no matter how many times I studied her. "I wasn't even sure I was going," I said. "You're going." She didn't look up. "Adam called me." "Of course he did." She pulled out a gold dress and held it up. The fabric shimmered even in the dim light of my bedroom, catching what little the cracked bulb overhead had to offer. It was short. Very short. The kind of short that made a statement before you even opened your mouth. I stared at it. "Absolutely not." "Absolutely yes." She pushed it into my hands. "Try it on before you finish that sentence." I looked at Grandma, who was sitting in the corner chair watching us with that soft, patient smile she wore when she already knew how things were going to end. "It's a little short," Grandma offered gently. Brielle winked at her. "That's the point, Ma." Grandma pressed her lips together, trying not to smile. She failed. I took the dress to the bathroom. Ten minutes later I stood in front of the mirror and barely recognized myself. The gold caught my skin tone in a way that the faded pinks and tired blues of my wardrobe never had. It skimmed my figure, hit mid-thigh, and made my legs look longer than I knew they were. Brielle had also produced, from some bottomless corner of her bag, a pair of barely-worn nude heels in exactly my size. I came out slowly. Brielle looked up from where she was perched on my bed painting her nails and went completely still for exactly one second. Then she screamed. "Lynn!" She launched herself off the bed. "I knew it. I knew it. You've been hiding this whole time!" "I'm not hiding anything, I just—" "Hold still." She was already reaching for my hair, gathering it up with practised hands, twisting it into something effortless at the nape of my neck. She slid a small gold clip in and stepped back to look at her work. "Ryker Vaughn is going to swallow his tongue." "Brielle—" "I'm just stating facts." "He doesn't even see me as a person." She met my eyes in the mirror, and for just a moment, the teasing fell away. Her voice came out quieter, more certain. "Then tonight he will." I looked at my reflection for a long moment. The girl looking back at me didn't look like the scholarship student. Didn't look like the girl who had eaten the stage floor a few hours ago while Ravencrest laughed. She looked like someone who had decided something. Maybe that was enough to walk through the door on. Grandma appeared in the doorway, her eyes moving over me slowly. She was quiet for a moment in the way she got sometimes — the way that meant she was seeing someone else in me, someone I never got to know. "You look just like your mother," she said softly. My throat tightened. I crossed the room and hugged her before she could see my face do anything embarrassing. She smelled like the sea and fish and everything that was home, and I held on a beat longer than I meant to. "I'll be back before midnight," I whispered. She kissed my cheek. "Be safe, my girl. And hold your head up in there — you hear me? All the way up." … The cab ride was quiet except for the radio and the sound of my own pulse. I had spent my last money on the fare because there was no version of this dress and this night that involved a bus. The driver kept glancing at me in the rearview mirror and I kept my eyes on the window, watching the streets change — gradually, noticeably — from the narrow roads of our neighborhood to the wide, lamp-lit avenues of the part of town where my classmates actually lived. When the Lakeshore Club came into view, I felt the gap between our worlds like a physical thing. The building glowed gold under string lights, luxury cars lined the curved driveway, and music pulsed through the walls like a second heartbeat. Beautifully dressed people moved in and out of the tall glass entrance like they had been born knowing how to exist in places like this. I paid the driver, stepped out, and stood on the pavement for a moment. ‘You could go home,’ said the voice in my head that sounded like three years of being laughed at. ‘Hold your head up,’ said Grandma's voice, quieter but steadier. I chose Grandma. I walked in. The heat hit me first — warm air thick with expensive perfume, alcohol, and the particular energy of a crowd that had been waiting all year to let loose. Gold light poured from chandeliers overhead, music shook the floor beneath my heels, and everywhere I looked there were my classmates, unrecognizable in their best clothes, finally free and celebrating like they knew it. I moved through the crowd looking for Adam, keeping my expression neutral, my chin level the way Grandma had told me. I didn't find Adam. I found Ryker Vaughn instead. He was standing near the bar, a glass held loosely in one hand, black shirt fitted in a way that should have been illegal. His hair was slightly dishevelled — not messy, just effortlessly undone — and he was half-laughing at something Zane had said, head tilted back, completely at ease in the way that only people who have never had to earn their place anywhere manage to be. Then he looked up. Our eyes met across the crowd and something shifted — the noise, the music, the hundred bodies between us — all of it seemed to drop back a register. His gaze moved over me slowly, just once, in a way that was completely different from the way he had looked through me at graduation. Or rather, the way he hadn't looked at me at all. He looked now. I felt it everywhere. Then Zane followed his line of sight, found me, and bit his lower lip in an exaggerated way that made my skin crawl. "Damn! Hot!," he said, loud enough to carry. Laughter rippled around them. And just like that the moment was over, punctured and mocking like everything always was at Ravencrest. Vanessa appeared at Ryker's side a half-second later — radar precise, as always. Her eyes found me, swept over the gold dress, and something flickered behind her perfect face. Not quite insecurity. More like the particular irritation of someone who had decided a thing was beneath her and was now being forced to reconsider. She slid both hands around Ryker's neck and kissed him slowly, deliberately, with the full awareness of an audience. I turned away before I had to watch more of it. I wove through the crowd until I found a quieter corner behind a cluster of chatting students, pressed my back against the wall, and pulled out my phone. The screen was cracked across one corner and it overheated if you used it too long, but it was mine. I typed quickly: Where are you? I watched the screen, waiting. The reply came faster than I expected, but it wasn't what I wanted to read. I'm so sorry, Lynn. Dad just got into town. We're talking about me studying abroad — Switzerland. I'll call you later, I promise. I read it twice. Then I read it a third time, like the words might rearrange themselves into something less final. He wasn't coming. I was alone in a room full of people who had spent three years making me feel like I didn't belong here — in a dress that wasn't mine, on borrowed confidence, at a party I never wanted to attend in the first place. And Adam was talking about Switzerland. Switzerland. I was still processing what that meant — for tonight, for after tonight, for the strange future shape of a life without my only friend in it — when Zane Carter climbed onto a table in the centre of the hall and the music dropped. "Doors are closing!" he roared, arms wide, bottle raised. "It's game time!" The crowd surged and screamed toward the centre. I craned my neck toward the entrance and my stomach dropped — two large men had positioned themselves at the doors, arms crossed, expressions flat. I looked back at my phone. Adam's message was still there. I'll call you later, I promise. "We're starting with Truth or Dare!" Zane announced, and the room detonated. I pressed further into my corner and closed my eyes for exactly three seconds. I should have never come. ~ 3 ~ 3 ~ Lynn ~ The Truth or Dare circle formed the way disasters do — quickly, and with everyone's full enthusiasm. Zane ran it like a ringmaster who had been waiting all year for his moment. He stood on the table at the centre of the hall, bottle in one hand, microphone in the other, conducting the crowd with the particular energy of someone who had never once faced a consequence in his life. I stayed in my corner. That was my entire strategy — stay small, stay quiet, stay invisible until the doors opened again and I could slip out into the night and pretend this had never happened. I was good at invisible. I had been practising it for three years. I kept my eyes on my phone, scrolling through nothing, the cracked screen warm under my thumb. Around me the game churned through its early rounds — harmless confessions, embarrassing dares, the usual theatre of people performing for each other. Someone admitted to a crush on the class nerd. Someone else was dared to chug a full cup in under five seconds. The crowd screamed for all of it. I watched from the edge and felt nothing except the quiet, persistent ache of Adam's message still sitting in my chest. Switzerland. I turned the word over in my mind for the hundredth time. It wasn't just a country. It was a distance that didn't close easily. It was the specific kind of leaving that changed the shape of things permanently, and Adam was the only person in this school who had ever made me feel like I had a right to take up space. Without him, what exactly had these three years been for? I was deep enough in my own head that I almost missed it when the energy in the room shifted. It started as a change in pitch — the crowd's noise sharpening from general excitement into something more focused, more electric. I looked up from my phone. Ryker Vaughn had leaned forward in his chair. "Truth," he said, his voice carrying easily across the hall without any effort at all. That was the thing about Ryker — he never had to try. The room just arranged itself around him. Zane's grin stretched slow and wide. "What do you actually feel for Vanessa?" The crowd held its breath collectively. Vanessa was already smiling — a carefully composed smile, the kind that was ready to be seen. She sat perfectly straight, her blonde curls catching the light, performing the role of girlfriend with the ease of long practice. She already knew what he was going to say. She was just waiting to receive it gracefully. Ryker tilted his head slightly. "She's got good energy," he said, pausing just long enough to let the room lean in. "And I like her body." The reaction was immediate and savage — gasps, shouts, someone knocking over a drink. Zane threw his head back laughing. A group near the front started chanting something I couldn't make out over the noise. Vanessa's smile didn't fall. It cracked — just at the edges, just for a second, the composed surface giving way to something that looked very much like hurt before she smoothed it back over. She laughed along with the crowd because she had no other choice, and I felt something twist in my chest watching it. I knew exactly what it felt like to keep your face together when something landed wrong. I looked back down at my phone. I shouldn't have felt relieved. I knew that. Whatever Ryker Vaughn did or didn't feel for Vanessa Quinn had absolutely nothing to do with me, and the small loosening in my chest at his answer was pathetic and I was fully aware of it. But there it was anyway. The game kept moving. More rounds, more noise, more bodies in motion. I stayed in my corner and watched the clock on my phone. Another twenty minutes and surely the doors would open. I could get a cab home, wash off this borrowed gold dress, and fold this entire night away somewhere I didn't have to look at it. My phone buzzed. Adam again. It's official. I leave in three days. I'm sorry I can't tell you in person, Lynn. I'll miss you more than you know. Three days. I read the message twice, then put the phone face down on my knee because I didn't trust my expression. My throat had gone tight in the particular way it did when I was not going to cry but my body hadn't quite accepted that decision yet. Three days and then he was gone, and I was standing alone in this room full of people who had never once looked at me the way Adam always did — like I was someone worth knowing. I needed air. I stood up carefully, smoothing the gold dress, and started moving toward the wall that ran along the side of the hall, angling for the far exit. If I moved slowly enough, close enough to the edges, I could get out without cutting through the circle and drawing anyone's— The crack of a slap split the room. I froze. The music didn't stop but the crowd did, turning as one organism toward the source of the sound. I turned too. Vanessa was on her feet, her chest heaving, her palm still suspended in the air. The red bloom on Ryker's cheek was visible even from where I stood. The composed smile was completely gone now. In its place was something raw and trembling that I almost didn't recognise on her — genuine hurt, stripped of its performance. "You're disgusting," she said, her voice shaking with the effort of holding itself together. Ryker said nothing. He just sat very still, the way he had gone still at graduation when Vanessa tripped me — that particular quality of stillness that wasn't shock or shame but something else entirely, something harder to read. Then he turned his head. And looked directly at me. My heart stopped. Not a glance. Not the casual sweep he had given me at the entrance. He looked at me the way you look at something you have been aware of for a long time but have been pretending otherwise — deliberate, unhurried, and with a weight behind it that made the air between us feel suddenly different. I didn't move. I couldn't. Zane's voice cut through the noise before I could make sense of any of it. "Alright, alright — settle down, settle down." He spread his arms wide, already grinning in the direction of my corner. "Let's not ruin the fun." He found me in the crowd like he already knew exactly where I was standing. "Lynnette Hawthorne." He said my name the way you say something you've been saving — slow, deliberate, letting each syllable land. The heads that hadn't already turned now did. I felt the attention like a physical thing, like heat, like the specific horrible exposure of being singled out in a room of people who had always found you funny for the wrong reasons. "I wasn't playing," I said. My voice came out steadier than I felt. Zane shrugged, unbothered. "Everyone in this room is playing. Those are the rules." "I didn't agree to any rules." "Didn't have to." His smile widened. He looked across the circle at Ryker, then back at me, drawing the moment out for maximum effect. "Ryker's been dared." The crowd stirred. "And you," Zane continued, his voice lifting over the noise with the ease of someone delivering the punchline he had been building toward all night, "are the dare." Laughter rippled outward from the circle like a stone dropped in water, reaching every corner of the room. Someone whistled. Someone else shouted Ryker's name. My fingers tightened around my phone until the cracked edge bit into my palm. "What does that mean?" I said, though something cold and certain in my stomach already knew. Zane looked straight at me, still grinning. "Ryker Vaughn," he announced to the room, "has been dared to sleep with you." The sound that came from the crowd was something between a gasp and a roar. It swelled and peaked and kept going, feeding on itself the way crowd energy does when it smells blood. I stood completely still in the middle of it. My first instinct was to laugh — the short, defensive kind that meant this isn't real and none of you can touch me. My second instinct was to look at the door, at the large men still standing there, arms crossed, immovable. My third instinct was to look at Ryker. He was already looking at me. He hadn't moved from his chair. Hadn't laughed with the crowd, hadn't played to the room the way Zane was doing. He was just watching me with that same unreadable steadiness, his cheek still faintly marked from Vanessa's palm, and something in his expression was harder to dismiss than I wanted it to be. Like he was waiting to see what I would do. Like, out of everyone in this screaming room, I was the only one whose answer actually mattered to him. Don't, said every sensible part of me. But Ryker Vaughn was already rising from his chair. ~ 4 ~ 4 ~ Lynn ~ He moved through the crowd — unhurried, inevitable, every person between us stepping aside without being asked. I watched him come and did not move, I didn’t know what to fucking do. That was the thing I couldn't explain afterward, in the long quiet hours when I replayed it — I had options. The doors were large but not impassable. I was small and quick and I had spent three years navigating spaces where I wasn't wanted. I could have pushed through. Instead I stood there with my cracked phone in my hand and watched Ryker Vaughn walk toward me like I had been waiting for this specific moment since the first day I stepped into Ravencrest and didn't know his name yet. He stopped in front of me — closer than he had ever voluntarily stood before. Close enough that I could smell him, he had a chocolate musk perfume on. I wanted to pull him closer and eat him. He was close enough that I had to tip my chin up slightly to hold his gaze, which I did, because I had spent three years of looking at the floor, it is my last day, I might as well hold this gaze and admire his brown eyes. For a moment he just looked at me. Then, without breaking eye contact, he reached for the hem of his shirt and pulled it over his head. The crowd behind him erupted. I forgot how to breathe. I had seen his photograph in the school magazine. I had seen him at swim practice through the window of the library where I studied alone. None of it had prepared me for this — the lean, defined reality of him, the tattooed geography of his chest mapped out in bold black ink. Wings spread from his collarbones, each feather rendered with the kind of precision that took hours to achieve, curling toward the edges of his shoulders. Between them, centred over his heart, a dagger wound with a snake — clean lines, dark shadows, the image of something beautiful and dangerous existing together. I became aware that my mouth was open. I closed it. "Well," he said quietly. Just that one word, and the corner of his mouth moved — not quite a smirk, something more private than that. Like I had confirmed something for him. I straightened. "This is not a game I agreed to play." "You're in the room," he said. "That's agreement enough tonight." "That's… that’s… not how consent works." I couldn’t help myself from stuttering. He leaned down slowly, and I held my ground even as every nerve in my body screamed at me to step back, until his mouth was level with my ear and I could feel the warmth of his breath against my skin. "Here's how this works," he murmured, his voice pitched low enough that only I could hear it beneath the noise of the crowd. "You say yes, or you pay the price. Those are the only two options on the table tonight." "What price?" I said. My voice was impressively steady. I was proud of it. He pulled back just enough to look at me. "Five thousand dollars" I laughed before I could stop myself — a short, involuntary sound. "You know I don't have that." "I know." His eyes held mine. "I also know you're the only person in this room who actually showed up tonight dressed like you want to be fucked." He paused. "That gold dress wasn't for them." My breath caught, how could he be so vulgar? How could he not have just an atom of filter. Jesus Christ! It was such a small thing. Such a quiet, specific observation buried inside what was supposed to be a humiliation. He had no business noticing what the dress was for. He had no business saying it out loud like that, low and even, like a fact rather than a weapon. I hated him for it. "I… I… I just wore what I have," I stuttered. He studied me for a moment. Behind him, the crowd was getting restless — someone shouted his name, someone else made a sound that was supposed to be encouraging. He didn't look away from me. “I want to go” I managed to say, though I didn’t mean it He laughed wryly. "The men at the door will let you go actually." He said it simply, without hesitation, and it surprised me enough that I believed him. "But you won't go." The arrogance of it should have been enough. It should have snapped whatever spell the low voice and the tattoos and the quiet observation about the dress had briefly cast. It should have sent me straight toward those doors with my head high and my middle finger raised. I looked at him standing there — shirt gone, completely unbothered by the noise of a hundred people watching him, eyes fixed on mine like the crowd didn't exist — and I thought about three years. Three years of being the punchline, the charity case, the girl who ate the stage floor. Three years of watching him from a careful distance and hating myself for the watching. I thought about Adam's message sitting on my phone. I'll miss you more than you know. Everyone was leaving or had already left or had never really been there to begin with. And Ryker Vaughn was standing in front of me asking me a question that no one in three years had bothered to ask. Before I could finish the thought, his hand came up and brushed a strand of hair back from my face. His fingers grazed my cheekbone — barely, just the lightest drag of warmth across my skin — and I felt it in my spine. I had never let myself be this close to him. Not once in three years. "Last chance," he said quietly. Then in the snap of a finger, his mouth found mine, kissing me softly. It was nothing like I had imagined in the careless privacy of my own head — and I had imagined it, more times than I would ever admit to anyone, including myself. I had imagined something clumsy or cold or deliberately cruel. Something that would finally cure me of the wanting. It wasn't any of those things. It was warm and certain and devastatingly unhurried for the first two seconds — like he had all the time in the world and had decided to spend it here. Then his hand sliding to the nape of my neck, fingers pressing gently into my hair, and the kiss deepened into something that wiped every coherent thought I had clean off the surface of my mind. I kissed him back with three years of carefully suppressed longing that I had been so disciplined about and was apparently not disciplined about at all when it came down to it. When he finally pulled back, the crowd was a blur of noise I couldn't parse. His eyes searched mine — dark, intent, still with that quality of arriving at a conclusion. "So," he said, his voice rough at the edges now in a way it hadn't been before. "Yes?" I knew what I was doing. I was fully aware that this was Ryker Vaughn and I was Lynn Hawthorne and tomorrow the world would look exactly as it always had. I was not confused about any of that. I nodded anyway. "Condoms, please!" Zane's voice shattered the moment like a brick through glass, and the hall collapsed into laughter and chaos. Ryker didn't react to any of it. He just looked at me for one more second, then reached down and took my hand. His grip was warm and steady and certain — the hand of someone who had made a decision and wasn't questioning it. He didn't look back as he walked. I followed him through the thinning crowd, through the corridor that smelled of alcohol and bass and other people's perfume, toward the door at the far end of the hall. My heart was so loud I could feel it in my fingertips. The bathroom door opened. He held it. I stepped inside. The mirror above the sink showed me a girl in a gold dress with her hair slightly undone and her eyes too bright — a girl who had walked into this party invisible and was somehow here, in this moment, with this boy. I barely recognised her. The door clicked shut behind us. Ryker's eyes met mine in the mirror. The noise of the party fell away to almost nothing, just the distant thud of bass through the walls and the sound of both of us breathing. He moved slowly, deliberately — none of the performance of the crowd left in him now, just something quieter and more direct. His hands settled at my waist, drawing me back against him, and his mouth found the side of my neck with a patience that made my knees uncertain. "Still want to run?" he murmured against my skin. "No," I said. And I meant it. ~ 5 ~ 5 ~ Lynn ~ His hand snaked around my waist, yanking me against the hard length of his body; the other swept my hair aside, baring my neck. His mouth found the pulse hammering there, devouring me with soothing kisses, while I gripped the edge of the sink to stay upright. “Turn around,” he muttered against my skin. I obeyed, breath hitching as he spun me to face the mirror. The glass was cool under my palms when he pressed me forward, bending me over the sink. He lifted my gold dress up with the motion; and for a moment I thought of what Brielle is going to do if she found out I did this. She must never know! His hands found my panties with the speed of light, making me certain he must have done this a million times with Vanessa, the thought distracted me for a second. His fingers hooked the into lace of my panties and tearing it down my thighs in one impatient tug. I watched him in the reflection wondering if I was dreaming or this is actually reality and I am making a costly mistake. He unbuckled his belt and it dawned on me that I was actually about to have sex with Ryker Vaughn in a club restroom. I felt heat flooding between my legs, I was dripping from moisture of desire for Ryker. This is my dream. He freed his d*ck and I almost gasped at how thick and heavy it was in his hand, and the first brush of him against my p*ssy drew a broken moan from my throat. “Eyes on me, kitten,” he ordered, voice low and lethal when my eyes fluttered shut. I forced them open, meeting his stare in the mirror. His thrust drove slowly at first, letting me feel every inch stretch me open, until I was trembling. Then he snapped his hips forward, burying himself to the hilt in one brutal thrust that tore a cry from my lips. My back arched; his hand splayed across my stomach, holding me pinned as he pulled out and slammed back in, setting a punishing rhythm that had the mirror rattling against the wall. Every thrust drove deeper, harder, until pleasure coiled so tight I thought I’d shatter. Minutes later a guttural sound ripping from his chest as forehead pressed between my shoulder blades. For a moment, the only sounds were our ragged breathing and the distant thump of bass through the walls. Then he straightened, hands gentle now as he turned me to face him. His thumb brushed my swollen lower lip, eyes searching mine. Then he took a deep breath, adjusted my dress and pulled away, adjusting his trousers. The world came back in pieces. The distant thud of bass through the walls. The hum of the bathroom light overhead. The sound of my own breathing, still unsteady, trying to find its normal rhythm and not quite getting there. I looked at myself in the mirror. The gold dress was back in place. My hair had come loose from Brielle's clip, which now sat on the edge of the sink, and a few strands fell across my face. My lips were swollen and my eyes were too bright and I looked — I looked like someone something had happened to. Not badly. Just significantly. The kind of look that doesn't wash off immediately. I reached for the clip. Behind me, Ryker was quiet in the particular way he was quiet. I watched him in the mirror without turning around, he started almost like he was going to say something. His jaw moved slightly. His brows drew together a fraction. Then the door burst open. Zane practically fell into the room, catching himself on the door frame with the gracelessness of someone who had been leaning against it for an indeterminate amount of time. He straightened, looked between us, and produced a slow, wide grin that made my skin crawl. He held up a small foil packet (condoms) between two fingers. "Little problem," he said. The unguarded thing in Ryker's expression vanished instantly. His eyes dropped to the condom in Zane's hand and went flat. "You forgot something," Zane added, tilting his head at me with a smirk that was doing its best to be charming and landing somewhere closer to repulsive. He pitched his voice low, a mocking echo: "Eyes on me, Kitten." The laughter that came from the hallway told me there were more people listening than just Zane. Ryker was silent for exactly two seconds. Then he moved. His hand closed around my arm and he pushed me back against the wall — not gently, the tile cold and hard through the thin fabric of the dress, the impact sharp enough to pull a sound from my throat. "Ryker…" "Are you clean?" he said. His voice was flat. Clipped. The voice he used in class when he was bored, or in the hallway when he was dismissing someone. I had heard it aimed at other people for three years. Receiving it felt exactly as bad as I would have predicted. I looked at him and saw nothing of the person who had brushed hair from my face twenty minutes ago, nothing of the quiet certainty in his eyes when he took my hand. His gaze was distant and cooling and I was apparently already somewhere in his rearview mirror. The humiliation moved through me like cold water. "I should be asking you that," I said. It came out steadier than I felt. I was grateful for that. He made a sound that wasn't quite a laugh — dismissive, barely there — and released my arm. He turned toward Zane and said nothing else. Just slung an arm around Zane's shoulders and walked out into the hallway like I was a room he had finished being in. Zane glanced back at me over his shoulder, still grinning. The door swung shut behind them. I stood against the wall for a long moment and breathed. So. There it was. The part I had known was coming and had chosen to walk into anyway, with my eyes open and Grandma's voice in my ear and a borrowed gold dress and three years of wanting someone who had never once seen me as a person. I had no right to be surprised. I had no right to feel anything except what I felt, which was the specific, deserved sting of a thing you walked into knowingly. I picked up Brielle's clip from the edge of the sink. I fixed my hair. I waited until I was certain Ryker and Zane were back in the main hall before I opened the door and left the club, ensuring no one saw me leave. I was ashamed of myself. … Two months out of Ravencrest and sex with Ryker Vaughn and my life looked exactly like it had before I ever set foot in that school — early mornings, fish baskets, Grandma humming beside me in the salt air. No college. Not without money. Not yet. Maybe not ever. I had stopped letting myself finish that thought. But my body was not cooperating with the business of moving on. It started as a wave — low and rolling, building before I could identify it — and then my stomach turned over completely and I bent forward and was sick on the ground before I could do anything about it. "Lynn!" Brielle's voice, sharp with alarm. She had come to help with the morning baskets, as she sometimes did, and was at my side before I had finished wiping my mouth. I straightened slowly, one hand braced on my knee. My throat burned. The morning light felt too bright. I heard Grandma go still behind me. I didn't turn around immediately. I wasn't ready for her face yet. "I'm fine," I said, to both of them, to neither of them. "It's just — the smell this morning is strong, I think…" "Lynnette." Grandma's voice. I turned around. She was standing with a basket half-packed in her hands, and she was looking at me with an expression I had never seen on her face before — a complicated collapse of emotions moving across her features in quick succession. Fear first, then grief, then something that looked very much like a door closing. Her eyes went to my stomach. Just for a second and I felt the bottom fall out of everything. "Come inside," she said quietly. The basket went down. Her voice was controlled in the way that voices are controlled when the alternative is falling apart in public. "Right now, Lynnette. Come inside." Brielle looked between us, her brow furrowed. "Grandma, what's wrong? She just felt sick, it's probably…" "Brielle." Grandma's voice was gentle but final. "Give us a moment." Brielle went quiet. I followed Grandma into the house on legs that didn't feel entirely like mine. The door closed behind us. She stood in the small kitchen with her back to me for a moment, her hands flat on the counter, her shoulders doing the thing they did when she was gathering herself. Then she turned around. Her eyes were wet. She pressed her lips together, and when she spoke her voice broke cleanly down the middle. "How could you, Lynnette?" she whispered. "How could you do this?" I opened my mouth. Nothing came out. Because I already knew what she was asking. I had known for two weeks — known with the quiet, cold certainty of someone who has been ignoring a truth because naming it makes it real. The nausea that hit in waves. The exhaustion that sat differently from regular tired. The way certain smells had been turning my stomach since — since… Oh God. I pressed my hand flat against my stomach without meaning to. Grandma saw the gesture. Her face crumpled. "I'm going to get a test," she said, already moving toward her bag. Her voice was very quiet now. Very steady in the way that costs something. "And then we are going to figure out what comes next." I stood in the kitchen of our small home, in the morning light, with the smell of fish and salt coming through the window and Brielle's muffled voice outside asking if everything was okay. I'm pregnant. The words formed in my mind slowly, the way you say something out loud for the first time even when you're only saying it to yourself — testing the shape of it, the weight. I'm pregnant. And the father is Ryker Vaughn.

