My husband, the Vampire King, drained me of my blood every night for three years to keep my stepsister beautiful.

Tonight, he handed me divorce papers and told me I should be grateful he let me live this long.

I signed them with fingers so anemic they couldn't grip the pen without shaking.

He didn't know my blood was the only thing keeping his kingdom from collapsing — and I was down to my last pint.

Lena Voss. That is the name I wrote on the death certificate they called a divorce agreement.

The pen slipped. A drop of my blood — thin, pale, barely red anymore — fell onto the paper. It sank into the parchment and glowed for a half-second before disappearing.

Caspian didn't notice. He never noticed anything about me.

"Faster, Lena," he said. He stood by the window of his penthouse office, sixty floors above the city. The lights of the skyline reflected in his black eyes. He didn't look at me. He looked at his phone. "Vivienne's coronation is in two hours. I need you gone before the cameras arrive."

Vivienne. My stepsister. The woman who would replace me as Queen of the Valdric Vampire Court.

"I have a question," I said. My voice sounded like paper tearing. "About the settlement."

"There is no settlement," Caspian said. He typed something on his phone. "You brought nothing into this marriage. You leave with nothing."

That was a lie.

I brought my blood.

In the vampire world, human blood is currency. But my blood — the blood of a Solaris bloodline, the last living descendant of the Sun Priests — was not just currency. It was a weapon. One drop could heal a dying vampire. A vial could power a ward that protected an entire city.

Caspian's kingdom had been shielded for three years by wards painted in my blood. His soldiers drank diluted vials of it before battle and became unstoppable. His court thrived because every month, I was strapped to a medical chair in the basement and drained until I passed out.

But the blood was credited to Vivienne.

She told Caspian she was the Solaris heir. She wore the sun-shaped birthmark — tattooed onto her hip by a black-market body artist in Prague. She sat in the Donor Throne during ceremonies while I lay in the basement, needles in my arms, watching my life pour into plastic bags.

"Sign the last page," Caspian ordered.

I flipped to it. My vision blurred. The words swam.

*The Donor hereby relinquishes all claims to blood-debt, marital protection, and sanctuary within the Valdric Court.*

Blood-debt. That was the vampire law that said if someone gave blood to save a vampire's life, that vampire owed them an eternal debt. Caspian owed me thousands of debts. Every soldier I had healed. Every ward I had powered.

This paper erased all of it.

"If I sign this," I whispered, "I have no protection. Any vampire can hunt me."

"Then stay indoors," Caspian said. He finally looked at me. His eyes swept over my body — the bruised arms, the sunken cheeks, the medical port still implanted in my neck.

He saw it all. He felt nothing.

"You were a useful vessel, Lena," he said. "But Vivienne is the real Solaris. She always was. You were just... storage."

Storage.

Three years of marriage. Three years of bleeding. Three years of watching him kiss my stepsister at galas while I recovered in a locked room.

And I was storage.

I signed the paper.

Caspian took it without touching my fingers. He walked to the door.

"A car will take you to the border," he said. "Don't come back."

He paused. For one moment, his hand tightened on the doorframe. His nostrils flared.

"Why do you always smell like that?" he muttered, almost to himself. "Like sunlight. It's... distracting."

Then he left.

He didn't know that the smell of sunlight was the Solaris bond — the sacred scent a vampire could only detect from their true Fated Mate.

He had been smelling me for three years and blaming it on the air freshener.

I pressed my hand against the medical port in my neck. It pulsed with a dull, infected ache. They had taken blood this morning. Two liters. For Vivienne's "coronation glow."

I had maybe three liters left in my body. A human needs at least four to survive.

I stood up. The room tilted. I grabbed the desk.

On Caspian's screen, a live feed showed the ballroom downstairs. Vivienne stood on a stage in a golden dress, waving at a crowd of vampires. She was radiant. She was glowing — literally glowing with stolen Solaris light.

My light.

I turned away from the screen and walked toward the service elevator.

Tonight, Vivienne would become Queen.

And tonight, the wards protecting the kingdom would begin to die — because the real Solaris was leaving, and she was almost out of blood.

Chapter 2

The service elevator smelled like rust and old bleach. I leaned against the wall, pressing my forehead to the cold metal.

Three floors down. That was all I needed. The basement garage, the car, the border.

The elevator stopped on floor fifty-two.

The doors opened. Dominic Valdric stepped in.

He was Caspian's younger brother. Where Caspian was cold marble, Dominic was a crack in the foundation — unpredictable, dangerous, always watching. He had dark red eyes, the mark of a vampire who fed on powerful blood. His jaw was sharp enough to cut, and a scar ran from his left ear to his collarbone.

He looked at me. His gaze dropped to the medical port in my neck, then to the bruises on my arms, then to the divorce papers clutched in my hand.

"Leaving the party early?" he asked. His voice was low, almost lazy.

"Leaving everything early," I said.

Dominic tilted his head. He inhaled slowly. His pupils dilated.

"You smell wrong," he said.

"Excuse me?"

"You smell like you're dying." He stepped closer. "How much blood did they take today?"

"That's not your concern."

"It is if you collapse in my elevator and I have to explain to my brother why his discarded wife bled out in the service shaft."

I pressed the basement button again. The doors closed. The elevator descended.

"Two liters," I said quietly. "This morning."

Dominic's jaw clenched. "And how much do you have left?"

"Enough."

"Liar." He grabbed my wrist — gently, but firm enough that I couldn't pull away. He pressed two fingers to my pulse point. His eyes widened.

"Three liters," he breathed. "Maybe less. You're in hypovolemic territory. If you lose one more cup, your organs start shutting down."

"Then it's a good thing no one will be draining me anymore," I said. I pulled my wrist back.

The elevator reached the basement. The doors opened to a dark concrete garage. A black sedan idled near the exit ramp, its headlights cutting through the gloom.

I stepped out. Dominic followed.

"Where is the car taking you?" he asked.

"The border."

"And after that?"

"I don't know. A motel. A bus station. Somewhere without vampires."

"There is nowhere without vampires, Lena."

I kept walking. My legs were shaking. I focused on the car. Twenty steps. Fifteen.

"You know," Dominic called out behind me, "the wards on the North Wall flickered last week. Three soldiers in Sector Nine lost their immunity boost. Caspian blamed faulty rune work."

I stopped.

"But I did some digging," Dominic continued. He was leaning against a concrete pillar, arms crossed. "The wards aren't powered by runes. They're powered by Solaris blood. And the blood reserves in the vault are running low. Because someone has been diluting them."

My heart hammered.

"Vivienne's been cutting the blood with saline," Dominic said. "Stretching it. Because she doesn't produce enough on her own. Because she doesn't produce any."

I turned around slowly. "Why are you telling me this?"

"Because in about six hours, when the coronation high wears off and the wards need their nightly recharge, Vivienne is going to walk into that vault, open a vein, and nothing is going to come out. No glow. No power. Nothing." He paused. "And my brother is going to realize he just divorced his only source of protection and sent her to die at a bus station."

The car honked. The driver was getting impatient.

"Get in the car, Lena," Dominic said. "But take this."

He tossed me a black card. It landed in my palm. It was heavy, metallic, engraved with a serpent eating its own tail.

"What is this?"

"A key to the Obsidian Court. My court. If you make it past the border and you need sanctuary, show that card at any Obsidian outpost. They'll take you in."

"Why would you help me?"

Dominic smiled. It was not a kind smile. It was the smile of a man who had been waiting for his brother's empire to crack.

"Because I'm not helping you," he said. "I'm investing."

I got in the car. The door slammed shut. Through the tinted window, I watched Dominic disappear into the shadows of the garage.

The driver pulled onto the highway. The city lights blurred past. Above us, the top of Valdric Tower glowed gold with coronation lights.

I pressed my hand to my neck. The port throbbed.

In six hours, the wards would fail.

In six hours, Caspian would know.

I closed my eyes and let the hum of the engine carry me away from the man who had bled me dry and called it love.

Chapter 3

The car didn't make it to the border.

We were twenty minutes outside the city when the driver's phone rang. He answered, listened for three seconds, then slammed the brakes.

I flew forward. The seatbelt caught me across the chest, and the impact sent a white flash of pain through my already-wrecked body.

"New orders," the driver said. He didn't look at me. "We're going back."

"No," I said. "Caspian signed the papers. I'm free."

"The papers haven't been filed yet." The driver was already turning the car around. "Queen Vivienne needs you."

Queen Vivienne. The title made my stomach lurch.

"For what?" I asked, though I already knew.

"Blood prep for the coronation bonding ritual. Her Majesty's levels are insufficient."

Of course they were. Vivienne had never produced a single drop of Solaris blood in her life. Every vial, every glowing ceremony, every miraculous healing — it had all come from me.

The car sped back toward the city. I grabbed the door handle. Locked. Child-locked from the driver's console.

"Let me out," I said.

The driver ignored me.

I looked at Dominic's black card in my hand. I thought about smashing the window. But I was too weak. My arms felt like wet rope. If I tried to run, I wouldn't make it fifty feet before collapsing.

The tower appeared on the horizon, golden and gleaming. The car pulled into the underground entrance. Two guards in ceremonial black opened my door.

"This way, Miss Voss."

Not Mrs. Valdric. Not anymore. Just Miss Voss. The vessel. The storage unit.

They took me to the extraction room. I knew it well. White walls. A reclining chair with leather straps. A row of medical bags hanging from steel hooks. And the machine — a centrifuge designed specifically for Solaris blood, separating the luminous plasma from the red cells.

Vivienne was already there.

She sat on a velvet chaise in the corner, her golden coronation dress pooling around her like liquid metal. Her face was flushed, her eyes bright with triumph. She held a champagne glass filled with something dark and red.

My blood. From this morning's extraction. She was drinking it like wine.

"There she is," Vivienne said, smiling. "My favorite little blood bag."

"The divorce is signed," I said. "You can't keep me here."

"The divorce isn't filed until Caspian submits it to the Court Registrar," Vivienne said. She took a delicate sip. "And Caspian is busy. With me. All night. So those papers will sit on his desk until morning. Which means, legally, you are still a member of this household. And household members contribute."

She set the glass down and stood up. She walked toward me. Her heels clicked on the marble floor.

She stopped inches from my face. Up close, I could see the cracks. The glow on her skin was already fading. The stolen Solaris light was metabolizing fast, burning through her non-Solaris body like fuel in a cheap engine.

"You look terrible," she whispered. "How much do you have left? Three liters? Two and a half?"

"If you take any more, I'll die," I said.

"That's not my problem."

"It will be when your wards collapse because there's no more blood to power them."

Vivienne laughed. It was a bright, musical sound. She had practiced it for years.

"I'll find another source," she said. "There are other Solaris descendants. Scattered, hiding, but findable. You were just the most convenient."

She snapped her fingers. Two medical technicians entered.

"One liter," Vivienne ordered. "Express extraction. I need it before the bonding ritual at midnight."

"One liter will kill her," one of the technicians said. He was young. His hands were shaking.

"Then take half a liter and synthesize the rest," Vivienne snapped. "I don't care. Just make it glow."

They strapped me to the chair. I didn't fight. I couldn't. My body had nothing left to fight with.

The needle went into the port in my neck. I felt the familiar pull — the slow, cold drain of my life flowing out through a tube.

I stared at the ceiling. The fluorescent light above me had a crack in it. I had stared at that same crack a hundred times before. I knew its shape better than I knew my own face.

'Half a liter,' I thought. 'I'll survive half a liter. Barely.'

The machine hummed. The bag filled. Dark red, then brighter, then luminous gold. The Solaris blood separated from the rest, rising to the top like cream.

Vivienne watched with hungry eyes.

"Beautiful," she breathed.

The technician removed the needle. He pressed a cotton ball to my neck. His hand was trembling.

"Done," he said. "Please, Your Majesty. No more. She won't survive another extraction."

"Noted," Vivienne said, taking the bag. She held it up to the light, admiring the golden shimmer. "You're dismissed, Lena. The car will take you to the border. For real this time."

She turned and walked out. Her heels clicked a rhythm that sounded like a countdown.

I sat in the chair. The straps were undone, but I couldn't move. The room was spinning. My heartbeat was thin and fast, like a bird trapped in a jar.

The young technician lingered. He looked at the machine's readout.

"Two point three liters," he whispered. "You're at two point three. That's..."

"Fatal range," I finished.

He looked at me with wide, horrified eyes. "You need a transfusion. Now. I can get normal blood from the bank—"

"It won't help. Solaris blood rejects foreign transfusions. My body will attack it."

He stood there, helpless.

I dragged myself out of the chair. The floor swayed beneath me. I held onto the wall, then the doorframe, then the corridor railing.

'The car,' I told myself. 'Just get to the car.'

Halfway down the corridor, I heard it — the ballroom, one floor above. Music. Laughter. The roar of a crowd cheering their new queen.

And Caspian's voice, amplified by microphone, announcing: "Tonight, I bond with my true mate, Vivienne Solaris, the light of our kingdom!"

The crowd erupted.

I kept walking.

The garage. The car. The driver, looking bored.

I collapsed into the backseat. The leather was cold against my cheek.

"Border," I croaked.

The car moved. The city lights bled together through the window.

I pressed Dominic's black card against my chest. The metal was warm now, pulsing faintly, as if it had a heartbeat of its own.

Two point three liters of blood.

Every minute, my heart worked harder to push less.

I was leaving the kingdom of the man who had married me, bled me, and replaced me.

And somewhere above me, the wards that protected his entire world were running on the last drops of my stolen light.

The clock was ticking.

The day Rowan Thatcher divorced me, he brought his pregnant mistress to the courthouse, made me pay for the filing fee, and told me I should thank him for setting me free.

I stared at the woman clinging to his arm — Sienna Cole, his college ex — and watched her rub her belly with a smug little smile that made my blood run cold.

"Don't look so heartbroken, Elara," Sienna said sweetly. "Rowan was never really yours to begin with."

Rowan didn't even flinch. He just signed the papers, slid them across the table, and said, "You can keep the apartment. Consider it severance."

Severance. As if our six-year marriage was an employment contract he was terminating.

What Rowan didn't know — what none of them knew — was that the apartment he so generously "gave" me was one of thirty-seven properties I owned across the country.

He also didn't know that Pinnacle Group, the corporation he'd been desperately trying to land a contract with for the past eighteen months, was mine.

Every email he'd sent begging for a meeting had landed in my inbox.

I signed the papers without a word.

"That's it?" Rowan frowned, clearly expecting tears, begging, a scene. "You're not going to say anything?"

I looked at him — really looked at him — for the last time. The man I'd loved since I was nineteen. The man I'd quietly built an empire around while he thought I was just a housewife with a "little online shop."

"Good luck, Rowan," I said. "You're going to need it."

Sienna laughed. "Is that a threat? From a woman who spent six years doing nothing but cooking and cleaning?"

I smiled at her. It was the kind of smile my CFO said made grown men sweat in boardrooms.

"It's not a threat. It's a weather forecast."

I walked out of the courthouse, got into the black Maybach waiting at the curb, and told my driver, "Take me to Pinnacle headquarters."

My phone buzzed. A message from my assistant, Margot: *"The Thatcher Group contract request is on your desk. Want me to shred it or frame it?"*

I typed back: *"Neither. We'll deal with it when the time is right."*

In the rearview mirror, I watched Rowan and Sienna celebrating on the courthouse steps. He lifted her up and spun her around like he'd just won the lottery.

He had no idea he'd just signed away the only thing keeping his company alive.

My phone buzzed again. This time, it was a name I hadn't seen in two years.

**Callum Blackwood.**

The message was just four words: *"I heard. I'm coming."*

My heart did something it hadn't done in six years.

It skipped.

On the wedding day, my top-celebrity fiancé abandoned me—just to pick up his “carsick” ex-girlfriend.

　　“Don’t be so vain, Delilah. Just ride a Citi Bike to the wedding venue yourself. And don’t be late!”

　　I let out a cold laugh, opened a group chat named “Winter is Over”, and sent a selfie of me in my wedding dress, riding a Citi Bike.

　　An hour later, the heirs of New York’s elite really did arrive at the wedding venue—riding Citi Bikes in a grand procession. Under the flashing cameras, they laughed and joked, the entire avenue thrown into an uproar.

　　At the very front, Christopher—the childhood friend who also happened to be New York’s richest man—jumped off his bike with a stony expression. He strode up to me, dropped to one knee, and declared, his voice resounding like steel:

　　“Delilah, as long as you’re willing to marry me, I’ll acquire Reed Group this instant—as your betrothal gift.”

　　……

　　There was still one hour left before the wedding. The makeup artist had just pressed my lip color onto a tissue, while the damp late-August breeze of Brooklyn drifted in through the window.

　　I stared blankly at my phone screen—if Jasper didn’t show up soon, I was going to be late.

　　The phone buzzed on the table. I nearly jumped up to answer it.

　　“Jasper, where are you? Why haven’t you come to pick me up yet?”

　　On the other end came his lowered voice, with the background noise of security shouting and camera shutters clicking.

　　“Delilah, I might not make it. Evelyn gets carsick—she throws up in anyone else’s car. The only place she feels fine is in my custom Sprinter. I just picked her up, but the route is completely the opposite. You should just grab a cab, or hop on a Citi Bike downstairs. You ride them all over New York anyway, don’t you?”

　　It was like lightning struck me, my head buzzing, fury rushing up to the surface.

　　“Jasper, today is our wedding—not some reunion for you and Evelyn. You leave your bride behind to pick up your ex-girlfriend? Who exactly are you marrying?”

　　I glanced down at the floor-length hem of my wedding gown, then raised my voice.

　　“You want me to ride a Citi Bike to Manhattan in a wedding dress?”

　　He let out a light sigh, as though he were soothing an overly loud fan.

　　“Come on, it’s just transportation. Don’t blow things out of proportion. I know your family background is… ordinary, maybe you’ve got a fixation on luxury cars, wanting to ride mine so you can show off in front of your colleagues. Delilah, you really are a little too eager to flaunt things.”

　　On the line, a soft female voice suddenly slipped in:

　　“Jasper, is this my fault? Why don’t you just drop me off on the roadside? I’ll call another car. Even if I get carsick, I don’t want to upset Delilah. Today is her big day.”

　　Then, with a gentle laugh:

　　“It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have gotten into your car, letting Delilah misunderstand.”

　　Jasper’s tone instantly softened.

　　“Don’t worry about it. Delilah just wants to use my car to show off a little. She scrambles for Citi Bike promo codes like her life depends on it, and now that she’s marrying into this circle, I can’t let her think she can boss me around. Marrying her is already giving her enough face. She can’t go on thinking whatever she says will stand.”

　　Then he turned his voice back on me, colder than the frozen lake in Central Park.

　　“Delilah, I don’t want to argue today. If you really want to marry me, figure out your own way to get here. If you keep making a scene, you’ll deal with the consequences yourself.”

　　Beep. The call disconnected.

　　The makeup artist frowned at me in the mirror, but I lifted my hand to cut off her attempt at comfort. I tapped into the wedding’s WhatsApp group. The group was named “J&D · Today”—most of the members were Jasper’s managers, assistants, industry friends, and even a few brand PR reps.

　　On the screen, someone had just shared a live video: a motorcade of black SUVs turned off Fifth Avenue, hazard lights flashing, Jasper’s custom Sprinter leading the front with its windows blacked out.

　　“Jasper couldn’t bear to let Evelyn suffer, so he went out of his way to detour uptown and pick her up. Truly thoughtful.” —Jasper’s manager.

　　“The bride needs to manage her emotions. You’re marrying a top star—no room for hesitation.” —Jasper’s assistant.

　　“In the end, Delilah only got here by pushing the limits, right? If Evelyn hadn’t gone to Europe for further studies, would she even have had a chance?” —one of Jasper’s friends.

　　Reading those words, my palms went ice-cold.

　　Suddenly, a voice note popped up in the group—it was Evelyn’s. Her voice always carried a tremor, like wind sliding across violin strings.

　　“Please don’t say that. Delilah is here in the group. I really didn’t mean anything by it. Today is her big day.”

　　Then she tagged me:

　　“@Delilah, don’t be upset. They just think Jasper and I are closer… oh no, that’s not what I meant. I mean, once you get closer to them too, they’ll see you and Jasper are a perfect match as well.”

　　The chat instantly filled with a flood of heart emojis, and someone even posted a photo of our wedding invitation, the words “THE PLAZA · 6 PM” stamped in gold. My profile picture looked painfully out of place beside that creamy-white card.

　　And I remembered the day I first met Jasper.

　　Back then, Jasper had just debuted. He was a no-name actor, stuck playing extras with barely a line of dialogue.

　　At the time, I had just returned from completing my master’s degree in Germany. I had made a pact with my father—that I would earn my place as heir to Summers Entertainment Group through my own effort. Starting from the bottom was the test the family had set for me.

　　I never found the right moment to tell Jasper the truth about who I was, so he always assumed I was just the intern fetching coffee on set.

　　“Thanks, Delilah.” Jasper had smiled down at me. “Your coffee keeps me going.”

　　Later, he pursued me. He told me he wanted to be a superstar, to play deeper, more complex roles, to earn big money—and then, to marry me.

　　I believed in his sincerity. While grinding through my family’s test, I poured my extra results, my completed projects, my hard-earned deals into leveraging more film opportunities for him, helping Jasper chase his dream.

　　But now, Jasper Reed was an international star, holding contracts with luxury brands, managed by the industry’s most experienced agent. The Reed family had even been pulled out of debt thanks to his fame, stepping into the ranks of high society. And as if on cue, his ex-girlfriend had “suddenly” returned to the country, “coincidentally” running into him at a fashion exhibit.

　　And me? I had long since been erased from the plans he had for his future.

　　A private message popped up from Marcus, Jasper’s agent:

　　“The hotel’s pressing. Media will be admitted at 6:30. We have to finish the rehearsal by six. Delilah, can you get here on your own? PR is blocking the trending tags right now.”

Chapter 2

　　I hadn’t even replied to the agent yet when a new message popped up in the wedding group.

　　It was a photo from Evelyn.

　　In the picture, Evelyn was leaning against Jasper’s shoulder, her eyes slightly red, lips swollen—so charged with intimacy it was suffocating. She’d even captioned it:

　　“Let me be willful one last time. Starting tomorrow, you’ll be someone else’s groom.”

　　I froze for two seconds, then let out a cold laugh. So this is the so-called “innocent ex-girlfriend”? No wonder he had to detour just to pick her up.

　　I fired back into the group with a voice message:

　　“Oh, such a pure friendship, huh? Jasper, is kissing the secret ingredient to maintaining your friendship? Truly eye-opening.”

　　The group instantly exploded.

　　Almost without pause, Evelyn sent another voice note, her tone quivering with sobs:

　　“Delilah, please don’t misunderstand. I just accidentally bit my lip. Jasper and I… yes, we were each other’s first love. When I went abroad, he was heartbroken, that’s the only reason he got together with you. But he told me he would marry you, that he’d take responsibility. I really do wish you both happiness.”

　　The snide comments came pouring in:

　　“What a headache, women from the bottom rungs—can’t even take a joke.”

　　“If Jasper really marries her, don’t bring her out with us. Total embarrassment.”

　　“Exactly. Every time she’s around, Evelyn looks so aggrieved. She’s the real third party here, isn’t she?”

　　I felt the blood pounding in my chest. These so-called “friends” had looked down on me since the day I started dating Jasper—always waiting for a chance to trample me.

　　I couldn’t hold back. I typed:

　　“Shut the hell up, all of you. Aren’t you tired of groveling like dogs? Evelyn’s heartbreak is a blessing in disguise, isn’t it? Any one of you could step up—she’ll never lack someone to coddle her.”

　　The very next second, Jasper initiated a voice call in the group.

　　His voice was as cutting as a winter gale:

　　“Delilah, apologize to my friends immediately. You’re completely out of line.”

　　I laughed aloud.

　　“Funny. When they were mocking me just now, why didn’t you say a word? Now that they’ve had their fill, suddenly you’ve found your voice—and you want me to apologize?”

　　“Weren’t you just playing deaf a minute ago?”

　　He couldn’t contain his fury, his voice suddenly rising:

　　“Do you even realize how much you’ve hurt Evelyn with this? She’s been pure since childhood—her family background is clean, untouched. Not like you—clawing your way up from the Brooklyn slums, always scheming, always fighting. You and her, you’re from different worlds!”

　　On the other end, I heard soft sobs—Evelyn again:

　　“I just sat in your car… why does she have to say such things about me? I thought of them all as my friends. How could she slander me like this? Just because she wanted to ride in your car, and I wouldn’t let her flaunt it, does that mean I deserve this?”

　　Jasper’s tone turned gentle, coaxing:

　　“Don’t cry. If she wants this wedding to go on, she’ll have to apologize to you and my friends. Otherwise, she can forget about coming.”

　　Then his voice turned cold again, directed at me:

　　“Delilah, I’m giving you one last chance. You heard me. Before the ceremony starts, you’ll apologize to Evelyn and my friends. If not, the wedding is off.”

　　I was so furious I laughed.

　　“Fine. Once I get to the wedding venue, I’ll make sure to give you all a proper apology.”

　　Evelyn’s coy voice chimed in again, this time tinged with a little laugh:

　　“Jasper, she really does love you. See? The moment you get angry, she panics. She really wants to marry you.”

　　I hung up the call directly and stared at the stream of messages flooding the group:

　　“The real lapdog here is Delilah—she’s throwing away her dignity for money.”

　　“Didn’t she sound tough just now? The second Jasper says he won’t marry her, she caves.”

　　“If she actually marries into the Reed family, her ancestors’ graves must be smoking with luck.”

　　With a hard swipe of my finger, I shut the entire chat down.

　　Immediately, I tapped open another long-silent WhatsApp group—“Winter is Over.”

　　I raised my phone, snapped a picture of myself in my wedding dress sitting on a Citi Bike, the New York dusk glowing in the background. I posted it with a message:

　　“My wedding. Tonight, The Plaza. Entrance requirement: Please arrive by Citi Bike.”

　　The group erupted at once.

　　“Holy shit, Princess, you finally show your face? Where the hell have you been these past two years?”

　　“So, how’s the ‘commoner lifestyle experiment’ treating you?”

　　“Damn, this wedding invite method—one of a kind in New York!”

Chapter 3

　　“Miss, if you say east, we won’t go west. Do we really have to ride Citi Bikes? Is this some kind of new fashion statement?”

　　“Cut the crap. If Delilah says Citi Bike, then Citi Bike it is.”

　　“Alright, I’m on my way. I’ll be there on time.”

　　Only one private message came in quietly. It was from my childhood friend—Christopher Foster.

　　His words were short, just a few lines:

　　“You’re marrying Jasper Reed? He’s not worthy.”

　　My chest gave a faint tremor as I stared at the screen. Chris was always like that—cold, curt, but never absent. More than anyone else, he knew where I’d been these past years, what I’d gone through.

　　I typed back quickly:

　　“If you ride a bike here and propose, Chris, I’ll marry you instead.”

　　I didn’t wait for his reply. I shut off my phone.

　　The very next second, I grabbed the trailing hem of my gown and tore it hard. The fabric ripped with a harsh screech, transforming from an elegant floor-length train into a short dress.

　　This gown had never been mine from the start.

　　I had chosen a simple, chic short dress. But Jasper vetoed it.

　　When the gown arrived, I frowned. “This isn’t the one I picked.”

　　He said it as though it were natural:

　　“This is the one Evelyn chose for you. She said it suits you best. She’s a designer, you should trust her eye. You’ve never worn haute couture, you wouldn’t understand. Just listen to her.”

　　Evelyn had added with a sweet smile, “Delilah, you might not realize what people in our circle like. It’s different from the environment you grew up in. You’ll have to adapt. This one’s the best for you.”

　　The best for me?

　　What I saw in her eyes was clear—this was the dress that would highlight all of my flaws. Delivered the night before the wedding, leaving no time for alterations. She wanted me to look ridiculous.

　　I took a deep breath, pulled up the shortened gown, and swung onto the blue Citi Bike.

　　Passersby stopped in their tracks—some raised their phones to film, some cried out in shock.

　　“The bride’s on a bike!”

　　Just then, a black SUV roared past, its tires slamming through a puddle beside me. Dirty water splashed up, soaking me through, blotching the white fabric of my gown.

　　I lost balance, tumbling to the ground. My knee flared with searing pain.

　　Laughter erupted from nearby.

　　I looked up. The grand bridal motorcade had arrived. From the very last car, a window slid down, a pair of mocking eyes locked onto me—it was one of Evelyn’s friends.

　　It was deliberate. A move meant to humiliate me.

　　I forced myself up, brushing the mud from my skirt, and mounted the bike again. The wind dried the damp strands of my hair. The New York evening breeze carried its mockery and its clarity.

　　By the time I reached the hotel, my legs were already burning with exhaustion. Coincidentally, Jasper’s motorcade arrived at the same moment.

　　The black Sprinter rolled to a perfect stop at the entrance.

　　Flashbulbs, security shouts, fans screaming—all fused into a single frenzy.

　　I braked, scanned the Citi Bike, and locked it.

　　“Ding—You have successfully ended your ride.”

　　The electronic chime rang out, loud and clear.

　　Every head turned toward me.

　　The flood of cameras swung in my direction, capturing every brutal detail.

　　The car door opened. Jasper and Evelyn stepped out together.

　　He wore a bespoke suit, handsome beyond reproach, reaching out a hand to shield her as she emerged. She clung to his arm, lips curved with a smile both tender and sly.

　　I stood beside the Citi Bike, my gown still stained with mud, blood seeping at my knee.

　　I lifted my head, locking eyes with Jasper across the distance. His gaze burned with fury and shame, as though I had ruined his grand spectacle.

　　The crowd erupted into laughter:

　　“No way. She actually came on a Citi Bike?”

　　“God, the irony of this scene!”

　　“The top star’s bride, showing up to her wedding on a city rental bike? New York has lost its mind!

Chapter 1

I got a call from my daughter Trina's teacher. Trina got hit at school.

I stormed into the school, fuming, ready to give the other parent a piece of my mind.

But when I pushed open the door, I froze.

The guy in the sharp suit, looking all smug and self-important, was my ex-husband, Jordan Walters—my ex from five years ago.

He didn't even know Trina, let alone that she was his own flesh and blood.

I grabbed Trina's hand, shot him a cold smirk, and said, "Go ahead, hit back. Your dad will cover the medical bills."

The room went dead silent.

*****

The coffee on the desk had gone cold.

The glow from the computer screen lit up Rita Moody's face, which showed no emotion.

Her fingers flew across the keyboard, so fast they were a blur.

She was revising a project proposal that needed to be finished for a meeting tomorrow.

As the youngest project director at the company, she'd been at it for three years and was already used to this kind of high-pressure work pace.

Five years after the divorce, there were only two things left in her life.

Work, and her daughter, Trina.

Her phone buzzed on the desk.

The screen lit up with Theodora Stephenson's name.

Rita's heart sank.

Theodora was Trina's teacher.

She never called her during work hours unless it was something serious.

Rita answered the call quickly, keeping her voice calm, "Hi, Ms. Stephenson."

"Is that Trina's mom? Please come to the school as soon as you can," Theodora said, sounding anxious and a little flustered.

"Trina got into a fight with another kid at school."

'A fight?' Rita was stunned, barely able to process what she'd just heard.

Her brows knitted together instantly.

Trina was just like her—quiet and reserved, never causing any trouble at school.

'How could Trina end up in a fight?' Rita couldn't wrap her head around it.

"Is she hurt?" Rita asked, her voice tight with worry.

That was all she cared about right now.

"She's got a few scratches on her face, and it's a bit swollen. The other kid didn't hold back at all," Theodora said.

She paused for a moment.

"The kid's parent is already here, and they're being pretty pushy. They keep insisting we're favoring Trina. You should come over; it's better to handle this face to face," Theodora added.

'Pushy?' Rita's face turned cold in an instant.

Her little girl—the one she'd protect with her life—got hit, and that other parent still had the nerve to act tough.

Rita felt rage boiling up inside her.

"I'll be there right away," she said, her voice icy.

Hanging up, she closed her laptop, grabbed her trench coat from the back of the chair, and snatched up her car keys.

One of her team members popped their head over. "Ms. Moody, what about the meeting tonight?"

"Just send the meeting details to my email. I'll handle everything when I get back," Rita said.

She tossed out the words and strode out of the office, her heels clicking briskly as she moved with purpose.

Her expression was frosty.

The cool-headed project director was gone.

In her place was a mother ready to go to war for her child.

As she drove, Theodora's words kept replaying in Rita's mind. 'Scratches, swelling...

'The other kid didn't hold back at all.

'The kid's parent is being pretty pushy...'

Every word felt like a needle, stabbing straight into her heart.

Five years ago, she left that fancy golden cage with nothing but her baby girl, Trina, in her arms—walking out with empty hands and a heart full of grit.

No one but her knew just how much pain she'd swallowed and how many sleepless nights she'd endured over these five years.

She'd gone from a spoiled rich wife who couldn't even twist open a bottle cap to a badass career woman who could take on the world by herself.

Everything she did was for Trina, to make sure her little girl had a safe, happy life.

She could swallow any humiliation at work, even drink until her stomach burned, for the sake of a project if that was what it took.

But there was one thing she would never, ever tolerate—anyone bullying or hurting her daughter.

Trina was her everything, her lifeblood, the one and only line she would never cross.

Her car screeched to a halt at the school gate.

She didn't even bother to park properly—killed the engine, yanked out the keys, and slammed the door shut, all in one fluid motion.

Then, she rushed straight to the teacher's office on the third floor of the school building.

Her heels hammered out a sharp, staccato rhythm on the hallway floor—like war drums, matching the frantic beat of her heart.

Her resolve was set.

No matter who the other parent was, or what kind of connections they had.

Today, she was going to demand justice for her daughter.

The office door was slightly ajar.

Inside, a man's arrogant, impatient voice echoed through the room.

"Theodora, I've already said everything I need to say.

"That little girl started it—she pushed first. My kid was just defending himself, that's all.

"If the school doesn't give me a proper explanation, I'm not letting this go," he threatened.

Rita froze right at the door.

'That voice...

'Wait, I know that voice...' she realized.

It was like a nightmare locked away in the darkest corners of her mind.

She took a deep breath, trying to steady herself and push back the sense of dread rising inside.

With determination, she pushed the office door open.

Inside the office, a few people were standing.

Theodora looked troubled.

Trina, her face streaked with tears and her eyes red, was cowering behind Theodora.

And... a man and a woman stood at the window, facing away from the door.

The man stood tall, dressed in a perfectly tailored black suit.

Even from behind, that suffocating, high-powered vibe she knew all too well slammed into her.

The woman next to him had flawless makeup, a brand-new Hermès bag on her arm, and shot Trina a snobby sideways glance.

Rita's eyes were fixated on the man's back.

Her heart felt like it was being squeezed by an invisible hand—she could barely breathe.

Relief washed over Theodora when she saw Rita walk in.

"Ms. Moody, you're here!" she exclaimed.

At the sound of Theodora's voice, the man slowly turned around.

A handsome yet emotionless face met Rita's eyes.

Jordan Walters.

Five years had passed.

His face hadn't changed much—just a little sharper, a little more hardened than before.

Time had been kind to him.

But for her, those years had carved out every line of struggle and hardship.

When Jordan laid eyes on Rita, he was stunned for a split second—impressed, even—but that quickly faded into cold detachment.

He clearly didn't recognize her.

'Of course he didn't,' Rita thought.

Five years ago, Rita had waist-length hair and wore custom-made dresses. She was the famous trophy wife everyone knew in their circle.

Now, she rocked a sleek bob and a crisp business suit. Her eyes showed the grit she'd earned from years of climbing the corporate ladder.

They were from two completely different worlds now.

The woman next to Jordan—the boy's mom—looked Rita up and down.

She shot Rita a condescending look, like she was sizing up the competition.

"So, you're her mom?" the woman said.

"Listen, your girl needs to apologize to Mick today. No excuses!"

'Mick?' Rita thought, her brows furrowing in confusion.

Her eyes locked onto the little boy smirking behind the woman, looking way too proud of himself.

There was not a single scratch on his face.

She checked the angry red marks on Trina's cheeks.

Rita's rage flared up even more.

She didn't even bother with the woman.

Rita walked straight over to Trina, crouched down, and gently held her little girl's face in her hands.

"Trina, sweetheart, tell Mommy what happened," Rita asked, her voice so soft it could melt ice.

Seeing her mom, Trina finally relaxed, and her tears spilled down her cheeks in a rush.

"Mom, he took my drawing first...

"I told him to give it back, but he pushed me and ripped the drawing I made of you..." Trina sniffled, then pulled out a crayon drawing, ripped in two, from her pocket.

The drawing showed a smiling woman—Rita herself.

Rita felt a sharp pain in her heart, like she'd been stabbed.

She'd helped Trina draw it just last night.

Jordan watched everything unfold with a cold, almost impatient look, his brows drawn together.

He finally spoke, impatience clear in his voice, "It's just a drawing. No big deal if it's torn.

"Whatever, I'll pay for it.

"Kids fight all the time. Did we really need to make such a big deal out of this? Seriously, this is just wasting everyone's time," he scoffed.

His tone was exactly the same as it had been five years ago.

Condescending, like everything was just his right.

He figured throwing money at it would solve everything.

Rita slowly stood up, shielding Trina behind her.

She finally looked up, meeting Jordan's gaze head-on.

All the hurt, resentment, and anger she'd carried for five years—right now, it all froze over in her eyes.

She didn't care how he'd been these past five years.

And she had no intention of telling him that the little girl standing right in front of him was his own flesh and blood—the daughter he'd never even met.

He didn't deserve to know.

He didn't even realize his own child was right in front of him.

Rita grabbed Trina's hand, making sure everyone in the room saw it.

She stared down the smug little boy, not breaking eye contact for a second.

A razor-sharp, icy smile curled on her lips—daring and merciless.

"Trina," Rita said, her voice cold as steel. "Hit him back."

The room went dead silent.

Theodora just stared, totally speechless.

The arrogant woman was caught off guard, frozen in place.

For the first time, Jordan's brows shot up in a deep frown—because of this unfamiliar woman.

He couldn't believe what he'd just heard.

Trina looked up at her mom, puzzled and unsure.

Rita leaned in, meeting Trina's eyes, her words slow and unmistakably clear.

"Mommy's right here. Don't be afraid.

"However he hit you, you hit him back the same way," she said, her tone firm and unyielding.

She straightened, her gaze like an ice-forged blade, aimed directly at Jordan.

"Let your real dad foot the bill," Rita said, her voice cold and sharp.

Jordan's cold, distant look instantly froze.

His eyes narrowed as he locked his eyes on Rita, not blinking.

In just a few seconds, his face went from stunned to shocked, then turned ashen.

'Real dad?' Jordan was floored.

Those words landed like a bomb going off in his ears.

The air in the office was frozen solid.

Everyone's eyes locked on Rita and Jordan.

Theodora opened her mouth, wanting to say something, but no words came out.

The woman who'd been so arrogant just moments ago now looked like she'd been choked speechless, her face frozen in utter disbelief.

She looked back and forth between Rita and the ghostly pale Jordan.

Clearly, she hadn't even begun to process the bombshell that had just dropped.

Jordan's gaze was glued to Rita, unable to tear himself away.

His mind went completely blank.

Five years was enough to change so much.

He'd cycled through several girlfriends, and his business empire had grown twice as big.

He barely remembered he even had an ex-wife.

He'd completely forgotten that when they split, she was still expecting his baby.

He never imagined he'd run into his own flesh and blood like this, under these circumstances.

And on their first meeting after all these years, he was actually scolding his own daughter.

Panic and confusion hit him hard, making his heart race.

Rita didn't even bother to look at his reaction.

She just bent down, giving Trina another encouraging look.

"Go on," Rita said, firm and calm.

Trina was just a kid, and between her mom's words and the tense vibe in the room, she was still nervous and unsure.

The little boy, Mick Walters, who was hiding behind his mom, was the first to react.

With Jordan backing him up, Mick pulled a face at Trina, acting all cocky.

"You try it! I'll tell my dad to hit you," Mick sneered.

That line was what finally made Rita snap.

She let go of Trina's hand and strode forward.

Before anyone could react, a sharp, crisp slap rang out in the room.

It was loud and clean.

Rita gave Mick a slap across the face.

She didn't use much force, but it was enough to leave a bright red mark on his baby-soft skin.

Mick was stunned for a couple of seconds, then let out a loud wail.

"You... you actually hit my son!" Sheila Vasquez, Mick's mom, shrieked and charged at Rita, claws out.

Jordan instinctively reached out and stopped her.

But his gaze stayed glued to Rita, his eyes swirling with conflicting emotions.

Rita shook out her hand, which was still tingling from the slap.

She didn't even spare a glance at the crying kid—her gaze was locked on Jordan, cold and unyielding.

"Did you see that clearly?" Rita said, her voice icy.

"The injuries on my daughter's face are much worse than this.

"That slap was for my daughter.

"Now, let's settle the matter of compensation."

Her words were measured, but each one hit like a cold, hard stone, striking everyone in the room.

Theodora finally found her voice.

"Ms. Moody, please—calm down. You can't just get physical..." she pleaded, flustered.

"Ms. Stephenson." Rita cut her off, her voice sharp and commanding.

"My kid got hurt by another student right here in your school.

"And as her teacher, you didn't protect her when it mattered.

"And as the school, you didn't even make the bully or his parents own up to what they did. Instead, you let my daughter keep taking the heat and getting humiliated right here.

"Now you expect me to just calm down?"

Rita took a step forward, fixing Theodora with a hard stare.

"If my daughter were the one lying in the hospital right now, would you still be telling me to keep quiet just to protect the school's image?"

Theodora was totally speechless, her face going from red to pale in seconds.

Rita ignored her and turned to Jordan.

"Mr. Walters, five years gone, and your ego's only gotten bigger.

"You don't even know your own daughter when she's standing right there. Some memory you've got."

Jordan's lips moved, his Adam's apple bobbing, but he couldn't get a word out.

"You're covering my daughter's medical bills, her pain and suffering, and the drawing your kid tore up. All of it," Rita said.

She pulled Trina to her side, pointing straight at the angry scratches on her little girl's face.

"I care about my daughter's face more than anything. I'm not here to waste time.

"Either we call the police right now and let them deal with it.

"Or we handle it privately. Bring your son over and apologize to my daughter—right now.

"And then, you compensate us," Rita finished, her tone still cold as ice.

Sheila was shaking with rage. "Dream on! Why should we apologize? Your kid started it—she pushed first!"

"Is that so?" Rita gave a cold chuckle and turned to Theodora.

"Ms. Stephenson, there are hallway cameras, right?

"I want to see the footage—right now.

"Let's see who really started it, and who's lying."

Her words landed like a hammer, leaving no room for argument.

Jordan stiffened, just a fraction, barely noticeable.

He glanced at Mick, who was still bawling his eyes out, then back at Rita—her gaze icy, her whole presence radiating power.

A feeling of defeat hit him hard—something he'd never experienced before.

For the first time, he realized it.

The woman standing before him was no longer the one who used to rely on him for everything, always looking up to him.

She'd become a rose with thorns.

Beautiful, but deadly.

He drew in a deep breath, steeling himself for what came next.

He turned to Sheila, his voice leaving no room for argument. "Mick needs to apologize."

Sheila was stunned, like she'd just been slapped.

"Jordan? You're telling my son to apologize to her?" she sputtered, disbelief written all over her face.

"Apologize!" Jordan barked, his voice sharp and barely holding back his anger.

Sheila shrank back from his intensity. Even though she was resentful, she dragged Mick over.

"Hurry up, apologize to that girl," Sheila gritted out, her voice strained.

Mick, still sniffling and crying, muttered a half-hearted apology, clearly unwilling. "Sorry..."

Rita's face stayed completely expressionless.

"My daughter's name is Trina, not 'that girl,'" she said, her voice icy.

"Look her in the eye and say it louder. I didn't hear you."