Her stepsister stole her husband, just like her stepmother had once stolen her father. After learning she had stomach cancer, she found a way to get her husband to sign the divorce agreement. Thirty days later, they met again at a global technology conference. The arrogant man who had once looked down on her stood before her with bloodshot eyes. He desperately begged for another chance. Her brothers broke down in tears and pleaded for forgiveness. She simply turned around and walked away. ===== Stage II adenocarcinoma. The doctor slid the medical report across the polished mahogany desk. The diagnosis printed in black against the white page looked less like medical information and more like a death sentence. Roselyn Hudson watched the doctor's mouth move, yet none of his words seemed to reach her. Above them, the fluorescent lights hummed without pause, the sound pounding against her head. Breathing became difficult. The air around her felt scarce. Sweat gathered at the back of her neck before tracing a path down her spine. No tears came. Instead, she dug her nails into her palm until half-moon marks appeared in her skin, but even then, she felt nothing. What are the odds? Roselyn asked in an even voice. The doctor seemed taken aback by how calm she sounded. Patiently, he explained the treatments available to her. Targeted therapy. The possibility of surgery. The difficult months waiting ahead. Without any change in expression, Roselyn listened and nodded. Not long afterward, she left the hospital. As soon as the heavy glass door closed behind her, the strength left her legs. Down the cold tiled wall of the hallway she sank until her knees met the floor. The report remained locked against her ch**t. A sudden knot tightened in her stomach, and the tumor inside her made itself known again. Suddenly, her phone vibrated inside her purse. Her shaking fingers reached for it. The message was from her husband, Adrian Riley. Don't wait for me tonight. I have a business meeting. The text carried the same distance and indifference she had come to expect. As the successor of Riley Group, Adrian stood at the center of the city's largest real estate empire. For the past three years, Roselyn had quietly filled the role of the quiet wife behind him. She had given up a future in AI medical research. She had taken care of his home. She had tolerated the ridicule of the people around him. Through it all, she had loved him. Earlier that morning, however, a sweet unfamiliar perfume had lingered on his collar. Not long after that, his phone screen had lit up with a message from someone saved under a single name. Emma. Emma Hudson. Emma was Roselyn's half-sister. She was the daughter born from their father's af**ir with Sophia Grant. Sophia had once destroyed Roselyn's mother's marriage. Now it seemed the same story was beginning all over again. With those innocent eyes and that soft voice of hers, Emma had ended up in Adrian's bed. Roselyn's eyes remained fixed on the message. Another wave of pain tore through her stomach, spreading through her like fire. One tear slipped free. She brushed it away and her expression turned cold. Then she unlocked her phone and searched for two things. The rules for dividing assets after a divorce and the price of targeted treatment for stomach cancer. Forty minutes later, her car rolled into the garage at the Riley estate. Adrian's Aston Martin wasn't there. Good. He wasn't at home. Without hesitation, she headed for Adrian's study. The room carried the familiar scent of his cologne mixed with leather. Her destination was the safe concealed behind a painting. The code wasn't difficult to remember. It was Adrian's birthday. A click sounded from the lock. From inside, Roselyn removed a thick stack of contracts related to an acquisition Adrian was preparing for. After that, she located their prenuptial agreement. Carrying it to the shredder, she fed the document through one page at a time. Once it was gone, she printed a standard divorce agreement and carefully completed the asset division section using the information she had just researched. Afterward, she made a copy of the cancer diagnosis. The divorce agreement and medical report were then slipped into the middle of the contract stack. Next, she picked up her phone and called Jenifer Riley. Jenifer was Adrian's mother. She was also the person who controlled the Riley family's finances. For as long as Roselyn could remember, Jenifer had looked down on her and considered her nothing more than a woman after the Riley family's money. What do you want? Jenifer asked. Impatience filled her voice. Mrs. Riley, Roselyn said evenly. "I'm calling about my divorce with Adrian. I need him to sign the agreement tonight, and we need to discuss the settlement." Silence followed on the other end. A moment later, a quiet laugh escaped Jenifer. In her eyes, Roselyn had finally accepted reality and realized she would never truly fit into the Riley family. So you're finally showing your true colors, Jenifer said in a clipped tone. "Come to my place tomorrow morning. I'll handle everything from there." I'll be there, Roselyn replied before ending the call. Her eyes drifted to the documents spread across the table. A faint, bitter smile appeared on her lips. Only after midnight did the front door open. Loosening his tie, Adrian stepped into the living room. The scent of al**hol lingered on him, mixed with that familiar perfume. Roselyn remained seated on the couch. The stack of papers rested on the coffee table between them. Why haven't you gone to bed yet? Adrian asked with a frown as he ran a hand through his hair. There wasn't a trace of guilt on his face. What showed instead was irritation. These need your signature, Roselyn said as she pushed the documents toward him. "Your mother said they were related to the acquisition and needed to be handled right away." A long sigh escaped Adrian. He was well aware that his mother and Roselyn had never gotten along. Reaching into his pocket, he took out a pen and opened the thick file. Inside her ch**t, Roselyn's heart pounded relentlessly. Outwardly, however, she showed nothing. Using one finger, she indicated the last page. Sign here, and here. Tired and convinced Roselyn knew nothing about corporate matters, Adrian didn't waste time looking through the hundreds of pages. His signature quickly landed on every marked line. Without realizing it, he signed away his marriage together with the acquisition documents. Afterward, Adrian dropped the pen onto the floor. You don't look well, he said, his brow tightening further. The remark carried criticism, not concern or kindness. "Roselyn, don't start creating problems right now. I'm exhausted. Just let me get some rest." For three years, Roselyn had loved this man. Now, there was nothing left. Only an ending she could finally see clearly. It's nothing. My stomach's bothering me again, Roselyn said softly. "It's an old issue." Ask Donna to make you some soup tomorrow, Adrian said before walking toward the bedroom. Alone in the dim room, Roselyn tightened her grip on the folder. Then she took out her phone and sent a message to her best friend, Nina Parker. I have cancer. I'm divorcing Adrian. Nina replied, "What? I'm on my way!" I still need to deal with a few things. Come tomorrow, Roselyn responded. After getting to her feet, she headed upstairs. When she reached the master bedroom, she noticed the door hadn't been fully closed. A voice drifted from inside. It was Adrian. Emma, sl**p well. Roselyn stopped where she was. Pain churned through her stomach once again, but not a sound escaped her lips. Without looking inside, she continued past the room and entered the guest bedroom. They hadn't shared the same bedroom for months. After locking the door, she placed the signed documents inside the nightstand drawer. Under the faint light, she began writing. "Freedom Countdown. Sign the divorce agreement. Secure financial compensation. Return to my career. Keep the diagnosis secret." One final word was added. "Survive." Whatever happened, she had to survive. No one could know the truth. She would allow them to believe she was simply causing trouble. Without water, she swallowed two strong painkillers. Still wearing her clothes, she lay down on the bed and stared upward until daylight slipped through the curtains. By morning, Adrian was already standing near the front entrance, adjusting his watch. As Roselyn came downstairs, he glanced at her briefly. Then he walked out without another look. Soon, everything would be finished. The divorce agreement had already been signed. Drawing in a steady breath, Roselyn picked up her phone and called Jenifer. I'll arrive in thirty minutes. Chapter 2 You're A Snake Roselyn occupied a velvet armchair in the spacious living room. Across from her, Jenifer sat with a saucer in hand while her manicured nails struck against it at regular intervals. The gesture made her irritation obvious. Without a word, Roselyn pushed a document over the glass coffee table. Jenifer took the papers and looked through them. As soon as she reached the end of the document, her eyebrows shot up. She sl**ped it down onto the table. Thirty million dollars? Jenifer's sharp voice shattered the silence. "Have you completely lost your senses, Roselyn? What have you ever done for the Riley family that makes you think you're entitled to that amount? This is nothing but blackmail!" Not a single change appeared on Roselyn's face. She opened her designer handbag and removed a silver flash drive. Then she set it down in front of Jenifer. Every claim I've made can be verified, said Roselyn. "The drive contains records proving Adrian moved substantial marital assets into an offshore account under Emma's name. It also contains internal correspondence detailing how Riley Group dealt with tax issues connected to a major development project from last year." Jenifer's face immediately lost all color. Her grip tightened against the armrests. I'm only asking for what is legally mine. On top of that, I deserve compensation for the emotional harm I've endured. Roselyn settled back into her seat as she spoke. "If you choose not to agree, these documents will be submitted together with my divorce filing. The moment that happens, they'll become part of the public record. I imagine both the media and the IRS will be very interested in reviewing them." Jenifer stared at her, breathing hard. Only then did she understand how badly she had misjudged Roselyn. For years, she had seen Roselyn as someone weak and obedient. You're a snake, Jenifer spat through clenched teeth. You should know-I learned it from watching people like you, Roselyn retorted. Jenifer's expression hardened. If information like this ever got out, Riley Group could lose hundreds of millions in value. Compared to that, thirty million dollars was nothing. Fine. Jenifer gave in reluctantly. "But you're signing a nondisclosure agreement first. Then pack everything you own and leave Adrian's house." I have no problem with that, Roselyn agreed. Without hesitation, she accepted the NDA from Jenifer, signed it, and stood. You have three days to transfer the money into my account. If that deadline passes, the files will be released automatically. Leaving the house behind, Roselyn headed for the exit. The oak door shut behind her with a heavy sound. The moment she settled into her car, a slight tremor ran through her hands. She had succeeded. Instead of going home, she drove to her office. Long before she became Adrian's wife, Roselyn had helped establish a medical AI technology company as one of its founding engineers. After the marriage, however, fewer and fewer people viewed her the same way. She walked through the familiar hallways. The efficient, professional atmosphere felt completely different from the endless conflict surrounding the Riley family. Outside the office of Gerald Hardy, the company's operations director, she paused and knocked on the door. Surprise flashed across Gerald's face when he saw her. "Roselyn? I wasn't expecting you. Come in and have a seat." From her bag, Roselyn took out a white envelope and handed it over. "Gerald, I've decided to step down from my nonexecutive board position. For now, I'll also be transferring my voting rights." As Gerald reviewed the letter, a frown slowly appeared. "Does this have something to do with Mr. Riley's af**ir?" My health is the reason, Roselyn answered. She offered no further explanation. "Right now, I need time to rest." After signing the paperwork, Gerald let out a sigh. "No matter what happens, there'll always be a place for you here." Thank you. For the first time that day, Roselyn truly felt grateful. After leaving his office, she made her way toward the elevators. A hand suddenly caught the doors before they could shut completely. Nate Robinson stepped into the elevator. As Adrian's executive assistant, his arrogance rivaled that of his employer. Mrs. Riley, Nate sneered as his gaze swept over her. What brings you here? To see Mr. Riley? You know he can't stand it when you follow him around. Roselyn felt her stomach tighten. To steady herself, she rested a hand against her abdomen and kept her breathing under control. I'm here to complete the process of leaving the board, Roselyn replied calmly. "And from this point forward, you'll address me as Ms. Hudson." A moment of surprise crossed Nate's face before he burst out laughing. "Leaving the board? Is this another one of your attempts to get attention? Does Mr. Riley even know you're doing this?" Roselyn kept her eyes on the elevator doors and didn't look at him. "That's not something you need to concern yourself with." When the elevator reached the lobby, the doors opened. Without another word, Roselyn stepped out. Behind her, Nate remained where he was, still wearing that disdainful look. Once she returned to her car, Roselyn pulled out a notebook. She crossed off the second item on her list-secure financial compensation. Then she placed a check mark beside the first item-sign the divorce agreement. Below the four items, she wrote something new. "Freedom Countdown: 30 Days." A vibration came from her phone. A message appeared on her phone from her cousin, Stefan Hudson. Roselyn, there's a private dinner happening tonight. Would you like to come with me? For several seconds, Roselyn looked at the text. Exhaustion weighed on her. The stress and the tumor had left her body aching. Even so, she needed to start rebuilding her connections. She needed to find the version of herself that existed before Adrian became part of her life. Her fingers moved across the screen. "Where is it, and what time does it start?" Silence filled the house when Roselyn arrived home. In the hallway, Donna Flynn, the elderly housekeeper who had always been kind to her, was busy dusting. The moment Donna saw her, concern showed on her face. Roselyn's pale appearance was impossible to miss. Mrs. Riley, are you alright? Donna, I'd rather you call me Roselyn. I'm alright. Just a little tired. Actually, I'll be moving out soon. Shock spread across Donna's face. "Moving out? Oh dear... I'm sorry to hear that." Donna understood better than anyone how Roselyn had been treated under that roof. You don't need to be sorry. A smile appeared on Roselyn's lips. Though tired, it was genuine. "This is the right decision." Roselyn headed for the guest room upstairs. A suitcase came out, and she started packing her belongings. Everything Adrian had purchased for her remained exactly where it was. Her gaze settled on the closet after it had been emptied. At that moment, something she hadn't felt in years stirred inside her-anticipation. Sitting down on the edge of the bed, she opened her laptop and began writing an email to the mentor who had guided her in the past. Is there still room for me on the new AI diagnostics project we talked about last year? The email was sent. Before two minutes had passed, a response arrived. Roselyn! We've been waiting for you. After closing the laptop, Roselyn sat quietly for a moment. Goodbye, Adrian, she whispered to the empty room. Chapter 3 I Owe Him My Life For the private dinner, Roselyn picked out a black dress with a clean, elegant design. Just as she prepared to head out, her phone started ringing. Roselyn, I owe you an apology. An inspection came up and delayed me. Stefan sounded rushed. "So I asked a friend to pick you up instead. He's already outside waiting." A frown crossed Roselyn's face. "Stefan, that's unnecessary. I can make it there myself." Relax, you'll be fine with him. I'll see you at the restaurant. Before she could respond, Stefan ended the call. With her clutch in hand, Roselyn took the elevator down to the first floor. At the curb, a black Maybach was already parked. When she neared the vehicle, the driver got out and opened the rear door. Roselyn stepped inside. Someone else was already seated on the opposite side. The light from a tablet cast a glow across his features. Sharp bone structure. A calm expression. An authority that didn't need to be announced. His presence alone was difficult to ignore. The man sitting there was Kevin Wheeler. Roselyn stopped cold. Kevin turned to look at her. For a split second, something intense flickered across his face before disappearing. The change vanished so quickly that she couldn't be certain she had seen it at all. Hello, Roselyn greeted with a courteous smile. My name is Roselyn Hudson. I'm Stefan's cousin. Thank you for coming to get me. Kevin Wheeler. His voice was low and steady. "Stefan talks about you often. From what I understand, you've had a difficult time recently." Roselyn immediately grew guarded. Without thinking, she closed her fingers into her palms. Why would Stefan tell him something so personal? There are a few things in my life that need to be dealt with, she said after a pause. Rather than questioning her further, Kevin offered, "If you find yourself needing assistance, you can reach out to me." His tone remained casual, yet the offer felt far more significant than it should have. Confusion flickered across Roselyn's face. She couldn't understand why someone she had only just met would extend that kind of offer. Soon afterward, the Maybach rolled into the underground parking area of an upscale restaurant. Kevin stepped out and opened the door for her. Standing next to him made most people feel diminished by comparison. Roselyn rarely experienced anything like that. Together, they made their way into a private dining room where Stefan was already seated and motioning for them to join him. As the dinner continued, Roselyn began to understand the extent of Kevin's influence. He wasn't simply a friend of Stefan's. He was one of the investment world's most influential figures, someone capable of shaping the future of countless companies with a single decision. Even so, he spent most of the evening listening rather than speaking. Stefan carried much of the conversation with one story after another. Several glasses of w**e later, Stefan started talking about their family's past. Roselyn's uncle, Arthur Cunningham, was a legend, Stefan said with a grin. Arthur Cunningham? Kevin repeated. The way he said the name was noticeably quieter. "He is your uncle?" A nod came from Roselyn as a familiar sadness surfaced inside her. "That's right. He passed away many years ago." Kevin didn't look away. Something about the way he watched her sent a sudden shock through Roselyn. I owe him my life, Kevin said. The amusement vanished from Stefan's face. Roselyn became completely still. Many years ago, he pulled me out of a situation that should have ki**ed me, Kevin continued. His gaze remained fixed on her. "Afterward, he never asked for anything in return." An old memory surfaced in Roselyn's mind. She remembered hearing that Arthur had once rescued a boy from a vehicle engulfed in flames. He had been so happy because of that, but he had never revealed who that boy was. Since then, I've never forgotten what I owe him, Kevin said. "Meeting you tonight finally gives me a chance to repay that debt." Roselyn thought of the uncle who had always shown her kindness. Her throat tightened as emotion rose inside her. "That's not necessary. My uncle would've done the same for anyone. You don't owe me anything." I disagree. I know exactly what I owe. Kevin's voice made it clear he wasn't open to debate. "If there's ever something you need, all you have to do is tell me." Sensing the atmosphere growing heavier, Stefan cut in, "Roselyn, do you realize how valuable that offer is? Getting a favor from Kevin is like hitting the jackpot." Roselyn turned her attention to Kevin. There was no trace of pity in his eyes. All she found there was sincerity. She needed support now more than ever. Even so, she wanted to hold on to what remained of her pride. Thank you, Kevin, Roselyn whispered. "If the day comes when I have nowhere else to turn, I'll remember what you've offered." The corner of Kevin's mouth lifted slightly. Once dinner ended, Kevin refused to let her find her own way home and arranged for the driver to take her back. The ride passed in silence. When the car finally arrived outside her apartment building, Roselyn stepped out onto the sidewalk. Roselyn. Kevin's voice stopped her before she could walk away. "Don't forget what I said." Roselyn caught her breath. Before any response could leave her lips, the darkened window rose, and the Maybach disappeared into the night. A cool breeze brushed against her coat while she remained standing on the sidewalk. Her arms folded across her body as one thought after another ran through her mind. There was no doubt that Kevin was a dangerous man. Yet after everything she had gone through, he was also the first person to offer her something completely genuine. Chapter 4 Stop Making A Scene The following day, Roselyn met Nina at the hotel cafe. Across the table, Nina used the edge of her fork to cut into a slice of red velvet cake. I still don't know how you pulled that off. Thirty million dollars from Jenifer? That's unbelievable. Disbelief filled Nina's face as she shook her head. "Once she saw those financial records, she didn't have anywhere to run." Only a small smile appeared on Roselyn's face. Beneath the table, she quietly pressed her fist against her abdomen as a sharp cramp tore through her stomach. I just had something valuable enough to negotiate with. The strain in Roselyn's voice was difficult to hide. Nina was too caught up in the conversation to notice how drained Roselyn looked. "Oh, right. I think I spotted Kevin upstairs earlier." A playful smile spread across her face. "The man who offered to help you." Getting to her feet, Roselyn moved quickly. "Excuse me. I need to go to the restroom." Leaving the cafe behind, she walked into the hotel's grand main corridor. Without warning, another surge of pain hit her. The pain became so severe that she had no choice but to stop beside a marble column and brace herself against it. Her eyes closed as she concentrated on the breathing techniques her doctor had taught her. Several moments later, the pain finally began to ease. Slowly, she opened her eyes again. Directly across the corridor stood a luxury jewelry boutique. Carefully arranged lighting reflected against rows of glass display cases. One particular piece drew Roselyn's attention. An extraordinary sapphire and diamond necklace occupied the center of the display. Its name was "True Love." Roselyn caught sight of it and froze for a moment. Six months ago, Adrian had brought her to this same boutique. Standing beside her, he had pointed at the necklace and spoken in a low voice. "That necklace belongs to you, Roselyn. No one else should wear it." Back then, she had accepted every word as truth. Looking back, she felt fo**ish. Roselyn was ready to leave when movement inside the boutique caught her attention. All the color vanished from her face. For a moment, she couldn't move. The two people entering the store were Adrian and Emma. Through the spotless glass, Roselyn watched Adrian speak with the store manager. With an eager nod, the manager unlocked the display at the center of the boutique. Carefully, he removed the necklace and handed it over to Adrian. Adrian turned toward Emma. Using his own hands, he secured the necklace around her neck. An exaggerated g**p escaped Emma. Without any hesitation, she wrapped her arms around Adrian and ki**ed him. As he drew her closer, his hand came to rest at her waist. Concealed behind the marble column, Roselyn didn't move. Her nails bit into her palms until pain spread through her hands. A metallic bitterness settled in her mouth. The pain in her stomach intensified. Soon, the burning sensation rose into her throat. Breath became difficult to draw, yet her eyes remained fixed on them. With a shopping bag, Adrian and Emma eventually left the boutique. Roselyn tried to retreat farther into the shadows, but it was too late. Emma's sharp gaze locked onto her. A victorious gleam flashed across her eyes. Roselyn! What a surprise. Her sweet voice echoed through the corridor. Holding tightly to Adrian's arm, she guided him straight toward Roselyn. The moment Adrian noticed her, he stopped walking. Look at this. Adrian bought it for me. Lifting her chin, Emma made sure the newly acquired necklace was impossible to miss. "He told me the sapphires made him think of me." Nausea churned inside Roselyn, but she refused to let it show. What are you doing here, Roselyn? The question came from Adrian, and his voice carried nothing but cold disapproval. Anyone listening would've thought he was confronting a stranger instead of speaking to his wife. Roselyn met his gaze. How disappointing. This was the man she had given up her career for. This was the man she had once imagined spending her future with. I stopped by for coffee. Though Roselyn's voice sounded strained, it didn't waver. "I didn't expect to see you two." A frown appeared on Adrian's face. For the first time, he seemed to register how pale and unwell she looked. "Stop making a scene, Roselyn." Making a scene? A humorless laugh slipped from Roselyn's lips. "All I'm doing is standing here." Leaning against Adrian, Emma rested her head on his shoulder. "Adrian, we should leave. We still have to pick up my gown." Without another look at Roselyn, Adrian turned away. "You're right. Let's go." Roselyn remained where she was and watched them disappear around the corner. The moment they were gone, the adrenaline left her. The pain came rushing back with even greater force. It ripped through her body and almost drove her to her knees. She reached toward the marble column for support, but her hand missed. A strong arm caught her around the waist before she could fall. In the next second, she found herself held firmly against a solid ch**t. I've got you. The quiet voice sounded near her ear. Struggling for breath, Roselyn lifted her head through blurred vision. Kevin. Without any effort, he steadied her and led her toward a velvet bench tucked away from the main corridor. Kevin asked, "That man... is he your husband?" Roselyn shut her eyes. At last, a tear slipped free. "Yes, and the woman beside him is my half-sister." Something changed in Kevin's expression. Anyone could tell he was angry. "He humiliated you for another woman." It doesn't matter anymore, Roselyn whispered. Kevin's gaze shifted to the arm she still kept pressed across her stomach. "You don't look well." It's just an ulcer. I'll be alright. The answer came naturally, but her uneven breathing exposed the lie. For a long moment, Kevin said nothing. He clearly didn't accept her explanation, yet he let it go. What I said before still stands. The edge in his voice softened. "Whenever you're ready to be honest with me, I'll listen." Footsteps suddenly echoed from around the corner. Moments later, Nina appeared, panic written across her face. "Roselyn! I've been looking everywhere for you! I saw Adrian and..." The rest of her sentence vanished when she noticed Kevin. With a brief nod, Kevin acknowledged her presence. Before leaving, he gave Roselyn one last look. "Take care of her," he said to Nina. Then he turned away and disappeared into the crowd without another word. Nina hurried over and took hold of Roselyn's hands. "Roselyn, your hands are freezing. What happened? And why was Kevin with you?" Drawing in a shaky breath, Roselyn tried to steady herself. "He helped me." Slowly, she rose from the bench. Her body still felt weak, but her thoughts had never been more certain. "Nina, please take me home. There's something I need to do first." ...... 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) &4&

As a substitute, she wanted to leave but was rejected. She thought her husband might start to have feelings for her, but as it turned out, he simply wanted to wait for his first love to return before getting rid of her. Faced with their intimacy, she taught the sc**bag and his mistress a good lesson and left without hesitation, focusing on her career. However, her unfaithful ex-husband actually began to pester her... ===== "We'll divorce on Monday. Aside from the compensation in the agreement, you may request anything else you need." Kristian Shaw, impeccably dressed in a tailored suit, exuded an air of cold detachment. His voice firm and emotionless. His piercing gaze settled on the silent woman opposite him, his eyes inscrutable. "Why so sudden?" Freya Briggs asked, her voice quieter than usual. Kristian's answer was blunt. "Ashley is back." Freya knew exactly who Ashley was. After a brief pause, she replied, "Okay." Kristian hesitated, caught off guard by her immediate acceptance. Freya opened the divorce papers, her thoughts drifting to the past. Two years ago, they had met at a n**htclub. She had been weighed down by worries; he had been nursing a broken heart. A few drinks later, they found solace in each other's company, talking late into the night. There had been no impulsive o*e-n**ht st*nd--just a quiet parting afterward. Three days later, he had returned with his assistant to propose marriage. And she had agreed. After getting married, he had treated her well--tending to her needs, drying her hair with gentle hands, and solving her problems before she even voiced them. Their relationship had been perfect--until six months ago, when a single phone call changed everything. Overnight, he grew distant, his warmth replaced by icy indifference. That was when she learned the truth: Kristian had married her because she bore a faint resemblance to his lost love, Ashley Bradley. The memory made Freya press her lips together before she asked lightly, "You said I could ask for compensation, right?" "Yes," Kristian replied flatly. "Anything I want?" She lifted her gaze to him, her delicate face devoid of its usual brightness. For a fleeting moment, guilt flickered in his ch*st. "Yes." He had already resolved to grant her reasonable demands. After all, she had been good to him all the time. Freya's voice was steady. "Then I want the most expensive car in your garage." "Fine," Kristian agreed. "A villa in the suburbs," she added. "Done," he said. Freya smiled. "And a share of the money you've earned in the last two years." For the first time, Kristian's composure cracked. His eyes narrowed slightly, as if questioning whether he'd heard correctly. "What did you say?" Freya, unfazed, repeated her demand. "Our earnings during the marriage count as marital property, don't they? Based on my calculations--excluding investments--your salary and dividends over the last two years amount to several billion. I don't want much--just 40%." A heavy silence settled between them. Then, she added, as if casually mentioning the weather, "Of course, you're welcome to take 40% of my income too." Kristian's patience finally snapped. "Freya!" His voice carried an edge of disbelief. Had he really felt guilty earlier? How had he never noticed her greed? Freya met his gaze evenly. "Is that not acceptable?" Absolutely not. Kristian dismissed the idea instantly. "Then forget it." Freya set down her pen. "Next time I see your family, I'll bring up your emotional infidelity. I'm sure they'll take my side." Kristian's expression darkened, his stare turning glacial. He hadn't anticipated this side of her--realizing now that her past docility had been an act. "Do you really want to negotiate with me like this?" he demanded. "Yes." Freya held his gaze without flinching. She knew he despised threats--but she despised infidelity more. "Fine." Kristian's eyes turned stormy, his voice glacial. "You'll get what you want. But if the divorce hits complications, you'll regret it." Freya leaned back in her chair, her tone razor-sharp. "Kristian Shaw, is that a threat?" This version of her was foreign to Kristian. For two years, she'd been the picture of compliance--gentle, accommodating, never defiant. Now, she met his anger with unshakable calm. "No." Already calculating countermeasures, he bit out, "You'll have the assets. We divorce on Monday." Freya's lashes lowered briefly before she added, "One more condition." "Speak." His patience frayed. "Take me shopping tomorrow." She ignored the frost radiating from him. "Afterward, we'll tell your family together that I ended things." "Deal," Kristian conceded. With that, he strode toward the door, unable to stomach another second in her presence. Earlier, he'd even considered granting her a grace period to process the divorce. How laughable. She couldn't wait to carve up his fortune and be rid of him. Had Freya been able to read his thoughts, she might have laughed and said, "That little money? Do you really think I care?" Kristian reached the door and halted. Without turning around, he said, "I won't be back tonight. I'll pick you up at nine tomorrow morning. Make a list of the stores you want to visit." Freya's voice followed him, calm but laced with something sharp. "Are you going to see Ashley Bradley?" Kristian's jaw tightened. "That's none of your business." Freya let out a quiet breath, as if she had already expected that answer. "I don't tolerate cheating," she said plainly. "So before the divorce is finalized, you'd better not end up in b*d with her." Kristian whirled back, looming over her. Freya didn't blink. "What? Can't endure two more days?" "I understand your bitterness," he said, eerily composed, "but lashing out won't help. This is a divorce, not war." Freya blinked at him. For a moment, she was at a loss for words. This man was truly shameless. Kristian didn't wait for a response. "Good night." And with that, he turned and left. The door clicked shut behind him. Freya's gaze drifted down to the divorce papers still lying on the table. She stood there for a long time, unmoving. To say she felt nothing would have been a lie. She wasn't made of stone. The moment she discovered she was nothing more than a stand-in, the hurt had settled deep in her bones. Kristian had been her first love. In twenty-four years, no one else had breached her defenses. Before the betrayal, he'd been perfection itself--attentive, steady, silencing every doubt with his quiet devotion. So when she learned of Ashley, she'd offered to leave. To free him. But he'd refused. Chapter 2 Kristian Was Pure S**mbag The reason behind Kristian's refusal was simple. Before Ashley returned, he needed someone to manage his elders at home--and Freya, adored by his parents and grandpa, was the obvious choice. But sometimes, Freya couldn't help but wonder--did he really think she was a f*ol? Otherwise, why would he assume she'd play along in hiding his a**air? Now, with his sudden demand for divorce, frustration simmered inside her. Even after six months of steeling herself, a stubborn flicker of emotion remained. She let out a slow breath, crossed to the sofa, and grabbed her phone. She tapped the contact labeled "Fred"--untouched for two years--and typed, "Check if Shaw Group's facing any issues. And find out if Kristian's terminally ill." Fred's replies exploded onto the screen instantly. "Holy--Freya?!" "Never thought I'd hear from you again!" "Two years, Freya. TWO." "Where've you been?!" She didn't bother explaining. Mood sour, she fired back a single word, "Check." Fred caved. "On it!" She tossed the phone aside and waited. If Kristian was divorcing her to spare her some tragedy, she'd forgive him--maybe even help. But if he was just an unfaithful j**k? She'd drop him without a second thought. Thirty minutes later, her phone buzzed with Fred's verdict. "Zero troubles. No illness, no crisis. Why the h*ll are you asking? Kristian's loaded, hot, and sharp--you two are a match. Don't you like pretty boys? Give it a shot!" She ignored the jab and shot back, "You are so blind." Then she silenced her phone. No external factors meant only one thing--Kristian was pure s*um. Fred stared at his screen, baffled. Did Freya wake up in a mood today? Freya's gaze landed on the divorce papers. After a pause, she snatched a pen, scrawled her name, and shoved them into a drawer. Then she headed for the shower. When she emerged, her phone was a disaster--dozens of unread messages and 32 missed calls. No guessing needed. Frederick Price--aka Fred--had clearly blabbed about her resurrection to the entire world. Towel draped over her damp hair, she reached for her phone--only for it to ring again. The caller ID flashed; it was her father. Her ch*st tightened. Two years of silence, and now he called? She'd left Alerith City due to a situation involving her mother, and neither had she reached out to her father nor had he contacted her--until now. After a pause, she answered coolly. "Hello." Silence. Freya, never one for patience, was about to hang up when Hugh Briggs' raspy voice cut through. "Mina." That name clawed at buried memories. "What do you want?" she asked flatly. Hugh hesitated, guilt threading his words. "Frederick told me you reached out. Said you were digging into Kristian. Need help?" "No." Freya had no interest in his involvement. A beat passed before Hugh ventured, "What's your relationship with him?" "A couple." She let the word hang. "About to divorce." Hugh's breath hitched. She was married? "You--" he started. "If that's all, I'm done." Freya didn't want to waste any more breath on him. "Wait!" he rushed. She held her tongue. The line crackled with tension. Finally, he muttered, "When are you coming back? That woman's gone." Then, hastily, he added, "Your mom's belongings are untouched." Her fingers tightened around the phone. For a flicker, emotion crossed her face--then vanished. "Noted." She hung up before he could protest. Hugh stared at the dead line, frustration curdling in his ch*st. He hadn't even asked about her marriage. Freya didn't spare him another thought. She flicked her phone to airplane mode, towel-dried her hair, and collapsed into b*d. The night passed without dreams. By eight the next morning, she was up--dressed and breakfasted. Today, she'd taken care with her makeup. Her skin glowed; her lips, naturally full, needed no enhancement. But her eyes--sharp, luminous--were the real weapon. Her smile was bright, bringing a warmth that could instantly lift anyone's spirits. When Kristian arrived, she was already waiting on the sofa. Her shoulder-length hair was pinned back, bangs swept up under a black beret. At the sight of him, she rose gracefully, reaching for a coat and draping it over her shoulder. "Let's go." She grabbed her purse, her tone composed and unbothered. Kristian didn't move. His tailored suit emphasized his height as he said, "Not today." Freya stilled. "I have other commitments." His voice was indifferent. His gaze lingered--too long--on her face. "Tomorrow." "Kristian Shaw." Her tone was a warning. He disliked it instantly. "I put on makeup today," she said, her voice deceptively calm but carrying an unmistakable edge. "If you want our divorce to go smoothly on Monday, push aside whatever plans you have. I don't deal with people who break their promises." Kristian's eyes narrowed. After a silent calculation, he stepped out to make a call. Fragments floated back--Ashley... hospital... follow-up. Freya's grip on her purse turned white-knuckled. Inside, she seethed. Even now, Ashley occupied his thoughts completely. Kristian missed Freya's fury. All he saw was how she shone today--vibrant, untamed. Nothing like the subdued woman he knew. After hanging up, he inquired where she wanted to shop. Freya mentioned the largest luxury mall in town. This wasn't shopping. This was a spree. By 10 AM, the four bodyguards trailed behind her like pack mules--arms stacked with watches, jewels, designer bags. Kristian's phone chimed nonstop with alerts. As Freya strode into yet another jewelry boutique, his jaw hardened. This wasn't retail therapy; she was intentionally trying to irritate him. Chapter 3 Why Hurt Ashley? Gerard Todd, Kristian's ever-dutiful assistant, hesitated for a moment before asking, "Sir, should I go ahead and book a restaurant?" Kristian massaged his temples, irritation flashing across his face. "No need." He knew Freya was venting her frustration. If splurging eased her temper, so be it--he'd let her spend freely. The moment the words left his mouth, his phone vibrated. Another alert flashed--over thirty million had just vanished from his account. Gerard averted his eyes, while the four bodyguards stood stiffly, arms laden with shopping bags like silent, overburdened mules. Freya strode out of the jewelry boutique and casually handed her latest purchase to Gerard, whose hands were conspicuously empty. Just as she turned to continue her spree, Kristian's phone rang. His posture shifted instantly. The tension in his shoulders eased, his frown softening as he glanced at the caller ID. Long fingers cradled the phone, his voice uncharacteristically tender as he answered. "Hello, Ashley." Gerard and the bodyguards exchanged startled glances. Had their boss forgotten Freya was standing right there? "Ashley was in a car accident on her way to a hospital follow-up. She's unconscious--still in surgery," the voice on the line blurted, frantic. "Please come. She kept calling your name before they took her in." "Send the address. I'm on my way." Kristian's ch*st constricted, the words sharp with urgency. He ended the call, his gaze flickering to Freya. An explanation hovered on his lips, but he swallowed it. Instead, he turned to Gerard and the bodyguards. "Stay with her. Buy whatever she wants. If it doesn't fit in the car, have it delivered by this afternoon." "Yes, sir," the five men chorused. Without another word, Kristian strode off, leaving Freya and the others in his wake. An uncomfortable silence settled over the group. Gerard adjusted his gold-rimmed glasses, forcing a polished smile. "Mrs. Shaw, don't worry. Mr. Shaw will return once he handles matters." "What a loyal employee," Freya murmured, her tone laced with something unreadable. Gerard blinked, thrown by her response. Freya studied the mall's glittering chandeliers, her voice deliberate. "Being his assistant is one thing. But cleaning up his messes? Tell me, Gerard--have you ever seen a man ditch his wife mid-date to run to his mi**ress?" The bodyguards stiffened; Gerard's smile froze. For a heartbeat, all five men stared at her with something dangerously close to pity. This might be the price of marrying into wealth--knowing her husband had left her for another woman while she was expected to swallow the insult. "Save the sympathy." Freya scoffed, amused by their expressions. She gestured to the bags weighing them down. "A single one of those could cover your salary for a year. Maybe ten." The blow landed perfectly. She pressed, "Well, anything you'd like?" Five pairs of eyes widened in unison. Freya's mind worked in ways they couldn't follow. "Since he's off playing hero for his darling, let's put his money to better use." She twirled the black card between her fingers, her voice quieter now. The sting surprised her. She hadn't realized Kristian's departure would still claw at her. Right now, all she wanted was to drain his account dry. Gerard and the bodyguards gaped. Delighted by their shock, Freya resumed shopping, the card clutched like a weapon. She assumed Kristian would linger at the hospital all day. But as she sat down to eat, he appeared like a storm, his presence slicing through the restaurant's warmth. Before anyone could react, he seized Freya's wrist and hauled her toward the parking area, his grip ironclad. Her back slammed against the car door, pain radiating through her. She winced. What the hell was his problem? His accusation came like a whip crack, "Why hurt Ashley?" Kristian trembled with suppressed rage. "You hired that hit-and-run driver, didn't you? I gave you everything you wanted, the house, the car, the money. What more do you want? Why did you still hurt her?" He looked like vengeance personified, his eyes glacial. "When did I--" Freya's confusion was genuine. "Still lying?" His voice could've frosted glass. "You planned this. Picked today so I'd be distracted while your hired man ran her down. You know I'd die before letting her suffer." His voice was Arctic frost, the kind that seeped into bones and made spines stiffen. Freya's initial fury dissolved into something colder, sharper. His absurd accusation had an ironic effect--it drained her rage, leaving only icy clarity. She met his gaze, lips curling in derision. "How poetic. Turning betrayal into some grand romance." "Freya Briggs!" Kristian's control frayed, his shout raw with warning. "You're delusional." She didn't flinch, status be damned. "Think. Why would I trash my fresh start--my freedom--over someone like her?" "You know exactly why." His voice dropped lower, a bl**e pressed to her throat. A realization flickered. "Ah. You think I'm still obsessed with you?" Kristian said nothing, but his clenched jaw and the fire in his eyes were answer enough. "Why should I still want you?" Freya laughed, the sound brittle. "After being treated as a stand-in? After your infidelity? After watching you fawn over another woman?" The words landed like sl*ps. Kristian stiffened. "I didn't cheat," he ground out. "You handed her your heart while wearing my ring." Her smile was lethal. "That's cheating." "Enough deflection," he snapped. "You're the one hallucinating conspiracies!" Silence. Kristian studied her, as if peeling back layers for the first time. The weight of his scrutiny was suffocating. Freya refused to wilt. "So she claimed I hired a man to k*ll her, and you just... believed her?" "Yes." His anger faltered under her unwavering stare, but the frost remained. "Ashley didn't lie. And she has proof." Freya's brows arched. Her fingers dug into her bag strap, knuckles whitening. "Perfect. Let's go to the hospital. Right now." Kristian blinked. Her immediate agreement threw him. Guilty people didn't invite confrontation. Doubt slithered in. Was the evidence fabricated? "Move." Her command shattered his thoughts. He released her wrist, disconcerted by her detachment. Something ugly twisted in his ch*st--annoyance? Guilt? Before he could name it, he yanked out his keys and wrenched the car door open. Chapter 4 Are You Threatening Me? Gerard stepped forward swiftly to take the keys, assuming the role of driver without hesitation. Freya yanked the passenger door open and slid inside, her gaze fixed straight ahead--ignoring Kristian entirely. A knot of dread tightened in Gerard's ch*st. What if Freya said something outrageous? The thought made his fingers clench around the wheel. After a weighted pause, he ventured, "Mrs. Shaw, you--" "Drive." Her reply was a bl**e, sharp and final. Gerard flicked a glance at the rearview mirror. Kristian's expression gave nothing away. Swallowing hard, he pulled out of the parking area. Silence smothered the car like a thick fog. The tension was unbearable. Gerard's shoulders tensed, his grip on the steering wheel turning his knuckles white. Neither Kristian nor Freya spoke. Both radiated a frost so deep it could've cracked the windows. Gerard knew Kristian's moods well--but Freya? She'd been almost cheerful earlier. What the hell happened? He bit back a sigh. Questions wouldn't help now. In the back seat, Kristian's gaze drifted unbidden to Freya's profile. Something unfamiliar twisted in his ch*st--an emotion he refused to name. Thirty minutes later, the car halted at the hospital entrance. Kristian seized Freya's wrist, dragging her toward the VIP ward. His grip was iron, unyielding. She winced, her voice dripping with mockery. "At this rate, I won't be the one charged--you'll be arrested for assault first." He dropped her arm like it burned him. Angry red marks circled her skin. Freya shot him a look so scathing it could've melted steel. Guilt flickered in Kristian's ch*st--brief, unwelcome. It vanished the moment Ashley's bruised face flashed in his mind. "Follow me," he muttered, turning on his heel. He didn't wait to see if Freya obeyed. The door swung open. Ashley lay propped up in b*d, her face lighting up at the sight of Kristian. "Kristian," she breathed, voice sweet with devotion. He was at her side in an instant, fingers brushing hers in silent reassurance. Freya strode in, took one look at them, and smirked. "Should I leave? Give you two some privacy?" "Freya. Enough." Kristian's voice was winter itself. He didn't look at Freya, his hand still resting on Ashley's back. "You're here to apologize." Freya closed the distance to the b*d, studying Ashley properly for the first time--soft features, delicate frame, eyes wide with practiced innocence. Ah. Now she understood. This was the woman Kristian loved. "Miss Bradley." Freya laced her fingers together. "My darling tells me you've accused me of hiring your attacker--with evidence." She stressed the word, gaze locked on Kristian. "Care to share?" "Kristian..." Ashley's fingers tightened around his, her lower lip trembling... ...... 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&

Elliana, the unfavored "ugly duckling" of her family, was humiliated by her stepsister, Paige, who everyone admired. Paige, engaged to the CEO Cole, was the perfect woman-until Cole married Elliana on the day of the wedding. Tears streamed down Paige's face. "Mom, is my dream of becoming the wife of the wealthiest man truly gone?" "Absolutely not!" Kiara's voice dripped with venom as she said, "Cole won't tolerate being trapped like this. Elliana was shoved into his life. She might not even make it through tonight." "Once Elliana's no longer in the picture, Cole will definitely come back to you. Just hold on to your place as Ublento's top socialite. You'll be his wife eventually." Since even those two m**ons, Kiara and Paige, had imagined Cole might arrange a widower scenario, Elliana, with her sharp mind, had certainly considered that possibility. Even though Elliana had never seen Cole in person until today, she'd heard every tale. People described him as cold-bl**ded, even cruel. He was the kind of man who crushed anyone who dared stand in his way. Elliana kept her head down the entire ceremony. Once they stepped into the bedroom, Elliana sank onto the edge of the bed and stayed silent. Cole slipped off his jacket and dropped onto the couch. His eyes locked on her. Hours ago, she looked like a wreck--smudged eyeliner, tangled hair, makeup that aged her ten years. But now, beneath the soft veil concealing her face, she looked ethereal in the glittering gown. Elliana was still running through her next move in her head when Cole rose without warning and swept her into his arms. Her heart lurch. "Mr. Evans, what... What are you doing?" A sly smile playing at the corners of Colea's mouth. "Tell me--what do you suppose newlyweds ought to be doing on their wedding night?" Everything tilted as he tossed her onto the b*d, his scent surrounding her completely, and she went still. With her horrible wig and makeup, was Cole seriously able to go through with it? ...... &7&

Pregnant with my husband's baby—flew to his city to surprise him for our anniversary. His call hits me at the door: "Babe! Happy five years! Got a surprise for you—arrives tomorrow." I cover the camera, grinning. "I've got a surprise for you too. Five minutes." Hang up. This blonde in the elevator smiles at me. "Wait—you're Nathan's wife? He talks about you constantly." My heart melts. Elevator opens. His office—right there. Hand on the door. She grabs me, smile like ice. "I'm Chloe. Nathan's girlfriend." "This is our time. Stay here. I'll get you when we're done." Oh. Guess this is my surprise. Door slams shut. I'm frozen. Brain screaming. Chairs scraping. Then—those sounds. "Babe, I'm still bruised from last time. Go easy on me?" No. I didn't hear that. His voice—unmistakable. "What's wrong? You're being so quiet. Come on, let me hear that pretty voice." Every nerve in my body dies. Nathan. My Nathan. The boy who begged me to marry him. My whole life. Screwing her. Right there. Last night we FaceTimed about baby names. I should burst in there. Rip his head off. My hand's on the handle. I bolt. Elevator. Two girls giggling. "Oh my god, did you see Nathan's girlfriend? She's stunning. Five years and they're still all over each other." "Right? He literally moved the company here so she could finish school. Goals." Can't breathe. Ribs cracking. Five years. Same as our marriage. His "expansion" wasn't for our future. It was for her. Voice shaking. "Wait—isn't Nathan married though?" They look at me like I'm insane. "Married? Nathan? Girl, if that man had a wife, he'd tattoo her name on his forehead." "He parades that girlfriend around like a trophy. Wedding's in a week. Whole office is invited." Something inside me shatters. No one knows I exist. Our marriage—erased. Except her. She knows. Did he tell her while they were in bed? Over coffee? Doesn't matter. I'm the joke either way. Stomach flips. I crash outside, puking into the bushes. Tears choking me. Won't stop heaving. I look up. His office window. Two shadows pressed together. Don't know how long I stand there. Sun beating down. Sweat everywhere. His call lights up my phone. New shirt. Buttoned tight. Hair perfect. Face—nothing. Like he wasn't just inside her ten minutes ago. He squints. "Babe, is that... wait, are you outside my building?" I smile so wide my face hurts. "Yeah. Surprise." Nathan's sprinting toward me. His face lights up. "Babe! Oh my god—you're here? This is the surprise?" He's ten feet away and I can already smell her perfume on him. My stomach flips. I clutch the pregnancy test in my bag. "Yeah. Surprise." He grabs my hand, practically dragging me through the lobby. Reception's gawking. Including those two elevator girls. Nathan stops, shooting them a look. "This is my wife. Next time she shows up, walk her straight to me." Right. He thinks they made me wait. He leads me to his office. The place is pristine. Every surface wiped down. But that smell. God, that smell. He's rubbing my shoulders now like I'm made of glass. "Baby, don't pull stunts like this again, okay? That flight's brutal on you." Brutal. Right. The door flies open. Chloe breezes back in like I'm invisible. "Hey babe, left something in here. Just grabbing it real quick—" Nathan's whole body goes rigid. He yanks her forward. "Whoa—this is my wife, Emma. Show some respect." Then to me, voice smooth: "This is Chloe. My buddy Jake's little sister. He's traveling, asked me to keep an eye on her." Chloe's eyes lock on mine. That smirk could cut glass. "Oh, Emma. Right. Yeah, we already met. Remember?" Nathan blinks. "Wait, when?" I open my mouth— Chloe reaches under the couch cushion. Pulls out leopard-print panties. Holds them up like buried treasure. "Found them! Must've dropped these when I was changing this morning." Nathan goes white. "Babe—no, listen—she borrowed my office before my meeting—that's all—" Chloe's already twirling the lace, grinning at me. "Exactly. Nathan's devoted to you, Emma. And me? I've got my own boyfriend. We're so in love." She tugs her collar down. Hickeys everywhere. My nails dig into my palms so hard I feel skin break. Nathan's face cycles through panic, rage, guilt. He grabs Chloe's collar, yanking it back up. His voice goes hard. "Get. Out." She flinches. Eyes go glassy. He shoves her through the door. Slams it. Locks it. Then spins around, hands up like he's approaching a spooked horse. "Babe. She's just—she's immature. Don't listen to her. I'll make sure Jake deals with her." He's so good at this. Academy Award–level. I almost want to applaud. "Does lying get you off, Nathan? Like, is this fun for you?" He freezes. "What? Babe, no—what are you even—" Still playing dumb. Something inside me shatters. "She's not Jake's sister. She's not anyone's sister. She's your girlfriend, Nathan. You're marrying her in seven days." My voice cracks. "So what am I? Your side piece? Your backup plan?" I'm standing right in front of him—and Nathan's eyes are locked on his phone. His face goes white. "Babe, I've got an emergency. Just wait here, okay? I'll be right back." He's out the door. I stare at where he just was. Everything I've been holding in doesn't explode—it just caves in. Like someone punched a hole through my ch//est. He's done with me. This marriage is done. I sit there until I go completely numb. Finally I grab my phone. "Marcus. I need divorce papers. Adultery. He gets nothing." I hang up and walk outside. The city's massive and loud and I realize I have nowhere to go. My vision starts blurring. My knees buckle. A car slams into me. I'm on the pavement. Fire tears through my stomach. Something warm is spreading down my legs. Blood. My dress is soaked with it. I grab my phone with shaking hands. Hit his name. It rings. He doesn't pick up. The car door opens. Chloe steps out with her phone pressed to her ear. "Babe? Oh god, I just hit someone with my car. She's pregnant." Pause. "I won't get arrested for this, right? I'm really scared." Nathan's voice comes through her speaker—totally calm. "You're fine. Call an ambulance for her. I'll take care of everything." My heart just stops beating. He always said he'd answer my calls first. Always. Chloe squats down next to me. That smirk's back on her face. "Wonder what he'll do now. Think he'll actually come after me for hurting your little accident? Or make this whole thing disappear?" She grins. "God, I can't wait to see." I'm clutching my stomach, gasping. Can't get words out. My phone lights up. Nathan calling back. I can't lift my arm anymore. Everything goes black. I wake up in a hospital bed. The doctor's standing there looking uncomfortable. "I'm so sorry. We did everything we could, but we couldn't save the pregnancy." My hand slides to my stomach. It's flat now. Empty. The baby's gone. Chloe's smug face flashes through my mind and rage floods my entire body. I grab my phone and call Marcus. "I want her charged. Hit and run. Everything." But I don't get a court summons. I get cops showing up at my hospital room. "Ma'am, you're being charged with insurance fraud. Faking a pregnancy to extort money, causing severe emotional distress to the victim. Six days detention, ten thousand dollar fine." I'm in shock. "What? That's insane—I didn't fake anything—" They hand me a stack of documents. Medical records stating I was never pregnant. Witness statements claiming I'm a scam artist. All of it "proving" I made the whole thing up. And every single page? Signed by Nathan. Six days in jail. Darkest days of my life. Not just the mental t0rture—there's this crew inside that decides I'm their target. Beat me until I'm bleeding everywhere. Fresh miscarriage and they're making me hemorrhage on concrete. Walk out barely functioning. Sunlight bu//rns. Every sound's too loud. Get my phone back. Nathan's spam-called me. "Babe, where are you? Flew home? Could've told me. Been worried." "Why won't you answer? Still mad about Chloe?" "She's a kid. You're almost thirty—be the bigger person. This petty cr@p is exhausting." Started worried. Ended blaming me. All because I'm supposedly "holding grudges." Zero clue everything I just survived is his doing. Phone buzzes. Friend request. Chloe's selfie grinning at me. "Heard you got out. Add me. You'll wanna see this." Accept. Photo dump hits. Wedding shots—her in white, him in a tux. Kissing. Laughing. Picture-perfect couple. Like they're the ones who took vows. "While you were locked up? Nathan and I did our engagement shoot every day. Didn't think about you once." "Wedding's tomorrow! Come if you want. Unless you're gonna be weird about it." Sends venue address. I stare at the screen. Memories flood back. Grew up watching affairs wreck my family. Made me terrified of marriage. Nathan knew—so he rewrote his family's ancestral code just for me. Any Cross man caught cheating gets buried alive. That code's sacred to them. Only reason I said yes. Was gonna let him walk. Sign papers. Move on. But they killed my baby. They want me at their wedding? I'll be there. THE WEDDING Next day. Biggest venue in the city. Chloe and Nathan at the altar looking magazine-perfect. All smiles and sweet talk. I'm in the back corner. Watching. Phone buzzes. Nathan again. "Babe, talk to me. It's cool—soon as this wraps, I'm coming to find you. We'll fix this face to face." I almost laugh. Right as they're exchanging rings— Horn blares. Loud as he11. Everyone spins around. Funeral procession rolls onto the lawn. Six guys carrying a coffin. Guy up front's got a bullhorn: "Cross family law—cheaters get buried alive. Nathan Cross, you left your wife for your mistress. We're here for you."