Jordan's fists clenched at his sides, his jaw tightening.

With Rita's icy gaze locked on him, Mick finally lifted his head, looked straight at Trina, and forced out a loud, reluctant apology. "Trina, I'm sorry."

Rita finally nodded, satisfied.

She took Trina's hand and headed for the door.

She wanted out of this place—she wasn't staying a second longer.

"Wait," Jordan finally spoke, his voice hoarse.

He stepped forward, trying to stop her.

"We... need to talk," he said.

Rita didn't even slow down. She just shot him a cold glare over her shoulder.

"We have nothing to discuss.

"As for compensation, my lawyer will contact you," she added, icy and unyielding.

With that, she took Trina's hand and strode out of the office without a backward glance, leaving behind a mess and a man left reeling.

Just as they stepped out of the school building, Jordan's phone started ringing.

Rita didn't look back, but she could feel his burning gaze on her back.

She quickened her pace.

When they reached the car, she carefully buckled Trina into her car seat.

Just as she closed the door, someone grabbed her wrist from behind—hard.

It was Jordan, who had chased after her.

His eyes were bloodshot, and he was practically shaking with emotion.

"Rita, what do you want?!" Jordan snapped, his voice cracking with desperation.

Right then, his phone started blowing up again, ringing nonstop.

Jordan glanced at the caller ID, his face darkening even more.

The call was from his wife, Laurel Norris.

He hung up, but Laurel immediately called again, persistent as ever.

Jordan answered the phone, barely holding back his irritation.

"I'm busy!" he snapped.

Laurel's shrill, aggrieved voice came through the phone, so loud that Rita could hear every word.

"Jordan! You're with that Sheila Vasquez woman again, aren't you? You promised you'd come to my prenatal checkup today! Where the hell are you?"

'Prenatal checkup?' Rita wondered.

The mocking curve lingered on her lips as she yanked her hand away from Jordan, shooting him a look full of contempt and disgust.

That look was like a thorn, piercing straight into Jordan's heart.

His temples pounded, each beat sharper than the last.

Laurel's relentless questioning on the other end was like an awl, drilling straight into his skull and making his head feel like it might split open.

"Jordan! Say something. Are you with that homewrecker again?

"Let me remind you, the baby I'm carrying is the Walters family's eldest grandson. If you dare cross me..."

Jordan cut her off abruptly, slamming the call shut.

The world fell silent.

But his mind was more tangled than ever.

He stared at Rita, right in front of him.

The sneer on her face was like a scorching needle, stabbing deep into his heart.

It was a look he'd never gotten from her before.

Her eyes brimmed with contempt, disgust, and even... pity.

It was like she was watching some pathetic clown put on a show.

That gaze sent a wave of inexplicable panic and frustration through him.

Five years ago, whenever Rita looked at him, her eyes were always full of worship and longing.

'When did everything start to fall apart?' Jordan thought, feeling a wave of confusion crash over him.

"Rita..." he called out.

He wanted to reach out, to grab her, to demand answers, to make her explain everything.

He wanted to know how she'd survived these past five years.

He wanted to know why she'd kept their child a secret from him.

But Rita just coldly flung his hand off, her movements icy and unfeeling.

The force in her gesture left no room for argument—it was final.

She turned, yanked open the car door, and slid into the driver's seat.

Her actions held not a shred of hesitation or nostalgia.

The engine roared to life, like a thunderbolt snapping Jordan back to reality.

He instinctively tried to stop her, reaching out before he even realized it.

But her car slipped into the traffic without a hint of hesitation.

All that remained was her cold figure fading away and a cloud of exhaust in the air.

Jordan stood there, frozen in place.

The coldness of her wrist still lingered in his palm.

It was icy, just like her heart right now.

His phone rang again, breaking the silence at the worst possible time.

Laurel, once again.

He answered, his tone icy enough to chill the room, "I'm busy at the office. Just let the driver and nanny go with you for the checkup.

"That's all. Hanging up."

He cut her off, not giving her a single chance to respond.

Behind him, Sheila walked over, holding Mick's hand as he was still sobbing, her steps cautious and careful.

"Jordan, who is that woman, really?" Sheila asked, her voice shaky with hurt and uncertainty.

"Why did she say... that girl is your daughter..."

Her words carried both resentment and doubt, as if she was searching for answers but afraid of what she might find.

Jordan spun around, his glare sharp and furious, like a beast provoked beyond reason.

"Your son threw the first punch, and you still dare to stand here asking questions?" he snapped.

"Didn't I tell you not to stir up trouble for me when you're out?"

His anger finally found an outlet.

Sheila flinched at his outburst, her eyes rimmed with tears.

"I... I didn't know it would turn out like this..." she stammered, her voice shaky.

"Mick said that little girl pushed him first..."

"Shut up!" Jordan cut her off, barking.

He didn't want to hear any more excuses.

His mind was a tangled mess right now.

Rita. Trina. Your dad...

Those names and words kept swirling in his mind, like a curse he couldn't shake.

For the first time, he felt like things were slipping out of his control.

He was the golden boy, untouchable in the business world.

He was used to being in control of everything.

Women's moods, his team's work, the direction of every project—he always pulled the strings.

But today, Rita's sudden appearance had thrown his whole world off balance.

He didn't even know he had a five-year-old daughter.

What a cruel joke.

Frustrated, he tugged at his tie, pulled out his phone, and called his assistant.

"I need you to look into someone for me," he said.

"Rita Moody.

"We got divorced five years ago.

"I want every detail about her life for the past five years. Everything.

"That includes her job, where she lives, who she's been hanging out with, and... everything about that kid.

"Send it to my email in half an hour."

After hanging up, he leaned against the cold metal of his car, lighting a cigarette.

Smoke swirled around him, his gaze clouded and impossible to read.

'Rita, you really think you can escape me?' Jordan thought.

'Five years ago, I forced you out with nothing.

'Five years later, I can drag you right back into my world.'

Before the design competition, Ronald Pierce's childhood sweetheart, Tiffany Robbins, was seriously injured in a car accident and ended up in a coma.

All the evidence pointed straight at me.

But Ronald never doubted me. He stayed by my side and witnessed me win the championship in glory.

I thought our love was unbreakable.

But then, someone exposed me for plagiarism.

Everyone turned against me, and I ended up getting kidnapped.

The kidnappers asked Ronald to hand over the money. "If you don't pay, she's dead."

On the other end of the line, all I heard was Ronald's mocking snicker. "Lucy, now you know how helpless Tiffany felt back then, don't you?"

So, he always believed I was the one responsible for Tiffany's accident, and that was why he married me.

He stole my manuscript and was the one who reported me for plagiarism.

Also, he was the one who set the kidnappers on me.

I finally felt regret for everything.

And then, I traveled back to the day Ronald confessed his love to me.

There he was, that sunny, handsome guy, holding a bouquet of lisianthus, his eyes full of hope as he looked at me. "Lucy, I like you. Will you be my girlfriend?"

I answered calmly, "Sorry, I don't feel that way about you."

*****

"Lucy, why are you zoning out? Ronald's confessing to you right now," Tiffany called out, snapping me back to reality. My eyes went wide as I looked around in a daze. It took me several long seconds to realize that I really had traveled back.

Before I could react, Tiffany grabbed the bouquet from Ronald and stuffed it into my arms, giving me an innocent little wink and a playful grin. "Lucy, everyone's watching. Don't put Ronald on the spot."

The sun was blazing overhead, but I felt like I'd been plunged into an ice bath.

Ronald's young face started to blur into the cold, heartless one I remembered. My face turned pale as a sheet, and I dropped the bouquet without even thinking.

"Sorry, I don't like Ronald," I said.

Ronald's smile stiffened on his face.

Everyone was left speechless.

Tiffany was totally floored. "Lucy, seriously? Are you joking right now? I literally saw you writing Ronald a love letter last night. How could you not like him?"

Tiffany was Ronald's childhood friend, and she was also my roommate.

She was the very first person to find out about my secret crush on Ronald.

On registration day, she accidentally knocked over my bookshelf and spotted my photo album.

She was totally shocked. "Lucy, how do you have pictures of Ronald?"

I was so flustered that my face turned bright red. "Tiffany, you know Ronald?"

Tiffany picked up the album and handed it back to me, her laughter ringing out like a bell. "Of course, I know him. He is my neighbor. We grew up together."

"Oh, I see." I lowered my head even more, speaking so quietly that it was almost inaudible.

I never thought my feelings would be revealed like this.

Tiffany noticed how shy and awkward I was, so she patted my shoulder and said, "Come on, Lucy, I'll introduce you to Ronald. He's not hard to get at all.

"Actually, never mind. Girls are the cutest thing on earth. Let those guys chase after you. Trust me, you are definitely Ronald's type."

Tiffany was right about that.

The first time Ronald saw me, he was so shy that he couldn't even look me in the eye.

After spending six months together, everyone in the design and physics departments assumed we were a couple.

But neither of us ever said it out loud.

Last night, Tiffany came up to me all mysterious and said, "Lucy, don't go to your part-time job tomorrow. Ronald's got a surprise for you. Trust me, you're gonna love it."

I was pretty sure Ronald was going to confess to me.

So, I got up early, slipped into my prettiest dress, and did my makeup extra carefully in front of the mirror, all for this big moment.

No one ever expected I would reject Ronald right in front of everyone.

Without bothering to explain, I turned and headed straight for my dorm, without looking back

My mom was a university professor. She always said the biggest regret of her life was marrying my dad—a man who'd blown up as a livestream shopping host.

"So materialistic. So tacky."

Eventually, they divorced. In my last life, I chose my mom—the one who seemed above it all, who didn't care about money.

What a mistake.

I bought a new dress? "Wasteful." I wanted to grab dinner with friends on the weekend? She slapped me across the face.

When my period came and I wanted decent tampons, I got screamed at.

"You're just like your father—obsessed with money! You're such a disappointment!"

Later, my uncle's investment failed and he drowned in debt. When he tried to sell me to an underground matchmaking ring for bride money, I begged my mom through tears to save me.

She just frowned. "You won't even help your own uncle? You're as selfish as your father!"

In the end, my uncle sold me to some fifty-year-old bachelor in the mountains. I died falling off a cliff trying to escape.

When I opened my eyes again, I was back at the moment of their divorce—the moment they asked me to choose

*Have found only 25 chapters on crush and 30 chapters on editors, but looking for full novel*

Also found alt titles "Consistency you gave me confusion" and "The day love betrayed me never the plan"

Chapter 1 Woken Before The Apocalypse

Ten years into the apocalypse , darkness spread like a sinister blanket , suffocating the world . Moss - covered skyscrapers swayed in the thick black fog , while mutant plants tore through cracked concrete , climbing upward . Freezing winds howled across the barren landscape , echoing like vengeful spirits . The streets felt haunted , every alley thick with the stench of decay . The entire world was lifeless , filled with nothing but endless despair . Chloe Yates stumbled backward on a ruined wasteland , her bare feet scraping over sharp debris .

Blood seeped from her soles , leaving faint trails behind . Her short , uneven hair was a tangled mess , clumped together in dirty strands and reeking of rot . Years of survival had ravaged her face , making her almost unrecognizable . She wore a filthy , torn military coat , trembling in the freezing wind . Ragged cotton poked through the holes , stained with dried blood . " Honey , you're really being naughty ," Shawn Taylor said , moving closer . His voice was eerily soft , sending a chill down her spine . " Ten years of marriage , and aren't you going to let me go ?

" Chloe rasped , her voice as rough as sandpaper . She staggered back , a sharp stone slicing her foot . Blood dripped , soaking into the ground . Shawn glared at her with utter contempt , his stained teeth bared in a vicious grin . " Sophie's pregnant . She needs your heart - blood to keep her strong ." Chloe lifted her gaze to the churning clouds , defiance burning in her chest . When she looked back , her eyes blazed with rage . A dozen powered humans burst through the darkness , their eyes gleaming with savage hunger .

They licked their dry lips , looking more like starving wolves than human beings . Sophie Gilmore stepped out from the protective circle . Her delicate figure shivered helplessly , her flawless face streaked with tears . 15:02 Sun , Dec 21 Chapter 1 : " Chloe , I'm sorry . Shawn and I really love each other . Please , just let us be ," she begged . ( 75 10 vouchers Chloe felt a wave of disgust and bitter irony . " These two cheaters want me dead to make their little romance work ? How shameless ! ' Shawn pulled Sophie into his arms , his voice full of concern . " You shouldn't be here .

You're pregnant ; be careful . " He shot Chloe a deadly glare . " Stay away from Sophie , you freak . " Chloe suddenly laughed , her voice so distant it sounded like it came from another world , as if her last spark of fight had finally died . " Shawn , give me back the emerald bracelet , and let's just call this a divorce ," she said wearily , wanting nothing more to do with him . Panic flashed in Sophie's eyes . Instinctively , she clutched the emerald bracelet on her wrist . " This one's mine . Yours was lost years ago ." Her overreaction only made her look more guilty .

Her friends started giving her suspicious looks . Shawn barked , " What are you guys waiting for ? Kill her , and you'll have real meat for dinner tonight . " The powered humans locked their crazed stares back on Chloe , like starving wolves eyeing fresh prey in the frozen wasteland . Suddenly , Chloe laughed maniacally , her eyes gleaming with a wicked light . " Fine , let's all go to hell together . " " Everyone , run ! " Shawn screamed , panicking as he dragged Sophie away . But it was already too late . The bombs Chloe had planted exploded with a thunderous roar .

Instantly , a nauseating mist of blood enveloped the wreckage . When it cleared , only shredded body parts were strewn across the ground . 15:03 Sun , Dec 21 Chapter 1 75 10 vouchers In the eerie darkness , zombies began howling like maniacs , their screams growing closer and closer . Shawn's legs were blown off . He dragged himself forward , his eyes filled with blood and terror . Behind him , Sophie's screams abruptly stopped as the zombie horde devoured her .

In the end , he watched helplessly as the zombies tore into him , ripping flesh from his bones , his eyes wide with terror until his final breath . In a luxurious villa , the first sunlight slipped through the window , landing softly on Chloe's sleeping face . For a moment , everything seemed perfectly still . Suddenly , the phone alarm on the nightstand blared , shattering the silence . Chloe's long lashes fluttered , and her eyes snapped open , sharp , cold , and deadly . The room's temperature seemed to plummet instantly . As she took in her surroundings , confusion flickered in her eyes .

' Did someone save me ? Ten years into the apocalypse , and there's still a place this clean and fancy ? But why does it feel so familiar ? ' Chloe thought . Suddenly , her eyes widened , her breath catching . " This is ... my home . " She froze . Her voice was ethereal and crisp , nothing like the raspy one from the apocalypse . She glanced at the wall mirror and saw a stunning young woman with ruby lips , pearly teeth , and flawless skin . Every subtle expression was captivating . Her face was untouched by the rough , blackened cracks and bleeding wounds .

She lacked bulky muscles , thick calluses , or a filthy , decaying body reeking of stench . Chloe stared blankly at her reflection , her eyes holding a sorrow from another lifetime . She slapped herself hard , the searing pain snapping her back to reality . She fumbled for her phone , her lashes trembling , breathing carefully . 15:03 Sun , Dec 21 Chapter 1 It was October 1st , 2024 . She gasped . She'd returned more than four months before the apocalypse began . 75 10 vouchers On Christmas Eve , at midnight , a crimson rain would spread the zombie virus .

Anyone caught in it would develop an endless fever . Most people would become mindless zombies . But one in ten thousand would awaken special abilities , becoming the first powered humans of the apocalypse . Chloe wasn't one of the lucky ones . But later , she'd been bitten saving Shawn , barely surviving to become a strength - powered human . Thinking of Shawn ignited pure hatred in her eyes . Deadly energy swirled around her , the kind of deadly aura forged through countless battles .

Staring at her reflection , Chloe parted her red lips , her voice hauntingly beautiful and eerily menacing . " Shawn , Sophie , I've come to collect your souls . " ***** In a pasta restaurant on a bustling food street , Chloe devoured her meal , empty plates piling up in front of her . A couple nearby , Harry Hoffman and Mandy Woodward , stared in disbelief . " Wow , that gorgeous girl in designer clothes can really eat . She's kind of adorable , " Harry said , swallowing hard . Chloe's massive appetite made him feel hungrier . He waved to the waiter and ordered another plate of pasta .

My little sister Lily wanted everything I had, including my man.

But the guy I'd been chasing for three years, the academic star Evan, was a block of ice. He never once looked my way.

I figured Lily would fail just like everyone else.

Then I walked in on it.

Fresh off the football field, Evan had Lily pinned against the locker room wall, kissing her like the world was ending.

His arms were wrapped tight around her, her shirt half-open, the two of them completely lost in each other.

"Evan, slow down... if you like me, why are you still leading my sister on?"

"Didn't you say you loved watching her beg for my attention?"

My eyes went red in an instant.

Three years of chasing him. And it had all been a performance. A one-woman show staged for their entertainment.

This pathetic love of mine. It was time to end it.

I finally decided to let go.

So why did he come running after me, saying he liked me?

Summer's POV

Everyone at school noticed something was off with me lately. The old me had zero self-awareness. I spent every single day running after Evan.

While other people sat through morning assembly, I was hand-making Evan a heart-shaped sandwich. While they took notes in class, I was folding little paper stars for him. While they did homework, I was writing him love letters.

But recently, I hadn't shown up outside the Advanced Honors classroom in days. Instead, I'd been living in the library. First one in every morning, last one out every night.

Then, on the day finals ended, I ran straight into Evan.

I froze. I turned to walk away.

But his tall frame stepped right into my path.

"Summer." The evening sun caught the cool lines of his face. "Are you avoiding me?"

My arms tightened around the books I was holding.

I first met Evan at the start of junior year.

Word got around that a new transfer student had arrived. Insanely good-looking, insanely smart. At his old school he'd been famously untouchable. Not even the most popular cheerleader had managed to get close to him.

So naturally, I went to find out for myself.

I walked into the Advanced Honors hallway, looked up, and saw him standing by the window.

I completely lost my train of thought.

From that day on, I started chasing Evan.

I'd intercept him on his way to school. I'd scream from the sidelines at his football games. I'd stand in the snow in the school parking lot and serenade him.

I was loud, shameless, and very, very public about it. Everyone knew. And honestly? Like every crush before this, it was more game than genuine feeling. I just wanted to win.

Until that one winter.

I was in the parking lot in a short skirt, using my foot to draw a heart in the snow.

Evan happened to be walking out with some friends. I ran up, beaming.

"Evan! Look! I made you a heart! Do you like it?"

But his eyes went to my bare legs, purple from the cold.

The next second, he crouched down. He unwound the scarf from his neck and wrapped it around my legs.

"Don't wear skirts in weather like this." His voice was calm, flat. "You'll damage your knees and your circulation."

The warmth of it reached my frozen skin. Distant, restrained, not quite touching.

I stood there, completely still, watching snowflakes settle on his long lashes.

And that was when it hit me.

I was actually falling for him.

I'd already made up my mind to apply to the same college as Evan.

Then, the night before finals, I accidentally overheard a Yale admissions officer meeting with him. She told him his math competition scores qualified him for early admission.

Evan's response stopped me cold.

"You can admit me. But I have one condition. I want you to admit Lily from my class as well."

I stood there, frozen, as the Yale officer walked away. A few of Evan's friends clapped him on the shoulder.

"Didn't see that coming. So it was Lily the whole time? Summer's been chasing you forever and we actually thought it was her!"

"But if you like Lily, why not just be with her? Why keep Summer on the hook?"

Evan's expression didn't flicker.

"I didn't want to distract Lily before finals." A pause. "As for Summer, she was just a cover. Useful for keeping people from noticing what was going on between me and Lily."

Standing in the doorway, I felt the color drain from my face.

Everyone said Evan was cold to the whole world, except me.

He'd warned me icily to stop following him, then wrapped my frozen legs in his scarf. He'd refused the Valentine's Day chocolates I'd stayed up all night to make, but kept only my card.

That's all it took. Those small crumbs of hope. And I'd sunk deeper and deeper.

But it was all a setup. A way to keep everyone from noticing him and Lily.

Stella Linwood's head was splitting.

She jolted awake, the sharp scent of disinfectant mixing with the office's air conditioning. She found herself in the familiar first-floor lobby at work, surrounded by colleagues whose faces were full of panic.

"Stella, you're finally awake. You suddenly collapsed. We were scared out of our minds."

"Should we take you to the hospital? You're as pale as ghost."

The voices buzzed all around Stella, but she stood frozen, her eyes locked onto the digital watch on her wrist: 1:15 PM.

Wait, wasn't she dead?

She died in that year-long storm apocalypse, swept away by the raging flood after the power station collapsed.

She was trapped in filthy water, watching concrete and steel beams crash toward her, unable to even cry out for help.

But now, she'd been reborn.

Reborn with only ten hours left until the world-ending storm arrived.

Later tonight, a once-in-a-century storm would hit Riverton. Two weeks of relentless rain would cause the power station on the city's outskirts to collapse, flooding the city.

Low-lying areas would turn into a sea, and humanity would be twisted by hunger and fear. Survival would become the greatest luxury.

In her earlier life, she was unprepared. Her landlord threw her out. She struggled in standing water, and her body was never discovered.

But this time, she wasn't letting history repeat itself.

*****

"I'm fine, just feeling a bit lightheaded from low blood sugar. Just need some rest," Stella said, pushing herself up from the floor and shoving aside the colleagues crowding around her. "I'm taking the day off. Not coming in today."

Her coworkers tried to say something else, but Stella snatched up her bag and strode out of the office, her fingers gripping the strap so tight they turned white, her heart pounding.

Ten hours. That was enough.

Enough time to stockpile supplies and build a fortress no storm could breach. In that rainstorm apocalypse, she could survive and live well.

She pulled out her phone and dialed her mom, Susan Linwood.

"Mom, pack your things and come to Sunrise Haven right now. Don't ask why, just get here now." Stella's voice was firm and commanding.

Last time, her mom had been trapped in the flood in the old neighborhood, and Stella hadn't even gotten to say goodbye. This time, she was going to protect her mom and herself.