Letting my sister’s 18-year-old best friend live in my house was the biggest mistake of my life. I promised to protect her. But this morning, she stood in my kitchen wearing nothing but my oversized shirt. The collar slipped, exposing her bare shoulder and long legs. My body reacted instantly. She’s too young and completely off-limits. But watching her walk away, I threw my promise in the trash, grabbed her waist, and... ---------- Chapter 1: Rock Bottom The email came at 9:47 AM. *Subject: Termination of Employment - Effective Immediately* Leighton Hayes stared at her phone screen, reading the words three times before they actually sank in. Fired. They were letting her go. Budget cuts, the email said. Last hired, first fired. She'd only been at the startup for eight months. Her hands shook as she shoved her few personal items into her bag. A coffee mug Chloe had given her. The succulent plant was already half dead. Her backup phone charger. The other designers wouldn't even look at her as security walked her out. Twenty-three years old and unemployed. Great. She sat in her car in the parking lot for ten minutes, just breathing. Trying not to cry. Failing. Her phone buzzed. A text from her landlord. *The rent is 5 days late. Please make the payment by 5 PM today, or I will have to start the eviction process.* Leighton let out a laugh that sounded more like a sob. Of course. Of course, this was happening on the same day. She checked her bank account. $847.32. Rent was $1,200. Even if she paid everything she had, she'd still be short. And she'd just lost her income. Her finger hovered over Chloe's contact for a full minute before she finally pressed call. "Leigh! I was just thinking about you. Want to grab lunch?" The sound of her best friend's cheerful voice made something crack open in Leighton's chest. "I got fired," she said, and then the tears came for real. "What? Those assholes! Leigh, oh my god. Where are you?" "In the parking lot. And my landlord just texted. I'm being evicted." "Today? Everything's happening today?" "Apparently the universe thinks I can handle it." Leighton wiped her face with the back of her hand. Her mascara was definitely everywhere. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have called and dumped this on you." "Don't be stupid. I'm coming to get you. Where are you?" "Chloe, you're at work." "And? This is an emergency. Send me your location." Forty minutes later, Leighton was sitting in Chloe's car, clutching a coffee she couldn't afford but Chloe had insisted on buying anyway. "You're moving in with me," Chloe announced. "I can't ask you to do that." "You're not asking. I'm telling you." Chloe turned to face her, dark eyes serious. "You're my best friend. You've been my best friend since we were eight years old. You really think I'm going to let you be homeless?" "I'll figure something out. I just need a few days to..." "To what? Sleep in your car? Leigh, be real." Chloe grabbed her hand. "You're coming home with me. End of discussion." "But your place is tiny. Where would I even sleep?" Chloe bit her lip, a tell-tale sign she was about to say something Leighton wouldn't like. "Okay, so technically, I don't live in my apartment anymore." "What?" "I moved in with Noah two months ago." Leighton's stomach dropped. "Noah. Your brother Noah." "Do I have another brother I don't know about?" Noah Knight. Even thinking his name made her feel like she was sixteen again, watching him from across the room at Chloe's birthday party, too nervous to say more than two words to him. She'd had a crush on him since she was eight years old. The first time Chloe brought her home for a playdate, eleven-year-old Noah had helped her reach a glass from the top shelf. He'd smiled at her, and she'd been done for. Fifteen years later, and she still got butterflies thinking about him. Which was pathetic. He probably didn't even remember her. "I can't live with your brother." "Why not? The place is huge. Like, stupid huge. He won't even notice you're there." Chloe started the car. "He's barely home anyway. Always working or traveling or whatever billionaires do." "Chloe..." "Two weeks. Just give me two weeks to help you find a job and get back on your feet. Please?" Leighton closed her eyes. She had $847 to her name. No job. No apartment. Pride was a luxury she couldn't afford right now. "Two weeks," she agreed quietly. "Yes! Okay, we need to get your stuff from your apartment before your psycho landlord throws it all out." It took less than an hour to pack up Leighton's entire life. One suitcase of clothes. A box of art supplies. Her laptop. That was it. Everything she owned fit in Chloe's trunk with room to spare. "Travel light, live free," Chloe said cheerfully, but Leighton could see the pity in her eyes. The drive to Noah's house took thirty minutes, moving from the city into an area where the houses got bigger and farther apart. When Chloe finally turned through an iron gate, Leighton's mouth fell open. "This isn't a house. This is a compound." "I told you it was big." Big didn't cover it. The mansion was all modern lines and huge windows, surrounded by perfectly landscaped gardens. There was a fountain. An actual fountain in the driveway. "Chloe, I can't stay here." "Too late. We're already here." Chloe parked and popped the trunk. "Come on. I'll give you the tour." Leighton grabbed her suitcase with shaking hands. This was a mistake. A huge mistake. But what choice did she have? The inside was even more intimidating than the outside. Everything was white, chrome, and appeared very expensive. The kind of place where you were afraid to touch anything in case you broke it. "Noah?" Chloe called out. "You home?" Please say no, Leighton thought. Please don't be home. Footsteps on the stairs. And then there he was. Noah Knight looked exactly like she remembered, except somehow more. Taller. Broader. Those same dark eyes, sharp jawline, the kind of face that made you forget how to form sentences. He wore a black t-shirt and jeans, barefoot, his dark hair tousled as if he had been running his hands through it. He looked at Chloe first, then his gaze moved to Leighton. She waited for recognition. A smile. Something. His eyes passed over her like she was part of the furniture. "Who's this?" he asked Chloe. Something twisted in Leighton's chest. She'd known he probably wouldn't remember her. She'd been nobody. Just his little sister's friend. But it still hurt. "This is Leighton. My best friend? She's been over like a thousand times growing up?" "Right." Noah's expression didn't change. Still blank. Still uninterested. "And she's here because...?" "She's moving in for a bit. Just temporarily." "Excuse me?" The temperature in the room dropped about twenty degrees. "You're doing what?" "She lost her job and her apartment today. She needs a place to crash." Chloe's voice had that stubborn edge that Leighton knew well. "We have like fifteen guest rooms. She can take one." "Did it occur to you to ask me first?" "It's my house too." "That you live rent-free." Noah crossed his arms. "You can't just move people in without discussing it with me." Leighton wanted to disappear. To melt into the expensive floor and never exist again. "I'm sorry," she said quietly. Both of them looked at her like they'd forgotten she could speak. "Chloe, this was a bad idea. Can you just take me to a motel or something?" "No," Chloe said firmly. "Yes," Noah said at the same time. They glared at each other. Leighton had seen them do this a hundred times growing up. Knight sibling standoffs that could last for hours. "Two weeks," Chloe said. "That's all I'm asking. Two weeks for her to get back on her feet. Then she'll be gone." Noah's jaw clenched. He looked at Leighton again, really looked at her this time. She probably looked like a mess. Mascara-stained face. Wrinkled clothes. Holding a suitcase like a shield. "Two weeks," he said finally. "Maximum. And she stays out of my way." "Thank you," Leighton said, even though everything in her screamed to run. He didn't respond. Just turned and walked back up the stairs without another word. "Well," Chloe said brightly. "That went better than expected." "He hates me." "He doesn't hate you. He's just... Noah. He'll warm up." Chloe grabbed her suitcase. "Come on. Let me show you to your room." The guest room was bigger than Leighton's entire apartment had been. King-size bed. Private bathroom. A view of the gardens. It was beautiful. And it made her want to cry all over again. "I'm going to fix this," Chloe promised. "Two weeks from now, you'll have a new job and a new place, and this will all just be a bad memory." After Chloe left, Leighton sat on the edge of the bed and looked around the room. This morning she'd woken up with a job and an apartment. Now she had neither. Now she was living in Noah Knight's house. The boy she'd loved from a distance for fifteen years. The man who didn't even remember her name. Her phone buzzed. A notification from LinkedIn. Someone had viewed her profile. She opened it and started updating her resume. Two weeks. She could do this. She'd stay invisible. Stay out of Noah's way. Find a new job. Get out. She could definitely do this. Probably. Her stomach growled, reminding her she hadn't eaten since breakfast. She should probably find the kitchen. But that meant risking running into Noah again. Seeing that cold, blank expression when he looked at her. Later, she decided. She'd explore later. When she was sure he wasn't around. Leighton lay back on the bed and stared at the ceiling. Day one in Noah Knight's house. This was going to be the longest two weeks of her life. Chapter 2: The Ice King Leighton spent the next morning hiding in her room like a coward. She updated her resume. Applied to twelve jobs. Scrolled through apartment listings she couldn't afford. Anything to avoid going downstairs and risking another encounter with Noah. Her phone rang just after noon. Chloe. "Hey, want to grab lunch? I'm off early today." "Sure. Where should I meet you?" "I'm literally downstairs. Come down." Right. Because Chloe lived here too. Leighton had almost forgotten in her panic to avoid Noah. She changed out of her pajamas into jeans and a sweater, then made her way downstairs. This time in daylight, the house was even more impressive. And intimidating. Huge windows let in natural light that made everything gleam. The art on the walls probably cost more than she'd make in a year. She found Chloe in the kitchen, rifling through the fridge. "Finally! I'm starving. Want to go to that Thai place you love?" "I can't really afford to eat out right now." "My treat. Don't argue." Chloe grabbed her purse. "Come on." They were halfway to the door when Noah appeared at the top of the stairs. He was on his phone, talking in a clipped tone about quarterly reports and market projections. He wore a suit today, all sharp lines and expensive fabric. He glanced down at them. His eyes passed over Leighton without a flicker of recognition. Again. "We're going out," Chloe called up. "Want anything?" He shook his head, already walking away, still talking into his phone. "See?" Chloe said once they were in her car. "He's barely aware you exist. This is going to be fine." Leighton forced a smile. "Yeah. Fine." Lunch helped. Chloe always knew how to make her laugh, and for an hour, she almost forgot about the disaster her life had become. Almost forgot about living in a mansion with a man who looked at her like she was invisible. When they got back, Chloe had to run to a meeting. "I'll be back around seven. We can watch a movie or something." She squeezed Leighton's hand. "It's going to work out. I promise." Leighton nodded and headed back to her room. But somewhere on the second floor, she took a wrong turn. The hallway looked the same as the one her room was in. Same carpet, same lights, same closed doors. But when she tried the door she thought was hers, it didn't open. She tried the handle again. Locked. Wait. Her door didn't lock from the outside. Did it? She stepped back and looked around. This wasn't the right hallway at all. Nothing looked familiar. "Great," she muttered. "Lost in a house. That's a new low." She backtracked, trying to retrace her steps. Took another turn. This hallway had different art on the walls. Still wrong. How did anyone navigate this place? She tried another direction. The hallway opened into a sitting area she didn't recognize. More wrong turns. A bathroom. A linen closet. Another locked door. Twenty minutes later, she was completely turned around. Nothing looked familiar. Every hallway seemed identical. She pulled out her phone to text Chloe, then remembered she was in her meeting. Leighton stared at her contacts. She could call someone. Except she didn't know anyone else here. Her only other option was... No. Absolutely not. She was not texting Noah Knight to ask for directions in his own house. She'd figure it out herself. Another wrong turn led her to a set of double doors. Maybe they led to a wing she recognized? She pushed one open carefully. It was an office. A massive office with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the gardens, a huge desk covered in monitors, and bookshelves lining the walls. And Noah, sitting at the desk, watching her. "I'm sorry," she said immediately. "I didn't mean to... I got lost." He leaned back in his chair. "Lost." "Your house is really big." "You've been here for less than twenty-four hours and you're already wandering into rooms you shouldn't be in." Her face burned. "I wasn't wandering. I was trying to find my room. All the hallways look the same." He stood up, and even from across the room, she could feel the weight of his irritation. He walked around the desk toward her, and she had to resist the urge to step back. Up close, he was even more overwhelming. Tall enough that she had to tilt her head back to meet his eyes. Those dark eyes that were currently looking at her like she was the world's biggest inconvenience. "Which room did Chloe put you in?" "The one with the blue bedding? And the view of the gardens?" "East wing, third door on the right." "Okay. Thanks. I'll just..." She gestured vaguely behind her. "You're going the wrong way." Of course, she was. He moved past her into the hallway, and she had no choice but to follow. He walked quickly, taking turns without hesitation. She tried to memorize the route, but it was hopeless. Everything still looked identical to her. They passed a slightly open door. Through it, she glimpsed a huge bedroom. King-size bed, dark furniture, everything perfectly neat. His room, probably. "That's my room," he said without looking back, like he knew where her eyes had gone. "Don't go in there." "I wouldn't." "You got lost trying to find your own room. I'm not confident in your sense of direction." Was he making fun of her? She couldn't tell. His voice was flat, emotionless. He stopped at a door. "This one." It was her room. She recognized the blue bedding through the open door. "Thank you." He nodded once, already turning away. "Noah?" He stopped but didn't turn around. It was becoming a pattern with him. Never fully facing her. Always ready to leave. "I really am sorry. For being here. For being in the way. I know you didn't want me here." Now he did turn, his dark eyes meeting hers. "It's not personal." "It feels pretty personal." "I don't know you. You're Chloe's friend. That's all." The words shouldn't have stung. She barely knew him either. But they did. Because she'd spent fifteen years knowing exactly who he was. Watching him. Wanting him to look at her the way he was looking at her now. Except now that he was looking, there was nothing in his eyes but cold disinterest. "Two weeks," she said quietly. "Then I'll be gone and you can have your house back." Something flickered across his face. She couldn't read it. Then it was gone, and his expression was smooth again. "See that you do." He walked away, and this time she didn't call after him. She went into her room and closed the door, leaning against it. Her hands were shaking. From embarrassment, from anger, from something else she didn't want to name. This version of Noah was nothing like the one she'd built up in her head. That Noah had been kind. Warm. Someone who would smile at her and make her feel like she mattered. Real Noah was ice. Sharp edges and closed doors and eyes that looked through her instead of at her. She needed to let go of the fantasy. The childhood crush. All of it. He didn't want her here. He'd made that perfectly clear. Her phone buzzed. A text from Chloe. *Meeting ran late. Won't be back until 9. You okay?* *I'm fine. Got lost trying to find my room but I figured it out* *LOL this house is ridiculous. Noah gave me a map when I first moved in* *There's a MAP?* *I'll find it for you tomorrow. Hang in there* Leighton set her phone down and looked around the room. Beautiful. Perfect. Everything she'd never have on her own. And she'd never felt more out of place in her life. She pulled up her laptop and applied to more jobs. Anything to speed up her exit. Graphic designer positions. Junior art director roles. Even a few administrative jobs that had nothing to do with her degree. She didn't care. She just needed out. Two weeks felt like a lifetime. Later that night, her stomach growled. She'd skipped dinner, too anxious about navigating the house to risk going downstairs. But she couldn't hide in her room forever. It was past ten. Maybe Noah would be asleep. Or working in his office with the door closed. She crept downstairs, following the route he'd shown her earlier. Or what she thought was the route. Everything looked different in the dark. But she found the kitchen. Small victory. The fridge was still packed with food. She grabbed some leftover pasta from one of the containers and heated it up, eating quickly while standing at the counter. "You really like sneaking around at night." She jumped, nearly dropping her fork. Noah stood in the doorway. No shirt again. Just pajama pants riding low on his hips. Why did he keep doing this to her? "I'm not sneaking. I'm eating." "In the dark. In my kitchen." "I turned the light on." He moved into the room, and she tried very hard not to stare at his chest. In the muscles in his arms. At the tattoo she hadn't noticed before, black ink winding around his ribcage. "You should eat actual meals," he said. "Not just bread and leftovers." "I'm fine." "You're avoiding me." She set her fork down. "You told me to stay out of your way. That's what I'm doing." "By getting lost in my house and breaking into my office?" "I didn't break in. The door was open." "It was closed." "It was open a crack!" The corner of his mouth twitched. For a second, she thought he might smile. But then his expression went flat again. "Two weeks," he said. "Try to stay found until then." He left, taking all the oxygen in the room with him. Leighton dumped the rest of her pasta in the trash, her appetite gone. She trudged back upstairs, somehow finding her room on the first try. She climbed into bed and pulled the covers over her head. Thirteen more days. She could do this. Probably. Chapter 3: Midnight Collision Day three, and Leighton still couldn't sleep. She'd applied to twenty-seven jobs. Had one phone screen scheduled for tomorrow. Spent most of her time in her room, venturing out only when she was certain Noah was locked in his office or gone entirely. The avoidance strategy was working. She'd barely seen him since the kitchen incident last night. But now it was 1 AM, and her stomach was staging a revolt. The protein bar she'd eaten for dinner wasn't cutting it. She pulled on her sleep shorts and a thin camisole, too tired to bother with the hoodie. The house was always warm anyway. Noah probably had some fancy heating system that cost more per month than her old rent. This time, she knew the way to the kitchen. Small victories. The house was dark and quiet. She padded down the stairs, her bare feet silent on the cool marble. She was getting used to the space now. Starting to memorize which hallways led where, which doors opened to what rooms. The kitchen light was on. She froze at the entrance. Noah sat at the kitchen island, laptop open in front of him, a glass of amber liquid next to his hand. He'd changed since earlier. No shirt, just gray sweatpants. His hair was messy, like he'd been running his hands through it. He looked up when she appeared. For a second, neither of them moved. His eyes traveled down from her face, taking in her pajamas. The thin straps of her camisole. Her bare legs. Then his jaw tightened, and his gaze snapped back to his laptop. "Sorry," she said. "I didn't know you were down here." "It's fine." She should leave. Go back upstairs. Eat the stale granola bar she'd stashed in her room. But she was so tired of hiding. And she was hungry. Really hungry. She moved into the kitchen, giving him a wide berth. She opened the fridge and studied its contents as if she were taking a test. "There's leftover lasagna," Noah said without looking up. "Second shelf." "Thanks." She found it and put some on a plate, then stuck it in the microwave. The hum of it filled the silence. She kept her back to him, hyperaware of how little she was wearing. The camisole had seemed fine in her room. Now she felt practically naked. The microwave beeped. She pulled out her plate, the smell making her mouth water. She grabbed a fork and turned to leave. "You can eat here." She looked at him. He was still focused on his laptop, his face lit by the blue glow of the screen. "I don't want to bother you." "You're already bothering me. Might as well commit." She couldn't tell if he was joking. His voice gave nothing away. Slowly, she walked to the island and sat on the stool across from him. Far enough that there was no chance of accidentally touching. Close enough that she could see what he was drinking. "Is that whiskey?" "Scotch. Macallan 25." She had no idea what that meant, but it sounded expensive. Everything in this house was expensive. She took a bite of lasagna. It was incredible. Homemade, with real mozzarella and herbs she couldn't name. Nothing like the frozen stuff she used to buy. "Did you make this?" "I have a chef who comes three times a week." Of course he did. "Must be nice." He glanced up at her, one eyebrow raised. "Must be nice to have food?" "To have someone cook it for you. To live in a house with fifteen bedrooms. To not worry about rent or bills or getting evicted." His expression darkened. "You think I didn't work for this?" "I didn't mean..." "I started my company when I was twenty-four. Worked eighty-hour weeks for three years straight. Nearly went bankrupt twice. So yeah, now I have a chef. I earned it." "I wasn't attacking you." "Sounded like it." She set down her fork. "I'm sorry. You're right. That was rude." He studied her for a long moment, and she fought the urge to squirm under his gaze. Then he picked up his glass and took a drink. "Why graphic design?" he asked. The question surprised her. "What?" "Your degree. Chloe mentioned it. Why that?" "I like making things. Creating things that didn't exist before." She shrugged. "It's the only thing I've ever been good at." "You must be decent if you got hired out of college." "I was. Until they decided decent wasn't worth the salary." "Their loss." The words were casual, throwaway. But something in her chest warmed at them anyway. She took another bite of lasagna. He went back to his laptop, typing something, then frowning at the screen. "What are you working on?" she asked. "Contract negotiation. A company in Tokyo wants to license our software. They're being difficult about the terms." "At one in the morning?" "Tokyo is fourteen hours ahead. It's business hours there." She watched him work, fascinated despite herself. His fingers moved quickly over the keyboard. Every so often, he'd take a drink, his eyes never leaving the screen. This was Noah in his element. Focused. In control. Different from the cold, irritated version he'd been with her. "Can I ask you something?" she said. "You just did." "Can I ask you another something?" The corner of his mouth twitched. Almost a smile. "Go ahead." "Do you remember me? From before. When I used to come over with Chloe." His hands stilled on the keyboard. He looked at her, really looked at her, for the first time since she'd walked in. "Yes." "You acted like you didn't." "I know." "Why?" He was quiet for a moment. Then he closed his laptop and picked up his glass, swirling the scotch. "Because it was easier than acknowledging that Chloe's little friend grew up." Heat flooded her face. She didn't know what to say to that. Didn't know what it meant. He stood up, draining the rest of his scotch. "You should finish eating and get some sleep." "Okay," she said quietly. He moved to the sink with his glass. Leighton stood too, grabbing her plate. She turned toward the sink at the same time he turned back, and they collided. The plate slipped from her hands. She grabbed for it, overcorrected, and her elbow hit his glass instead. It shattered on the marble floor in an explosion of crystal and scotch. "Oh my god." She dropped to her knees immediately, reaching for the pieces. "I'm so sorry. I'm such a disaster. I'll pay for it. I'll..." "Don't touch it." She looked up at him. He was standing over her, his expression unreadable. "You'll cut yourself." He moved to the pantry and came back with a broom and dustpan. "Move back." "I can clean it. It's my fault." "Leighton. Move." She scrambled backward, pressing against the island. He swept up the glass efficiently, his movements quick and sure. When he was done, he dumped it in the trash, then grabbed paper towels and cleaned up the liquid. She stood there uselessly, her heart pounding. "I'm really sorry. That glass looked expensive." "It was." "How expensive?" "You don't want to know." She closed her eyes. Perfect. She'd destroyed something that probably cost more than her entire wardrobe. "Send me the bill. I'll find a way to pay you back." "Forget it." "Noah..." "I said forget it." He threw away the paper towels and turned to face her. "It's just a glass." "A really expensive glass that I broke because I'm clumsy and stupid and..." "You're not stupid." "I can't even hold onto a plate without causing property damage." "It was an accident." "I keep saying that about a lot of things lately." She pressed her hands to her face. "I'm sorry. I should just go back to my room and stop breaking your stuff." She moved toward the door, but his voice stopped her. "Leighton." She turned. He was standing by the island, his hands braced on the counter, his dark eyes intense. "Stop apologizing for existing." "I'm not..." "You are. You've apologized about fifty times since you got here. For eating. For getting lost. For breathing. It's exhausting." Her throat tightened. "I'm taking up space in your house. The least I can do is..." "The least you can do is stop acting like you're not allowed to be human." He pushed off the counter. "You're Chloe's best friend. That means something to her. Which means you're not going anywhere for two weeks, whether I like it or not. So stop walking on eggshells." "Do you? Like it?" She blurted out, shocking herself. The question hung between them. She shouldn't have asked. It was too direct. Too honest. But she was tired of pretending. He moved closer, and her breath caught. He stopped a foot away, near enough that she could smell the scotch on his breath, see the flecks of gold in his dark eyes. "I don't know yet," he said quietly. Then he walked past her out of the kitchen, leaving her standing there alone, her heart racing for reasons that had nothing to do with breaking his glass. She touched her fingers to her lips. They were trembling. This was dangerous. The way he'd looked at her. The way her body had responded when he got close. The way she wanted him to come back. She was so screwed. She left her plate in the sink and went back to her room, but sleep was impossible. All she could see was the way his eyes had traced down her body. The almost-smile when she'd asked her question. The intensity in his voice when he'd told her to stop apologizing. *Chloe's little friend grew up.* What did that mean? Was he attracted to her? Annoyed by her? Both? She rolled over and grabbed her phone, scrolling mindlessly through social media. Anything to stop thinking about Noah Knight standing shirtless in his kitchen, looking at her like maybe she wasn't invisible after all. Her alarm would go off in five hours. She needed sleep. But every time she closed her eyes, she saw him. And she wondered what would have happened if she hadn't dropped that glass. If they'd stood there, inches apart, for just a few seconds longer. Nothing good, probably. Noah Knight was off-limits for about a thousand reasons. She just needed to remember that. Chapter 4: Morning After Leighton's alarm went off at seven. She'd slept maybe three hours, total. Her phone interview was at nine. She needed coffee. Needed to pull herself together and sound competent and employable instead of like someone who'd spent half the night obsessing over her best friend's brother. She showered and changed into actual clothes. A blouse and jeans, since they couldn't see her bottom half on the video call anyway. Light makeup to hide the dark circles under her eyes. Her hair was pulled back in a neat ponytail. Professional. Put together. Definitely not thinking about Noah's eyes or his voice or the way he'd said *grew up*. She grabbed her laptop and crept downstairs. According to Chloe, Noah worked out every morning at six, then locked himself in his office until noon. Which meant the coast should be clear. The kitchen was empty. She made coffee, her hands still shaky from lack of sleep. The spot where the glass had shattered was spotless. Like it had never happened. She took her coffee and laptop to what Chloe had called the "morning room." Big windows, comfortable chairs, good lighting. Perfect for a video interview. She had an hour to prep. Review the company website, practice her answers, pretend her life wasn't a complete mess. At 8:45, her laptop pinged. The interview link was active. She took a deep breath and clicked join. The interview lasted thirty minutes. Standard questions about her experience, her design process, and why she wanted the job. She gave good answers. Smiled at the right times. Pretended she wasn't desperate. "We'll be in touch," the hiring manager said at the end. "Probably early next week." Translation: don't call us, we'll call you. Leighton closed her laptop and slumped in the chair. That had gone fine. Not great, not terrible. Fine. She needed more coffee. On her way back to the kitchen, she heard music. Something with a heavy beat coming from down the hall. She followed the sound to a door she hadn't noticed before, slightly open. Through the gap, she could see equipment. A treadmill. Weight racks. Punching bag. The gym. She should keep walking. Mind her own business. Get her coffee and go back to her room. Instead, she moved closer to the door. Noah was inside. She could see him through the opening, his back to her. He was on the weight bench, doing chest presses. No shirt, just shorts and sneakers. Sweat gleamed on his skin. His muscles flexed with each rep, controlled and precise. She knew she should look away. Knew she was being creepy, standing here watching him. But she couldn't move. He finished his set and sat up, reaching for a water bottle. His chest rose and fell with his breathing. There was a scar on his left shoulder, about three inches long. She wondered how he'd gotten it. Then he turned his head and looked directly at her. Their eyes locked. Leighton froze. Caught. Like a kid with her hand in the cookie jar. For a long moment, neither of them moved. The music pounded between them. She couldn't read his expression. Couldn't tell if he was angry or amused or something else entirely. Then he stood up and walked toward the door. She should run. Should apologize and leave and never speak of this again. But her feet wouldn't move. He pushed the door open wider. Up close, she could see the sweat on his skin, the way his chest still heaved slightly from exertion. He smelled like salt and something expensive. Cologne or body wash or just him. "Enjoying the show?" His voice was low. Dangerous. "I heard music. I was just..." "Watching me work out." Her face burned. "I wasn't... I mean, I was walking by and..." "And you stopped to stare." "I'm sorry." "You apologize a lot for someone who keeps doing things she shouldn't." "I know. I'll just..." She gestured vaguely toward the kitchen. "How'd your interview go?" The question threw her. "What?" "Your phone interview. This morning. How was it?" "How did you know about that?" "Chloe mentioned it yesterday." He took a drink of water, and she tried very hard not to watch his throat work as he swallowed. "So?" "It was fine. They said they'd call next week." "That's good." "Maybe. I don't know." She twisted her hands together. "I applied to like forty jobs. Only got one call back. The market is awful right now." "What kind of design do you do?" "Mostly branding. Logos, marketing materials. Some web design." He nodded slowly, like he was filing that information away. "You should eat breakfast. Low blood sugar makes interviews harder." "I had coffee." "Coffee isn't food." "It has calories." "Leighton." The way he said her name made her stomach flip. Like he was scolding her and testing how it sounded at the same time. "I'll eat something," she said. "Good." He stepped back into the gym. "And next time you want to watch me work out, you can just come in instead of lurking in the doorway." Before she could respond, he closed the door. She stood there for a full minute, her heart pounding. Had he just... was he flirting with her? Or making fun of her? She genuinely couldn't tell. She went to the kitchen and made toast she didn't want, eating it mechanically while staring at nothing. Her phone buzzed with a video call. Chloe. She answered, propping the phone against a fruit bowl. "Hey! How'd the interview go?" Chloe's face filled the screen, bright and cheerful. "Fine. I think." "That's great! See, I told you things would work out." Chloe shifted, and Leighton could see she was in a coffee shop. "How's everything there? Is Noah being decent?" Leighton thought about last night. The broken glass. His eyes on her pajamas. The way he'd told her to stop apologizing. "Yeah. He's been... fine." "Really? Because I know he can be kind of intense. If he's being an ass, you can tell me. I'll kick his ass for you." "No, seriously. It's fine. He's barely around." The lie tasted bitter. "I hardly see him." "Good. That's good." Chloe took a sip of her coffee. "I feel bad about just dumping you there and running to work every day. I should have taken time off." "Don't be ridiculous. You've done enough. More than enough." "You're my best friend. There's no such thing as enough." Chloe's expression softened. "I mean it, Leigh. If you need anything, or if Noah gives you any shit, just tell me." "I will. I promise." They talked for a few more minutes about nothing important. Chloe's work drama. The new restaurant she wanted to try. Normal things that made Leighton's chest ache with how much she missed her regular life. After they hung up, she sat in the empty kitchen and hated herself a little for lying. Chloe deserved the truth. But what would she even say? *Your brother looked at me in my pajamas and now I can't stop thinking about him? I watched him work out like a creep this morning.