Susan was confused, but she couldn't argue with Stella's insistence. She agreed to pack up and come over right away.

After hanging up, Stella hailed a cab and headed straight for Riverton's biggest wholesale market, her eyes burning with determination.

This time, anyone who dared covet her supplies would pay dearly.

Sunrise Haven was a recently completed residential complex on the outskirts of Riverton, with less than 10% occupancy.

Most of the units were empty, snapped up by property investors. Sitting nearly 66 feet higher than the old city, it was a natural fortress when the storm apocalypse hit.

Stella's apartment was on the 18th floor, the top floor. The building ran one elevator for every two units.

The apartment across the hall hadn't been bought, so she had the whole floor to herself. Privacy and security didn't get any better than that.

That was exactly why she'd insisted on buying here in the first place. Quiet, out of the way, perfect for surviving on her own when the world fell apart.

The wholesale market was packed. Stella made a beeline for the grain and oil section, spotted Dylan Carter, her usual supplier, and didn't waste any time dropping a huge order.

She rattled off, "Mr. Carter, I want 50 bags of potatoes, 30 bags of flour, 20 gallons of olive oil, ten gallons of canola oil, five cases of every seasoning you've got.

"Ten cases each of soy sauce, vinegar, and cooking wine, 20 bags of salt, and 15 bags of sugar."

Dylan paused, looking at her in disbelief. "Stella, that's a ton of stuff. Are you running a restaurant or something?"

"No, I'm opening a convenience store at Sunrise Haven. Just rented a spot, so I need to stock up," Stella said, keeping her cool and tossing out a quick excuse.

"We'll be doing this long term, so give me your best price. Deliver everything to the temporary storefront at Sunrise Haven by three this afternoon, and I'll pay when it arrives," she added.

She'd come up with the convenience store excuse ages ago. It could let her stockpile supplies out in the open, without anyone getting suspicious.

Seeing a long-term opportunity, Dylan agreed right away and called his staff to start packing up the goods.

Stella moved at full speed, heading straight for the frozen food section. She ordered 50 pounds of frozen pork, 30 pounds of frozen beef, 200 pounds each of frozen chicken legs and wings, 50 pounds of frozen shrimp.

She also bought 20 cases each of frozen pizza, waffles, and ravioli, 100 dozens of shelf-stable eggs, and 50 dozens of goose eggs.

She then rushed over to the instant foods aisle, stocking up on 20 cases of each flavor of instant mac & cheese, 30 cases each of canned chili, canned beef stew, and canned baked beans.

She also stocked up on 50 cases each of ham sausages, fish sticks, and dill pickles, 20 pounds each of summer sausage, cured ham, and smoked salmon, plus ten cases each of vacuum-packed deli meats and BBQ pulled pork.

At the beverage section, she stocked 50 cases of bottled water, 20 cases of milk, 10 cases of yogurt, five cases of each soft drink, and 10 barrels of purified water.

That was enough for the mother and daughter to drink for most of the year.

In the toiletries section, she stocked up on ten bottles each of shampoo, body wash, and conditioner, 50 sets of toothpaste and toothbrushes, 30 towels, 10 bags each of laundry detergent and laundry powder, and 20 bars of soap.

She also stocked up on 50 packs of toilet paper, 20 packs of wet wipes, and 10 cases of feminine products.

She moved through the market like she was on autopilot, never stopping for a break. If it was durable or useful, she took it all. The vendors, seeing her generous spending, welcomed her warmly and promised to deliver everything right on schedule.

After leaving the wholesale market, Stella headed straight for the pharmacy. She grabbed ten boxes of every common medicine—cold meds, fever reducers, antibiotics, painkillers, diarrhea pills, band-aids, iodine, gauze, and alcohol.

She also picked up vitamins, calcium tablets, probiotics, motion sickness pills, and mosquito repellent. By the time she finished, she had two massive boxes stuffed full.

Next was the hardware store. She bought ten of the strongest deadbolt locks, five combination locks, ten hot glue guns, 100 hot glue sticks, two folding shovels, and two fire axes.

She also bought ten high-powered flashlights, 50 batteries, 20 rechargeable desk lamps, two small generators, and ten cans of gasoline

Sophia James' husband, Thomas Grant, had just transferred 1.5 million to his mistress, Melissa Shaw, for a new apartment. A few seconds later, he handed Sophia a warm mug of hot chocolate.

His eyes looked soft and loving, but his fingers kept rubbing the life insurance policy that had just gone into effect.

"Here, honey, drink this while it's warm. I heated it up especially for you," he said.

In the living room, their five-year-old son, Joey, was playing with LEGOs on the carpet.

He suddenly looked up, and a voice seemed to come from nowhere. "Hey, Mr. System, is Dad going to use Mom's life insurance payout to buy a big diamond ring for that other lady?"

*****

The weekend sunlight poured in through the floor-to-ceiling windows, making everything feel warm and cozy.

But Sophia just felt cold.

That chill seemed to seep from her bones, crawling up her spine like a snake and coiling tight around her heart.

"Honey, you're spacing out. The chocolate's getting cold," Thomas said softly by her side.

He wore a dark gray lounge set, sleeves rolled up to reveal strong, toned forearms.

In his hand was a plate with freshly toasted bread and a fried egg, its edges crispy and the yolk a perfect golden yellow, still runny in the center.

This was just his style; everything he did had to be flawless.

He was the perfect VP of a public company, the perfect husband, and the perfect father.

If it hadn't been for that voice just now, Sophia might have stayed lost in this perfect fairy tale forever.

Suddenly, a mechanical, icy voice slipped right into Sophia's mind. [Joey, I've detected that your trash father is putting on an act.

[He just crushed three sleeping pills into the chocolate in the kitchen. He wants your mom to fall asleep so he can video call his mistress in the study.

[I suggest you knock over that chocolate immediately.]

Sophia instinctively looked over at Joey, perched in his booster seat.

Five-year-old Joey was scooping oatmeal with his tiny spoon, his little legs swinging happily beneath him. A bit of oatmeal clung to the corner of his mouth.

He looked innocent and clueless, just like always.

But Sophia clearly heard the sweet, babyish reply in his head, 'Got it, Mr. System. I won't let bad daddy get away with it.'

Sophia's fingers suddenly tightened, her nails pressed painfully into her palm.

She felt a sharp pain, indicating that this was no illusion.

She realized she could hear Joey talking to some mysterious presence.

"Joey, why aren't you eating?" Thomas sat down and ruffled his son's hair, his own gaze soft and doting. "Is Mommy's oatmeal not good? Daddy will make it for you next time."

He smiled so warmly, the corners of his eyes crinkling with that easy charm that had fooled Sophia for seven years.

[Lie detected from the trash father.] The System's voice sounded in Sophia's head again. [He wasn't working late at the office last night. He was in room 8203 at the Harborview Hotel, hooking up with Melissa Shaw all night long.

[He still smells like the cigarette she smoked after they hooked up. He showered, but the smell is trapped in the crevices of his watch strap.]

A wave of nausea hit Sophia hard.

She pressed a hand to her mouth, pushed her chair back, and rushed to the bathroom.

"Honey, you okay?" Thomas called after her, his footsteps approaching.

Sophia gripped the sink, turned on the faucet, and let the cold water run.

When she looked up, her reflection stared back. It looked pale and shaken.

Seven years ago, she'd been the youngest senior analyst in the overseas market, at the top of her game.

Then she gave it all up for him, including her career and her ambition, willingly trading it in to be a good wife and mother.

She truly believed she'd married for love.

But it turned out she'd fallen headfirst into a carefully laid trap.

The woman in the mirror looked different now. The shock and confusion in her eyes were fading, replaced by something cold and sharp, like a blade pulled from its sheath after years of neglect.

'Thomas, since you want to play games, I'll join you for this grand performance. But this time, I'm the one calling the shots,' Sophia thought.

When she came out of the bathroom, her eyes were red.

She splashed some cold water on her face and put on a weak, apologetic smile. "I think I caught a chill last night," she said. "My stomach's a little upset."

She walked back to the table but didn't sit down. Instead, she leaned softly against Thomas. "Honey, could I have some warm water? The chocolate's too heavy for me right now. I can't drink it."

Thomas stiffened for just a moment, but then relaxed like nothing happened.

He wrapped an arm around her waist, his fingers tracing lightly over the thin silk of her pajamas. "Sure, you don't have to drink it," he said. "I'll get you some water."

He picked up the hot chocolate and turned to pour it down the sink.

The brown liquid swirled down the drain, disappearing without a trace. He covered his tracks smoothly, without a second thought.

'Wow, Mom's amazing. She totally dodged the poisoned chocolate,' Joey thought.

He kept his head down, pretending to focus on his broccoli while asking the System in his mind, 'Mr. System, scan for Dad's backup phone. Quick.'

[It's at the bottom of the cabinet by the door,] the System answered. [Inside the black golf bag. Second side zipper pocket, wrapped in a sports towel.

[The password is 1128, that woman's birthday.

Chapter 1

I got a call from my daughter Trina's teacher. Trina got hit at school.

I stormed into the school, fuming, ready to give the other parent a piece of my mind.

But when I pushed open the door, I froze.

The guy in the sharp suit, looking all smug and self-important, was my ex-husband, Jordan Walters—my ex from five years ago.

He didn't even know Trina, let alone that she was his own flesh and blood.

I grabbed Trina's hand, shot him a cold smirk, and said, "Go ahead, hit back. Your dad will cover the medical bills."

The room went dead silent.

*****

The coffee on the desk had gone cold.

The glow from the computer screen lit up Rita Moody's face, which showed no emotion.

Her fingers flew across the keyboard, so fast they were a blur.

She was revising a project proposal that needed to be finished for a meeting tomorrow.

As the youngest project director at the company, she'd been at it for three years and was already used to this kind of high-pressure work pace.

Five years after the divorce, there were only two things left in her life.

Work, and her daughter, Trina.

Her phone buzzed on the desk.

The screen lit up with Theodora Stephenson's name.

Rita's heart sank.

Theodora was Trina's teacher.

She never called her during work hours unless it was something serious.

Rita answered the call quickly, keeping her voice calm, "Hi, Ms. Stephenson."

"Is that Trina's mom? Please come to the school as soon as you can," Theodora said, sounding anxious and a little flustered.

"Trina got into a fight with another kid at school."

'A fight?' Rita was stunned, barely able to process what she'd just heard.

Her brows knitted together instantly.

Trina was just like her—quiet and reserved, never causing any trouble at school.

'How could Trina end up in a fight?' Rita couldn't wrap her head around it.

"Is she hurt?" Rita asked, her voice tight with worry.

That was all she cared about right now.

"She's got a few scratches on her face, and it's a bit swollen. The other kid didn't hold back at all," Theodora said.

She paused for a moment.

"The kid's parent is already here, and they're being pretty pushy. They keep insisting we're favoring Trina. You should come over; it's better to handle this face to face," Theodora added.

'Pushy?' Rita's face turned cold in an instant.

Her little girl—the one she'd protect with her life—got hit, and that other parent still had the nerve to act tough.

Rita felt rage boiling up inside her.

"I'll be there right away," she said, her voice icy.

Hanging up, she closed her laptop, grabbed her trench coat from the back of the chair, and snatched up her car keys.

One of her team members popped their head over. "Ms. Moody, what about the meeting tonight?"

"Just send the meeting details to my email. I'll handle everything when I get back," Rita said.

She tossed out the words and strode out of the office, her heels clicking briskly as she moved with purpose.

Her expression was frosty.

The cool-headed project director was gone.

In her place was a mother ready to go to war for her child.

As she drove, Theodora's words kept replaying in Rita's mind. 'Scratches, swelling...

'The other kid didn't hold back at all.

'The kid's parent is being pretty pushy...'

Every word felt like a needle, stabbing straight into her heart.

Five years ago, she left that fancy golden cage with nothing but her baby girl, Trina, in her arms—walking out with empty hands and a heart full of grit.

No one but her knew just how much pain she'd swallowed and how many sleepless nights she'd endured over these five years.

She'd gone from a spoiled rich wife who couldn't even twist open a bottle cap to a badass career woman who could take on the world by herself.

Everything she did was for Trina, to make sure her little girl had a safe, happy life.

She could swallow any humiliation at work, even drink until her stomach burned, for the sake of a project if that was what it took.

But there was one thing she would never, ever tolerate—anyone bullying or hurting her daughter.

Trina was her everything, her lifeblood, the one and only line she would never cross.

Her car screeched to a halt at the school gate.

She didn't even bother to park properly—killed the engine, yanked out the keys, and slammed the door shut, all in one fluid motion.

Then, she rushed straight to the teacher's office on the third floor of the school building.

Her heels hammered out a sharp, staccato rhythm on the hallway floor—like war drums, matching the frantic beat of her heart.

Her resolve was set.

No matter who the other parent was, or what kind of connections they had.

Today, she was going to demand justice for her daughter.

The office door was slightly ajar.

Inside, a man's arrogant, impatient voice echoed through the room.

"Theodora, I've already said everything I need to say.

"That little girl started it—she pushed first. My kid was just defending himself, that's all.

"If the school doesn't give me a proper explanation, I'm not letting this go," he threatened.

Rita froze right at the door.

'That voice...

'Wait, I know that voice...' she realized.

It was like a nightmare locked away in the darkest corners of her mind.

She took a deep breath, trying to steady herself and push back the sense of dread rising inside.

With determination, she pushed the office door open.

Inside the office, a few people were standing.

Theodora looked troubled.

Trina, her face streaked with tears and her eyes red, was cowering behind Theodora.

And... a man and a woman stood at the window, facing away from the door.

The man stood tall, dressed in a perfectly tailored black suit.

Even from behind, that suffocating, high-powered vibe she knew all too well slammed into her.

The woman next to him had flawless makeup, a brand-new Hermès bag on her arm, and shot Trina a snobby sideways glance.

Rita's eyes were fixated on the man's back.

Her heart felt like it was being squeezed by an invisible hand—she could barely breathe.

Relief washed over Theodora when she saw Rita walk in.

"Ms. Moody, you're here!" she exclaimed.

At the sound of Theodora's voice, the man slowly turned around.

A handsome yet emotionless face met Rita's eyes.

Jordan Walters.

Five years had passed.

His face hadn't changed much—just a little sharper, a little more hardened than before.

Time had been kind to him.

But for her, those years had carved out every line of struggle and hardship.

When Jordan laid eyes on Rita, he was stunned for a split second—impressed, even—but that quickly faded into cold detachment.

He clearly didn't recognize her.

'Of course he didn't,' Rita thought.

Five years ago, Rita had waist-length hair and wore custom-made dresses. She was the famous trophy wife everyone knew in their circle.

Now, she rocked a sleek bob and a crisp business suit. Her eyes showed the grit she'd earned from years of climbing the corporate ladder.

They were from two completely different worlds now.

The woman next to Jordan—the boy's mom—looked Rita up and down.

She shot Rita a condescending look, like she was sizing up the competition.

"So, you're her mom?" the woman said.

"Listen, your girl needs to apologize to Mick today. No excuses!"

'Mick?' Rita thought, her brows furrowing in confusion.

Her eyes locked onto the little boy smirking behind the woman, looking way too proud of himself.

There was not a single scratch on his face.

She checked the angry red marks on Trina's cheeks.

Rita's rage flared up even more.

She didn't even bother with the woman.

Rita walked straight over to Trina, crouched down, and gently held her little girl's face in her hands.

"Trina, sweetheart, tell Mommy what happened," Rita asked, her voice so soft it could melt ice.

Seeing her mom, Trina finally relaxed, and her tears spilled down her cheeks in a rush.

"Mom, he took my drawing first...

"I told him to give it back, but he pushed me and ripped the drawing I made of you..." Trina sniffled, then pulled out a crayon drawing, ripped in two, from her pocket.

The drawing showed a smiling woman—Rita herself.

Rita felt a sharp pain in her heart, like she'd been stabbed.

She'd helped Trina draw it just last night.

Jordan watched everything unfold with a cold, almost impatient look, his brows drawn together.

He finally spoke, impatience clear in his voice, "It's just a drawing. No big deal if it's torn.

"Whatever, I'll pay for it.

"Kids fight all the time. Did we really need to make such a big deal out of this? Seriously, this is just wasting everyone's time," he scoffed.

His tone was exactly the same as it had been five years ago.

Condescending, like everything was just his right.

He figured throwing money at it would solve everything.

Rita slowly stood up, shielding Trina behind her.

She finally looked up, meeting Jordan's gaze head-on.

All the hurt, resentment, and anger she'd carried for five years—right now, it all froze over in her eyes.

She didn't care how he'd been these past five years.

And she had no intention of telling him that the little girl standing right in front of him was his own flesh and blood—the daughter he'd never even met.

He didn't deserve to know.

He didn't even realize his own child was right in front of him.

Rita grabbed Trina's hand, making sure everyone in the room saw it.

She stared down the smug little boy, not breaking eye contact for a second.

A razor-sharp, icy smile curled on her lips—daring and merciless.

"Trina," Rita said, her voice cold as steel. "Hit him back."

The room went dead silent.

Theodora just stared, totally speechless.

The arrogant woman was caught off guard, frozen in place.

For the first time, Jordan's brows shot up in a deep frown—because of this unfamiliar woman.

He couldn't believe what he'd just heard.

Trina looked up at her mom, puzzled and unsure.

Rita leaned in, meeting Trina's eyes, her words slow and unmistakably clear.

"Mommy's right here. Don't be afraid.

"However he hit you, you hit him back the same way," she said, her tone firm and unyielding.

She straightened, her gaze like an ice-forged blade, aimed directly at Jordan.

"Let your real dad foot the bill," Rita said, her voice cold and sharp.

Jordan's cold, distant look instantly froze.

His eyes narrowed as he locked his eyes on Rita, not blinking.

In just a few seconds, his face went from stunned to shocked, then turned ashen.

'Real dad?' Jordan was floored.

Those words landed like a bomb going off in his ears.

The air in the office was frozen solid.

Everyone's eyes locked on Rita and Jordan.

Theodora opened her mouth, wanting to say something, but no words came out.

The woman who'd been so arrogant just moments ago now looked like she'd been choked speechless, her face frozen in utter disbelief.

She looked back and forth between Rita and the ghostly pale Jordan.

Clearly, she hadn't even begun to process the bombshell that had just dropped.

Jordan's gaze was glued to Rita, unable to tear himself away.

His mind went completely blank.

Five years was enough to change so much.

He'd cycled through several girlfriends, and his business empire had grown twice as big.

He barely remembered he even had an ex-wife.

He'd completely forgotten that when they split, she was still expecting his baby.

He never imagined he'd run into his own flesh and blood like this, under these circumstances.

And on their first meeting after all these years, he was actually scolding his own daughter.

Panic and confusion hit him hard, making his heart race.

Rita didn't even bother to look at his reaction.

She just bent down, giving Trina another encouraging look.

"Go on," Rita said, firm and calm.

Trina was just a kid, and between her mom's words and the tense vibe in the room, she was still nervous and unsure.

The little boy, Mick Walters, who was hiding behind his mom, was the first to react.

With Jordan backing him up, Mick pulled a face at Trina, acting all cocky.

"You try it! I'll tell my dad to hit you," Mick sneered.

That line was what finally made Rita snap.

She let go of Trina's hand and strode forward.

Before anyone could react, a sharp, crisp slap rang out in the room.

It was loud and clean.

Rita gave Mick a slap across the face.

She didn't use much force, but it was enough to leave a bright red mark on his baby-soft skin.

Mick was stunned for a couple of seconds, then let out a loud wail.

"You... you actually hit my son!" Sheila Vasquez, Mick's mom, shrieked and charged at Rita, claws out.

Jordan instinctively reached out and stopped her.

But his gaze stayed glued to Rita, his eyes swirling with conflicting emotions.

Rita shook out her hand, which was still tingling from the slap.

She didn't even spare a glance at the crying kid—her gaze was locked on Jordan, cold and unyielding.

"Did you see that clearly?" Rita said, her voice icy.

"The injuries on my daughter's face are much worse than this.

"That slap was for my daughter.

"Now, let's settle the matter of compensation."

Her words were measured, but each one hit like a cold, hard stone, striking everyone in the room.

Theodora finally found her voice.

"Ms. Moody, please—calm down. You can't just get physical..." she pleaded, flustered.

"Ms. Stephenson." Rita cut her off, her voice sharp and commanding.

"My kid got hurt by another student right here in your school.

"And as her teacher, you didn't protect her when it mattered.

"And as the school, you didn't even make the bully or his parents own up to what they did. Instead, you let my daughter keep taking the heat and getting humiliated right here.

"Now you expect me to just calm down?"

Rita took a step forward, fixing Theodora with a hard stare.

"If my daughter were the one lying in the hospital right now, would you still be telling me to keep quiet just to protect the school's image?"

Theodora was totally speechless, her face going from red to pale in seconds.

Rita ignored her and turned to Jordan.

"Mr. Walters, five years gone, and your ego's only gotten bigger.

"You don't even know your own daughter when she's standing right there. Some memory you've got."

Jordan's lips moved, his Adam's apple bobbing, but he couldn't get a word out.

"You're covering my daughter's medical bills, her pain and suffering, and the drawing your kid tore up. All of it," Rita said.

She pulled Trina to her side, pointing straight at the angry scratches on her little girl's face.

"I care about my daughter's face more than anything. I'm not here to waste time.

"Either we call the police right now and let them deal with it.

"Or we handle it privately. Bring your son over and apologize to my daughter—right now.

"And then, you compensate us," Rita finished, her tone still cold as ice.

Sheila was shaking with rage. "Dream on! Why should we apologize? Your kid started it—she pushed first!"

"Is that so?" Rita gave a cold chuckle and turned to Theodora.

"Ms. Stephenson, there are hallway cameras, right?

"I want to see the footage—right now.

"Let's see who really started it, and who's lying."

Her words landed like a hammer, leaving no room for argument.

Jordan stiffened, just a fraction, barely noticeable.

He glanced at Mick, who was still bawling his eyes out, then back at Rita—her gaze icy, her whole presence radiating power.

A feeling of defeat hit him hard—something he'd never experienced before.