* Yeah. That would go over well. She cleaned up her breakfast mess and headed back upstairs. The gym door was closed now, the music silent. Noah was probably in the shower. She tried very hard not to picture that. Back in her room, she opened her laptop to apply to more jobs. But her email had a new message. From the company she'd interviewed with this morning. Her heart jumped. They'd said next week. It had only been an hour. She clicked it open. *Thank you for your time this morning. Unfortunately, we've decided to move forward with other candidates. We wish you the best in your job search.* She read it three times. Each time, the words felt sharper. Not even a full hour. They couldn't even wait a day to reject her. She closed the laptop and lay back on the bed, staring at the ceiling. One week down. One week to go. And still no job prospects. No apartment leads. Nothing but a growing pile of rejections and a dangerous attraction to a completely off-limits man. Her phone buzzed. A text from an unknown number. *Stop beating yourself up. One rejection isn't the end of the world. - N* She stared at the message. How did he even get her number? Chloe, probably. She typed back: *How did you know I got rejected?* *I didn't. But you had that look on your face after the interview. Like you were waiting for bad news.* *What looks?* *The same one you had when you showed up here with one suitcase.* She didn't know what to say to that. The fact that he'd noticed. That he'd been paying attention. Another text came through: *For what it's worth, they're idiots.* Despite everything, she smiled. *Thanks* She waited to see if he'd respond, but he didn't. She saved his number in her phone, staring at his name for longer than was probably healthy. This was bad. This whole situation was bad. But when her phone buzzed with another job listing Chloe had sent her, she felt just a little bit less alone. And that was the most dangerous thing of all. Chapter 5: House Rules Leighton spent the afternoon in her room, applying to more jobs and trying not to replay Noah's text message over and over in her head. *They're idiots.* Two words shouldn't matter this much. Around five, her stomach reminded her she'd only eaten toast all day. She ventured downstairs, hoping to grab something quick and escape back to her room before anyone noticed. The kitchen was occupied. Noah stood at the island, going through a stack of papers. He'd showered since this morning. His hair was still damp, pushed back from his face. He wore a black t-shirt and jeans, barefoot again. She was starting to think he never wore shoes in the house. He looked up when she entered. "Hey." "Hi." She moved toward the fridge, trying to act casual. Like this morning hadn't happened. Like she hadn't been caught watching him work out like some kind of stalker. "We need to talk." She froze, her hand on the fridge door. "About what?" "Ground rules." "Oh." She turned to face him. "Okay." He set down the papers and crossed his arms. "My office is off-limits. Always. Even if the door's open. Don't go in there unless I specifically invite you." "I already apologized for that." "I know. This is me making sure it doesn't happen again." His voice was firm. Professional. Like he was running a business meeting. "Second, the gym. Same rule. Don't come in while I'm working out." Her face heated. "I wasn't trying to..." "Third, my bedroom. That should be obvious, but I'm saying it anyway. Stay out." "Are you done?" The words came out sharper than she intended. His eyebrows rose. "Excuse me?" "Are you done treating me like a child who doesn't know how to respect boundaries?" "I'm establishing expectations." "You're making a list of all the ways I'm not allowed to exist in your space." She crossed her own arms, mirroring his stance. "I get it. You don't want me here. You've made that pretty clear. But I'm not eight years old anymore, Noah. You don't need to lecture me about not touching your stuff or wandering into rooms I shouldn't." Something flickered in his eyes. He pushed off the island and moved toward her, closing the distance between them. She held her ground, even though every instinct told her to step back. He stopped a foot away. Near enough that she had to tilt her head to meet his gaze. "No," he said quietly. "You're not eight anymore." The way he said it made her breath catch. His eyes traveled down her face, lingering on her mouth, then lower. Taking in the curve of her neck. The way her t-shirt fit. How her jeans hugged her hips. When his gaze came back to hers, there was heat in it. Dark and dangerous. "That's the problem," he added. She couldn't speak. Couldn't think. Her heart pounded so hard she was sure he could hear it. "What's the problem?" she managed. "You. Here. In my house." He shook his head, like he was trying to clear it. "Chloe's best friend. Twenty-three years old. Completely off-limits." "I didn't ask to be here." "I know." "And I'm not trying to... I don't..." She struggled to find words. "I'm just trying to stay out of your way until I can leave." "That's another rule." His voice had an edge now. "Stop trying to be invisible. It's not working." "What do you want from me?" "I don't know." He ran a hand through his hair, frustration clear on his face. "That's the problem. I don't know what I want, and that's not something I'm used to." They stood there, the tension between them thick enough to cut. Leighton's skin felt too tight. Her mouth is too dry. She wanted to move closer and run away at the same time. "For what it's worth," she said quietly, "I don't know what I want either." His jaw clenched. "Yes, you do." "What's that supposed to mean?" "It means I see the way you look at me. Like I'm something you want but know you can't have." He leaned in slightly, and she caught the scent of his soap. "You've been looking at me like that since you were sixteen." Her face burned. "I wasn't..." "You were. At Chloe's birthday party. You wore a blue dress. You stood in the corner all night, watching me." She remembered that party. Remembered the dress. Remembered how she'd felt when Noah had walked in with some blonde model on his arm. Remembered spending the whole night wishing she was brave enough to talk to him. "I had a crush on you," she admitted. "So what? Half the girls in Chloe's school had crushes on you. It didn't mean anything." "Didn't it?" "No. I was a kid. Kids get crushes. They grow out of them." "Did you? Grow out of it?" The question hung between them. She should lie. Should tell him yes, of course, she was over it. That she didn't feel anything when he looked at her. That her heart didn't race when he got close. But she was tired of lying. "I don't know," she said. "Did you grow out of treating every woman like a temporary distraction?" His expression darkened. "That's not fair." "Neither is calling me out for how I look at you when you've been doing the same thing to me since I got here." "I haven't..." "You have. In the kitchen last night. In the gym this morning. Right now." She took a step closer, emboldened by her own anger. "So don't act like I'm the only one feeling something I shouldn't." His hand came up, catching her chin. Tilting her face up to his. "You're right. I have been looking. Want to know what I see?" She couldn't breathe. "What?" "Trouble. The kind I swore I was done with." His thumb brushed over her bottom lip, and she shivered. "The kind that makes me want to break every one of my own rules." "Then maybe you shouldn't make so many rules." For a second, she thought he might kiss her. His eyes dropped to her mouth. His hand tightened on her chin. She could feel the heat radiating off his body. Then he let go and stepped back, breaking the spell. "Two more rules," he said, his voice rough. "Stay out of trouble. And stay out of my head." "How am I supposed to do that?" "Figure it out." He grabbed his papers and walked out, leaving her standing alone in the kitchen, her whole body trembling. She touched her lips where his thumb had been. Her skin still tingled from his touch. This was bad. This was so much worse than a childhood crush. This was a real attraction. Real chemistry. The kind that could ruin everything. Her phone buzzed. Chloe. *Dinner tomorrow night? I'm bringing Thai food. Miss you!* Guilt crashed over her. Chloe. Her best friend. Who had specifically warned her years ago that Noah was off-limits. Who had saved her from being homeless? Who trusted her? She typed back quickly. *Miss you too. Can't wait.* She set the phone down and pressed her hands to her face. She needed to get it together. Needed to stop whatever this was before it went any further. But when she closed her eyes, all she could feel was his thumb on her lip. All she could hear was his voice saying *You're trouble*. And the worst part? She wanted to be. She wanted to be the kind of trouble that made Noah Knight break his own rules. She grabbed a protein bar from the pantry and headed back to her room. As she passed his office, she heard him inside. Talking on the phone. His voice was calm and controlled. Completely different from how he'd sounded in the kitchen. How many versions of himself did he have? The cold businessman who'd told her two weeks maximum. The gym rat who caught her watching. The man who texted her about rejections. The one who'd just touched her face like he wanted to do more. Which one was real? Maybe they all were. Maybe Noah Knight was just as complicated and messed up as she was. That should have been comforting. Instead, it just made her want him more. She locked her door and climbed into bed, even though it was barely six. Tomorrow Chloe would be here. Tomorrow she'd have to pretend everything was fine. That nothing had happened. That she and Noah were just two people sharing a house, nothing more. She could do that. She'd been pretending her whole life. What was one more lie? Chapter 6: The Shirt Incident Leighton woke up to her phone buzzing. A text from Chloe. *Emergency at work. Can't do dinner tonight. Rain check? I'm so sorry!* Disappointment settled in her chest, followed quickly by relief she didn't want to examine too closely. *No worries. We'll do it another time.* She set her phone down and stared at the ceiling. Another day in this house. Another day of avoiding Noah while simultaneously wanting to find him. This was getting ridiculous. She needed to do laundry. She'd been rewearing the same few outfits all week, and everything was starting to smell like desperation and bad decisions. The laundry room took twenty minutes to find. Of course it did. This house was designed to make her look stupid. She threw everything in. All her clothes, her sheets, towels. Might as well do it all at once. She added detergent and started the machine, then headed back upstairs in the tank top and shorts she'd slept in. An hour later, she went back down to move things to the dryer. The machine was still running. She stared at it. Checked the settings. Heavy wash cycle. Two hours total. Perfect. Just perfect. She trudged back upstairs. She could wait it out in her room. Except her room was freezing. The air conditioning had kicked into overdrive, and she was already shivering in her thin tank top. She needed something warm. A hoodie. A blanket. Anything. Her eyes landed on the door across the hall. Noah's room. Absolutely not. That was literally rule number three. Stay out of his bedroom. But he wasn't home. She'd heard him leave an hour ago, talking on the phone about meetings and contracts. He'd be gone for hours. He'd never know. Just in and out. Grab a sweatshirt or something. Put it back before he got home. She opened his door slowly, half expecting an alarm to go off. The room was immaculate. King-size bed with dark gray sheets, perfectly made. Modern furniture, all clean lines. The space smelled like him. That expensive cologne or body wash or whatever it was that made her brain go fuzzy. His closet was huge. Rows of suits, dress shirts, perfectly organized by color. She pushed past them to the casual section. Found a white button-down shirt that looked soft and worn. Perfect. She pulled it on over her tank top. It fell to mid-thigh, the sleeves hanging past her hands. She rolled them up and headed back to her room. Except her room was still freezing. The kitchen, she decided. She'd make tea. Wait down there until her clothes were done. She padded downstairs in Noah's shirt and her bare feet. The house was quiet. Peaceful, even. She could almost pretend it was hers. That she belonged here. She put the kettle on and rummaged through the tea selection. Someone had expensive taste. Everything was loose-leaf and imported and probably cost more than her old grocery budget. The front door opened. Her head snapped up. No. He wasn't supposed to be back yet. Footsteps in the hallway. Getting closer. Noah appeared in the kitchen doorway and stopped dead. His eyes traveled down her body. Slowly. Taking in the white shirt. Her bare legs. Her bare feet. His shirt, hanging off her shoulder where she'd apparently missed a button. "Hi," she said weakly. He didn't respond. Just stared at her, his jaw tight. "I can explain." "You're wearing my shirt." "My clothes are in the wash. Everything. I didn't have anything clean and I was cold, so I..." She trailed off. His expression hadn't changed. "I'm sorry. I know you said not to go in your room. I'll take it off right now." "Don't." The word came out rough. Almost harsh. She froze. "What?" "Don't take it off." He set his briefcase down by the door, his movements careful. Controlled. "Not here." "Oh." Her face burned. "Right. I'll just go upstairs and..." "How long until your clothes are done?" "An hour, maybe?" He nodded once. Then he moved into the kitchen, giving her a wide berth. Like he didn't trust himself to get too close. He went to the fridge and pulled out a water bottle. Drank half of it in one go. His hand gripped the bottle tight enough that his knuckles went white. The kettle whistled. Leighton jumped, then turned to grab it. She poured water over the tea bag, hyperaware of Noah behind her. Of the way his shirt shifted as she moved. Of how little she was wearing underneath it. "Why are you home early?" she asked, just to fill the silence. "Meeting got canceled." "Oh." More silence. She could feel his eyes on her back. Could practically feel the weight of his gaze. She turned around, holding her mug like a shield. He was leaning against the far counter, arms crossed. His eyes were dark. Intense. "Stop looking at me like that," she said. "Like what?" "Like you're thinking things you shouldn't be thinking." "I could say the same to you." "I'm not..." "You are." He pushed off the counter. "You've been looking at me like that since you got here. Like you want something from me." "I don't want anything from you." "Liar." The word hung between them. Challenge and accusation and something else she couldn't name. "Fine," she said. "Maybe I do. So what? Nothing's going to happen. You've made that clear." "Have I?" "You listed off your rules yesterday. Stay out of your space. Stay out of your head. Stay away from you." "I don't remember saying that last part." "It was implied." He moved closer. Not much. Just a step. But it felt like the distance between them had shrunk by miles. "You want to know what I was thinking?" he asked quietly. "No." "Liar," he said again. "You want to know. You're dying to know." She set down her mug before she dropped it. "Noah..." "I was thinking about how that's my favorite shirt. I've had it for five years. Worn it a hundred times." Another step closer. "And now I'm never going to be able to wear it again without thinking about this. About you in my kitchen, wearing nothing but my shirt, looking at me like you want me to break all my own rules." Her breath caught. "I'm not..." "Your clothes aren't in the wash." "What?" "You heard me." His eyes bore into hers. "You could have worn your tank top and shorts. Could have grabbed a blanket from the linen closet. Could have done a dozen other things. But you went into my room and took my shirt." "I was cold." "Bullshit. You wanted to see what I'd do if I found you wearing it." "That's not true." "Then why are you still standing here?" He took another step. Close enough now that she could see the muscle ticking in his jaw. "If you really didn't want this, you'd already be upstairs. But you're not moving. Because you want to know what happens next." "Nothing happens next." Her voice came out breathy. Unconvincing. "You're Chloe's brother. I'm her best friend. Nothing can happen." "I know." "So we should stop. Right now. Before we do something stupid." "I know," he said again. But neither of them moved. The air between them felt electric. Dangerous. Like one wrong move would make something explode. His eyes dropped to her mouth. Lingered there. She could see him fighting with himself. See the moment he decided to leave. He stepped back. Grabbed his briefcase. "Your clothes should be done soon. You should go check on them." "Noah..." "Go, Leighton." It wasn't a request. She went. She practically ran up the stairs, her heart pounding so hard it hurt. She could still feel his eyes on her. Could still hear the rough edge in his voice when he'd said *my favorite shirt*. She stopped outside his bedroom door. The shirt felt different now. Like it was touching her everywhere. Like he was touching her. She should take it off. Should put it back and pretend this never happened. Instead, she went to her room and sat on the bed, pulling the collar up to her face. It smelled like him. Like that expensive scent that made her head spin. She was in so much trouble. Her phone buzzed. Noah. *Keep the shirt.* She stared at the message. Typed back: *What?* *Keep it. I meant what I said. I can't wear it anymore without thinking about this. About you.* *Noah, we can't...* *I know. Trust me, I know. But I'm done pretending I don't notice you. Done pretending I don't want things I shouldn't want.* *What are we doing?* *I don't know. But I'm tired of lying about it.* She clutched the phone to her chest. This was a terrible idea. The worst idea. It would ruin everything with Chloe. Would blow up in both their faces. But god, she wanted it anyway. She wanted him anyway. *Me too,* she typed. Then, before she could overthink it: *I'm tired of pretending too.* His response came immediately. *Then stop.* Two words. Two words that felt like permission and warning all at once. She lay back on the bed, still wearing his shirt, and wondered how she'd gotten here. How she'd gone from fired and homeless to living in Noah Knight's house, texting him about things they shouldn't want. Her life was a mess. akinmutimi4 VIRBEY The Luna who was buried alive Exclusive contract 13/03/2026 But for the first time in weeks, she didn't want to be anywhere else.

After I caught my husband Clark having an affair with his secretary in the office, I filed for divorce. Unexpectedly, the only condition he proposed was to sleep with him... ** "Nyla, are you sure you want me to draft a divorce agreement?" Valarie's voice crackled through the phone, hesitant and worried. "Think about it. Once you sign this, you and Clark will have nothing to do with each other anymore." Nyla stared at the amber liquid in her glass. The whiskey burned her throat, but nothing could burn away the images from last night. Her fingers tightened around the phone. "Yes," she said finally. "I'm leaving him." "Why?" Valarie's confusion bled through the speaker. "Clark's been so good to you. He loves you so much..." Nyla almost laughed. Love. What a joke. She pressed her lips together, fighting back the bitter taste rising in her throat. After hanging up, Nyla looked out the window. The massive LED screen on the skyscraper across the street was still playing that press conference. Clark stood there in his perfect suit, holding up that ridiculous jewelry piece. Using the world's finest diamonds and gemstones, he had created a one-of-a-kind piece for his wife. It was named "Love Nyla." He named it after Nyla, declaring to the world his eternal love for her. Upon its release, "Love Nyla" instantly ignited social media discussion, remaining a hot topic. The world was buzzing about their enviable love. Outside, the LED screens continued to replay the video, but Nyla chuckled self-deprecatingly. "Love me?" she muttered to herself. "Love me enough to sleep with another woman on our anniversary night?" Last night was their third wedding anniversary. Clark had said he wanted to surprise her and asked her to wait for him at home. Nyla wore Clark's favorite white dress, lit candles, and prepared his favorite dinner, waiting eagerly until late at night. She had waited. And waited. Midnight came and went. At one in the morning, her phone suddenly buzzed with a Facebook friend request. A strange profile picture with the note "A surprise for you." Nyla was about to reject the message outright, but then the person sent another message: [Are you still awake? Is it because your husband isn't with you?] Nyla's alarm bells went off. How did this person know Clark wasn't home? She didn't accept the friend request, but the messages kept coming: [Stop pretending, I know you're reading this.] [Your husband is with me now.] [I was scared of thunder, so he worried about me and came to keep me company.] [What a good man, but it's a shame he's not good for you alone.] Each message stabbed Nyla like a knife in the heart. Her hands trembled. Her mind told her it might be a prank, but deep down, a voice frantically questioned it. The last message completely broke her defenses: [If you don't believe me, I'll send you the address. The door lock code is your wedding anniversary.] Nyla couldn't sit still any longer. With trembling fingers, she accepted the friend request. The other party immediately sent an address and a password: 0823. It was indeed their anniversary. Nyla rushed out of the house like a madman and drove to the address. It was an upscale apartment. She stood in front of the door, her finger hovering over the combination lock, her heart pounding. She entered 0823, and the lock clicked and the door opened. A men's suit jacket lay scattered in the hallway. She recognized it as the three-year anniversary gift she had given Clark, which Clark had worn when he left that morning. A pair of black lace paanties lay on the sofa in the living room, and a wine glass with a woman's lipstick stain on it lay on the coffee table. From the hallway to the bedroom, men's and women's clothing was scattered everywhere. The most striking thing was a red lace nightgown, torn to shreds, lying by the bedroom door. Nyla's legs were so weak she could barely stand, but she still trembled as she pushed open the half-open bedroom door. On the bed, Clark, na-ked, embraced another woman. The woman knelt on the bed, her head buried between Clark's legs, licking Clark's pen.is. Clark's eyes were closed, his face a look of enjoyment, m0-aning, "Yes, that's it, great..." The woman asked proudly, "Am I better, or is Nyla better?" Clark replied, "You think you can compare with Nyla?" Then he spun the woman around, grabbed her h1ps from behind, and thrust wildly. The woman's m0-ans mingled with Clark's heavy gasps. The scene completely devastated Nyla. Eight years had passed, from their innocent college romance to their current marriage. Everyone had envied their love, saying they were a match made in hea-ven. But now, it all seemed so absurd. She covered her mouth, resisting the urge to vomit, and fled the nauseating place. She drove to a bar downtown and sat alone in a corner, drinking furiously. The sharp taste of the whiskey stung her throat, but it couldn't numb the pain in her heart. When Valarie received her call and rushed to the bar, Nyla was already completely drunk. "Nyla!" Valarie's voice cut through her memories as she slid into the booth across from her, face etched with worry. "Why are you so drunk? What happened? Did Clark make you mad?" Drunk Nyla looked at her with red eyes. "Val, I don't want to hear that name right now." Nyla took another swig of the whiskey in front of her, leaving a bitter taste in her mouth. "Val, I saw him hooking up with that woman right in front of me. It's definitely not a misunderstanding." Valarie saw her friend's pained expression and held her hand with a heartache. "Nyla, maybe you two can talk it out..." "There's nothing to talk about," Nyla interrupted decisively. "Divorce. Every time I think about him hooking up with that woman, I feel sick." Chapter 2 Nyla returned home and sat on the living room sofa, staring at her phone. The number she had just dialed glowed on the screen. After calming down from her anger and pain, she had to face reality. A divorce required financial independence. Clark was covering all of her father's monthly medical expenses. The bills reached a staggering $100,000 each month. She simply couldn't afford it. Her fingers trembled as she scrolled through her contacts. She stopped at a familiar name. Professor Anderson. Her former research supervisor from graduate school. "Professor Anderson? This is Nyla. Nyla Jayston." She tried to sound calm, but her voice cracked slightly. A surprised voice came from the other end. "Nyla! Oh my god, are you okay? I haven't been in touch since you got married three years ago." Nyla bit her lip hard. The metallic taste of blood filled her mouth. "Professor, I want to return to research. I know this sounds sudden, but I need a job." "Of course!" Professor Anderson agreed without hesitation. "You're one of the best students I've ever taught. Your thesis on molecular biology was groundbreaking. I can contact you right now with a company that's looking for a senior researcher position. The salary is excellent." "Thank you," Nyla whispered. Relief flooded through her chest. "I really appreciate this." "Don't mention it. You have incredible talent. It's a shame you left research when you got married. When can you start?" "As soon as possible." After hanging up, Nyla felt a small spark of hope. She could do this. She could leave Clark and rebuild her life. She walked into their bedroom and began packing. Her hands moved mechanically, folding clothes and placing them in a suitcase. Hanging in the closet were the matching pajamas they'd bought on their honeymoon in Paris. On the dresser sat a small angel figurine they'd brought back from Italy. On the wall were photos of them at the beach, laughing and kissing under the sunset. Each item silently spoke of past sweetness. Yet now they stabbed her heart like knives. How had she been so blind? How had she missed the signs? She opened the dresser drawer to retrieve some personal belongings. Her wedding ring caught the light, mocking her. Then she saw it. The marriage certificate. With trembling hands, Nyla picked it up. She flipped to the first page, revealing two young, radiant faces. Her own smile was so bright it hurt to look at. Clark's eyes shone with pure joy. It was August 23rd, three years ago. To become the first couple to receive their marriage certificate that day, they had woken up at four in the morning to queue at the registry office. Clark had been as excited as a child. He spoke nervously throughout the entire ride. "Nyla, we're really getting married," he had said, bouncing in the passenger seat. "I feel like I'm eighteen again. Like the first time I saw you in Professor Wilson's chemistry class." When the staff handed them the marriage certificate, Clark's hands had trembled violently. He took it carefully, as if it were made of glass. Tears welled in his eyes. "Nyla, we're finally husband and wife," he had whispered, his voice breaking with emotion. "I swear I'll love and protect you for the rest of my life. You're everything to me." Nyla had believed every word. She had thought they were soulmates. Forever. But now... She stared at her beaming smile in the photo. Before she could shed a tear, she heard the familiar sound of a car engine downstairs. Her heart stopped. The garage door rumbled open. Footsteps on the stairs. "Honey, I'm back!" Clark's voice echoed from downstairs, cheerful and casual. Panic seized Nyla's chest. She hurriedly shoved the marriage certificate back into the drawer. She wiped her eyes frantically and tried to appear normal. The bedroom door was still open. She couldn't let him see the suitcase. Footsteps approached down the hallway. Clark pushed the door open, his face lighting up when he saw her. Without warning, he wrapped his arms around her from behind. His embrace had once been her safest haven. Now Nyla felt only nausea rising in her throat. She could smell an unfamiliar scent on his skin. Sweet vanilla shower gel. He had obviously showered somewhere else before coming home. "Did you miss me?" Clark whispered softly in her ear. His voice carried a lazy satisfaction, like a cat who'd just finished a meal. Nyla's muscles tensed. She resisted the urge to shove him away. Her body felt rigid as stone. "Where have you been?" "I'm sorry, babe." Clark's lie rolled off his tongue effortlessly. "I was so busy at work yesterday that I fell asleep at the office. I completely missed our anniversary." He pulled an exquisite jewelry box from his jacket pocket. "But look what I got you to make up for it." He opened the box with a flourish. Inside lay an exquisite diamond necklace. The stones caught the bedroom light, throwing rainbow patterns on the walls. "It's beautiful, isn't it?" Clark's eyes sparkled with pride. "Turn around so I can put it on you." Nyla mechanically turned around. She felt like a puppet with cut strings. Clark's fingers traced her neck as he fastened the clasp. The cold metal pressed against her skin. The diamonds felt heavy. Suffocating. "Perfect," Clark stepped back to admire his handiwork. His satisfaction was obvious. "Tomorrow night is Grandpa's birthday party. The entire Summer family will be there. With this necklace, you'll definitely be the most beautiful woman in the room." "Do I need to go?" Nyla asked. Her voice sounded hollow even to her own ears. She just wanted to escape. To get away from everything connected to the Summer family. "Of course you need to go. You're my wife." Clark looked at her with what seemed like genuine affection. He leaned in to kiss her, but Nyla quickly pushed him away. "You should shower first," she said, turning her face away. Clark nodded, seemingly unbothered. "Good idea. I've been working all day." He grabbed some clothes and headed to the bathroom. The shower turned on. Steam began seeping under the door. Nyla's phone suddenly buzzed with a notification. She glanced at the screen. A Facebook message. Her blood turned to ice. On the screen was a photo. A woman wearing a necklace identical to the one around Nyla's neck. Hickeys and scratches covered the woman's pale skin. The photo was cropped to show only her slender neck and the curve of her breasts. Below the image was a message that made Nyla's world crumble: [Does the necklace look good? I picked it out especially for you. I wore it when we faking last night. Clark said it looked beautiful on me.] Chapter 3 Nyla felt a surge of nausea wash over her. She quickly removed the necklace from her neck. Without hesitation, she tossed it into the bedroom trash can. The diamonds clinked against the metal bin. She rushed into the guest bathroom and turned on the shower. The scalding water burned her skin, but she didn't care. She grabbed the shower gel and frantically scrubbed her neck and body. She needed to remove every trace of Clark. Every memory of his touch. Her skin turned red from the harsh scrubbing, but she still felt dirty. The thought of that necklace clinging to another woman's neck made her sick. She imagined it swaying as that woman moved beneath Clark. The mental image made her stomach lurch. The bathroom door suddenly opened. Clark stood in the doorway, his eyes fixed on Nyla through the glass shower door. His gaze traveled over her wet hair, down her shoulders, following the water droplets that traced her curves. Clark's breathing became heavy. His eyes burned with lust. "Nyla, you're so beautiful," he said, his voice thick with desire. Nyla heard his voice and immediately wrapped herself in a towel. She stepped out of the shower, but the thought that he might have looked at that other woman the same way made her nauseous. "Don't come near me." Nyla took several steps back, but Clark was already approaching. "Baby, what's wrong?" Clark reached out to touch her cheek, but Nyla quickly dodged his hand. Clark didn't give up. Instead, he pulled her into his arms. His hands began wandering over her body, caressing her back through the towel. Then they moved lower. "Nyla, I want you," he whispered in her ear. His breath was hot against her skin. Nyla's body went rigid. She tried to pull away, but Clark was much stronger. His hand moved to her breast, his