For the first time, he realized it.

The woman standing before him was no longer the one who used to rely on him for everything, always looking up to him.

She'd become a rose with thorns.

Beautiful, but deadly.

He drew in a deep breath, steeling himself for what came next.

He turned to Sheila, his voice leaving no room for argument. "Mick needs to apologize."

Sheila was stunned, like she'd just been slapped.

"Jordan? You're telling my son to apologize to her?" she sputtered, disbelief written all over her face.

"Apologize!" Jordan barked, his voice sharp and barely holding back his anger.

Sheila shrank back from his intensity. Even though she was resentful, she dragged Mick over.

"Hurry up, apologize to that girl," Sheila gritted out, her voice strained.

Mick, still sniffling and crying, muttered a half-hearted apology, clearly unwilling. "Sorry..."

Rita's face stayed completely expressionless.

"My daughter's name is Trina, not 'that girl,'" she said, her voice icy.

"Look her in the eye and say it louder. I didn't hear you."

Jordan's fists clenched at his sides, his jaw tightening.

With Rita's icy gaze locked on him, Mick finally lifted his head, looked straight at Trina, and forced out a loud, reluctant apology. "Trina, I'm sorry."

Rita finally nodded, satisfied.

She took Trina's hand and headed for the door.

She wanted out of this place—she wasn't staying a second longer.

"Wait," Jordan finally spoke, his voice hoarse.

He stepped forward, trying to stop her.

"We... need to talk," he said.

Rita didn't even slow down. She just shot him a cold glare over her shoulder.

"We have nothing to discuss.

"As for compensation, my lawyer will contact you," she added, icy and unyielding.

With that, she took Trina's hand and strode out of the office without a backward glance, leaving behind a mess and a man left reeling.

Just as they stepped out of the school building, Jordan's phone started ringing.

Rita didn't look back, but she could feel his burning gaze on her back.

She quickened her pace.

When they reached the car, she carefully buckled Trina into her car seat.

Just as she closed the door, someone grabbed her wrist from behind—hard.

It was Jordan, who had chased after her.

His eyes were bloodshot, and he was practically shaking with emotion.

"Rita, what do you want?!" Jordan snapped, his voice cracking with desperation.

Right then, his phone started blowing up again, ringing nonstop.

Jordan glanced at the caller ID, his face darkening even more.

The call was from his wife, Laurel Norris.

He hung up, but Laurel immediately called again, persistent as ever.

Jordan answered the phone, barely holding back his irritation.

"I'm busy!" he snapped.

Laurel's shrill, aggrieved voice came through the phone, so loud that Rita could hear every word.

"Jordan! You're with that Sheila Vasquez woman again, aren't you? You promised you'd come to my prenatal checkup today! Where the hell are you?"

'Prenatal checkup?' Rita wondered.

The mocking curve lingered on her lips as she yanked her hand away from Jordan, shooting him a look full of contempt and disgust.

That look was like a thorn, piercing straight into Jordan's heart.

His temples pounded, each beat sharper than the last.

Laurel's relentless questioning on the other end was like an awl, drilling straight into his skull and making his head feel like it might split open.

"Jordan! Say something. Are you with that homewrecker again?

"Let me remind you, the baby I'm carrying is the Walters family's eldest grandson. If you dare cross me..."

Jordan cut her off abruptly, slamming the call shut.

The world fell silent.

But his mind was more tangled than ever.

He stared at Rita, right in front of him.

The sneer on her face was like a scorching needle, stabbing deep into his heart.

It was a look he'd never gotten from her before.

Her eyes brimmed with contempt, disgust, and even... pity.

It was like she was watching some pathetic clown put on a show.

That gaze sent a wave of inexplicable panic and frustration through him.

Five years ago, whenever Rita looked at him, her eyes were always full of worship and longing.

'When did everything start to fall apart?' Jordan thought, feeling a wave of confusion crash over him.

"Rita..." he called out.

He wanted to reach out, to grab her, to demand answers, to make her explain everything.

He wanted to know how she'd survived these past five years.

He wanted to know why she'd kept their child a secret from him.

But Rita just coldly flung his hand off, her movements icy and unfeeling.

The force in her gesture left no room for argument—it was final.

She turned, yanked open the car door, and slid into the driver's seat.

Her actions held not a shred of hesitation or nostalgia.

The engine roared to life, like a thunderbolt snapping Jordan back to reality.

He instinctively tried to stop her, reaching out before he even realized it.

But her car slipped into the traffic without a hint of hesitation.

All that remained was her cold figure fading away and a cloud of exhaust in the air.

Jordan stood there, frozen in place.

The coldness of her wrist still lingered in his palm.

It was icy, just like her heart right now.

His phone rang again, breaking the silence at the worst possible time.

Laurel, once again.

He answered, his tone icy enough to chill the room, "I'm busy at the office. Just let the driver and nanny go with you for the checkup.

"That's all. Hanging up."

He cut her off, not giving her a single chance to respond.

Behind him, Sheila walked over, holding Mick's hand as he was still sobbing, her steps cautious and careful.

"Jordan, who is that woman, really?" Sheila asked, her voice shaky with hurt and uncertainty.

"Why did she say... that girl is your daughter..."

Her words carried both resentment and doubt, as if she was searching for answers but afraid of what she might find.

Jordan spun around, his glare sharp and furious, like a beast provoked beyond reason.

"Your son threw the first punch, and you still dare to stand here asking questions?" he snapped.

"Didn't I tell you not to stir up trouble for me when you're out?"

His anger finally found an outlet.

Sheila flinched at his outburst, her eyes rimmed with tears.

"I... I didn't know it would turn out like this..." she stammered, her voice shaky.

"Mick said that little girl pushed him first..."

"Shut up!" Jordan cut her off, barking.

He didn't want to hear any more excuses.

His mind was a tangled mess right now.

Rita. Trina. Your dad...

Those names and words kept swirling in his mind, like a curse he couldn't shake.

For the first time, he felt like things were slipping out of his control.

He was the golden boy, untouchable in the business world.

He was used to being in control of everything.

Women's moods, his team's work, the direction of every project—he always pulled the strings.

But today, Rita's sudden appearance had thrown his whole world off balance.

He didn't even know he had a five-year-old daughter.

What a cruel joke.

Frustrated, he tugged at his tie, pulled out his phone, and called his assistant.

"I need you to look into someone for me," he said.

"Rita Moody.

"We got divorced five years ago.

"I want every detail about her life for the past five years. Everything.

"That includes her job, where she lives, who she's been hanging out with, and... everything about that kid.

"Send it to my email in half an hour."

After hanging up, he leaned against the cold metal of his car, lighting a cigarette.

Smoke swirled around him, his gaze clouded and impossible to read.

'Rita, you really think you can escape me?' Jordan thought.

'Five years ago, I forced you out with nothing.

'Five years later, I can drag you right back into my world.'

*****

Meanwhile, the silence inside Rita's car was heavy, almost suffocating.

Rita watched Trina through the rearview mirror, her gaze lingering.

Trina sat in her car seat, her small hands gripping the ripped drawing tightly, her head bowed in silence.

Rita slowed down and pulled over to the side of the road.

She unbuckled her seatbelt and turned to hug her daughter.

"Trina, were you scared?" she asked softly.

Trina's body trembled as she buried her face in her mom's arms, finally bursting into tears with a loud cry.

"Mommy... I didn't want to fight..." Trina sobbed, her voice trembling.

"He took my drawing and tore it up...

"He said... he said I don't have a daddy, that I'm just a bastard..."

Trina's broken sobs were like knives, slicing Rita's heart to pieces.

'No daddy. Bastard,' she murmured those words inwardly.

For the past five years, Rita had poured her heart and soul into giving Trina a normal, happy childhood.

She played both mom and dad, doing everything for her little girl.

She thought she could keep Trina safe from all the hurt out there.

But she forgot—no matter how hard she tried, she could never block out all the meanness in the world.

Her eyes brimmed with tears, her vision blurring.

She pulled Trina into a tight embrace, her voice choked and shaky.

"I'm sorry, Trina. It's Mommy's fault," she whispered, her words trembling.

"From now on, I'll try even harder to protect you.

"You're not a bastard. It's just... your daddy went somewhere really far away, and he can't come back right now."

It was the same lie she'd been telling Trina for five years.

Trina sniffled, lifting her tear-streaked face.

"Mommy, why was that man so mean?" she asked, her voice trembling.

"And why did that boy have to say sorry?"

Rita gently wiped away Trina's tears with her fingertips.

Those eyes—so much like Jordan's—stabbed at her heart, making it ache.

'How do I even begin to explain all this?' Rita thought, feeling completely lost.

She stayed quiet for a long time, then finally spoke in a gentle voice, "They apologized because they messed up.

"Trina, remember—we never pick on anyone first. But if someone bullies us, we have to be brave and fight back.

"No matter what, Mommy will always have your back. I'll be your strongest shield."

Trina nodded, half-understanding, but trusting her mom completely.

She unfolded the torn drawing again, her face scrunched up in frustration and sadness.

"But... my picture's all messed up..." Trina whimpered, her voice shaky.

Rita reached over and ruffled her hair, smiling gently.

"Don't worry. We'll go home, and Mommy will help you make an even prettier one, okay?"

"Okay!" Trina chirped, her eyes shining through the tears.

Rita started the car again.

Neon lights streaked past the window, lighting up Rita's strong, determined face.

'Jordan Walters,' Rita thought, her heart hardened, her resolve unshakable.

'Whatever was between us is ancient history.

'You won't ever disturb the peace Trina and I have found.

'I clawed my way out of hell alone for five years.

'Now, you don't scare me one bit.'

*****

When they got home, Rita ran a warm bath for Trina.

The steam filled the bathroom, chasing away the shadows in Trina's heart.

Trina splashed around in the tub with her rubber duck, her face lighting up with her usual smile.

Rita sat on the couch in the living room, but she couldn't relax for a second.

She knew what happened at the school gate today was just the start of something bigger.

With Jordan's personality, he would never back down.

He was definitely going to come after her.

He might even try to fight her for Trina.

The thought alone made Rita's heart twist up in anxiety.

Trina was everything to her.

No one was ever going to take her away from Rita.

Suddenly, her phone buzzed—a new email from her assistant.

[Ms. Moody, I've sent the materials for tomorrow's project meeting to your inbox. Let me know if you need anything else.

[Also, Prime Group asked if you'd like to grab coffee tomorrow afternoon to go over the details for the next phase.]

Rita rubbed her temples and replied: [Received, thanks. The meeting will go ahead as planned.

[Let them know I'll see them at our usual spot at 3 PM tomorrow.]

Work was her lifeline—the anchor that kept her grounded.

It was also her biggest source of confidence when it came to standing up to Jordan.

She opened her laptop, forcing herself into work mode.

But today, all that data and text just blurred together—her mind simply couldn't process any of it.

All she could see in her mind was Jordan's face—shocked, bewildered, and angry.

And that woman hanging on his arm, plus the pregnant wife on the call.

Five years later, his life was still just as "colorful" as ever.

A cold, mocking smile curled across Rita's lips.

Divorce was the smartest move she ever made.

Right as she was thinking, her phone rang again.

It was an unknown number.

Her heart tightened, a sense of dread creeping over her.

She hesitated for a moment, then pressed the answer button.

"Hello?" she said, her voice steady but cautious.

"Rita Moody." It was a voice she never wanted to hear again in her life.

Jordan.

His voice came through the line, rough and tired, but still carrying that suffocating sense of control.

Rita's body went rigid in an instant.

She hadn't expected him to find her number so quickly.

She stayed silent, her fingers gripping the phone so tightly they turned pale.

"Trina... she's my daughter, isn't she?" Jordan's voice trembled, a hint of uncertainty creeping in.

Rita took a deep breath, her tone icy as the coldest winter wind.

"I think you're mistaken, Mr. Walters.

"My daughter's name is Moody. She has nothing to do with you—never has, never will.

"If you keep harassing me, I'll call the police."

With that, she was about to hang up.

"Wait!" Jordan shouted, desperation in his voice.

"Rita, can we talk?

"Just tell me how much you want? What'll it take to see my kid?"

'Here we go again. Money,' Rita thought, her disgust bubbling up.

'Does he really think everything in his world can be bought?

'Even family?'

Rage and disgust hit Rita like a punch to the gut.

"Jordan, listen up.

"I'll say it one more time—Trina is none of your business.

"She's my daughter, and only mine.

"You forced me to sign those divorce papers when I was pregnant and needed you most. That's when you lost the right to call yourself a father.

"Go have your precious kid with your new wife!"

With that, Rita hung up hard and instantly blocked his number.

Her chest rose and fell rapidly, and tears she couldn't stop spilled over her cheeks.

All the bottled-up pain, bitterness, and heartbreak from the past five years finally burst out.

She thought she was strong enough.

But Jordan's sudden return ripped off the armor she'd worked so hard to build up, leaving her completely exposed.

From the bathroom, she could hear Trina's little voice singing.

Chapter 2

"I have a good mom, a good mom..."

The sweet, childish singing felt like medicine for Rita, soothing her heart in an instant.

She wiped away her tears and stood up.

'That's right,' Rita thought to herself. 'Trina is all I have.'

She had to stay strong for Trina.

*****

Meanwhile, on the other side, Jordan, whose call had just been cut off, wore a stormy expression so dark it could've scared off a thundercloud.

He stood alone in his empty office, slamming his fist hard against the floor-to-ceiling window.

The glass let out a heavy thud, and his hand throbbed with pain.

But that pain was nothing compared to the agony in his heart.

'Not fit to be a dad?' Jordan thought, his mind spinning. 'Did she really say that?'

His assistant knocked and entered, nervously handing over a file.

"Mr. Walters, this is what you asked for... all the information on Ms. Rita Moody from the past five years," the assistant said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Jordan snatched the file from him and waved him out.

Then, he settled onto the couch and began leafing through the thick stack of papers, page by page.

The file was hefty.

It recorded every move Rita had made in the past five years.

It started right after her divorce, when she rented a cramped studio apartment barely 300 square feet.

Then there were the days when she was heavily pregnant, working at a convenience store while teaching herself project management in her spare time.

After Trina was born, she spent her days as the lowest-ranking assistant at a small company, and her nights at home, caring for her newborn daughter.

The file included several photos.

One showed her cradling newborn Trina in the hospital hallway, her face exhausted yet tender.

Another captured her squeezed onto a packed subway, Trina strapped to her back, her gaze both bewildered and resolute.

And there was one of her at a project celebration banquet, dressed in a sharp business suit, holding a glass of champagne, her smile confident and poised.

'From a pampered, inexperienced heiress who always needed someone to look out for her.

'To a decisive, formidable businesswoman who handled everything herself.

'How much pain has she really endured these past five years?' Jordan thought.

He felt like something was squeezing his heart hard.

He'd always thought Rita wouldn't make it without him.

He'd even pictured her coming back, crying and begging him to take her back.

But he never imagined things would turn out like this.

Not only had she survived, but she was living such an amazing, beautiful life.

She'd erased him from her world, leaving no trace behind.

She didn't even want him to know he had a daughter.

The last page of the file was Trina's birth certificate.

The father's name was left blank.

Just blank.

That empty space seared into his eyes like red-hot nails.

He hurled the file to the floor.

The papers went flying everywhere.

An overwhelming surge of regret and fury he'd never known before swept through him.

'I was wrong, so wrong.

'I couldn't have been more mistaken.

'I'd lost the one thing that mattered most to me.

'No,' Jordan thought fiercely.

He was going to take her back—no matter what.

And he'd claim his daughter, too.

With that thought, he grabbed his phone and dialed another number.

"Hey, is this Mr. Abbott?" Jordan said.

"It's Jordan Walters.

"I heard your company's been talking to Daystar Ventures about a new project?

"Yeah, the one Rita's in charge of.

"I'm backing this project.

"Tomorrow, I'll be at your project meeting—as your lead investor," he said, making it clear he was calling the shots.

(The version on crush novels is only a few chapters)

Chapter 1 Last Straw

'Regina's in the hospital. She needs a blood transfusion. Come to Hagen General. Now.'

'Where are you? You are fifteen minutes late.'

'If you are unhappy about the price, it's been upped to one hundred thousand dollars. Check your bank account.'

'Darya Miller, I expect your presence at the hospital within the next twenty minutes. A deal's a deal.'

Darya scrolled through the messages with a sneer, her knuckles turning white.

Instead of texts from her husband—which these actually were—they sounded more like orders issued to an underling by a hard taskmaster.

Which summed up her relationship with Micah perfectly—her the subordinate, him the superior.

When he gave instructions, Micah Cavanaugh expected to be obeyed without question or delay.

The fact that Darya had already given blood three times in just as many weeks was a trifling detail he couldn't be bothered to remember.

Or care.

"Suck it up. A deal's a deal."

She could almost hear him, as if he were right there in the room, looking down his aquiline nose at her.

Darya shivered, rubbing her arms.

Dizziness, nausea, and cold sweat were common symptoms after giving too much blood in too short a time.

She had to wear wide bell sleeves to prevent chafing of the bruises where they'd stuck the giant needle into the crook of her arm, repeatedly.

Micah didn't notice the bruises, of course.

In fact, he'd rarely—if ever—touched her when they were in the same room.

When he wasn't busy running his business empire, he spent his time by the side of another woman—Regina Fischer.

The exact nature of their relationship remained a cause for much speculation, but Darya never confronted Micah about it.

She was just the wife, after all.

A nominal one, at that.

Micah and Darya maintained separate bedrooms, exchanged perfunctory greetings when their paths crossed, and could go days without talking to each other.

When he did reach out, it was mostly for the sake of Regina.

Darya happened to share the same extremely rare blood type as Micah's alleged mistress—AB negative.

In fact, her blood was the only reason Micah agreed to marry her three years ago.

Regina needed a blood transfusion back then, just like she needed one right now.

Less than one percent of the country's population had AB-negative blood, and hospital blood banks were perpetually understocked.

"You want me to marry you?"

In the hospital corridor, stinking of antiseptic and someone else's blood, Micah had stared fixedly at the girl who dared to use Regina's medical condition to blackmail him.

Heart in mouth, Darya had nodded.

"Fine, but only if you agree to become a blood donor for Regina, 24/7. If and when she needs it, you are to make yourself available—no questions asked, no backing out for any reason. Monetary compensation can be arranged."

Darya had jumped at the offer, thinking it was the deal of a lifetime.

How naïve she had been.

She swiped away the latest message from her husband—no doubt another sternly worded reminder demanding her to hustle her ass down to Hagen General.

She tapped on her phone and brought up a photo.

It was a candid shot, sent anonymously.

Even sleeping, Micah looked incredibly, ridiculously handsome.

His face seemed carved by the loving hands of angels on a day they were feeling particularly generous.

His mouth, though thin-lipped, was exquisite and made for kissing—not that Darya ever had the occasion to taste it.

His eyes, the colour of flawless brown topaz, were piercing and commanded attention.

His long, thick lashes were the same raven black as his short hair, cut with military precision.

And he had a jawline most men were willing to go under the knife for.

Darya had fallen for him the moment she saw that face.

Her heart still did a nervous flutter every time she set eyes on him.

They didn't share a bed, but from the few times she caught him coming out of the shower, wearing just a towel wrapped loosely around his waist, she knew there was a powerfully built body hidden underneath that crisp shirt and meticulously buttoned-up suit jacket.

Just like the one he was wearing in the candid shot.

But that wasn't what caused Darya to stare at the photo for ten minutes straight.

It was Regina's head snuggled against Micah's broad shoulder.

He was reclining in a deep maroon armchair, his long legs stretched out in front of him, hands folded neatly over his lap, eyes closed.

Regina appeared to be sleeping as well, though a corner of her mouth was curved upwards.

The smirk also gave away the identity of the anonymous sender.

Who else could it be but Regina?

It would also explain the smug, gloating tone in the message accompanying the photo.

"Look how well-matched they are! You should bow out. Prince Charming deserves to be with a real princess, not the chambermaid."

Darya turned on the front-facing camera, checked out her reflection, and decided that maybe, just maybe, Regina had a point.

She was by no means ugly, but persistent blood loss had drained her cheeks and lips of all colour.

Constant lack of sleep gave her the hollow-eyed, sallow-skinned look of a malnourished anaemic.

Was that why Micah never spared her a second glance?

Was Regina, with the bedroom eyes and bee-stung lips, his preferred type?

Darya touched Micah's face onscreen and finally made up her mind.

She had given herself three years to try to win his heart.

She knew he saw her as just a stranger who had exploited an unfortunate situation.

Essentially, he'd married her under duress.

Which was why she had swallowed her pride—of which there was a considerable amount—packed away the memory of a privileged life, and learned to play the role of a biddable wife and dutiful daughter-in-law.

She'd sucked up to his snobbish family, abased herself in front of his friends, and did all the things *Housewife* magazine suggested.

She'd hoped he would eventually see that although her entry into his life had been abrupt and calculated, her feelings for him were genuine.

Still, he never warmed up to her.

Chapter 2 Divorce

In all three years, the number of times they'd had something resembling a friendly conversation could be counted on the fingers of one hand.

In contrast, Micah's texts requesting Darya to show up at the hospital—with sleeves rolled up and a vein picked out—had flooded her WhatsApp inbox.

Bit by bit, message by message, he'd chipped away at the wall she had built around herself to shield her from the ugly, crushing reality—he didn't love her.

Never did, never would.

She had seen their marriage as a way to share a life with the man she loved.

He had probably seen it as a transaction.

"A deal's a deal," he'd often say.

Regina's photo was the wrecking ball that finally brought the entire wall crumbling down.

Darya rose to her feet, closed her eyes to wait for the dizzy spell to pass, and tried to ignore the dull ache in her heart.

She was normally a resolute sort.

Still, to write off three years of her life, to acknowledge they had been an abject failure, was a bitter pill to swallow.

Darya's eyes were red-rimmed but remained dry.

She would not cry.

She stood there a moment, collecting her thoughts and emotions.

The front door of the house burst open.

Micah, tall and elegant in a charcoal grey suit, strode in on his long legs.

Annoyance flickered in his eyes when he saw her in the living room.

It intensified into fury when he noted the iPhone clutched in her hand.

"If your phone's working, why didn't you answer my texts or calls?"

Darya took in his expression, committed his striking features to memory.

This would probably be the last time they stood this close together.

Micah, a man of action, grabbed her wrist and started moving toward the door.

"You are needed at the hospital, pronto."

"I know." Darya dug in her heels, had to hold on to the sofa's headrest to prevent herself from being dragged off.

"Then why aren't you moving?" Micah blew out an impatient breath.

"I'll go to the hospital. I'll give blood. But there's one thing I need from you first."

"Money? It's already been transferred into your account." Micah thrust both hands into his pockets. "Check it."

"It's not about the money."

"Then what is it? Get to the point. We are wasting time here."

"I want a divorce." Darya's icy tone matched his.

Carefully, she made her face blank, tried to hide the anguish in her voice.

Micah took a second, more careful look at his wife.

He knew his hearing worked fine, but he wasn't so sure of it for a brief moment.

Did she just ask for a divorce?

Wasn't she the one who had coerced him into marriage in the first place?

What changed?

He spoke his mind. "I need an explanation."

"I don't have one. If you want me to give blood to Regina, that's the condition."

"That wasn't the deal we agreed on."

"I know. I broke my word. Sue me." She shrugged.

Surprise flitted across his face.

Micah had never seen his wife so... confrontational.

She appeared to be calm, but he'd detected what might be anger smouldering in her big, round, bloodshot eyes.

Yet, in his mind, there was no logical reason for her to be mad.

Things were what they had always been.

An idea popped into his head.

Could this be one of those mood swings women were famous for during their time of the month?

A friend had once told Micah—likely from personal experience—that there was simply no reasoning with a woman being visited by Aunt Flo.

Micah considered it politic to go along with her suggestion for now.

Maybe she would cool down in a couple of days and back-pedal, which would give him the upper hand in the negotiation of their new deal.

"Okay." He nodded. "Have you drawn up the papers?"

"Uh, no." Darya hadn't expected him to agree to it so quickly.

But then, he had always been the decisive sort.

"I'll print out a sample divorce settlement agreement. We'll both sign it, mail it to Family Court. Since it's going to be a no-fault divorce, I assume it'll be approved by the court fairly quickly."

He was already moving toward the winding staircase.

His study was located on the second floor.

In a daze, Darya waited for him to come back down with two printed copies of the agreement, then signed both.

As Micah put down his name on the dotted line, a vague feeling of unease niggled at the back of his mind.

But he pushed it aside.

"Done." Micah slid one copy into a manila envelope and sealed it. "I'll drop this off at the post office on the way to the hospital. Let's go."

Darya stuffed the other copy into her purse, fought to keep down the lump rising at the back of her throat.

He'd made it seem so easy.

Had he been waiting a long time for this moment?

She followed him out of the house, into his Bugatti La Voiture Noire, and stared out the window during the entire ride.

Micah glanced at her from time to time, rubbed at the tension between his brows, and battled the urge to second-guess his decision to sign the divorce papers.

Was her impetuosity really triggered by PMS?

Would things really go back to normal after two days?

He hoped so.

Neither of them said a word until the car pulled up outside Hagen General.

Regina was sitting up in the single bed of the VIP private room Micah had booked for her, looking fragile like a delicate flower.

A doctor in a white lab coat was sitting in a chair nearby, dozing off.

Regina's eyes lit up when she saw Micah enter the room, but her face fell as Darya stepped inside.

Darya didn't miss the flash of resentment in those beautiful, kohl-lined eyes.

"Micah, I told you, I'm fine." Regina complained to him in a tone of familiar intimacy. "You didn't have to bring Darya all the way here."

She covered her mouth with a hand and coughed daintily.

"She's already here. Might as well be useful." Micah turned to Darya. "Roll up your sleeve."

Chapter 3 Unmasked

Darya moved up to the bed, stood right in front of Regina.

The latter offered a weak smile. "Darya, thank you for coming. I—Aah!"

She screeched in pain as Darya ripped off the white gauze wrapped around her forehead.

"What are you doing?" both Micah and Regina demanded in unison.

"Are you out of your mind?" Micah yanked Darya back before she could do more damage.

Regina recovered quickly.

Irritation morphed into bafflement as she worked some hurt into her voice. "I... Darya, I don't understand. Why did you...?"

Darya held up the length of pristine white gauze. "No blood."

Micah knitted his brows.

Darya pointed to Regina's exposed forehead. "No wound. Not even a scratch."

She turned to Micah. "You said she got into an accident, banged up her head pretty bad, lost a lot of blood." She sneered. "Must be invisible blood."

Micah whirled toward the doctor. "What's going on? You diagnosed head trauma, ordered a transfusion."

Doctor Patel, as his nametag pinned above the left breast pocket indicated, slowly rose to his feet.

He was sweating visibly.

"I, ah, we simply... I simply did as instructed."

"Who instructed you?" Micah dropped the volume of his voice, upped the intimidation level.

"You did, Mr. Cavanaugh." The doctor trained his eyes on the floor.

"When did I ask you to fake a diagnosis?"

Darya leaned against a wall, crossed her arms, watched the drama unfold with disinterest.

Micah caught amused derision in her fleeting smile.

He balled his hands into fists, stared a hole through the doctor's balding pate.

"Um, ah, uh, Miss Fischer said..."

"Speak up!" Micah bellowed.

"She told us you wanted the diagnosis to be severe so Miss Miller would have to give blood!" the doctor blurted.

He cast an apologetic glance at Regina. "Sorry."

"Micah, don't listen to him!" Regina sat up straighter, anxious. "He's making this up!"

Micah raised an arm, palm out, a gesture for silence.

Regina shut up.

"Explain," Micah looked pointedly at the doctor.

"Every time, before Miss Fischer comes to the hospital, she would give me a heads-up, make sure I know what, ah, what diagnosis to give, get our story straight. It's normally some kind of injury that would require a blood transfusion."

"And you just went along with it."

The doctor had the decency to look ashamed. "She said she would have my job if I didn't fall in line."

And, since Regina didn't actually need the blood, he could sell it off on the black market.

AB negative was as rare as it could get, pricier than gold.

He had been making a nice little pile of cash on the side and thought it was a mutually beneficial arrangement—though, to be honest, he wasn't sure what benefit Miss Fischer was getting out of it.

"Micah," Regina wrung her hands. "I can explain."

Since her fake wound was exposed, some colour had magically returned to her pale cheeks.

"To give you more time to cook up a plausible story," Darya interjected, "why don't I show him this? You might as well concoct something that explains both the fake wound and the photo."

She tapped a few keys on her screen, looked up at Micah. "I just sent you a photo, annotated."

Micah stared at his own face onscreen.

The background of the candid shot looked familiar.

What was unfamiliar was Regina's face pressed up against his.

"Your company has a pretty decent tech department," Darya said casually. "You can probably get a couple of your people to verify if the photo's doctored, and to trace its sender."

"Who sent you this?" Micah raised his head.

"That's for you to find out, and for her to explain." Darya flashed Regina a feral smile. "By the way, the deal I made with him has been revoked. You're gonna have to find someone else to suck blood from."

She sauntered out of the ward, leaving the past three years of her life behind.

Doctor Patel seized the opportunity to slink off.

Micah gripped his phone.

The comment about Prince Charming and the chambermaid stung.

He'd never thought of Darya as a maid.

In fact, he'd never thought of her, period.

The snarky comment added to the sinking feeling in his stomach—Darya hadn't asked for the divorce on the spur of the moment.

The photo was probably the last straw.

She was really leaving him. Permanently.

A sharp pang stabbed at his heart.

He spun toward the door. "Darya!"

Regina chose this moment to fall off the bed.

Her knees hit the vinyl floor with an audible thud.

She clutched at her chest. "I... I don't feel so well."

Micah paused, hesitated briefly, then turned back. "What's wrong?"

"I... I feel faint." Her face was scrunched up in pain. "I think I'm going to pass out."

"I'll go get the doctor."

"No, don't leave me, please!" She gripped his arm, sobbed. "I miss Lucian. I wish he were here."

Micah froze.

His army buddy's final moments flashed across his mind.

Out of the corner of her eye, Regina caught the mournful look on Micah's face and hid a satisfied smile.

To make sure he stayed with her, she held her breath until she successfully passed out.

Darya stopped in front of the lift, pressed the call button, strained her ears, but heard no hurried footsteps coming down the hallway towards her.

She stretched her lips into a bitter smile.

The man she'd been married to for three years couldn't even take a moment to say goodbye.

She wondered if that was more of a reflection on his lack of sentimentality, or on her failure to etch out even a tiny corner of existence in his heart.

He'd probably already dismissed her from his mind and was on the hunt for the next blood donor.

Darya stepped into the lift.

The doors slid shut.

She came out into the underground carpark.

Micah's black Bugatti was parked in its reserved spot.

She walked past it without a backward glance, stopped in front of a Rolls-Royce Phantom in Smokey Quartz, bowed her head.

One minute she’s dying from overtime, the next she’s dumped in a deadly ocean survival game with a junk raft. While others whine & beg, Gwen snags a legendary fishing rod, revives skeletons as minions, and becomes the FIRST ghost pirate on the server. No food? She fishes like a pro. No safety? Her spectral blink saves her. This queen doesn’t beg—she trades, fights, and dominates. Who needs luck when you’ve got god-tier gear?

*******

The sky above Gwen Swann was a clean, endless blue. No clouds. No contrails. Under her, the ocean went on forever, a dark mouth that did not blink.

She sat on a raft barely 43 square feet in area. No land. No boats. No gulls. Just water and the slap of waves. The spray soaked her jeans and the fabric stuck cold to her legs, like the sea was claiming her piece by piece.

Gwen stared ahead, her mind completely blank. She was pretty sure that five minutes ago, she'd been at the office, half-dead from overtime, staring at a spreadsheet and wondering if coffee counted as dinner.

Gwen thought, 'Kidnapped? By who, exactly.

'I am a soft target with nothing to my name. What, someone hauled me out here to inherit my student loans and maxed-out Visa?'

A translucent screen flickered into view at the corner of her vision, like a heads-up display from a game. Lines of text scrolled by.

[Global Chat]:

[Okay, no joke, where the hell are we?]

[I was literally about to clutch a pentakill and now I'm in the ocean. This has to be a prank.]

[Someone tell me I'm dreaming. Or knock me out. Either works.]

[Is anyone else here actually real? I don't see a single person.]

[I'm gonna throw up. I get seasick on this boat. This is not funny.]

[Bro, calling this thing a boat is generous. My dog's crate is bigger.]

[Seasick? Try having deep-sea phobia. I swear something huge just swam under my raft.]

[Nana, if you're watching from heaven, please don't let me die like this!]

Gwen exhaled quietly. 'Good. I am not alone. At least this nightmare has company.'

The chat continued to dissolve into chaos, but before she could read more, another voice cut through everything. Cold. Flat. Inhuman. It didn't come from the screen. It came from inside her head.

[Congratulations. You have entered the Ocean Survival Game. Player ID: 29,786,510.

[All five billion players have successfully entered the game. The Grand Sea Route is now officially open. Please remember the following navigation rules.

[From this point forward, your life will take place at sea. You may collect resources by salvaging floating debris, fishing, and exploring islands in order to upgrade your vessel and survive.

[During the New Player Protection Period, players are prohibited from attacking one another. Violations will result in system penalties.

[The New Player Protection Period lasts three days. During this time, overall difficulty is significantly reduced. Use this window wisely and gather supplies as quickly as possible.

[You have one life. Please do not waste it.

[After the protection period ends, the global event "Ocean Storm" will begin.

[Warning: the storm will destroy all vessels with a Sturdiness Value below five. Upgrade your ship to ensure survival.

[A Beginner Blind Box has been delivered to your vessel. Happy sailing.]

Right on cue, something dropped from above. A small wooden box hit the raft with a dull thump and slid to a stop near Gwen's feet.

A large question mark was painted on the lid. So this was the so-called Beginner Blind Box.

Only then did she notice the rest of her starting equipment. A fishing rod lay near the edge of the raft, old enough to look like it had lived several past lives.

Next to it sat an iron grappling hook, spotted with rust and tied to a fraying rope.

The moment she focused on them, translucent stat panels popped up in front of her eyes.

[Worn Fishing Rod]

[Quality: Poor]

[Description: Standard beginner item. Everyone gets one. Can be used for fishing.]

[Worn Throwing Hook]

[Quality: Poor]

[Everyone gets one of these starter tools. Use it to snag whatever junk's floating by on the waves.]

[Dilapidated Wooden Raft]

[Sturdiness: 1 (May fall apart at any time.)]

[Speed: 0 (It's a busted raft. Manage your expectations.)]

[Storage Capacity: 0/10 slots]

[Durability: 100/100]

[Upgrade requirements: 20 Wood, 10 Cloth, 10 Seaweeds, 1 Iron Ore, 1 Dull Pearl.]

[(Upgrade unavailable. Insufficient materials.)]

After reading through the raft's stats, Gwen finally understood just how bad things were.

Five billion people around the world had been dumped into this so-called survival game. Everyone started the same way. One useless raft. No food. No fresh water. And a three-day countdown.

Technically, a person could survive about a week without food if they were careful. But the ocean storm coming in three days would wipe out this raft without even trying. A structural rating of one might as well be a death sentence.

If she wanted to live, upgrading this floating pile of wood wasn't optional. It was everything.

Gwen had never been the kind of person who wasted energy complaining about fate. When she realized something couldn't be changed, she made the only sensible choice. She adapted, and she did it fast.

That was how the world worked. Survival of the fittest. The strong stayed standing, and everyone else got swept aside.

She understood that rule instinctively. So while the global chat was still packed with people shouting, whining, and melting down in real time, Gwen was already moving, quietly collecting whatever she could get her hands on.

..............................................................................

She wrapped the rope of the throwing hook securely around her wrist and locked onto a wooden plank drifting about fifteen feet straight ahead.

The metal hook sliced through the air with a sharp whistle. It grazed the edge of the plank and missed.

The hook splashed into the water and vanished beneath the surface, swallowed whole by the sea.

Gwen pulled the rope, reeling the hook back in.

She had underestimated how fast the hook traveled, and she hadn't accounted for the way the current nudged floating debris forward. Lesson learned. On the second throw, she adjusted her timing and released.

The hook landed squarely in the middle of the plank.

Nailed it.

She hauled it in and noticed a strip of bright green seaweed tangled around the bottom.

[Item acquired: 1 Wood, 1 Seaweed]

A buy-one-get-one deal. She wasn't complaining.

Everything she collected was automatically transferred into the raft's storage. A notification popped up as the capacity updated to 2 out of 500.

No breaks. Gwen's eyes were already on the next piece of debris.

[Wood+1]

[Cloth +1]

[Seaweed +1]

*****

Three hours later, Gwen barely had to think about it anymore. Her wrist felt sore, sure, but her accuracy was ridiculous. Anything she aimed at might as well have been glued to the hook. Misses were rare.

She checked her inventory. Twenty three pieces of wood. Eleven cloth. Ten seaweed.

That was enough to upgrade the raft. What she still needed was iron ore and that dull-looking pearl. And she had no clue where either of those came from.

Out of curiosity, she glanced back at the global chat. The conversation had moved on. Everyone was now arguing about the newbie loot boxes.

[Are you kidding me? Five pieces of wood. That's it?]

[I got two bottles of water. Best day of my life. I was about to pass out.]

[Five wood gang here.]

[Same. Five wood.]

[Same here.]

[So the devs really went full gacha scam on us, huh?]

[This is supposed to be a starter reward, not a slap in the face.]

[Cry more. Check out what I pulled.]

One message stood out immediately. Someone had posted a full item card.

[Shark Tooth Dagger]

[Quality: Common]

[A dagger made from shark teeth. Sharp enough. Deals double damage to sharks.]

'Wait, weapons are in the loot boxes too?' Gwen thought, surprised.

Gwen scrolled. Weapon pulls were rare. Most people got basic materials. Some luckier players scored food, fresh water, binoculars, or flint.

One insanely lucky player claimed they had pulled one hundred dull pearls.

Gwen's eyes narrowed. The raft upgrade required one pearl. She still had no idea how to get one, and it was obvious these were way more valuable than wood or cloth.

The pearl guy wasted no time. [Selling extra pearls. One pearl for 200 wood, cloth, or seaweed.]

[Two hundred wood for one pearl? Just mug us next time.]

[I fished up a giant oyster with the starter rod. Cracked it open, pearl inside. If you want pearls, go fishing.]

[Fishing my ass. I've been sitting here for an hour and nothing's biting.]

[Same. Didn't catch a thing and almost fell in.]

[Basic fishing tip. You need bait. I tore off a piece of bread from a loot box, tied it to the hook, instant fish.]

[So what you're saying is I need food to get food?]

[No bait means no fish. No fish means no food. This game is evil.]

[Selling one piece of wheat bread, 150 grams, for 200 wood. First come, first served.]

[Dude, that's even worse than the pearl guy.]

[I would rather starve than trade my pride for bread.]

[Trading newbie blind box for five pieces of wheat bread.]

[People are selling blind boxes already?]

[My luck sucks anyway. Five wood isn't doing me any favors.]

Everyone was brand new, all stuck with the same problems. No food. No water. The moment someone had extras, prices went through the roof.

Gwen felt the faint tug of hunger in her stomach after hours of work, but it was manageable. She wasn't desperate yet. Trading valuable resources for food now would just mean grinding for someone else's benefit.

She picked up the blind box resting on the raft. Trading it for bread was probably the smart move. Still, Gwen hesitated. Compared to five pieces of wood, taking a shot at luck didn't seem like the worst idea in the world.

..............................................................................

Gwen worked a thumb under the seal and muttered a quick prayer to the loot gods. 'Not lumber. Please not lumber. If it isn't a weapon, let it be food.'

The box popped, and a long, slender rod shimmered into her hand.

[Lucky Octo Fishing Rod]

[Quality: Legendary]

[Comes with a jelly octopus lure that gives off a strange scent and has ridiculous suction. Guarantees a bite with every cast and greatly increases your odds of pulling rare fish and rare items.

[Fair warning: certain uncanny creatures are also drawn to it. Use with care.

[Anglers never get skunked!]

Gwen's eyes lit up. 'Talk about perfect timing. With a rod that comes with its own bait, I don't have to worry about finding any myself.'

And it was legendary. Back home she had dabbled in those cheesy pay to win MMOs where numbers fly off mobs like confetti. Legendary sounded a whole lot sweeter than the common dagger people were flexing in global chat.

Shame it was a fishing rod. She would have killed for something she could swing.

Still, no sense getting greedy. Compared to the poor souls who drew five planks, this was an S tier start.

She gave the rod a closer look. The build was miles ahead of the starter stick, with fancy scrollwork carved into the grip. A clear little octopus hung at the end of the line, glossy and wobbly like a gummy candy.

She tapped it with a fingertip. The tiny octopus twitched, then latched on with all eight arms. Okay, that suction was no joke. She couldn't peel it off.

Gwen muttered, "Easy there, buddy. Let go."

She rapped it gently on the head with her other hand. The octopus seemed to realize it had the wrong target and unhooked itself, almost apologetic.

Gwen faced the open water, set her stance, and sent the line out in a clean, pretty arc.

Legendary or not, she fully expected a bite.

That warning about uncanny creatures in the description went straight into the mental trash.

'When your stomach is filing complaints, you do not worry about sea spooks. If it is edible, it is eligible,' Gwen scoffed to herself.

Two minutes had not even passed when the float snapped under and vanished.

Her wrist dipped. The rod bowed into a tidy arc under the pull.

Fish on.

The fight was nothing. She hauled up in one smooth motion and slapped a small, silver bright fish onto the raft. Its tail drummed the boards like a snare.

[You obtained: Jack Mackerel x1]

[Auto dismantle? (System processing reduces yield.) ]

She hit Yes. No tools, no way to deal with guts, and she was not about to chew the thing whole like a seal.

[You obtained: Jack Mackerel Fillet x3]

She weighed the slices in her palm. The fish had to be about a pound, and after the system took its cut, more than a third had evaporated. Highway robbery.

Gwen clicked her tongue. Yeah, no. She decided once she had decent tools, she would clean her catch herself. No more letting the system skim her dinner.

Her stomach chimed in again. She raised a piece of raw fillet and took a bite. The texture was soft and tender, almost creamy, with a faint sweetness that lingered after she swallowed.

'Fresh caught hits different,' Gwen thought, savoring the flavor.

She polished off the fillets in a few quick bites. Maybe half full. The fish had been way too small.

She wrapped her fingers tighter around the rod and cast again. 'With a rod that literally never come up empty, food is the least of my worries, right?'

Not long after, the bobber dipped. Another bite.

She reeled it in with barely any effort.

The sun was sinking fast, the light thinning into dusk. Whatever was on the hook gleamed against the darkening water, and for a split second she thought she had struck it rich. Then she leaned closer. A starfish.

[Glowing Starfish]

[Inedible. Emits light at night. Can be used as an adorable bedside lamp.]

Gwen stared at it, the corners of her mouth twitching. 'Awesome,' she thought. 'Real cute. Totally useless.'

It didn't struggle or try to crawl away, so she dumped it off to the side of the raft.

After that, things went completely sideways. She caught two more horse mackerel and one sea bream. Everything else was glowing starfish. Blue ones. Green ones. Pink ones.

They stacked up until half the raft was covered, like they had organized a group outing and decided her hook was the place to be. Gwen squinted at the pile and sighed. 'Did I drop anchor in a starfish daycare or what?'

The night sky was pitch black, no moon, no stars. The heap of glowing starfish became the only light around, colors weaving together and shifting constantly. Blue, green, pink, purple, all bleeding into each other.

Her face, her hands, even the wooden planks under her boots were washed in that unreal glow. The light spilled out onto the surrounding sea, making it look like the raft was drifting through a magical field of stars.

There was no sail, but the raft kept moving with the current. Maybe she really had drifted straight into their territory. That would explain a lot.

She rubbed her sore wrist just as a familiar system chime sounded.