thumb brushing over the sensitive skin. His other hand slid down toward her inner th1gh. "Let's have a baby, okay?" Clark's voice was filled with longing. "We could have a beautiful child. A little girl with your eyes." Nyla felt ice water flood her veins. She thought of the photo that woman had sent. The same hands that were touching her now had been all over another woman's body just hours ago. Anger and disgust exploded inside her chest. "Get away from me!" Nyla pushed Clark with all her strength. "Clark, I'm tired! I don't want to do this right now!" Clark stumbled backward, startled by her sudden fury. He stared at Nyla's face, confusion clouding his features. "Honey, I'm sorry." His voice immediately filled with guilt. "I shouldn't have pushed you. I just want you so badly. I love you so much." He paused, searching her face. "If you don't want a child right now, we can wait." Watching Clark's apologetic expression, Nyla felt a mixture of emotions churning in her stomach. This man had been gentle and caring toward her for three years. She couldn't reconcile this version of him with the man who had been with another woman last night. But the facts were undeniable. Those photos. Those messages. The necklace in the trash can. That night, Nyla lay awake staring at the ceiling. Clark's breathing was even beside her. The painful images replayed in her mind over and over. She didn't sleep until dawn. The next morning, Nyla woke with dark circles under her eyes. Her reflection in the mirror looked hollow and tired. "Honey, are you feeling okay?" Clark asked with concern. "You look exhausted. Maybe you should rest today." Nyla shook her head. "I'm fine. We need to get ready for your grandfather's birthday party." As they drove through the gates of the Summer family estate, a black car suddenly roared past them. It stopped directly in front of the main entrance. The license plate read "DAMON-1." Clark's hands tightened on the steering wheel. His face darkened instantly. "Uncle Damon," he muttered under his breath. Damon Summer was Clark's uncle, Richard's youngest son. Despite being only six years older than Clark, Damon had always intimidated his nephew. He had refused to join the family business, starting his own company instead. That company was now worth five times more than Summer Group. Damon was known for being brilliant, ruthless, and vindictive. Last year, he had overheard Clark making disparaging comments about him at a business dinner. As punishment, Damon had refused a potential partnership that would have brought Summer Group hundreds of millions in revenue. Clark parked behind the car. As Nyla stepped out of the car, her high heel caught in the gravel driveway. She wobbled, about to fall backward. Suddenly, a pair of strong hands caught her waist, steadying her against a solid chest. Nyla looked up into a pair of deep, dark eyes. The man was tall and imposing, probably around twenty-nine. His features were sharp and perfectly sculpted. High cheekbones, a straight nose, a strong jawline. He wore a tailored dark gray suit that emphasized his broad shoulders and lean build. This was Damon Summer. "Careful," Damon said. His voice was deep and magnetic, with a hint of genuine concern. For a moment, Nyla found herself caught in his gaze. Clark appeared beside them, his face flushed with jealousy. He roughly grabbed Nyla's hand and pulled her away from Damon. "Thank you, Uncle," Clark said tersely. His voice was tight with barely controlled anger. He dragged Nyla toward the manor entrance. After they'd walked a few steps, he leaned close to her ear. "Nyla, you know I don't like you getting too close to other men," he whispered harshly. "Not even my uncle." Nyla almost laughed at the irony. Here was Clark, who had been with another woman just last night, acting possessive about her talking to his uncle. "So you'd rather have your wife fall flat on her face in front of the Summer family estate?" she replied coldly. Clark immediately backed down. "Honey, that's not what I meant. I just don't want people to get the wrong idea." Nyla ignored him and continued walking toward the entrance. The Summer family manor was impressive, with its grand foyer and crystal chandeliers. But Nyla felt no joy at being here. In the living room, Clark's grandmother Marie immediately called out with a beaming smile. "Nyla, Clark, you're here! Come sit down!" Nyla took a deep breath and forced a polite smile. Whatever her feelings about Clark, she still respected his grandparents. Richard had always treated her kindly. "Hello, Grandpa. Hello, Grandma," she greeted them warmly. Marie's eyes lit up as she watched Clark and Nyla approach. She had been trying to convince Damon to settle down for years. "Come, sit here next to me," Marie patted the sofa beside her. As they settled in, Damon entered the living room. Marie's expression immediately shifted to disapproval. "Look at Clark," she said pointedly to Damon. "He's got his company running smoothly, and his wife is absolutely beautiful. They might be giving us a great-grandchild soon." Her voice grew stern. "And you? You're almost thirty and still single. If you don't bring a girlfriend to the next family gathering, don't bother coming at all!" Damon's gaze flicked to Clark, then settled on Nyla. His lips curved into a half-smile. "Yes," he said quietly. "Really beautiful." Chapter 4 Marie's headache intensified at Damon's nonchalant attitude. She shook her head and turned her attention to Clark and Nyla. "You've been married for three years now. When are you planning on having kids? I'm looking forward to having great-grandchildren." The moment this topic came up, the atmosphere in the living room suddenly became tense. Nyla's fingers gripped her teacup so tightly her knuckles turned white. This was her most sensitive topic, the one that pierced her heart every time it was mentioned. Clark's aunt Anne immediately seized the opportunity. She leaned forward with a sneer. "Nyla, you and Clark have been married for three years. What will it look like if you don't have a child? What will others think of our Summer family?" She paused, malice glinting in her eyes. "And if Clark hadn't insisted on marrying you, do you think you could have married into our Summer family with your background? Don't be so ungrateful. You don't want to have children for Clark, but there are plenty of women out there who would." Anne spoke with mock concern, but her gaze was filled with contempt. She had always looked down on this niece-in-law. Talking about children made Nyla's chest tighten with pain. Of course she wanted a child. She had given up her promising career in scientific research to be a good wife. But she couldn't conceive. She had secretly visited doctors who said nothing was wrong with her body. Perhaps it was stress. But the Summer family often mocked her, calling her barren and useless. Just as Nyla was drowning in humiliation, Clark suddenly took her hand. He smiled at his grandmother. "Grandma, we're trying! There's no rushing these things. We have to let nature take its course." Then he turned to Anne, his voice stern. "Anne, watch your words. Nyla is my wife, and I won't tolerate anyone speaking to her like that." Anne's face flushed red at being publicly rebuked. "I'm doing this for your own good. You've been married for so long without any progress..." "That's enough," Clark interrupted sharply. "You don't need to worry about Nyla and me. And I want to make it clear that I'm honored to have Nyla as my wife. She didn't marry up." Nyla felt a confusing mix of emotions as she listened to Clark's defense. The love they had shared over the years was genuine. Clark's protection of her had always felt real. He consistently stood between her and his family's criticism. But at the same time, his betrayal was also real. Those photos, that necklace in the trash can, the woman's taunting messages. All of it reminded her that this man had deceived her completely. Anne was clearly unwilling to let this go. She continued with false sweetness. "I'm just telling the truth. No pre-gnancy in three years? Maybe there's something wrong with her body. With all the medical advances these days, she should get checked out. There are treatments for these things." "Anne!" Clark's voice turned dangerously cold. "I'm warning you for the last time. Whether or when we have children is between Nyla and me. It's not your business to interfere." In the past, Nyla would have been grateful for Clark's protection. She would have seen it as proof of his love. But today, hearing these words felt hollow. She knew that the moment Clark cheated, everything changed. No amount of public defense could erase what he had done in private. Midway through the banquet, Clark's phone suddenly rang. "Sorry, everyone," Clark said with an apologetic smile. "There's an emergency at work. I need to handle this right away." He turned to Nyla, his expression softening. "Honey, can you have Grandma's driver take you home? I'll be back as soon as I can." Marie waved dismissively. "Clark, go ahead. Don't worry about Nyla." Clark kissed Nyla's forehead quickly. "I'll make this up to you, I promise." As soon as Clark's car disappeared down the driveway, Marie's polite mask slipped completely. She looked at Nyla with open displeasure. "Well, now that Clark's gone," Marie said coolly, "I suppose you'll be wanting to leave too." The temperature in the room seemed to drop. "Nyla's not some delicate flower," Anne chimed in with renewed confidence. "She can find her own way home, can't she?" Nyla felt her cheeks burn with embarrassment. She had been dismissed like a servant. Without Clark's protection, she meant nothing to these people. "I think that's my cue to leave," Nyla said. She stood up. "Thank you for your hospitality." The butler, following Marie's subtle nod, escorted Nyla only to the manor gate. He immediately turned back toward the house, leaving her standing alone on the roadside. That's when the rain started. Fat droplets fell from the dark sky, quickly soaking through Nyla's silk dress. She pulled out her phone to call a taxi, but the app showed no available drivers in this remote area. The Summer estate was far from the city center. The rain intensified rapidly. Within minutes, Nyla was completely drenched. Her carefully styled hair hung in wet strands around her face. Her dress clung uncomfortably to her skin. Just when she thought things couldn't get worse, headlights cut through the darkness. A black car slowed to a stop beside her. The window rolled down, revealing Damon's sharp features. Chapter 5 As Damon prepared to leave the manor, he glanced out the car window. Through the rain, he could see Nyla huddled against the stone wall near the gate. Her dress was completely soaked, clinging to her body and outlining her curves. Her long hair hung in wet strands around her face, making her look fragile and abandoned. Damon understood immediately what had happened. He knew Marie and Anne's personalities well. They would never be kind enough to arrange transportation for the niece-in-law they had always disliked. He turned to his assistant Spencer, who was sitting in the passenger seat. "Get out and hold an umbrella for her." Spencer immediately grabbed the black umbrella from the floor and stepped out into the rain. He walked quickly toward Nyla while Damon rolled down his window. "Get in," Damon said to Nyla. His voice was characteristically cold and commanding. "I'll take you home." Nyla looked up, startled to see it was Damon. She instinctively took a step back, shaking her head. "Uncle Damon, it's okay. The rain will stop soon. I can wait." She remembered Clark's warnings about how dangerous Damon could be. Clark had specifically told her to keep her distance from his uncle. She didn't want to cause herself any more trouble, especially not tonight. Damon's brow furrowed when he saw Nyla clearly trying to avoid him. His tone grew deeper and more commanding. "Get in the car. Don't make me repeat myself." His natural dominance was overwhelming. The way he spoke made it nearly impossible to refuse. Nyla felt her resolve weakening under his intense gaze. Before she could refuse again, Spencer appeared beside her with the umbrella. He gently took her damp clutch from her trembling hands. "Ms. Nyla, please get in the car," Spencer said kindly. "This rain will continue for at least another hour. It's very windy out here, and you're not dressed warmly enough. You'll catch pneumonia." Spencer's tone was gentle and concerned. Nyla glanced up at the dark storm clouds, then down at her completely soaked dress. Water was still dripping from her hair. She was starting to shiver uncontrollably. Finally, biting her lip, she opened the car door and slid inside. The interior of the car was warm and luxurious. Soft leather seats and the faint scent of expensive cologne filled the space. Nyla immediately felt the temperature difference. Damon glanced at her wet dress, which was now clinging even more tightly to her body. The fabric had become almost transparent. He could see the outline of her undergarments. His throat tightened involuntarily. Without a word, he took off his dark gray suit jacket and tossed it to her. "Thank you," Nyla murmured, quickly pulling the jacket around her shoulders. It was still warm from his body heat and smelled like his cologne. The scent was surprisingly comforting. "I'll have it cleaned and return it to you." "Just throw it away," Damon replied coldly. His tone carried casual arrogance, as if the expensive jacket meant nothing to him. The car pulled away from the manor and drove smoothly through the rainy night. Silence settled between them. Nyla huddled in the corner of the backseat, not daring to look at the powerful man beside her. She could feel an oppressive aura radiating from him. It made her unconsciously nervous. She stole a glance at his profile. His jaw was sharp and perfectly defined. His dark hair was styled impeccably despite the rain. Everything about him screamed wealth and power. He was nothing like Clark, who was gentle and approachable. Damon seemed dangerous. Twenty minutes later, the car stopped in front of Nyla's house. She quickly gathered herself and reached for the door handle. "Thank you so much for the ride," she said hurriedly, leaving his jacket on the seat. "I really appreciate it." Damon watched her disappear inside the house. The faint scent of jasmine perfume still lingered in the car where she had been sitting. He found himself breathing it in deeply. His body reacted involuntarily to her proximity. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "She's your nephew's wife," he warned himself silently. "Control yourself." As soon as Nyla entered her house, she felt a wave of dizziness wash over her. Her body began to feel hot despite her wet clothes. Her head felt heavy and confused. Before she could even change out of her soaked dress, everything went black. She collapsed in the living room. When Nyla woke up, she found herself lying in a hospital bed. The room smelled strongly of disinfectant, but the bedside table was covered with familiar treats. Strawberry shortcake, colorful macarons, handmade chocolates, and a large bouquet of pink roses. "Ma'am, you're finally awake!" A nurse appeared beside her bed, looking relieved. "You've had a high fever for over twenty-four hours. Mr. Summer was so worried. He stayed by your bedside the entire time. He only left an hour ago because of an emergency call." The nurse checked Nyla's temperature with a digital thermometer. "Do you want me to call him? He'll be so happy to know you're conscious." Looking at the familiar arrangement of gifts, Nyla felt her heart soften despite everything. She had always been prone to illness and had a terrible fear of injections and medication. Whenever she was sick, Clark would do exactly this. He would buy all her favorite treats and flowers, hoping to cheer her up and speed her recovery. It had become their tradition over the years. These sweet memories made her chest ache with confusion. How could the man who cheated on her be the same person who spent the night worried beside her hospital bed? "Where is he now?" Nyla asked, pushing herself up in bed. "I want to find him myself." The nurse smiled. "He's somewhere in the hospital taking care of business." She left her room and walked down the sterile hospital corridor. As she rounded the corner, she stopped dead in her tracks. There was Clark, coming out of the obstetrics and gynecology department. But he wasn't alone. A woman walked beside him, her hand resting protectively on her belly. Chapter 6 Clark gently helped the young woman out of the obstetrics clinic. Both of them were smiling, their faces glowing with happiness. Nyla immediately recognized her. This was the woman from the photos in those anonymous messages. Just then, the woman spotted Nyla standing frozen in the hallway. Her eyes lit up with surprise and something that looked like malicious delight. "Oh wow, isn't that Mrs. Summer?" she exclaimed loudly. "What a coincidence running into you at the hospital!" At the sound of her voice, Clark looked up. His eyes met Nyla's across the corridor. His entire body went rigid. He quickly dropped his hand from the woman's arm, panic flooding his features. "Nyla!" Clark hurried toward her, his voice high with nervousness. "Why are you here? You should be resting in your room!" He reached her side, speaking rapidly. "I was just downstairs getting your medicine when I accidentally bumped into Jordyn here. She's my new secretary, and she's pre-gnant. I was worried she might fall, so I helped steady her." His explanation tumbled out in a rush. Sweat beaded on his forehead despite the air conditioning. Nyla's gaze moved to the woman's slightly swollen belly. She felt her breathing become shallow and labored. But she forced herself to remain outwardly calm. "Miss Jordyn," Nyla said slowly, "when did you get pre-gnant? Where's the father? Shouldn't he be here with you for such an important appointment?" Jordyn caressed her belly with obvious pride. A sweet, satisfied smile spread across her face. "I just found out I'm two months along. The father couldn't be here because he's so busy with work, but he was absolutely thrilled when I told him." She practically glowed as she spoke. "He said he wants to give me and the baby the best life possible. He's already bought me a beautiful apartment downtown and promised to make everything official after the baby arrives." Every word felt like a knife twisting in Nyla's chest. Jordyn continued, her voice dripping with false sweetness. "Mrs. Summer, you're so lucky to have such a wonderful husband. But I think my boyfriend is just as amazing. He tells me I've become even more beautiful since getting pre-gnant. He can barely stand to leave my side." She paused, tilting her head with feigned innocence. "Mrs. Summer, do you have time? I'm free today. Would you like to have dinner together? I could invite the baby's father to join us." The challenge in her eyes was unmistakable. Clark's expression darkened. He shot Jordyn a warning look. "My wife doesn't have time. Miss Jordyn, I'm sure your boyfriend is waiting for you. Don't keep him worried." His voice carried clear dismissal and irritation. Then he wrapped his arm around Nyla's shoulders, his touch gentle and concerned. "Honey, you're still recovering. You shouldn't be walking around the hospital. Let me take you back to your room." He spoke in the same caring tone. "She's just a secretary. Don't worry about her." Jordyn's face crumpled at the cold dismissal in Clark's voice. Her eyes filled with tears, making her look young and vulnerable. "You're right. I got too excited. I'm not worthy of having dinner with Mrs. Summer." She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, looking genuinely hurt. "I should go. My boyfriend will be wondering where I am." With that, she turned and walked away, her shoulders shaking slightly. Clark's expression flickered. For a moment, he looked like he wanted to follow her. But when he noticed Nyla watching him carefully, he stayed put. He turned back to Nyla and patted her head affectionately. "Be good, okay? I have some urgent things to handle at the company. I'll have James drive you home. Get some rest, and I'll be back tonight to check on you." His voice was warm and loving, the same tone he had used for three years of marriage. As soon as Nyla returned to her hospital room, her phone buzzed with a new message. It was from Jordyn. The first image was a pre-gnancy test showing two clear pink lines. Then came a series of messages that made Nyla's hands shake: [Nyla, I know you figured it out today. The baby is Clark's. Don't think he loves you as much as you believe. If he truly loves you, then what am I doing in his life?] [Do you know how obsessed he is with me? Every year on your birthday and your anniversary, after he puts you to sleep, he comes to spend the night with me. He's so passionate with me, so wild. We go through boxes of c0n-doms, and I can barely walk the next day.] [We've faking in his car, his office, even in your bedroom when you were away. He's done things with me that I bet he's never done with you. Has he ever been truly passionate with you, Nyla? Or does he save all his fire for me?] Reading these brutal messages, Nyla felt something break inside her chest. Her hands trembled as she set down the phone. She took deep, measured breaths, trying to suppress the storm of emotions threatening to overwhelm her. That evening, Clark returned with an elegant white box. Inside was a strawberry mousse cake from the city's most expensive French pastry shop. It had once been Nyla's absolute favorite dessert. "Baby, I brought your favorite cake," Clark said carefully, watching her face for a reaction. "The doctor said you're still weak and need to eat more sweets to build up your energy." He opened the box with a flourish, revealing the delicate pink confection. In the past, Nyla would have clapped her hands with delight at seeing this cake. She used to say it was almost too beautiful to eat. But now, looking at it made her stomach turn. She picked up the small silver fork and took a mechanical bite. The overly sweet flavor sat in her mouth like paste. She couldn't swallow it. Without a word, Nyla stood up and threw the entire cake box into the trash can. The beautiful dessert landed with a dull thud. Clark stared at her in shock. "Nyla, what's wrong with you? " Chapter 7 Nyla turned to face Clark, her eyes completely devoid of their usual warmth. "It doesn't taste the same anymore." Her voice was eerily calm, but it sent a chill through Clark's entire body. He rushed to her side and pulled her into his arms. "Baby, maybe this bakery changed their recipe," he said. "I'll call them tomorrow and find out. No matter how much it costs, I'll make sure they get the taste exactly right again." Nyla's body remained rigid in his embrace. "Things change, Clark. Once they change, you can't go back." Her voice was still calm, but each word felt like an icicle piercing Clark's heart. He sensed she wasn't just talking about the cake anymore. She was talking about them. Clark felt panic rising in his chest. That was when his phone rang. The ringtone cut through the tension. Clark glanced at the caller ID and his face went pale. Nyla caught the shift in his expression, and her disappointment deepened. "I... I need to take this call," Clark stammered. "There's an emergency at work." Nyla turned away from him completely. "Go ahead. Work is important." Clark stood frozen for several seconds, torn between answering the phone and staying with his wife. Finally, he made his choice and headed for the door. As he stepped into the hallway, Nyla could hear his voice through the thin walls: "Jordyn, what's wrong? Are you feeling sick? I'll be right there..." His voice faded as he moved further away, leaving Nyla alone in their living room. The silence felt suffocating. Nyla stared at the white walls, feeling like they were closing in on her. Twenty minutes after Clark left, Nyla's phone buzzed with an incoming call. She didn't recognize the number, but she answered anyway. "Mrs. Summer, I hope I'm not interrupting," came Jordyn's sweet voice. "I'm not feeling well, so I borrowed Clark from you tonight. He came without hesitation when I called. He said nothing was more important than making sure I was okay." Nyla's grip tightened on the phone, but she said nothing. Jordyn continued with obvious satisfaction. "You know what Clark told me today? He said I'm younger and prettier than you. He said I can give him something you never could - a child. He mentioned that you haven't been able to conceive in three years. He's worried there might be something wrong with your body." "Oh, and that strawberry mousse cake you threw away today?" Jordyn's voice turned mocking. "Clark buys me that same cake all the time. He says sweet treats are perfect for sweet girls. Don't you think it tastes sweet, Mrs. Summer?" The call ended with Jordyn's cruel laughter. Nyla sat in the darkness, feeling something fundamental shift inside her. The pain was so intense it took her breath away. Then slowly, mercifully, numbness began to set in. From that day forward, Nyla began quietly packing her belongings. She folded her clothes carefully and placed them in suitcases. She packed her books, her makeup, her jewelry. Each item felt heavy with memories she no longer wanted to keep. Clark became even busier during this time. He came home later and later, sometimes not at all. When he did return, he was distant and distracted. Meanwhile, Jordyn's messages never stopped. Photos of her growing belly, pictures of expensive gifts, taunting words designed to twist the knife deeper. Nyla's best friend Valarie came over to help with the divorce paperwork. "Given that Clark committed adultery and got another woman pre-gnant, you could definitely ask for substantial compensation," Valarie said seriously. "Plus, you gave up your career for this marriage. That's worth a lot in court." Valarie spread the legal documents across the coffee table. "You sacrificed your research position at the university. You could have been earning six figures by now." But before proceeding with anything official, Nyla felt she should tell her father. She drove to the hospital where he was still recovering from his recent surgery. Her father looked better than he had in weeks. His color was returning, and he was sitting up reading the newspaper. "Dad," Nyla began carefully, "if... hypothetically... if I wanted to get divorced, what would you think?" Her father set down his newspaper and studied his daughter's face intently. "Nyla, is something wrong between you and Clark?" Nyla forced herself to maintain eye contact. "I'm just curious. If that day ever came..." "Absolutely not!" Her father's voice rose sharply. "Nyla, do you understand what the Summer family has done for us? When my factory had that terrible accident, they provided the money that saved us from bankruptcy. They've been paying my medical bills for three years. Without them, we would have lost everything." Her father's face was flushed with emotion. "Clark has been nothing but good to you. How could you even think such thoughts? Has someone been filling your head with ideas?" Nyla realized she couldn't continue this conversation. Her father had no idea about Clark's betrayal. She couldn't bear to put her sick father through that kind of shock and disappointment. She was about to change the subject when her father's phone chimed with a text message. He glanced at the screen and his face went completely white. The message was from Jordyn. It contained a photo of her and Clark kissing passionately in what looked like a hotel room. Below the image was a message that read: "Thought you should know - I'm pre-gnant with your son-in-law Clark's baby." Chapter 8 Harrison suddenly developed a violent coughing fit. His body convulsed as he struggled to breathe. His face turned an alarming shade of blue, and his hands clawed at his chest. The phone slipped from his trembling fingers and clattered to the floor. Nyla saw the message on the fallen phone and immediately understood what had triggered his condition. Rage flooded through her veins, but her father's health took priority over confronting Jordyn. She frantically pressed the call button for the nurses. "Help! I need a doctor now!" she shouted into the hallway. A team of medical staff rushed into the room. They immediately began checking her father's vital signs while Nyla stood helplessly in the corner, watching his condition deteriorate before her eyes. The lead doctor emerged from the examination looking grave. He pulled off his mask and shook his head slowly. "Mr. Jayston's condition has suddenly worsened," he said wearily. "His kid ney failure has progressed rapidly. We need to transfer him to the ICU immediately for intensive monitoring and treatment." Nyla felt her legs go weak. "How serious is this?" "It's critical," the doctor replied bluntly. "But I'm afraid we have a problem. Our ICU is completely full. Every bed is occupied, and there's a waiting list. All the hospitals in the city are experiencing the same shortage of resources." "Wait?" Nyla could barely comprehend what she was hearing. "Doctor, my father can't wait. Look at him!" Her father was still struggling to breathe normally. His skin had a grayish pallor that terrified her. "I understand your concern, Mrs. Summer, but we're doing everything we can," the doctor said helplessly. "All we can do right now is stabilize his condition with medication and hope a bed opens up soon." Desperation clawed at Nyla's chest. She thought immediately of Clark. As the heir to Summer Group, he had connections throughout the medical community. He could pull strings and get her father the care he needed. With shaking hands, she dialed Clark's number. After several rings, someone picked up. But it wasn't Clark's voice that greeted her. "Hello, who's calling?" came Jordyn's sickeningly sweet voice. Nyla's blood turned to ice. "This is Nyla. I need to speak to Clark immediately. It's an emergency." "Oh, Mrs. Summer!" Jordyn's voice was dripping with false concern. "Clark is in the shower right now. He's been taking such good care of me all day that he's completely exhausted. Poor thing needs to rest." Nyla bit back her fury and forced herself to stay focused. "This is about my father. He's dying and needs an ICU bed. Please put Clark on the phone right now." "Oh my, what terrible timing," Jordyn said with obvious fake sympathy. "I wasn't feeling well this afternoon either. Just some pre-gnancy nausea and dizziness, you know how it is. But Clark was so worried about me and the baby that he immediately called in the best medical team in the city. They're all on standby right now, just in case something happens to us." Nyla's hands were shaking so violently she could barely hold the phone. Her father was dying, and her husband was playing house with his pre-gnant mistress. "Can you please just-" Nyla began, but Jordyn cut her off. "Oh, I hear the shower turning off. Clark will be so tired after everything we've been through today. I should probably let him rest. You understand, don't you?" The line went dead. Nyla stood in the hospital hallway, feeling like the world was collapsing around her. She closed her eyes and tried to think of alternatives. Then suddenly, an image flashed through her mind - a figure handing her a coat in the rain. Damon's cold but decisive voice echoing in the car. Without allowing herself to second-guess the decision, she dialed his number. "Mr. Damon, this is Nyla," she said when he answered. "I'm sorry to bother you, but my father is critically ill. He needs an ICU bed urgently, but the hospital says they don't have any available. I know this is a lot to ask..." "Send me the hospital address," Damon's voice cut through her rambling. It was sharp and authoritative. "I'll handle it. Ten minutes." The line went dead, but his words carried more reassurance than Clark's empty promises ever had. Exactly ten minutes later, the hospital director personally arrived at her father's ward. Behind him came a full medical team, including specialists Nyla recognized from medical journals. They moved with efficient precision. "Mr. Jayston will be transferred to our premium ICU immediately," the director told Nyla respectfully. "We're bringing in the city's leading kid-ney specialists for consultation. He'll receive the absolute best care available." Within an hour, her father was settled in a private ICU room with round-the-clock monitoring. That evening, after her father's condition had finally stabilized, Nyla returned to the house she had shared with Clark. She sat in their living room, surrounded by three years of memories that now felt like lies. She opened her phone and began forwarding every single message and photo Jordyn had sent her to Clark's email address. The videos of Jordyn showing off expensive jewelry. Photos of their intimate moments in the apartment Clark had bought her. Recordings of Jordyn rubbing her belly and cooing, "Daddy loves us so much. He's going to give us everything." After sending all these, Nyla typed a final message: "Clark, these are from your girlfriend Jordyn. Since you two love each other so much, I'll step aside and let you be together." Then she photographed the divorce papers Valarie had prepared and attached them to another email: "The divorce agreement is ready. Have your lawyer contact Valarie tomorrow to finalize everything." After hitting send, Nyla stood up and began dismantling their life together. She pulled their wedding photos off the walls and threw them directly into the trash. The jewelry Clark had given her, the clothes he had bought, the makeup he had surprised her with - everything went into garbage bags. She called a moving company and worked through the night to clear out her belongings. By dawn, the house looked exactly as it had before she had moved in - empty and cold. Nyla took one final look around the space that had once felt like home. She dragged her suitcase to the door and walked out without looking back.