[Heads up, players: It is now 11:00 p.m. Between 11:00 p.m. and 5:00 a.m., the chance of catching eerie creatures and special items is doubled. We recommend getting proper rest. Staying up late is bad for your health.]

Three fish. All small. That was the entire haul. Not great.

She needed enough to eat tomorrow, and she had hoped to trade extra fish for fresh water with other players. The system's cheerful warning made her uneasy.

Gwen exhaled slowly. 'One last cast,' she told herself. 'If it's another glow stick with legs, I'm done for the night.'

She cast again. A few minutes passed, then her rod dipped hard. This time the weight nearly yanked it from her hands.

Now that was more like it. Sixty pounds at least. Probably more. She braced her feet and started reeling, a grin breaking through. Finally. Anything but another starfish.

Gwen had always been strong. As a kid she dominated both sprints and distance runs. In college she could hoist a full water jug with one hand, no problem. When she rolled up her sleeves, muscle lines stood out clear as day.

She gave the line a sharp tug and frowned. Whatever she had hooked was not fighting back. No thrashing. No pull. Just dead weight.

"Don't tell me I snagged a rock,' she thought. 'Maybe coral.'

She reeled it in steadily and dragged it up alongside the raft. Then she grabbed it with both hands and hauled it aboard.

It turned out to be a wine barrel, easily half as tall as she was.

Gwen didn't open it right away. She leaned in and knocked on the lid, listening. Nothing moved. Satisfied, she slid a wooden plank into the seam and pried.

The lid popped loose, and a wave of stale, rotten air rushed out.

Gwen pinched her nose and leaned over to look inside. Curled within the barrel was a complete human skeleton.

The skull wore a wide-brimmed pirate tricorn, complete with an eyepatch. The left hand still clutched a rusted revolver. On the right hand, something caught the light, flashing brightly on a finger bone. It was a ring.

..............................................................................

Out on the open ocean in the middle of the night, the moon threw a cold wash of light into the barrel and turned those bones paper white.

The empty sockets stared at Gwen. Creepy, sure, if one scared easy.

Gwen didn't. She lifted an eyebrow, more bored than bothered.

'Please,' she thought, 'it's a skeleton. Back when it was breathing, it couldn't have gone one round with me. Now that it's dead, I'm not losing a wink of sleep.'

She reached in and fished out the soaked pirate hat.

[Captain Malcolm's Pirate Hat]

[Quality: uncommon (Damaged, repairable)]

[A swaggering captain's hat that radiates command presence. While worn, crewwide morale +1 when you issue orders.]

Not bad. Better tier than that shark-tooth dagger folks had been flexing in global chat. She checked the pistol, then the ring.

[Rusted Revolver]

[Quality: Uncommon (Damaged, repairable)]

[Just your average revolver, but after soaking in seawater for years, the barrel's rusted and the aim's not what it used to be.]

The revolver was the same tier as the hat, both out of commission until she fixed them. Her eyes slid to the ring, and that was it. Hooked.

[Ring of the Undead]

[Quality: Legendary]

[Wearing this triggers the Ghost Pirate class inheritance. Cannot be removed.]

[Curse: Upon death you will become a skeleton; your soul will not find rest.]

[Includes 1,000-slot storage.]

(Item rarity, low to high: Poor - Common - Uncommon - Rare - Epic- Unique - Legendary)

Gwen held her breath, grinning despite herself. Another Legendary.

She had no clue what a Ghost Pirate did, but Legendary meant heavy hitters. Plus a thousand storage slots. Her raft had, what, ten?

The curse? Please. In a survival game this rough, most players were lucky to make it a few days.

To her, worrying about the afterlife felt like putting a roof on a house one hadn't framed yet.

She slid the ring on without hesitation.

[You have obtained a special class: Ghost Pirate.]

[You have acquired the class skills Spectral Footwork and Bone Reanimation.]

[Spectral Footwork: Your movement becomes spectral; no one can pin you down. Blink to any point within 33 feet. Costs 10 magic points. Cooldown: 30 minutes.]

[Bone Reanimation: Stir bones back to motion as your loyal minion. Costs 100 mana. (Requires bones to be at least 80% intact.)]

[Congratulations! You are the first player on the server to obtain a special class. Reward: System Blind Box x1. It will be airdropped to your raft shortly.]

A wooden crate stamped with question marks thumped onto the raft out of thin air.

Gwen barely looked at it. She was too busy savoring the jackpot.

Spectral Footwork was the perfect panic button, pure blink-and-you-missed-it. Bone Reanimation sounded downright busted in the best way.

'Raise bones? Seriously? So if I grab enough bones, do I get to field my own skeleton army?' The idea hit her like a wave, ridiculous and thrilling in equal measure.

Her eyes slid to the bones stuffed in the wine barrel. 'Look at that. A starter kit, already assembled.'

She tried Bone Reanimation.

[Skill activation failed. Insufficient magic points.]

'Magic points?' She blinked.

Back in college, she had mainlined power-fantasy web serials, so the term rang a bell. She flicked through the system overlay until she found a tucked-away character sheet.

[ID: Player #29786510]

[Title: None]

[Class: Ghost Pirate, Tier 1 (upgrade requires reviving 10 skeletons, progress 0/10)]

[Constitution: 5 (affects disease resistance, toughness, and HP, 1 point = 10 HP)]

[Strength: 7 (affects how much weight you can lift.)]

[Agility: 6 (affects speed and flexibility.)]

[Intelligence: 8 (affects mana capacity and mana recovery, 1 point = 10 magic points.)]

[Luck: Hidden (affects treasure finds and the odds of good breaks.)]

[Charisma: Hidden (affects NPC attitudes toward you.)]

[HP: 50]

[Magic Points: 80]

[Skills: Spectral Footwork, Bone Reanimation.]

That cleared it up. Magic points scaled off Intelligence. She was going to need to bump INT to at least ten.

She checked the pirate hat and the revolver next. The hat needed a Tailor class and five pieces of cloth to repair.

The revolver wanted a Blacksmith class, two iron ore, and, naturally, bullets. Which meant both items were benched for now.

She packed every resource into the Ring of the Undead. Her overloaded raft suddenly had room to breathe. The barrel and the skeleton were still hogging space, so she tried to stash those too.

The next second, a black eyepatch tumbled out and landed by her foot.

She picked it up, surprised. The skull's eyepatch wasn't just a prop. It was gear, and she had almost missed it.

[Captain Malcolm's Eyepatch]

[Quality: Unique (Upgradable)]

[Effect: Lets the wearer read basic player info. A reliable companion for wholesome activities like piracy, robbery, and doing crimes with style. Also looks cool. A pirate without an eyepatch is just a guy in a hat.]

That was way too useful to pass up. She slipped it on.

Her left eye went dark, her world narrowed, and the lack of depth felt weird. Then she spotted a Hide Appearance toggle in the UI, tapped it, and the eyepatch vanished while her vision snapped back to normal.

'Nice quality-of-life touch,' she thought. Otherwise she might as well tattoo "I'm a pirate" on her forehead.

A Lucky Octo Fishing Rod, the Ring of the Undead, and now an eyepatch like a cheat code. The game had been live for a single day and she already had three pieces of Unique-grade gear or better.

"Unique" meant one of one across the entire server. As in, only hers.

"Luck" was listed as hidden, sure, but she was pretty confident her number there wasn't small.

Riding the hot streak, she cracked open the system's loot box.

[1 Monocular Telescope, 2 Sun-Protective Sports Outfits, 1 Fisherman's Happy Folding Kit, 1 Mysterious Fruit, 10 Global Chat Megaphones, 10 Coconuts, 10 Straws]

Hard to say if this haul was statistically blessed without a leaderboard, but the stuff itself was solid.

The telescope and sunproof clothing were gold on open water. Better yet, she had drinkable liquid. Ten coconuts would keep her hydrated for three or four days.

The Fisherman's Happy Folding Kit was a sun umbrella, a folding chair, a little folding table, a fish basket, and a landing net.

Her raft was about forty square feet, just big enough to pop open the chair and table. Which meant tonight she didn't have to sleep on bare planks. That felt like a win.

Each player got ten messages a day on the global chat. Anything beyond that needed a megaphone item. Gwen wasn't big on global chatter, so those megaphones were the least useful thing in the pile.

Which left one last item staring up at her. The mysterious fruit.

..............................................................................

The Mysterious Fruit was about the size of an apple, but that was where the familiarity ended.

The whole thing was an unnatural shade of blue, with strange spiral patterns etched across the skin. It looked less like food and more like something pulled straight out of a cartoon fantasy series.

Blue was not a hunger-friendly color. Just holding it made Gwen doubt her life choices.

Still, this had come from a system blind box. She was sure the game was not going to hand her a reward and quietly kill her with it. Probably.

She closed her eyes, steeled herself, and took a bite.

'Huh. It is actually… fine,' she thought. A little like a blueberry and an apple had teamed up and decided to be refreshing. The moment she swallowed, a crisp notification chimed in her head.

[You have consumed a Mysterious Fruit. Intelligence +1.]

Gwen's eyes snapped open. 'Seriously? Right when I needed it?'

She had been worrying five minutes ago about how to raise her Intelligence stat, and now the game just dropped the answer into her lap. Or rather, into her mouth.

Of course, she knew better than to get used to it. This fruit had come from a system blind box she earned by hitting first place server-wide. That kind of luck did not exactly grow on trees.

By the time she finished marveling at it, the clock was creeping toward midnight.

Before calling it a night, Gwen casually opened the global chat. And immediately regretted it.

[It's pitch black out here. Someone help. I hate tight spaces and the ocean is freaking me out!]

[Trading fresh water for anything that gives light.]

[One flint for one hundred wood. Or food and water. I'm flexible.]

[A hundred wood? You out of your mind?]

[Pulled a wooden crate while salvaging. Got a brazier blueprint. I can craft braziers for people. Materials are five charcoal, ten wood. Crafting fee is one iron ore.]

[Iron ore is harder to find than food. If I had ore, I would upgrade my raft. Anyone got extra?]

Gwen blinked. 'Flint and braziers are already this hot?'

She glanced at the folding table beside her raft. The glowing starfish sat there quietly, glowing with a soft blue light, steady and warm like a night lamp.

If people were desperate for light, this little thing could easily put a brazier to shame.

Another message exploded into the chat. [Do not fish at night. I hooked a sea snake and it bit me. I'm poisoned and my HP is dropping nonstop. I'm almost dead. Does anyone have an antidote potion? I'll trade everything I own!]

[Antidotes are insanely rare. No one is giving that up.]

[Yeah, that stuff saves your life. No amount of resources is worth it.]

The mockery came fast, piling on without mercy. Then one message cut through the noise.

Wind in the Night: [I have one. I don't need it right now. I'll trade it to you. Saving a life matters.]

Gwen froze for a second. 'Wow. People like that still exist?'

[Oh my god, thank you. You're a saint. I owe you big time, seriously!] The gratitude barely finished before the floodgates opened.

[Hey, boss, got any food? Haven't eaten all day, I'm dying here.]

[Bro, I'm completely out of fresh water. My throat feels like sandpaper. Can you spare a little? Half a bottle even?]

[Wait, do you have another antidote? I got bit too. I'm dizzy, can't see straight. I think I'm done for.]

The chat went absolutely feral, messages flying so fast they blurred together.

Gwen sighed and shook her head. 'Kindness itself is not a mistake. But in a survival game where everyone is one bad decision away from death, being too kind was just another way to paint a target on your back.'

A moment later, Wind in the Night replied again: [Sorry, guys. I don't have much. I only found that one antidote in a salvage crate.]

*****

Meanwhile, thousands of miles away on the open ocean, a young woman sat on a wooden raft, scrolling through the chat feed with a scowl.

'Unbelievable,' she thought. 'How are there this many shameless people out here? What, is everybody a beggar now?'

She flicked the screen again, irritation simmering. 'And don't get me started on that guy who promised me his entire life savings for an antidote.

'I sent it over fair and square. He popped into public chat, dropped a couple half-hearted 'thanks,' and then poof, gone. Straight-up ghosted me. Didn't even toss me a single scrap of wood.'

Gwen: [Glowing starfish. Trade for one pound of food or one pint of fresh water, or any practical tools or gear. Multiple colors. First come, first served.]

1.Chapter 1 The Downpour

Rain poured down on Riverstone all day, turning the ground into a soggy mess. Jewel Moreno's belongings lay scattered across the front steps, tossed out by her adoptive mother, Lorelei Moreno.

""Get out of here!"" Lorelei yelled, glaring at Jewel. ""We've given you the best of everything, and this is how you repay us? You're not even our biological child, yet we've treated you like our own. How could you do this to Samantha?""

Lorelei's rant continued, ""Tristan broke up with you and got together with Samantha ages ago. And out of jealousy, you pushed her into the water. Don't you have any conscience?""

With a flourish, Lorelei pulled out a bank card and tossed it at Jewel's feet. ""If it weren't for Samantha pleading on your behalf, I wouldn't let you off so easily.There's 10 thousand dollars on there. Consider it compensation.""

Jewel's face remained impassive throughout the outburst. Without even glancing at the card, she reached into her backpack and pulled out another, tossing it back to Lorelei. ""There's one million dollars on this one. Consider it my thanks for raising me all these years.""

Lorelei stared at Jewel in annoyance. The sum was more than the entire Moreno family could earn in a year, yet Jewel acted as if she could hand it over without a second thought. Lorelei doubted how Jewel could casually produce such an astronomical amount.

Without another word, Jewel slung her bag over her shoulder and walked away. Her back was straight as an arrow, projecting unwavering dignity, while her rain-soaked hair betrayed her pitiable state.

Samantha Moreno watched the scene unfold from the rooftop, a sly smile spreading across her face. 'Jewel, you've had it easy for over twenty years,' she thought to herself. 'It's time for that to come to an end.'

*****

Jewel hadn't gone far when her phone rang. She glanced at the caller ID and answered, recognizing the familiar voice.

""Jewel, is it true the Moreno family kicked you out?"" the caller asked.

Jewel's tone was flat as she confirmed with a simple ""Mm.""

The caller's voice grew agitated. ""This is outrageous! I saw the video of what happened before Samantha fell into the water. She clearly tripped on her own. If you hadn't jumped in to save her, she would've drowned!""

After a pause, the voice continued, even more heated. ""The Moreno family is a bunch of ungrateful wolves. As soon as their biological daughter shows up, they toss you out like trash. If we'd known it would come to this, you should never have bailed out their company.""

Jewel let out a soft chuckle, her composure a stark contrast to the caller's agitation. ""Listen to you, getting all worked up. Anyone would think you were the one who got kicked out.""

""I'm just angry on your behalf!"" the caller insisted.

""Alright, alright,"" Jewel said. ""Just come pick me up, will you? I've been trying to hail a cab forever, and I'm about to turn into a drowned rat—""

Her words were cut short as a blinding light suddenly shot towards her. She instinctively raised her hand to shield her eyes. The screech of brakes pierced the air, but on the rain-slicked roads, it was futile. The car slammed into her before she could react.

The impact sent Jewel flying into a nearby flowerbed, her head cracking against a rock. She struggled to sit up, but a wave of dizziness washed over her, and she lost consciousness.

As she fell back, the necklace around her neck slipped into view.

The driver scrambled out of the car and rushed to check on the victim. Panic was evident in his voice as he reported back to his passenger. ""Mr. Snider, I think she's passed out.""

Calvert Snider, the man in the back seat, gazed down at the unconscious woman, his expression unreadable. He issued a single command. ""Take her to the hospital.""

As Jewel was lifted into the car, Calvert's eyes were drawn to the necklace around her neck. His brow furrowed as he leaned closer to examine it. In the dim light of the car's interior, he could make out the shape of a moon pendant.

With sudden urgency, he pulled out his phone, scrolling through his gallery until he found a particular photo. The sun pendant in the image was a perfect match for the moon around Jewel's neck.

The realization hit him like a ton of bricks. This woman was his childhood betrothed—the long-lost girl of the Turner family.

*****

When Jewel came to, she found herself surrounded by a chorus of unfamiliar voices. As her vision cleared, she locked eyes with a silver-haired elderly man. Behind him stood four strikingly handsome young men.

The old man's eyes welled up as he spoke. ""My dear, you're awake.""

Jewel's brow furrowed in confusion. ""I'm sorry, but who are you?"" she asked, trying to make sense of the scene.

Franklin Turner's voice quavered with emotion as he explained, ""My dear, I'm your grandpa. These three are your brothers – Lachlan, Caspian, and Jackson Turner. And this fine young man is your fiancé, Calvert.""

He paused, his voice thick with regret. ""It's all my fault. If I had kept a closer eye on you back then, you would never have been taken from us.""

Jewel's confusion deepened. One minute she was getting kicked out of the Moreno family, and the next she had a grandfather, three brothers, and even a fiancé. This had to be some kind of wild dream.

Sensing Jewel's bewilderment, Lachlan stepped forward, gesturing to the necklace around her neck. ""You see that necklace? It's the Turner family's heirloom – the Sun and Moon set. Grandpa placed it around your neck himself the day you were born.""

Jewel's hand instinctively went to the necklace. Her father – or rather, the man she had believed to be her father – had given it to her on her eighteenth birthday, claiming he had bought it back at great expense from an auction.

Lachlan continued, his voice laced with guilt. ""It's our fault – we were too busy fooling around back then and didn't watch over you properly. That was how those lowlifes managed to snatch you away.""

""Hold on,"" Jewel interrupted, trying to process this flood of information. She looked at each of them skeptically. ""Isn't it a stretch to claim I'm family based on just a necklace?""

Franklin's eyes softened as he gazed at her. ""There's no doubt in my mind. Your eyes are the spitting image of your mother's. I'd stake my life on it – you're my granddaughter, through and through.""

Before Jewel could object, a deep, cool voice cut through the air. ""There's no need for speculation. I've already sent a sample of your hair for DNA testing. We'll have concrete proof soon.""

Jewel turned to face the speaker – Calvert, her alleged fiancé. His piercing eyes and chiseled features were undeniably handsome, but his demeanor was ice-cold, warning others to keep their distance.

Despite herself, Jewel's gaze lingered on his face a moment too long. She had always been a sucker for a pretty face.

Calvert's eyes swept over her, and he suddenly raised his hand to button up the top of his shirt. Jewel blinked in surprise, wondering what had prompted that reaction.

Franklin, noticing the subtle interaction, cleared his throat and addressed the three Turner brothers. ""It's getting late, boys. Why don't you help me back to my room?""

""But Grandpa, I can stay and look after—"" Lachlan began, but seeing his grandfather's meaningful look, he quickly caught on.

Jewel was at a loss for words, completely unimpressed by their terrible acting.

""Calvert,"" Lachlan said, ""we'll take Grandpa back. Mind looking after our sister for us? Thanks, man.""

Jewel opened her mouth to protest, but to her surprise, Calvert nodded.

Once the door clicked shut behind the others, Calvert turned to face Jewel. His eyes bore into her with an intensity that made her breath catch.

""Now that everyone else is gone,"" he said, his voice low and serious, ""we need to discuss breaking off our engagement.""

2.Chapter 2 Family Reunion

Jewel didn't hesitate, blurting out her agreement before Calvert could continue. ""Sure, I'm in.""

Calvert was taken aback. His scrutinizing gaze fell on her face, his brow furrowing. He wondered how this woman could agree so quickly, questioning if she knew his identity.

""Do you know who I am?"" he asked.

Jewel shook her head, unfazed. ""No, and frankly, I don't care to know."" She added, ""Whether I'm the Turner family's long-lost girl or not is irrelevant. I'm not interested in you, so I'd be happy to call off the engagement.""

She paused before continuing, ""But I'm guessing my agreement alone isn't enough to cancel it, right?""

Calvert's eyes narrowed, his gaze icy. He should have known there was a catch to her quick agreement. She had been waiting for this moment.

""I'll explain the situation to both families,"" he said, his voice laced with disdain. ""Just play along when the time comes.""

Jewel raised an eyebrow, readily agreeing. ""No problem. Now, can you leave?"" She was done with his stone-cold stare and frosty demeanor.

Calvert was stunned by her request, instantly thinking she was playing hard to get. 'Typical of a woman from a humble background - always with an ulterior motive,' he thought. As he looked at her, his disgust only deepened.

Seeing that he wasn't budging, Jewel turned her back on him and pulled out her phone. She texted: [Look into the Turner family for me and check on someone named Calvert Snider.]

As she was typing, she heard the door close. She sighed with relief. 'Thank God, that ice-cold man is finally gone,' she thought.

Just then, her phone rang.

""Jewel, are you okay?"" came a voice from the other end.

""I'm fine,"" Jewel replied reassuringly. ""Did you find anything?""

""Yeah, I did,"" the voice said. ""The Turner, Snider, Rowse, and Shelton families are known as the four major families of Riverstone. They're not just wealthy, but also incredibly influential. And Calvert is next in line to lead the Snider family.""

After listening to the rundown, Jewel asked, ""Is there a girl from the Turner family who went missing over twenty years ago?""

""I think there was something like that, but it seems to have been hushed up somehow.""

""Alright, got it.""

The next morning, the DNA test results confirmed it – Jewel was indeed the Turner family's long-lost girl. Overjoyed, Franklin immediately arranged a grand welcome party, and Jewel was officially renamed Ash Turner.

The day before the party, Ash's birth parents, Josh and Brooke Turner, rushed home, accompanied by a young woman around Ash's age.

""Ash, come meet your father and mother,"" Franklin said.

Ash walked over and politely greeted them. ""Dad, Mom.""

As soon as Josh and Brooke saw her, their eyes brimmed with tears.

""Is it really you, Ash?"" Brooke asked, her voice trembling. ""Oh, my dear, we've finally found you!"" She pulled Ash into a tight embrace, her voice choked with emotion.

But Ash didn't know how to react at the moment. Growing up with Lorelei and Dexter Moreno, she wasn't used to such affection. They had never been the huggy type, and Ash had always assumed it was because she wasn't good enough.

So she had pushed herself to excel, only to be met with lukewarm responses like, ""Isn't this what you're supposed to do?""

Now, she realized that people without blood ties would never truly be close.