As a substitute, she wanted to leave but was rejected. She thought her husband might start to have feelings for her, but as it turned out, he simply wanted to wait for his first love to return before getting rid of her. Faced with their intimacy, she taught the sc**bag and his mistress a good lesson and left without hesitation, focusing on her career. However, her unfaithful ex-husband actually began to pester her... ===== "We'll divorce on Monday. Aside from the compensation in the agreement, you may request anything else you need." Kristian Shaw, impeccably dressed in a tailored suit, exuded an air of cold detachment. His voice firm and emotionless. His piercing gaze settled on the silent woman opposite him, his eyes inscrutable. "Why so sudden?" Freya Briggs asked, her voice quieter than usual. Kristian's answer was blunt. "Ashley is back." Freya knew exactly who Ashley was. After a brief pause, she replied, "Okay." Kristian hesitated, caught off guard by her immediate acceptance. Freya opened the divorce papers, her thoughts drifting to the past. Two years ago, they had met at a n**htclub. She had been weighed down by worries; he had been nursing a broken heart. A few drinks later, they found solace in each other's company, talking late into the night. There had been no impulsive o*e-n**ht st*nd--just a quiet parting afterward. Three days later, he had returned with his assistant to propose marriage. And she had agreed. After getting married, he had treated her well--tending to her needs, drying her hair with gentle hands, and solving her problems before she even voiced them. Their relationship had been perfect--until six months ago, when a single phone call changed everything. Overnight, he grew distant, his warmth replaced by icy indifference. That was when she learned the truth: Kristian had married her because she bore a faint resemblance to his lost love, Ashley Bradley. The memory made Freya press her lips together before she asked lightly, "You said I could ask for compensation, right?" "Yes," Kristian replied flatly. "Anything I want?" She lifted her gaze to him, her delicate face devoid of its usual brightness. For a fleeting moment, guilt flickered in his ch*st. "Yes." He had already resolved to grant her reasonable demands. After all, she had been good to him all the time. Freya's voice was steady. "Then I want the most expensive car in your garage." "Fine," Kristian agreed. "A villa in the suburbs," she added. "Done," he said. Freya smiled. "And a share of the money you've earned in the last two years." For the first time, Kristian's composure cracked. His eyes narrowed slightly, as if questioning whether he'd heard correctly. "What did you say?" Freya, unfazed, repeated her demand. "Our earnings during the marriage count as marital property, don't they? Based on my calculations--excluding investments--your salary and dividends over the last two years amount to several billion. I don't want much--just 40%." A heavy silence settled between them. Then, she added, as if casually mentioning the weather, "Of course, you're welcome to take 40% of my income too." Kristian's patience finally snapped. "Freya!" His voice carried an edge of disbelief. Had he really felt guilty earlier? How had he never noticed her greed? Freya met his gaze evenly. "Is that not acceptable?" Absolutely not. Kristian dismissed the idea instantly. "Then forget it." Freya set down her pen. "Next time I see your family, I'll bring up your emotional infidelity. I'm sure they'll take my side." Kristian's expression darkened, his stare turning glacial. He hadn't anticipated this side of her--realizing now that her past docility had been an act. "Do you really want to negotiate with me like this?" he demanded. "Yes." Freya held his gaze without flinching. She knew he despised threats--but she despised infidelity more. "Fine." Kristian's eyes turned stormy, his voice glacial. "You'll get what you want. But if the divorce hits complications, you'll regret it." Freya leaned back in her chair, her tone razor-sharp. "Kristian Shaw, is that a threat?" This version of her was foreign to Kristian. For two years, she'd been the picture of compliance--gentle, accommodating, never defiant. Now, she met his anger with unshakable calm. "No." Already calculating countermeasures, he bit out, "You'll have the assets. We divorce on Monday." Freya's lashes lowered briefly before she added, "One more condition." "Speak." His patience frayed. "Take me shopping tomorrow." She ignored the frost radiating from him. "Afterward, we'll tell your family together that I ended things." "Deal," Kristian conceded. With that, he strode toward the door, unable to stomach another second in her presence. Earlier, he'd even considered granting her a grace period to process the divorce. How laughable. She couldn't wait to carve up his fortune and be rid of him. Had Freya been able to read his thoughts, she might have laughed and said, "That little money? Do you really think I care?" Kristian reached the door and halted. Without turning around, he said, "I won't be back tonight. I'll pick you up at nine tomorrow morning. Make a list of the stores you want to visit." Freya's voice followed him, calm but laced with something sharp. "Are you going to see Ashley Bradley?" Kristian's jaw tightened. "That's none of your business." Freya let out a quiet breath, as if she had already expected that answer. "I don't tolerate cheating," she said plainly. "So before the divorce is finalized, you'd better not end up in b*d with her." Kristian whirled back, looming over her. Freya didn't blink. "What? Can't endure two more days?" "I understand your bitterness," he said, eerily composed, "but lashing out won't help. This is a divorce, not war." Freya blinked at him. For a moment, she was at a loss for words. This man was truly shameless. Kristian didn't wait for a response. "Good night." And with that, he turned and left. The door clicked shut behind him. Freya's gaze drifted down to the divorce papers still lying on the table. She stood there for a long time, unmoving. To say she felt nothing would have been a lie. She wasn't made of stone. The moment she discovered she was nothing more than a stand-in, the hurt had settled deep in her bones. Kristian had been her first love. In twenty-four years, no one else had breached her defenses. Before the betrayal, he'd been perfection itself--attentive, steady, silencing every doubt with his quiet devotion. So when she learned of Ashley, she'd offered to leave. To free him. But he'd refused. Chapter 2 Kristian Was Pure S**mbag The reason behind Kristian's refusal was simple. Before Ashley returned, he needed someone to manage his elders at home--and Freya, adored by his parents and grandpa, was the obvious choice. But sometimes, Freya couldn't help but wonder--did he really think she was a f*ol? Otherwise, why would he assume she'd play along in hiding his a**air? Now, with his sudden demand for divorce, frustration simmered inside her. Even after six months of steeling herself, a stubborn flicker of emotion remained. She let out a slow breath, crossed to the sofa, and grabbed her phone. She tapped the contact labeled "Fred"--untouched for two years--and typed, "Check if Shaw Group's facing any issues. And find out if Kristian's terminally ill." Fred's replies exploded onto the screen instantly. "Holy--Freya?!" "Never thought I'd hear from you again!" "Two years, Freya. TWO." "Where've you been?!" She didn't bother explaining. Mood sour, she fired back a single word, "Check." Fred caved. "On it!" She tossed the phone aside and waited. If Kristian was divorcing her to spare her some tragedy, she'd forgive him--maybe even help. But if he was just an unfaithful j**k? She'd drop him without a second thought. Thirty minutes later, her phone buzzed with Fred's verdict. "Zero troubles. No illness, no crisis. Why the h*ll are you asking? Kristian's loaded, hot, and sharp--you two are a match. Don't you like pretty boys? Give it a shot!" She ignored the jab and shot back, "You are so blind." Then she silenced her phone. No external factors meant only one thing--Kristian was pure s*um. Fred stared at his screen, baffled. Did Freya wake up in a mood today? Freya's gaze landed on the divorce papers. After a pause, she snatched a pen, scrawled her name, and shoved them into a drawer. Then she headed for the shower. When she emerged, her phone was a disaster--dozens of unread messages and 32 missed calls. No guessing needed. Frederick Price--aka Fred--had clearly blabbed about her resurrection to the entire world. Towel draped over her damp hair, she reached for her phone--only for it to ring again. The caller ID flashed; it was her father. Her ch*st tightened. Two years of silence, and now he called? She'd left Alerith City due to a situation involving her mother, and neither had she reached out to her father nor had he contacted her--until now. After a pause, she answered coolly. "Hello." Silence. Freya, never one for patience, was about to hang up when Hugh Briggs' raspy voice cut through. "Mina." That name clawed at buried memories. "What do you want?" she asked flatly. Hugh hesitated, guilt threading his words. "Frederick told me you reached out. Said you were digging into Kristian. Need help?" "No." Freya had no interest in his involvement. A beat passed before Hugh ventured, "What's your relationship with him?" "A couple." She let the word hang. "About to divorce." Hugh's breath hitched. She was married? "You--" he started. "If that's all, I'm done." Freya didn't want to waste any more breath on him. "Wait!" he rushed. She held her tongue. The line crackled with tension. Finally, he muttered, "When are you coming back? That woman's gone." Then, hastily, he added, "Your mom's belongings are untouched." Her fingers tightened around the phone. For a flicker, emotion crossed her face--then vanished. "Noted." She hung up before he could protest. Hugh stared at the dead line, frustration curdling in his ch*st. He hadn't even asked about her marriage. Freya didn't spare him another thought. She flicked her phone to airplane mode, towel-dried her hair, and collapsed into b*d. The night passed without dreams. By eight the next morning, she was up--dressed and breakfasted. Today, she'd taken care with her makeup. Her skin glowed; her lips, naturally full, needed no enhancement. But her eyes--sharp, luminous--were the real weapon. Her smile was bright, bringing a warmth that could instantly lift anyone's spirits. When Kristian arrived, she was already waiting on the sofa. Her shoulder-length hair was pinned back, bangs swept up under a black beret. At the sight of him, she rose gracefully, reaching for a coat and draping it over her shoulder. "Let's go." She grabbed her purse, her tone composed and unbothered. Kristian didn't move. His tailored suit emphasized his height as he said, "Not today." Freya stilled. "I have other commitments." His voice was indifferent. His gaze lingered--too long--on her face. "Tomorrow." "Kristian Shaw." Her tone was a warning. He disliked it instantly. "I put on makeup today," she said, her voice deceptively calm but carrying an unmistakable edge. "If you want our divorce to go smoothly on Monday, push aside whatever plans you have. I don't deal with people who break their promises." Kristian's eyes narrowed. After a silent calculation, he stepped out to make a call. Fragments floated back--Ashley... hospital... follow-up. Freya's grip on her purse turned white-knuckled. Inside, she seethed. Even now, Ashley occupied his thoughts completely. Kristian missed Freya's fury. All he saw was how she shone today--vibrant, untamed. Nothing like the subdued woman he knew. After hanging up, he inquired where she wanted to shop. Freya mentioned the largest luxury mall in town. This wasn't shopping. This was a spree. By 10 AM, the four bodyguards trailed behind her like pack mules--arms stacked with watches, jewels, designer bags. Kristian's phone chimed nonstop with alerts. As Freya strode into yet another jewelry boutique, his jaw hardened. This wasn't retail therapy; she was intentionally trying to irritate him. Chapter 3 Why Hurt Ashley? Gerard Todd, Kristian's ever-dutiful assistant, hesitated for a moment before asking, "Sir, should I go ahead and book a restaurant?" Kristian massaged his temples, irritation flashing across his face. "No need." He knew Freya was venting her frustration. If splurging eased her temper, so be it--he'd let her spend freely. The moment the words left his mouth, his phone vibrated. Another alert flashed--over thirty million had just vanished from his account. Gerard averted his eyes, while the four bodyguards stood stiffly, arms laden with shopping bags like silent, overburdened mules. Freya strode out of the jewelry boutique and casually handed her latest purchase to Gerard, whose hands were conspicuously empty. Just as she turned to continue her spree, Kristian's phone rang. His posture shifted instantly. The tension in his shoulders eased, his frown softening as he glanced at the caller ID. Long fingers cradled the phone, his voice uncharacteristically tender as he answered. "Hello, Ashley." Gerard and the bodyguards exchanged startled glances. Had their boss forgotten Freya was standing right there? "Ashley was in a car accident on her way to a hospital follow-up. She's unconscious--still in surgery," the voice on the line blurted, frantic. "Please come. She kept calling your name before they took her in." "Send the address. I'm on my way." Kristian's ch*st constricted, the words sharp with urgency. He ended the call, his gaze flickering to Freya. An explanation hovered on his lips, but he swallowed it. Instead, he turned to Gerard and the bodyguards. "Stay with her. Buy whatever she wants. If it doesn't fit in the car, have it delivered by this afternoon." "Yes, sir," the five men chorused. Without another word, Kristian strode off, leaving Freya and the others in his wake. An uncomfortable silence settled over the group. Gerard adjusted his gold-rimmed glasses, forcing a polished smile. "Mrs. Shaw, don't worry. Mr. Shaw will return once he handles matters." "What a loyal employee," Freya murmured, her tone laced with something unreadable. Gerard blinked, thrown by her response. Freya studied the mall's glittering chandeliers, her voice deliberate. "Being his assistant is one thing. But cleaning up his messes? Tell me, Gerard--have you ever seen a man ditch his wife mid-date to run to his mi**ress?" The bodyguards stiffened; Gerard's smile froze. For a heartbeat, all five men stared at her with something dangerously close to pity. This might be the price of marrying into wealth--knowing her husband had left her for another woman while she was expected to swallow the insult. "Save the sympathy." Freya scoffed, amused by their expressions. She gestured to the bags weighing them down. "A single one of those could cover your salary for a year. Maybe ten." The blow landed perfectly. She pressed, "Well, anything you'd like?" Five pairs of eyes widened in unison. Freya's mind worked in ways they couldn't follow. "Since he's off playing hero for his darling, let's put his money to better use." She twirled the black card between her fingers, her voice quieter now. The sting surprised her. She hadn't realized Kristian's departure would still claw at her. Right now, all she wanted was to drain his account dry. Gerard and the bodyguards gaped. Delighted by their shock, Freya resumed shopping, the card clutched like a weapon. She assumed Kristian would linger at the hospital all day. But as she sat down to eat, he appeared like a storm, his presence slicing through the restaurant's warmth. Before anyone could react, he seized Freya's wrist and hauled her toward the parking area, his grip ironclad. Her back slammed against the car door, pain radiating through her. She winced. What the hell was his problem? His accusation came like a whip crack, "Why hurt Ashley?" Kristian trembled with suppressed rage. "You hired that hit-and-run driver, didn't you? I gave you everything you wanted, the house, the car, the money. What more do you want? Why did you still hurt her?" He looked like vengeance personified, his eyes glacial. "When did I--" Freya's confusion was genuine. "Still lying?" His voice could've frosted glass. "You planned this. Picked today so I'd be distracted while your hired man ran her down. You know I'd die before letting her suffer." His voice was Arctic frost, the kind that seeped into bones and made spines stiffen. Freya's initial fury dissolved into something colder, sharper. His absurd accusation had an ironic effect--it drained her rage, leaving only icy clarity. She met his gaze, lips curling in derision. "How poetic. Turning betrayal into some grand romance." "Freya Briggs!" Kristian's control frayed, his shout raw with warning. "You're delusional." She didn't flinch, status be damned. "Think. Why would I trash my fresh start--my freedom--over someone like her?" "You know exactly why." His voice dropped lower, a bl**e pressed to her throat. A realization flickered. "Ah. You think I'm still obsessed with you?" Kristian said nothing, but his clenched jaw and the fire in his eyes were answer enough. "Why should I still want you?" Freya laughed, the sound brittle. "After being treated as a stand-in? After your infidelity? After watching you fawn over another woman?" The words landed like sl*ps. Kristian stiffened. "I didn't cheat," he ground out. "You handed her your heart while wearing my ring." Her smile was lethal. "That's cheating." "Enough deflection," he snapped. "You're the one hallucinating conspiracies!" Silence. Kristian studied her, as if peeling back layers for the first time. The weight of his scrutiny was suffocating. Freya refused to wilt. "So she claimed I hired a man to k*ll her, and you just... believed her?" "Yes." His anger faltered under her unwavering stare, but the frost remained. "Ashley didn't lie. And she has proof." Freya's brows arched. Her fingers dug into her bag strap, knuckles whitening. "Perfect. Let's go to the hospital. Right now." Kristian blinked. Her immediate agreement threw him. Guilty people didn't invite confrontation. Doubt slithered in. Was the evidence fabricated? "Move." Her command shattered his thoughts. He released her wrist, disconcerted by her detachment. Something ugly twisted in his ch*st--annoyance? Guilt? Before he could name it, he yanked out his keys and wrenched the car door open. Chapter 4 Are You Threatening Me? Gerard stepped forward swiftly to take the keys, assuming the role of driver without hesitation. Freya yanked the passenger door open and slid inside, her gaze fixed straight ahead--ignoring Kristian entirely. A knot of dread tightened in Gerard's ch*st. What if Freya said something outrageous? The thought made his fingers clench around the wheel. After a weighted pause, he ventured, "Mrs. Shaw, you--" "Drive." Her reply was a bl**e, sharp and final. Gerard flicked a glance at the rearview mirror. Kristian's expression gave nothing away. Swallowing hard, he pulled out of the parking area. Silence smothered the car like a thick fog. The tension was unbearable. Gerard's shoulders tensed, his grip on the steering wheel turning his knuckles white. Neither Kristian nor Freya spoke. Both radiated a frost so deep it could've cracked the windows. Gerard knew Kristian's moods well--but Freya? She'd been almost cheerful earlier. What the hell happened? He bit back a sigh. Questions wouldn't help now. In the back seat, Kristian's gaze drifted unbidden to Freya's profile. Something unfamiliar twisted in his ch*st--an emotion he refused to name. Thirty minutes later, the car halted at the hospital entrance. Kristian seized Freya's wrist, dragging her toward the VIP ward. His grip was iron, unyielding. She winced, her voice dripping with mockery. "At this rate, I won't be the one charged--you'll be arrested for assault first." He dropped her arm like it burned him. Angry red marks circled her skin. Freya shot him a look so scathing it could've melted steel. Guilt flickered in Kristian's ch*st--brief, unwelcome. It vanished the moment Ashley's bruised face flashed in his mind. "Follow me," he muttered, turning on his heel. He didn't wait to see if Freya obeyed. The door swung open. Ashley lay propped up in b*d, her face lighting up at the sight of Kristian. "Kristian," she breathed, voice sweet with devotion. He was at her side in an instant, fingers brushing hers in silent reassurance. Freya strode in, took one look at them, and smirked. "Should I leave? Give you two some privacy?" "Freya. Enough." Kristian's voice was winter itself. He didn't look at Freya, his hand still resting on Ashley's back. "You're here to apologize." Freya closed the distance to the b*d, studying Ashley properly for the first time--soft features, delicate frame, eyes wide with practiced innocence. Ah. Now she understood. This was the woman Kristian loved. "Miss Bradley." Freya laced her fingers together. "My darling tells me you've accused me of hiring your attacker--with evidence." She stressed the word, gaze locked on Kristian. "Care to share?" "Kristian..." Ashley's fingers tightened around his, her lower lip trembling... ...... 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 I caught my husband Clark having an affair with his secretary in the office, I filed for divorce. Unexpectedly, the only condition he proposed was to sleep with him... ** "Nyla, are you sure you want me to draft a divorce agreement?" Valarie's voice crackled through the phone, hesitant and worried. "Think about it. Once you sign this, you and Clark will have nothing to do with each other anymore." Nyla stared at the amber liquid in her glass. The whiskey burned her throat, but nothing could burn away the images from last night. Her fingers tightened around the phone. "Yes," she said finally. "I'm leaving him." "Why?" Valarie's confusion bled through the speaker. "Clark's been so good to you. He loves you so much..." Nyla almost laughed. Love. What a joke. She pressed her lips together, fighting back the bitter taste rising in her throat. After hanging up, Nyla looked out the window. The massive LED screen on the skyscraper across the street was still playing that press conference. Clark stood there in his perfect suit, holding up that ridiculous jewelry piece. Using the world's finest diamonds and gemstones, he had created a one-of-a-kind piece for his wife. It was named "Love Nyla." He named it after Nyla, declaring to the world his eternal love for her. Upon its release, "Love Nyla" instantly ignited social media discussion, remaining a hot topic. The world was buzzing about their enviable love. Outside, the LED screens continued to replay the video, but Nyla chuckled self-deprecatingly. "Love me?" she muttered to herself. "Love me enough to sleep with another woman on our anniversary night?" Last night was their third wedding anniversary. Clark had said he wanted to surprise her and asked her to wait for him at home. Nyla wore Clark's favorite white dress, lit candles, and prepared his favorite dinner, waiting eagerly until late at night. She had waited. And waited. Midnight came and went. At one in the morning, her phone suddenly buzzed with a Facebook friend request. A strange profile picture with the note "A surprise for you." Nyla was about to reject the message outright, but then the person sent another message: [Are you still awake? Is it because your husband isn't with you?] Nyla's alarm bells went off. How did this person know Clark wasn't home? She didn't accept the friend request, but the messages kept coming: [Stop pretending, I know you're reading this.] [Your husband is with me now.] [I was scared of thunder, so he worried about me and came to keep me company.] [What a good man, but it's a shame he's not good for you alone.] Each message stabbed Nyla like a knife in the heart. Her hands trembled. Her mind told her it might be a prank, but deep down, a voice frantically questioned it. The last message completely broke her defenses: [If you don't believe me, I'll send you the address. The door lock code is your wedding anniversary.] Nyla couldn't sit still any longer. With trembling fingers, she accepted the friend request. The other party immediately sent an address and a password: 0823. It was indeed their anniversary. Nyla rushed out of the house like a madman and drove to the address. It was an upscale apartment. She stood in front of the door, her finger hovering over the combination lock, her heart pounding. She entered 0823, and the lock clicked and the door opened. A men's suit jacket lay scattered in the hallway. She recognized it as the three-year anniversary gift she had given Clark, which Clark had worn when he left that morning. A pair of black lace paanties lay on the sofa in the living room, and a wine glass with a woman's lipstick stain on it lay on the coffee table. From the hallway to the bedroom, men's and women's clothing was scattered everywhere. The most striking thing was a red lace nightgown, torn to shreds, lying by the bedroom door. Nyla's legs were so weak she could barely stand, but she still trembled as she pushed open the half-open bedroom door. On the bed, Clark, na-ked, embraced another woman. The woman knelt on the bed, her head buried between Clark's legs, licking Clark's pen.is. Clark's eyes were closed, his face a look of enjoyment, m0-aning, "Yes, that's it, great..." The woman asked proudly, "Am I better, or is Nyla better?" Clark replied, "You think you can compare with Nyla?" Then he spun the woman around, grabbed her h1ps from behind, and thrust wildly. The woman's m0-ans mingled with Clark's heavy gasps. The scene completely devastated Nyla. Eight years had passed, from their innocent college romance to their current marriage. Everyone had envied their love, saying they were a match made in hea-ven. But now, it all seemed so absurd. She covered her mouth, resisting the urge to vomit, and fled the nauseating place. She drove to a bar downtown and sat alone in a corner, drinking furiously. The sharp taste of the whiskey stung her throat, but it couldn't numb the pain in her heart. When Valarie received her call and rushed to the bar, Nyla was already completely drunk. "Nyla!" Valarie's voice cut through her memories as she slid into the booth across from her, face etched with worry. "Why are you so drunk? What happened? Did Clark make you mad?" Drunk Nyla looked at her with red eyes. "Val, I don't want to hear that name right now." Nyla took another swig of the whiskey in front of her, leaving a bitter taste in her mouth. "Val, I saw him hooking up with that woman right in front of me. It's definitely not a misunderstanding." Valarie saw her friend's pained expression and held her hand with a heartache. "Nyla, maybe you two can talk it out..." "There's nothing to talk about," Nyla interrupted decisively. "Divorce. Every time I think about him hooking up with that woman, I feel sick." Chapter 2 Nyla returned home and sat on the living room sofa, staring at her phone. The number she had just dialed glowed on the screen. After calming down from her anger and pain, she had to face reality. A divorce required financial independence. Clark was covering all of her father's monthly medical expenses. The bills reached a staggering $100,000 each month. She simply couldn't afford it. Her fingers trembled as she scrolled through her contacts. She stopped at a familiar name. Professor Anderson. Her former research supervisor from graduate school. "Professor Anderson? This is Nyla. Nyla Jayston." She tried to sound calm, but her voice cracked slightly. A surprised voice came from the other end. "Nyla! Oh my god, are you okay? I haven't been in touch since you got married three years ago." Nyla bit her lip hard. The metallic taste of blood filled her mouth. "Professor, I want to return to research. I know this sounds sudden, but I need a job." "Of course!" Professor Anderson agreed without hesitation. "You're one of the best students I've ever taught. Your thesis on molecular biology was groundbreaking. I can contact you right now with a company that's looking for a senior researcher position. The salary is excellent." "Thank you," Nyla whispered. Relief flooded through her chest. "I really appreciate this." "Don't mention it. You have incredible talent. It's a shame you left research when you got married. When can you start?" "As soon as possible." After hanging up, Nyla felt a small spark of hope. She could do this. She could leave Clark and rebuild her life. She walked into their bedroom and began packing. Her hands moved mechanically, folding clothes and placing them in a suitcase. Hanging in the closet were the matching pajamas they'd bought on their honeymoon in Paris. On the dresser sat a small angel figurine they'd brought back from Italy. On the wall were photos of them at the beach, laughing and kissing under the sunset. Each item silently spoke of past sweetness. Yet now they stabbed her heart like knives. How had she been so blind? How had she missed the signs? She opened the dresser drawer to retrieve some personal belongings. Her wedding ring caught the light, mocking her. Then she saw it. The marriage certificate. With trembling hands, Nyla picked it up. She flipped to the first page, revealing two young, radiant faces. Her own smile was so bright it hurt to look at. Clark's eyes shone with pure joy. It was August 23rd, three years ago. To become the first couple to receive their marriage certificate that day, they had woken up at four in the morning to queue at the registry office. Clark had been as excited as a child. He spoke nervously throughout the entire ride. "Nyla, we're really getting married," he had said, bouncing in the passenger seat. "I feel like I'm eighteen again. Like the first time I saw you in Professor Wilson's chemistry class." When the staff handed them the marriage certificate, Clark's hands had trembled violently. He took it carefully, as if it were made of glass. Tears welled in his eyes. "Nyla, we're finally husband and wife," he had whispered, his voice breaking with emotion. "I swear I'll love and protect you for the rest of my life. You're everything to me." Nyla had believed every word. She had thought they were soulmates. Forever. But now... She stared at her beaming smile in the photo. Before she could shed a tear, she heard the familiar sound of a car engine downstairs. Her heart stopped. The garage door rumbled open. Footsteps on the stairs. "Honey, I'm back!" Clark's voice echoed from downstairs, cheerful and casual. Panic seized Nyla's chest. She hurriedly shoved the marriage certificate back into the drawer. She wiped her eyes frantically and tried to appear normal. The bedroom door was still open. She couldn't let him see the suitcase. Footsteps approached down the hallway. Clark pushed the door open, his face lighting up when he saw her. Without warning, he wrapped his arms around her from behind. His embrace had once been her safest haven. Now Nyla felt only nausea rising in her throat. She could smell an unfamiliar scent on his skin. Sweet vanilla shower gel. He had obviously showered somewhere else before coming home. "Did you miss me?" Clark whispered softly in her ear. His voice carried a lazy satisfaction, like a cat who'd just finished a meal. Nyla's muscles tensed. She resisted the urge to shove him away. Her body felt rigid as stone. "Where have you been?" "I'm sorry, babe." Clark's lie rolled off his tongue effortlessly. "I was so busy at work yesterday that I fell asleep at the office. I completely missed our anniversary." He pulled an exquisite jewelry box from his jacket pocket. "But look what I got you to make up for it." He opened the box with a flourish. Inside lay an exquisite diamond necklace. The stones caught the bedroom light, throwing rainbow patterns on the walls. "It's beautiful, isn't it?" Clark's eyes sparkled with pride. "Turn around so I can put it on you." Nyla mechanically turned around. She felt like a puppet with cut strings. Clark's fingers traced her neck as he fastened the clasp. The cold metal pressed against her skin. The diamonds felt heavy. Suffocating. "Perfect," Clark stepped back to admire his handiwork. His satisfaction was obvious. "Tomorrow night is Grandpa's birthday party. The entire Summer family will be there. With this necklace, you'll definitely be the most beautiful woman in the room." "Do I need to go?" Nyla asked. Her voice sounded hollow even to her own ears. She just wanted to escape. To get away from everything connected to the Summer family. "Of course you need to go. You're my wife." Clark looked at her with what seemed like genuine affection. He leaned in to kiss her, but Nyla quickly pushed him away. "You should shower first," she said, turning her face away. Clark nodded, seemingly unbothered. "Good idea. I've been working all day." He grabbed some clothes and headed to the bathroom. The shower turned on. Steam began seeping under the door. Nyla's phone suddenly buzzed with a notification. She glanced at the screen. A Facebook message. Her blood turned to ice. On the screen was a photo. A woman wearing a necklace identical to the one around Nyla's neck. Hickeys and scratches covered the woman's pale skin. The photo was cropped to show only her slender neck and the curve of her breasts. Below the image was a message that made Nyla's world crumble: [Does the necklace look good? I picked it out especially for you. I wore it when we faking last night. Clark said it looked beautiful on me.] Chapter 3 Nyla felt a surge of nausea wash over her. She quickly removed the necklace from her neck. Without hesitation, she tossed it into the bedroom trash can. The diamonds clinked against the metal bin. She rushed into the guest bathroom and turned on the shower. The scalding water burned her skin, but she didn't care. She grabbed the shower gel and frantically scrubbed her neck and body. She needed to remove every trace of Clark. Every memory of his touch. Her skin turned red from the harsh scrubbing, but she still felt dirty. The thought of that necklace clinging to another woman's neck made her sick. She imagined it swaying as that woman moved beneath Clark. The mental image made her stomach lurch. The bathroom door suddenly opened. Clark stood in the doorway, his eyes fixed on Nyla through the glass shower door. His gaze traveled over her wet hair, down her shoulders, following the water droplets that traced her curves. Clark's breathing became heavy. His eyes burned with lust. "Nyla, you're so beautiful," he said, his voice thick with desire. Nyla heard his voice and immediately wrapped herself in a towel. She stepped out of the shower, but the thought that he might have looked at that other woman the same way made her nauseous. "Don't come near me." Nyla took several steps back, but Clark was already approaching. "Baby, what's wrong?" Clark reached out to touch her cheek, but Nyla quickly dodged his hand. Clark didn't give up. Instead, he pulled her into his arms. His hands began wandering over her body, caressing her back through the towel. Then they moved lower. "Nyla, I want you," he whispered in her ear. His breath was hot against her skin. Nyla's body went rigid. She tried to pull away, but Clark was much stronger. His hand moved to her breast, his thumb brushing over the sensitive skin. His other hand slid down toward her inner th1gh. "Let's have a baby, okay?" Clark's voice was filled with longing. "We could have a beautiful child. A little girl with your eyes." Nyla felt ice water flood her veins. She thought of the photo that woman had sent. The same hands that were touching her now had been all over another woman's body just hours ago. Anger and disgust exploded inside her chest. "Get away from me!" Nyla pushed Clark with all her strength. "Clark, I'm tired! I don't want to do this right now!" Clark stumbled backward, startled by her sudden fury. He stared at Nyla's face, confusion clouding his features. "Honey, I'm sorry." His voice immediately filled with guilt. "I shouldn't have pushed you. I just want you so badly. I love you so much." He paused, searching her face. "If you don't want a child right now, we can wait." Watching Clark's apologetic expression, Nyla felt a mixture of emotions churning in her stomach. This man had been gentle and caring toward her for three years. She couldn't reconcile this version of him with the man who had been with another woman last night. But the facts were undeniable. Those photos. Those messages. The necklace in the trash can. That night, Nyla lay awake staring at the ceiling. Clark's breathing was even beside her. The painful images replayed in her mind over and over. She didn't sleep until dawn. The next morning, Nyla woke with dark circles under her eyes. Her reflection in the mirror looked hollow and tired. "Honey, are you feeling okay?" Clark asked with concern. "You look exhausted. Maybe you should rest today." Nyla shook her head. "I'm fine. We need to get ready for your grandfather's birthday party." As they drove through the gates of the Summer family estate, a black car suddenly roared past them. It stopped directly in front of the main entrance. The license plate read "DAMON-1." Clark's hands tightened on the steering wheel. His face darkened instantly. "Uncle Damon," he muttered under his breath. Damon Summer was Clark's uncle, Richard's youngest son. Despite being only six years older than Clark, Damon had always intimidated his nephew. He had refused to join the family business, starting his own company instead. That company was now worth five times more than Summer Group. Damon was known for being brilliant, ruthless, and vindictive. Last year, he had overheard Clark making disparaging comments about him at a business dinner. As punishment, Damon had refused a potential partnership that would have brought Summer Group hundreds of millions in revenue. Clark parked behind the car. As Nyla stepped out of the car, her high heel caught in the gravel driveway. She wobbled, about to fall backward. Suddenly, a pair of strong hands caught her waist, steadying her against a solid chest. Nyla looked up into a pair of deep, dark eyes. The man was tall and imposing, probably around twenty-nine. His features were sharp and perfectly sculpted. High cheekbones, a straight nose, a strong jawline. He wore a tailored dark gray suit that emphasized his broad shoulders and lean build. This was Damon Summer. "Careful," Damon said. His voice was deep and magnetic, with a hint of genuine concern. For a moment, Nyla found herself caught in his gaze. Clark appeared beside them, his face flushed with jealousy. He roughly grabbed Nyla's hand and pulled her away from Damon. "Thank you, Uncle," Clark said tersely. His voice was tight with barely controlled anger. He dragged Nyla toward the manor entrance. After they'd walked a few steps, he leaned close to her ear. "Nyla, you know I don't like you getting too close to other men," he whispered harshly. "Not even my uncle." Nyla almost laughed at the irony. Here was Clark, who had been with another woman just last night, acting possessive about her talking to his uncle. "So you'd rather have your wife fall flat on her face in front of the Summer family estate?" she replied coldly. Clark immediately backed down. "Honey, that's not what I meant. I just don't want people to get the wrong idea." Nyla ignored him and continued walking toward the entrance. The Summer family manor was impressive, with its grand foyer and crystal chandeliers. But Nyla felt no joy at being here. In the living room, Clark's grandmother Marie immediately called out with a beaming smile. "Nyla, Clark, you're here! Come sit down!" Nyla took a deep breath and forced a polite smile. Whatever her feelings about Clark, she still respected his grandparents. Richard had always treated her kindly. "Hello, Grandpa. Hello, Grandma," she greeted them warmly. Marie's eyes lit up as she watched Clark and Nyla approach. She had been trying to convince Damon to settle down for years. "Come, sit here next to me," Marie patted the sofa beside her. As they settled in, Damon entered the living room. Marie's expression immediately shifted to disapproval. "Look at Clark," she said pointedly to Damon. "He's got his company running smoothly, and his wife is absolutely beautiful. They might be giving us a great-grandchild soon." Her voice grew stern. "And you? You're almost thirty and still single. If you don't bring a girlfriend to the next family gathering, don't bother coming at all!" Damon's gaze flicked to Clark, then settled on Nyla. His lips curved into a half-smile. "Yes," he said quietly. "Really beautiful." Chapter 4 Marie's headache intensified at Damon's nonchalant attitude. She shook her head and turned her attention to Clark and Nyla. "You've been married for three years now. When are you planning on having kids? I'm looking forward to having great-grandchildren." The moment this topic came up, the atmosphere in the living room suddenly became tense. Nyla's fingers gripped her teacup so tightly her knuckles turned white. This was her most sensitive topic, the one that pierced her heart every time it was mentioned. Clark's aunt Anne immediately seized the opportunity. She leaned forward with a sneer. "Nyla, you and Clark have been married for three years. What will it look like if you don't have a child? What will others think of our Summer family?" She paused, malice glinting in her eyes. "And if Clark hadn't insisted on marrying you, do you think you could have married into our Summer family with your background? Don't be so ungrateful. You don't want to have children for Clark, but there are plenty of women out there who would." Anne spoke with mock concern, but her gaze was filled with contempt. She had always looked down on this niece-in-law. Talking about children made Nyla's chest tighten with pain. Of course she wanted a child. She had given up her promising career in scientific research to be a good wife. But she couldn't conceive. She had secretly visited doctors who said nothing was wrong with her body. Perhaps it was stress. But the Summer family often mocked her, calling her barren and useless. Just as Nyla was drowning in humiliation, Clark suddenly took her hand. He smiled at his grandmother. "Grandma, we're trying! There's no rushing these things. We have to let nature take its course." Then he turned to Anne, his voice stern. "Anne, watch your words. Nyla is my wife, and I won't tolerate anyone speaking to her like that." Anne's face flushed red at being publicly rebuked. "I'm doing this for your own good. You've been married for so long without any progress..." "That's enough," Clark interrupted sharply. "You don't need to worry about Nyla and me. And I want to make it clear that I'm honored to have Nyla as my wife. She didn't marry up." Nyla felt a confusing mix of emotions as she listened to Clark's defense. The love they had shared over the years was genuine. Clark's protection of her had always felt real. He consistently stood between her and his family's criticism. But at the same time, his betrayal was also real. Those photos, that necklace in the trash can, the woman's taunting messages. All of it reminded her that this man had deceived her completely. Anne was clearly unwilling to let this go. She continued with false sweetness. "I'm just telling the truth. No pre-gnancy in three years? Maybe there's something wrong with her body. With all the medical advances these days, she should get checked out. There are treatments for these things." "Anne!" Clark's voice turned dangerously cold. "I'm warning you for the last time. Whether or when we have children is between Nyla and me. It's not your business to interfere." In the past, Nyla would have been grateful for Clark's protection. She would have seen it as proof of his love. But today, hearing these words felt hollow. She knew that the moment Clark cheated, everything changed. No amount of public defense could erase what he had done in private. Midway through the banquet, Clark's phone suddenly rang. "Sorry, everyone," Clark said with an apologetic smile. "There's an emergency at work. I need to handle this right away." He turned to Nyla, his expression softening. "Honey, can you have Grandma's driver take you home? I'll be back as soon as I can." Marie waved dismissively. "Clark, go ahead. Don't worry about Nyla." Clark kissed Nyla's forehead quickly. "I'll make this up to you, I promise." As soon as Clark's car disappeared down the driveway, Marie's polite mask slipped completely. She looked at Nyla with open displeasure. "Well, now that Clark's gone," Marie said coolly, "I suppose you'll be wanting to leave too." The temperature in the room seemed to drop. "Nyla's not some delicate flower," Anne chimed in with renewed confidence. "She can find her own way home, can't she?" Nyla felt her cheeks burn with embarrassment. She had been dismissed like a servant. Without Clark's protection, she meant nothing to these people. "I think that's my cue to leave," Nyla said. She stood up. "Thank you for your hospitality." The butler, following Marie's subtle nod, escorted Nyla only to the manor gate. He immediately turned back toward the house, leaving her standing alone on the roadside. That's when the rain started. Fat droplets fell from the dark sky, quickly soaking through Nyla's silk dress. She pulled out her phone to call a taxi, but the app showed no available drivers in this remote area. The Summer estate was far from the city center. The rain intensified rapidly. Within minutes, Nyla was completely drenched. Her carefully styled hair hung in wet strands around her face. Her dress clung uncomfortably to her skin. Just when she thought things couldn't get worse, headlights cut through the darkness. A black car slowed to a stop beside her. The window rolled down, revealing Damon's sharp features. Chapter 5 As Damon prepared to leave the manor, he glanced out the car window. Through the rain, he could see Nyla huddled against the stone wall near the gate. Her dress was completely soaked, clinging to her body and outlining her curves. Her long hair hung in wet strands around her face, making her look fragile and abandoned. Damon understood immediately what had happened. He knew Marie and Anne's personalities well. They would never be kind enough to arrange transportation for the niece-in-law they had always disliked. He turned to his assistant Spencer, who was sitting in the passenger seat. "Get out and hold an umbrella for her." Spencer immediately grabbed the black umbrella from the floor and stepped out into the rain. He walked quickly toward Nyla while Damon rolled down his window. "Get in," Damon said to Nyla. His voice was characteristically cold and commanding. "I'll take you home." Nyla looked up, startled to see it was Damon. She instinctively took a step back, shaking her head. "Uncle Damon, it's okay. The rain will stop soon. I can wait." She remembered Clark's warnings about how dangerous Damon could be. Clark had specifically told her to keep her distance from his uncle. She didn't want to cause herself any more trouble, especially not tonight. Damon's brow furrowed when he saw Nyla clearly trying to avoid him. His tone grew deeper and more commanding. "Get in the car. Don't make me repeat myself." His natural dominance was overwhelming. The way he spoke made it nearly impossible to refuse. Nyla felt her resolve weakening under his intense gaze. Before she could refuse again, Spencer appeared beside her with the umbrella. He gently took her damp clutch from her trembling hands. "Ms. Nyla, please get in the car," Spencer said kindly. "This rain will continue for at least another hour. It's very windy out here, and you're not dressed warmly enough. You'll catch pneumonia." Spencer's tone was gentle and concerned. Nyla glanced up at the dark storm clouds, then down at her completely soaked dress. Water was still dripping from her hair. She was starting to shiver uncontrollably. Finally, biting her lip, she opened the car door and slid inside. The interior of the car was warm and luxurious. Soft leather seats and the faint scent of expensive cologne filled the space. Nyla immediately felt the temperature difference. Damon glanced at her wet dress, which was now clinging even more tightly to her body. The fabric had become almost transparent. He could see the outline of her undergarments. His throat tightened involuntarily. Without a word, he took off his dark gray suit jacket and tossed it to her. "Thank you," Nyla murmured, quickly pulling the jacket around her shoulders. It was still warm from his body heat and smelled like his cologne. The scent was surprisingly comforting. "I'll have it cleaned and return it to you." "Just throw it away," Damon replied coldly. His tone carried casual arrogance, as if the expensive jacket meant nothing to him. The car pulled away from the manor and drove smoothly through the rainy night. Silence settled between them. Nyla huddled in the corner of the backseat, not daring to look at the powerful man beside her. She could feel an oppressive aura radiating from him. It made her unconsciously nervous. She stole a glance at his profile. His jaw was sharp and perfectly defined. His dark hair was styled impeccably despite the rain. Everything about him screamed wealth and power. He was nothing like Clark, who was gentle and approachable. Damon seemed dangerous. Twenty minutes later, the car stopped in front of Nyla's house. She quickly gathered herself and reached for the door handle. "Thank you so much for the ride," she said hurriedly, leaving his jacket on the seat. "I really appreciate it." Damon watched her disappear inside the house. The faint scent of jasmine perfume still lingered in the car where she had been sitting. He found himself breathing it in deeply. His body reacted involuntarily to her proximity. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "She's your nephew's wife," he warned himself silently. "Control yourself." As soon as Nyla entered her house, she felt a wave of dizziness wash over her. Her body began to feel hot despite her wet clothes. Her head felt heavy and confused. Before she could even change out of her soaked dress, everything went black. She collapsed in the living room. When Nyla woke up, she found herself lying in a hospital bed. The room smelled strongly of disinfectant, but the bedside table was covered with familiar treats. Strawberry shortcake, colorful macarons, handmade chocolates, and a large bouquet of pink roses. "Ma'am, you're finally awake!" A nurse appeared beside her bed, looking relieved. "You've had a high fever for over twenty-four hours. Mr. Summer was so worried. He stayed by your bedside the entire time. He only left an hour ago because of an emergency call." The nurse checked Nyla's temperature with a digital thermometer. "Do you want me to call him? He'll be so happy to know you're conscious." Looking at the familiar arrangement of gifts, Nyla felt her heart soften despite everything. She had always been prone to illness and had a terrible fear of injections and medication. Whenever she was sick, Clark would do exactly this. He would buy all her favorite treats and flowers, hoping to cheer her up and speed her recovery. It had become their tradition over the years. These sweet memories made her chest ache with confusion. How could the man who cheated on her be the same person who spent the night worried beside her hospital bed? "Where is he now?" Nyla asked, pushing herself up in bed. "I want to find him myself." The nurse smiled. "He's somewhere in the hospital taking care of business." She left her room and walked down the sterile hospital corridor. As she rounded the corner, she stopped dead in her tracks. There was Clark, coming out of the obstetrics and gynecology department. But he wasn't alone. A woman walked beside him, her hand resting protectively on her belly. Chapter 6 Clark gently helped the young woman out of the obstetrics clinic. Both of them were smiling, their faces glowing with happiness. Nyla immediately recognized her. This was the woman from the photos in those anonymous messages. Just then, the woman spotted Nyla standing frozen in the hallway. Her eyes lit up with surprise and something that looked like malicious delight. "Oh wow, isn't that Mrs. Summer?" she exclaimed loudly. "What a coincidence running into you at the hospital!" At the sound of her voice, Clark looked up. His eyes met Nyla's across the corridor. His entire body went rigid. He quickly dropped his hand from the woman's arm, panic flooding his features. "Nyla!" Clark hurried toward her, his voice high with nervousness. "Why are you here? You should be resting in your room!" He reached her side, speaking rapidly. "I was just downstairs getting your medicine when I accidentally bumped into Jordyn here. She's my new secretary, and she's pre-gnant. I was worried she might fall, so I helped steady her." His explanation tumbled out in a rush. Sweat beaded on his forehead despite the air conditioning. Nyla's gaze moved to the woman's slightly swollen belly. She felt her breathing become shallow and labored. But she forced herself to remain outwardly calm. "Miss Jordyn," Nyla said slowly, "when did you get pre-gnant? Where's the father? Shouldn't he be here with you for such an important appointment?" Jordyn caressed her belly with obvious pride. A sweet, satisfied smile spread across her face. "I just found out I'm two months along. The father couldn't be here because he's so busy with work, but he was absolutely thrilled when I told him." She practically glowed as she spoke. "He said he wants to give me and the baby the best life possible. He's already bought me a beautiful apartment downtown and promised to make everything official after the baby arrives." Every word felt like a knife twisting in Nyla's chest. Jordyn continued, her voice dripping with false sweetness. "Mrs. Summer, you're so lucky to have such a wonderful husband. But I think my boyfriend is just as amazing. He tells me I've become even more beautiful since getting pre-gnant. He can barely stand to leave my side." She paused, tilting her head with feigned innocence. "Mrs. Summer, do you have time? I'm free today. Would you like to have dinner together? I could invite the baby's father to join us." The challenge in her eyes was unmistakable. Clark's expression darkened. He shot Jordyn a warning look. "My wife doesn't have time. Miss Jordyn, I'm sure your boyfriend is waiting for you. Don't keep him worried." His voice carried clear dismissal and irritation. Then he wrapped his arm around Nyla's shoulders, his touch gentle and concerned. "Honey, you're still recovering. You shouldn't be walking around the hospital. Let me take you back to your room." He spoke in the same caring tone. "She's just a secretary. Don't worry about her." Jordyn's face crumpled at the cold dismissal in Clark's voice. Her eyes filled with tears, making her look young and vulnerable. "You're right. I got too excited. I'm not worthy of having dinner with Mrs. Summer." She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, looking genuinely hurt. "I should go. My boyfriend will be wondering where I am." With that, she turned and walked away, her shoulders shaking slightly. Clark's expression flickered. For a moment, he looked like he wanted to follow her. But when he noticed Nyla watching him carefully, he stayed put. He turned back to Nyla and patted her head affectionately. "Be good, okay? I have some urgent things to handle at the company. I'll have James drive you home. Get some rest, and I'll be back tonight to check on you." His voice was warm and loving, the same tone he had used for three years of marriage. As soon as Nyla returned to her hospital room, her phone buzzed with a new message. It was from Jordyn. The first image was a pre-gnancy test showing two clear pink lines. Then came a series of messages that made Nyla's hands shake: [Nyla, I know you figured it out today. The baby is Clark's. Don't think he loves you as much as you believe. If he truly loves you, then what am I doing in his life?] [Do you know how obsessed he is with me? Every year on your birthday and your anniversary, after he puts you to sleep, he comes to spend the night with me. He's so passionate with me, so wild. We go through boxes of c0n-doms, and I can barely walk the next day.] [We've faking in his car, his office, even in your bedroom when you were away. He's done things with me that I bet he's never done with you. Has he ever been truly passionate with you, Nyla? Or does he save all his fire for me?] Reading these brutal messages, Nyla felt something break inside her chest. Her hands trembled as she set down the phone. She took deep, measured breaths, trying to suppress the storm of emotions threatening to overwhelm her. That evening, Clark returned with an elegant white box. Inside was a strawberry mousse cake from the city's most expensive French pastry shop. It had once been Nyla's absolute favorite dessert. "Baby, I brought your favorite cake," Clark said carefully, watching her face for a reaction. "The doctor said you're still weak and need to eat more sweets to build up your energy." He opened the box with a flourish, revealing the delicate pink confection. In the past, Nyla would have clapped her hands with delight at seeing this cake. She used to say it was almost too beautiful to eat. But now, looking at it made her stomach turn. She picked up the small silver fork and took a mechanical bite. The overly sweet flavor sat in her mouth like paste. She couldn't swallow it. Without a word, Nyla stood up and threw the entire cake box into the trash can. The beautiful dessert landed with a dull thud. Clark stared at her in shock. "Nyla, what's wrong with you? " Chapter 7 Nyla turned to face Clark, her eyes completely devoid of their usual warmth. "It doesn't taste the same anymore." Her voice was eerily calm, but it sent a chill through Clark's entire body. He rushed to her side and pulled her into his arms. "Baby, maybe this bakery changed their recipe," he said. "I'll call them tomorrow and find out. No matter how much it costs, I'll make sure they get the taste exactly right again." Nyla's body remained rigid in his embrace. "Things change, Clark. Once they change, you can't go back." Her voice was still calm, but each word felt like an icicle piercing Clark's heart. He sensed she wasn't just talking about the cake anymore. She was talking about them. Clark felt panic rising in his chest. That was when his phone rang. The ringtone cut through the tension. Clark glanced at the caller ID and his face went pale. Nyla caught the shift in his expression, and her disappointment deepened. "I... I need to take this call," Clark stammered. "There's an emergency at work." Nyla turned away from him completely. "Go ahead. Work is important." Clark stood frozen for several seconds, torn between answering the phone and staying with his wife. Finally, he made his choice and headed for the door. As he stepped into the hallway, Nyla could hear his voice through the thin walls: "Jordyn, what's wrong? Are you feeling sick? I'll be right there..." His voice faded as he moved further away, leaving Nyla alone in their living room. The silence felt suffocating. Nyla stared at the white walls, feeling like they were closing in on her. Twenty minutes after Clark left, Nyla's phone buzzed with an incoming call. She didn't recognize the number, but she answered anyway. "Mrs. Summer, I hope I'm not interrupting," came Jordyn's sweet voice. "I'm not feeling well, so I borrowed Clark from you tonight. He came without hesitation when I called. He said nothing was more important than making sure I was okay." Nyla's grip tightened on the phone, but she said nothing. Jordyn continued with obvious satisfaction. "You know what Clark told me today? He said I'm younger and prettier than you. He said I can give him something you never could - a child. He mentioned that you haven't been able to conceive in three years. He's worried there might be something wrong with your body." "Oh, and that strawberry mousse cake you threw away today?" Jordyn's voice turned mocking. "Clark buys me that same cake all the time. He says sweet treats are perfect for sweet girls. Don't you think it tastes sweet, Mrs. Summer?" The call ended with Jordyn's cruel laughter. Nyla sat in the darkness, feeling something fundamental shift inside her. The pain was so intense it took her breath away. Then slowly, mercifully, numbness began to set in. From that day forward, Nyla began quietly packing her belongings. She folded her clothes carefully and placed them in suitcases. She packed her books, her makeup, her jewelry. Each item felt heavy with memories she no longer wanted to keep. Clark became even busier during this time. He came home later and later, sometimes not at all. When he did return, he was distant and distracted. Meanwhile, Jordyn's messages never stopped. Photos of her growing belly, pictures of expensive gifts, taunting words designed to twist the knife deeper. Nyla's best friend Valarie came over to help with the divorce paperwork. "Given that Clark committed adultery and got another woman pre-gnant, you could definitely ask for substantial compensation," Valarie said seriously. "Plus, you gave up your career for this marriage. That's worth a lot in court." Valarie spread the legal documents across the coffee table. "You sacrificed your research position at the university. You could have been earning six figures by now." But before proceeding with anything official, Nyla felt she should tell her father. She drove to the hospital where he was still recovering from his recent surgery. Her father looked better than he had in weeks. His color was returning, and he was sitting up reading the newspaper. "Dad," Nyla began carefully, "if... hypothetically... if I wanted to get divorced, what would you think?" Her father set down his newspaper and studied his daughter's face intently. "Nyla, is something wrong between you and Clark?" Nyla forced herself to maintain eye contact. "I'm just curious. If that day ever came..." "Absolutely not!" Her father's voice rose sharply. "Nyla, do you understand what the Summer family has done for us? When my factory had that terrible accident, they provided the money that saved us from bankruptcy. They've been paying my medical bills for three years. Without them, we would have lost everything." Her father's face was flushed with emotion. "Clark has been nothing but good to you. How could you even think such thoughts? Has someone been filling your head with ideas?" Nyla realized she couldn't continue this conversation. Her father had no idea about Clark's betrayal. She couldn't bear to put her sick father through that kind of shock and disappointment. She was about to change the subject when her father's phone chimed with a text message. He glanced at the screen and his face went completely white. The message was from Jordyn. It contained a photo of her and Clark kissing passionately in what looked like a hotel room. Below the image was a message that read: "Thought you should know - I'm pre-gnant with your son-in-law Clark's baby." Chapter 8 Harrison suddenly developed a violent coughing fit. His body convulsed as he struggled to breathe. His face turned an alarming shade of blue, and his hands clawed at his chest. The phone slipped from his trembling fingers and clattered to the floor. Nyla saw the message on the fallen phone and immediately understood what had triggered his condition. Rage flooded through her veins, but her father's health took priority over confronting Jordyn. She frantically pressed the call button for the nurses. "Help! I need a doctor now!" she shouted into the hallway. A team of medical staff rushed into the room. They immediately began checking her father's vital signs while Nyla stood helplessly in the corner, watching his condition deteriorate before her eyes. The lead doctor emerged from the examination looking grave. He pulled off his mask and shook his head slowly. "Mr. Jayston's condition has suddenly worsened," he said wearily. "His kid ney failure has progressed rapidly. We need to transfer him to the ICU immediately for intensive monitoring and treatment." Nyla felt her legs go weak. "How serious is this?" "It's critical," the doctor replied bluntly. "But I'm afraid we have a problem. Our ICU is completely full. Every bed is occupied, and there's a waiting list. All the hospitals in the city are experiencing the same shortage of resources." "Wait?" Nyla could barely comprehend what she was hearing. "Doctor, my father can't wait. Look at him!" Her father was still struggling to breathe normally. His skin had a grayish pallor that terrified her. "I understand your concern, Mrs. Summer, but we're doing everything we can," the doctor said helplessly. "All we can do right now is stabilize his condition with medication and hope a bed opens up soon." Desperation clawed at Nyla's chest. She thought immediately of Clark. As the heir to Summer Group, he had connections throughout the medical community. He could pull strings and get her father the care he needed. With shaking hands, she dialed Clark's number. After several rings, someone picked up. But it wasn't Clark's voice that greeted her. "Hello, who's calling?" came Jordyn's sickeningly sweet voice. Nyla's blood turned to ice. "This is Nyla. I need to speak to Clark immediately. It's an emergency." "Oh, Mrs. Summer!" Jordyn's voice was dripping with false concern. "Clark is in the shower right now. He's been taking such good care of me all day that he's completely exhausted. Poor thing needs to rest." Nyla bit back her fury and forced herself to stay focused. "This is about my father. He's dying and needs an ICU bed. Please put Clark on the phone right now." "Oh my, what terrible timing," Jordyn said with obvious fake sympathy. "I wasn't feeling well this afternoon either. Just some pre-gnancy nausea and dizziness, you know how it is. But Clark was so worried about me and the baby that he immediately called in the best medical team in the city. They're all on standby right now, just in case something happens to us." Nyla's hands were shaking so violently she could barely hold the phone. Her father was dying, and her husband was playing house with his pre-gnant mistress. "Can you please just-" Nyla began, but Jordyn cut her off. "Oh, I hear the shower turning off. Clark will be so tired after everything we've been through today. I should probably let him rest. You understand, don't you?" The line went dead. Nyla stood in the hospital hallway, feeling like the world was collapsing around her. She closed her eyes and tried to think of alternatives. Then suddenly, an image flashed through her mind - a figure handing her a coat in the rain. Damon's cold but decisive voice echoing in the car. Without allowing herself to second-guess the decision, she dialed his number. "Mr. Damon, this is Nyla," she said when he answered. "I'm sorry to bother you, but my father is critically ill. He needs an ICU bed urgently, but the hospital says they don't have any available. I know this is a lot to ask..." "Send me the hospital address," Damon's voice cut through her rambling. It was sharp and authoritative. "I'll handle it. Ten minutes." The line went dead, but his words carried more reassurance than Clark's empty promises ever had. Exactly ten minutes later, the hospital director personally arrived at her father's ward. Behind him came a full medical team, including specialists Nyla recognized from medical journals. They moved with efficient precision. "Mr. Jayston will be transferred to our premium ICU immediately," the director told Nyla respectfully. "We're bringing in the city's leading kid-ney specialists for consultation. He'll receive the absolute best care available." Within an hour, her father was settled in a private ICU room with round-the-clock monitoring. That evening, after her father's condition had finally stabilized, Nyla returned to the house she had shared with Clark. She sat in their living room, surrounded by three years of memories that now felt like lies. She opened her phone and began forwarding every single message and photo Jordyn had sent her to Clark's email address. The videos of Jordyn showing off expensive jewelry. Photos of their intimate moments in the apartment Clark had bought her. Recordings of Jordyn rubbing her belly and cooing, "Daddy loves us so much. He's going to give us everything." After sending all these, Nyla typed a final message: "Clark, these are from your girlfriend Jordyn. Since you two love each other so much, I'll step aside and let you be together." Then she photographed the divorce papers Valarie had prepared and attached them to another email: "The divorce agreement is ready. Have your lawyer contact Valarie tomorrow to finalize everything." After hitting send, Nyla stood up and began dismantling their life together. She pulled their wedding photos off the walls and threw them directly into the trash. The jewelry Clark had given her, the clothes he had bought, the makeup he had surprised her with - everything went into garbage bags. She called a moving company and worked through the night to clear out her belongings. By dawn, the house looked exactly as it had before she had moved in - empty and cold. Nyla took one final look around the space that had once felt like home. She dragged her suitcase to the door and walked out without looking back.