Brooke cupped Ash's face, taking in her exquisite features. ""You've suffered all these years,"" she said, her teary eyes fixed on Ash, who was her mirror image.

Josh wiped away his own tears, his voice cracking as he said, ""It's wonderful to have you back, Ash. Truly.""

The family reunion was heartwarming, but one person stood out – the young woman who had returned with Josh and Brooke. Her gaze was fixed intently on Ash who could feel the weight of her stare.

As soon as Ash turned her head, their eyes locked, and she was struck by the girl's piercing gaze. It was like looking at the sharp edge of a knife.

Caught off guard by Ash's sudden attention, the girl quickly averted her eyes and, as if nothing had happened, approached with a smile. ""Hi, Ash, I'm Jade,"" she said, extending her hand.

But Ash didn't reciprocate. She just stared at Jade, her expression unreadable. Jade's smile faltered, and she awkwardly withdrew her hand.

Brooke jumped in to smooth things over. ""Ash, this is Jade, the daughter we adopted. She's your younger sister. You might not know her yet, but you'll get to know each other soon.""

Jade's smile returned, but it was clear that the word ""adopted"" had struck a nerve. All her years of effort had been reset in an instant by Ash's return.

Suddenly, a voice cut through the crowd, dripping with disdain. ""Hmph, people from humble backgrounds really have no manners,"" Caspian sneered, his eyes filled with contempt.

Ash turned to see who was speaking and spotted Caspian, his face twisted in disgust.

Jackson elbowed him, trying to silence him, but Caspian persisted. ""Am I wrong? Jade's been holding out her hand forever, and look at her attitude!""

Ash was taken aback by the sudden hostility. She hadn't expected to make enemies so quickly in her new family.

Jade explained, her voice smooth as silk, ""Caspian, Ash is just not used to our family customs yet. Don't be so harsh.""

But Caspian wouldn't relent. He sneered, ""I don't think it's about being used to it. Jade, you'd better watch out—"" His grandpa and parents cut him off before he could finish.

Jade quickly ran to Caspian's side, tugging at his clothes and shaking her head. Though Caspian fell silent, his face showed his discontent.

When the tension eased, Jade turned to Ash with a smile. ""Ash, don't mind him. Caspian has always been blunt, but he's a good person.""

""Oh,"" Ash said, her expression neutral, before turning to Franklin. ""Grandpa, I'd like to go back to my room now.""

Franklin nodded. ""Go ahead.""

After a quick word to her parents, Ash headed straight upstairs.

Franklin tapped his cane on the floor, his voice resolute. ""From now on, if anyone in this family dares to pick on Ash, don't blame me for losing my temper!""

*****

Upstairs, Ash was unfazed by the recent events. She sat at her computer, reviewing clothing designs submitted by her designers.

Suddenly, there was a knock at the door. Before Ash could respond, Jade had already pushed it open and walked in. ""Ash!""

""Did I say you could come in?"" Ash asked, her voice cold.

Jade, startled, quickly apologized. ""I'm sorry. I'm just used to that. I...""

Ash saw right through Jade's trick. She stood up, her eyes narrowing. ""Drop the act with me, Jade. I'm not interested in whatever game you're playing, got it?""

Ash appeared calm, but there was an undeniable air of authority in her every move.

Embarrassed, Jade pressed her lips together tightly. Just as she was fumbling for words, she spotted the clothing designs on the computer screen. ""Ash, do you like Dream Couture's clothes too? I'm a VIP there. I can have some sets sent over for you tomorrow.""

3.Chapter 3 Change

""No need,"" Ash said, dismissing Jade's offer. After all, she owned Dream Couture, so a few pieces of clothing were hardly worth mentioning.

But Jade persisted. ""It's no trouble. I'm going shopping with Calvert tomorrow anyway, so I can pick up a few outfits for you.""

""Are you done?"" Ash cut her off bluntly. ""I'm going to bed.""

Jade struggled to maintain her composure, but her expression betrayed her. ""Alright then. Sleep well,"" she said, her voice quavering.

Without looking back, Ash returned to her seat at her computer. ""Don't forget to close the door behind you,"" she said.

Jade bit her lip, glaring hatefully at Ash's back before leaving. In the hallway, she ran into Caspian, who was just returning to his room. In an instant, her expression changed completely.

""Jade, why are your eyes red? Did she mess with you again?"" Caspian demanded, about to storm into Ash's room.

Jade quickly grabbed his arm, her eyes brimming with tears. ""Caspian, I'm fine. Please don't confront Ash,"" she pleaded. ""She didn't mess with me. I just feel like she doesn't like me.""

Caspian ruffled her hair affectionately. ""So what if she doesn't? You're too good for her anyway. You don't need to try so hard to please her. You'll always be my precious little sister.""

""You're the best, Caspian,"" Jade cried, throwing herself into his arms as tears rolled down her cheeks.

Caspian comforted her tenderly, completely missing the terrifying gleam in her eyes as she stared at the closed door of Ash's bedroom.

The next morning, Ash rose early. She'd noticed irregularities in yesterday's reports and needed to visit Dream Couture's physical store. It was also a chance to pick up gifts for her newfound family.

As she descended the stairs, she encountered Jade and Brooke.

""Ash, are you going shopping?"" Jade asked, her voice saccharine. ""Calvert and I have plans - why don't you join us?""

Hearing this, Brooke's brow furrowed slightly. She cleared her throat, concern evident. ""I'd like to accompany you instead, Ash.""

Ash sensed Brooke was hinting at something but didn't want to get involved. Shaking her head, she said, ""No need, Mom. I'm just meeting a friend.""

""Alright then, have fun,"" Brooke said, producing a credit card and pressing it into Ash's hand. ""Here you go. No limit.""

""Thanks, Mom."" Ash accepted the card and then left.

Once Ash was out of earshot, Brooke fixed Jade with a pointed look. Her voice was low but firm. ""I know you're fond of Calvert, but Ash's return changes things. Your relationship with him needs to end.""

Jade's eyes widened in disbelief, her voice quavering. ""Mom, if you knew about my feelings for Calvert, why would you try to separate us?""

Brooke flashed Jade a smile, but her tone brooking no argument, ""Jade, even if Ash hadn't returned, you were never in contention for this marriage. Don't worry, I've raised you for eighteen years and won't let you down. But Calvert is off-limits.""

Jade bit her lip, nails digging into her palms. Despite her inner turmoil, she forced a smile. ""Got it, Mom.""

""You're always the sensible one, sweetheart. Alright, I'm off. See you tonight!"" With that, Brooke headed out.

As Brooke left, Jade's expression turned glacial, her eyes burning with barely concealed rage.

At Dream Couture's store, an employee greeted Ash. ""Hello, Boss.""

Ash glanced around, her tone softening as she recognized her friend. ""Drop the act, Bailey. Isn't today your day off?""

Bailey Field's shoulders sagged, her voice laced with frustration. ""Tracy switched shifts with me. I told her last week I had plans today, but she still scheduled me for this shift.""

""Is everything okay? Your mom isn't doing well?"" Ash asked, concerned.

Bailey nodded. ""She's having surgery today. I'm really worried about her.""

Ash plucked off Bailey's name tag and pressed it into her hand. ""Then why are you still here? Go. I'll cover for you.""

""Oh my god, you're the best boss ever! I owe you one,"" Bailey exclaimed, hugging Ash and planting a quick kiss on her cheek.

Ash wiped her face in mock disgust. ""Ugh, you got lipstick on me.""

Bailey grinned sheepishly, said a quick goodbye, and dashed out. Ash shook her head with a wry smile and turned to check on the store's recent limited-edition items.

Just then, a familiar voice reached her ears. ""Tristan, what do you think of this outfit? Does it look good on me?"" Samantha asked.

""It's pretty. Why don't you try it on?"" Tristan Ford replied gently. He called out, ""Excuse me, could we get this in her size to try on?""

As Ash approached, both Samantha and Tristan looked surprised to see her.

""Jewel? What are you doing here?"" Samantha asked, her voice dripping with disdain. Before Ash could respond, she continued, ""Don't tell me you're working as a sales clerk now?""

Ash's face turned icy, her blood-red lips curling into a chilling smile. ""Oh? Dropping the act already? I thought you'd at least try to keep up appearances in front of Tristan.""

Samantha's expression faltered, her eyes darting nervously.

Tristan quickly stepped in front of her protectively. ""Hey, Jewel, no need to be that harsh, okay?""

""What else did you expect? Oh, should I grovel at her feet with eternal gratitude?"" Ash laughed bitterly. She then turned to Samantha. ""FYI, Dream Couture's sales associates make more in a month than your two-month allowance. Not just anyone can work here, so what exactly are you looking down on?""

In fact, the employees here went through a rigorous selection process. Their etiquette often surpassed that of many upper-class families.

""Whatever. Just pick out an outfit for me. I'm attending the Turner family's welcome party tonight."" Samantha couldn't resist adding, ""You know, the event you were supposed to attend before you screwed up.""

Ash's lips twitched, her voice turning glacial. ""I'm surprised the Turner family even invited you two.""

""What's that supposed to mean? Our family has quite a reputation in Riverstone,"" Samantha began defensively.

""Is that so? I wasn't aware. Though I do know your family has quite the reputation for being shameless,"" Ash retorted coolly.

""What—"" Samantha sputtered, at a loss for words. She turned to Tristan, her eyes brimming with tears.

Tristan wrapped Samantha in his arms. ""Jewel, I know you hate Samantha because of me, but we're in love. Why make things difficult for yourself?""

He then added, ""Back then, when you pushed Samantha into the water and she nearly drowned, she still defended you. And now here you are, saying such vicious things to her. Jewel, when did you become like this?""

As Ash locked eyes with Tristan, her gaze landed on the crisp white shirt he was wearing. Memories came flooding back of the boy in the white shirt who had vowed to protect her no matter what, as they basked in the warm sunlight.

But life had a way of changing people, and the boy she once knew was now a distant memory - the man standing before her was a different story altogether.

Ash gazed at him for a long moment, a frosty smile playing at the corner of her lips. ""Tristan,"" she said, her voice level and cool, ""how many years were we together?""

4.Chapter 4 Five Years

Tristan hesitated, his eyes darting away from Ash's piercing gaze like a guilty man caught red-handed. ""Five years,"" he whispered.

Ash let out a bitter laugh. She couldn't believe that after all this time, Tristan's trust in her could be shattered so easily. She silently thanked Samantha for revealing Tristan's true colors.

""You really love Samantha, don't you?"" Ash asked, her voice deceptively calm as she watched Tristan's reaction.

""Yes, I do,"" he said, his tone laced with annoyance. ""What's your point, Jewel?""

Ash's laugh was cold and mocking, her eyes glinting with a mix of hurt and disdain. ""I hope you won't regret it.""

Tristan tightened his grip on Samantha's waist as he declared firmly, ""I'll never regret it!"" He then added with forced politeness, ""Now, can you help Samantha find a dress or not?""

Ash's face became an emotionless mask as she gestured around the store. ""The cheapest piece here costs seven figures. Are you sure you can afford it, Mr. Ford?""

As far as she knew, while Tristan's family was well-off, the luxury items here were still beyond his casual credit card swipes.

Tristan bristled at the jab but. Unwilling to lose face in front of Samantha, he pulled out his credit card with a flourish. ""That blue dress from earlier. We'll take it.""

""Certainly, sir. One moment."" Ash reached for the card with a smile.

Tristan's fingers gripped it tightly, but he reluctantly let it go after a brief tug-of-war with Ash.

Ash swiftly swiped the card through the POS machine and then handed it back to Tristan. ""Mr. Ford, your total comes to 590 thousand dollars. Here's your receipt.""

Samantha squealed with delight, clinging to Tristan's arm like a vine. ""Thank you so much, Tristan! You're the best!""

Tristan forced a smile despite the pain evident in his expression. ""Anything to make you happy,"" he murmured.

As soon as the couple was out of sight, Ash crumpled into a chair, her eyes glazing over. She knew she shouldn't waste her tears on Tristan, but the ache in her chest was a harsh reminder that she wasn't as immune to pain as she thought.

Betrayal had a way of cutting deep, no matter how tough you pretended to be - and Ash was no exception.

As she fought back tears, a shadow loomed over her. A handkerchief suddenly appeared in her line of sight, jolting her out of her thoughts.

When Ash realized the man standing before her was Calvert, her eyes widened in shock. ""What brings you here?"" she blurted out.

Today, he was dressed in a black suit that accentuated his refined and polished demeanor. There was an air of innate nobility about him that commanded attention, making it hard to look away.

""Dry your tears,"" he said, his voice low and gentle.

Seeing her brow furrow in confusion, Calvert quickly explained, his words spilling out in a rush, ""I don't usually eavesdrop, but I overheard your conversation. That guy's not worth your tears.""

Ash's tone was light, almost teasing, as she regained her composure. ""And what kind of guy is worth my tears, Mr. Snider?"" she asked, a hint of playfulness in her voice.

However, an awkward silence fell between them, the air thick with unspoken tension.

Calvert's face darkened, misinterpreting her words. ""Ms. Turner,"" he said stiffly, ""your grandfather will likely announce our engagement at tonight's welcome party. I hope you'll keep your promise to cooperate.""

Before Ash could respond, Calvert strode out of the store, leaving her staring after him in bewilderment. She shook her head, chuckling wryly, ""Did he really think I was talking about him? Talk about an inflated ego.""

Later that afternoon, Bailey returned with the good news about her mom's successful surgery. Ash, relieved, invited Bailey to the evening's party, deciding to be upfront about her new identity.

After picking out gifts for her parents and grandfather, Ash got dressed, applied her makeup, and headed to the venue with Bailey in tow.

As they arrived at the venue, Ash spotted Tristan, Samantha, and her adoptive parents near the entrance. Lorelei was gushing over Samantha's dress, praising Tristan's generosity in sweet tones.

""You know how good Tristan is to you, sweetie? Make sure you're on your best behavior tonight and try to befriend the new Turner girl,"" Lorelei said.

""I know, Mom,"" Samantha replied.

While chatting, Samantha noticed Ash first, her eyes widening in surprise. ""Mom, Dad,"" she called out, ""isn't that Jewel?""

Lorelei marched over, her face twisted in anger. ""Jewel, what are you doing here?"" she hissed, eyeing Ash's elegant dress. ""Where did you get that dress?""

Samantha gasped dramatically, ""Did you steal it from Dream Couture? How could you do that, Jewel? You're just a sales associate there.""

Lorelei's voice rose in pitch. ""Jewel, how dare you!""

""Watch your mouth!"" Bailey started to defend her friend, her fists clenched at her sides, but Ash held her back with a gentle touch. A small crowd had gathered, drawn by the commotion.

Dexter, mortified by the scene, snapped at Ash, his face red with embarrassment. ""Cut the drama and leave!""

Ash was baffled by their anger. It was as if she'd committed some terrible crime just by showing up.

Samantha chimed in a sugary voice, her eyes gleaming with false sympathy, ""Jewel, I know leaving our family upset you, but you can't crash events like this using our name. You don't belong here.""

""Get lost, now!"" Lorelei demanded, her patience wearing thin.

Just as Bailey was about to blow her top, a well-dressed man rushed out of the hotel. People nodded respectfully as he passed, murmuring greetings. He approached Ash's group and bowed slightly, his eyes locked on her.

""Miss,"" he said with a warm smile, ""everyone's been waiting. Please, come inside.""

Lorelei and Samantha eagerly stepped forward, their faces aglow with anticipation. ""Are you here to escort us in, sir?"" Lorelei asked.

Although they had no idea who he was talking about, they were sure of one thing—he definitely wasn't here for Jewel.

The man gave them a disdainful look, his lip curling slightly. ""Who are you? I'm here for this young lady,"" he said, gesturing to Ash.

Lorelei exclaimed, ""What? There must be some mistake.""

""I know exactly who I'm supposed to escort,"" the man said firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Lorelei and Samantha stared at Ash in shock, their faces pale.

""Mom,"" Samantha whispered urgently, ""how does she know anyone from the Turner family? I heard Franklin has been a widower for years. You don't think Jewel has hooked up with..."" Her implication hung in the air, unspoken but clear.

Tristan's face darkened at Samantha's tactless words, his gaze fixed on Ash.

Catching wind of Samantha's nasty gossip, Ash stopped in her tracks and muttered something to the guy who'd shown up to escort her.

He nodded respectfully, his expression serious. ""Understood, Miss.""

Bailey, looking utterly lost after hearing Samantha's words, couldn't help but ask, ""Jewel, did you really...""

5.Chapter 5 Kidnapping

Bailey bit back the words that were about to spill out. She reminded herself that Ash, as the owner of Dream Couture, was likely to rub shoulders with high-society people.

Shaking her head, she chided herself, ""No way, you're not that kind of person.""

Ash chuckled, playfully pinching Bailey's cheek. ""You know me too well. Otherwise, you might've fallen for Samantha's drama.""

Afraid of offending her friend, Bailey quickly apologized, ""I'm sorry, Jewel. I shouldn't have doubted you.""

""It's fine,"" Ash interrupted gently. ""We've been friends for years. But from now on, don't call me Jewel anymore, okay?""

Before Bailey could wrap her head around this, the Turner family's butler approached with a slight bow. ""Miss Turner, Mr. Franklin Turner requests your presence.""

""Okay,"" Ash replied and had someone look after Bailey.

Even after Ash walked away, Bailey was still floored - the bombshell that Jewel was actually the Turner family's young lady left her head spinning.

Meanwhile, outside the hotel, the Moreno family's earlier scene had left them feeling embarrassed, with sharp gazes cutting into them from all sides. Heads hung low, they tried to enter the venue but were stopped by security.

Lorelei, already fuming, lost it. ""What do you mean we can't enter? We're on the guest list!""

The man who had escorted Ash inside earlier came out, a slight smirk on his face. ""You offended our young lady. That's why you're not welcome at today's party.""

He summoned more security to surround them, instructing, ""If they try to force their way in, throw them out on the spot.""

Red-faced, the Morenos hightailed it out of there. Dexter slunk back to their car while Samantha looked on with green eyes as Ash waltzed into the grand hall, admirers in tow.

In a fit of frustration, Samantha stomped her foot, losing her balance. With a cry of pain, she tumbled over, her 590-thousand-dollar dress tearing on the rough pavement. Her anger towards Ash intensified as she realized her chance to show off was ruined before it even began.

*****

As the party reached its peak, Franklin took the stage to speak. Just as he wrapped up introducing Ash and she started heading for the stage, the lights suddenly went out.

Chaos broke out in the darkness. Screams and shouts filled the air as people stumbled around in a panic.

Ash, pushed around by the scared crowd, tried to make her way to her grandfather. Out of nowhere, a strong hand grabbed her wrist and pulled her away.

Before she could react, she was being led through the darkness by someone who seemed to know the hotel inside and out.

When the lights flickered back on, the ballroom was a mess. Franklin, shaken up by the commotion, had been taken upstairs to rest.

Brooke was the first to notice Ash was missing. ""Where's Ash?"" she asked, her voice shaky.

They looked everywhere, but Ash was nowhere to be found. Caspian grumbled, ""She's probably never dealt with anything like this before. Who knows where she's hiding?""

""Shut up,"" Josh snapped, smacking Caspian's head. ""Keep looking. If your grandpa finds out about this, you're in hot water."" He added as he turned to Lachlan, ""Get someone to show the guests out.""

Brooke stood off to the side, on the verge of tears. ""My dear Ash,"" she whispered, ""I've only just found you. Are you leaving me again?""

Jade, unable to stand seeing Brooke so upset, tried to comfort her. ""Mom, don't worry. I'm sure she's okay.""

""Of course you're not worried. She's not your daughter!"" Brooke snapped, immediately regretting her words but too upset to apologize.

Jade flinched, her expression a complex mix of emotions.

Calvert, standing behind her, gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze. ""Why don't you go check on your grandpa? There's not much more you can do here.""

Jade nodded, giving Calvert a quick hug. ""I'm so glad I have you, Calvert,"" she murmured.

*****

As the last guests cleared out, Ash was still nowhere to be found. Even the security cameras drew a blank on her exit.

Calvert, puffing away thoughtfully, figured hotel staff must've had a hand in it. His eyes landed on a bracelet tossed in the corner—one he kinda remembered Ash wearing. It was lying near a staff-only door which was left slightly open, backing up his hunch.

At first, Calvert thought about letting the Turners deal with the mess. He was gonna call off the engagement soon anyway. But then Jade popped into his mind. If Ash didn't turn up tonight, tomorrow's news would paint Jade as the suspect.

For Jade's sake, he decided to poke around, clutching the bracelet as he made for the staff-only door.

*****

Meanwhile, Ash came to in a moving car, her head fuzzy from whatever they'd doped her with. As she shook off the fog, the bumpy ride told her they were heading to the boonies.

When she tried the door, the man beside her pressed a knife to her throat. His breath was hot on her ear as he growled, ""Stay put.""

Ash tensed up, her mind in overdrive. ""Who are you? What's this about?"" she asked, fighting to keep her voice level.

The man sneered. ""You know damn well. The Turner family's princess must be worth a pretty penny. Play nice, and you won't get hurt.""

His words set off alarm bells—how did he know she was the Turner family's young lady when it wasn't public knowledge? This reeked of an inside job. Ash let out a chilly laugh that caught her captor off guard.

""What's so funny?"" he snarled, pressing the knife closer.

""How much did she pay you?"" Ash asked coolly.

""Mind your own business!"" the man spat.

Ash raised her hands in apparent surrender. As the man eased up, she turned to face him. ""I'll triple your pay to let me walk,"" she offered, her voice low and tempting.

The man scoffed. ""Cut the crap! You just returned to the Turner family. Where would you get that kind of cash?""

""We're in the middle of nowhere,"" Ash pointed out, her voice taking on a sultry edge. ""If I'm bluffing, you two can easily take me down. Right?""

Her half-smirk and tempting gaze set the man's pulse racing. He grinned sleazily, lowering his knife.

In that split second, Ash pounced. Quick as a flash, she grabbed the weapon and held it to his throat. ""Pull over. Now!"" she ordered, her voice icy and firm.