The day I got engaged to the richest man in the city, my mother picked up the microphone in front of everyone, smiling：

“Actually, my daughter used to be a prostitute.”

I stared at her in disbelief.

But Ervin Stephens pulled me behind him：

“Mrs. Henson, please don't joke like that again.”

Afterward, my mother apologized：

“I just wanted to see if he was sincere about you.”

But the night before the wedding, I took one bite of the food my mother had cooked. When I opened my eyes again, I was lying in bed with my sister's boyfriend.

Ervin arrived for the wedding procession and saw us there. His eyes went red instantly：

“So your mother really wasn't lying after all.”

My sister slapped her boyfriend through her tears：

“How could you do this to me!”

My sister became the bride. Her boyfriend burned every piece of clothing that carried my scent：

“I have never seen a woman as shameless as you.

“You'd even steal your own sister's man!”

I looked at my mother through tears.

She didn't flinch：

“Your sister is better suited to be the wife of the richest man in the city.”

Twenty years later, the new generation's richest man brought his girlfriend home to meet me：

“Mom, if she meets your approval, we'll get engaged.”

I looked at that face — identical to my sister's：

“She doesn't.”

……

Those two words rippled through the entire banquet hall.

Every guest in attendance froze.

My sister's daughter — Anne Stephens. Honors graduate from Berklee College of Music. Five foot seven, a hundred and ten pounds. A face that was a near-perfect copy of her mother's, the celebrated socialite. A father who'd been the richest man in the city. A grandmother renowned at home and abroad for her philanthropy. On paper, the kind of girl no family in Harbor City would dare turn away.

Even my own son, Ronnie Henson, looked stunned.

“Mom……when I mentioned Anne before, I thought you liked her?”

“I hadn't met her then. Now I have.”

The room erupted in murmurs.

After all, at Berklee she'd even been voted the prettiest girl on campus.

Anne Stephens had never been rejected like this in her life.

Her face flushed scarlet：

“Ms. Henson, is it my manners? My outfit? Something else?

“Just tell me, and I'll fix it!”

“There's nothing to fix.”

I took a sip of my tea：

“You will never marry into the Henson family.”

“Ms. Henson.”

Someone finally spoke up：

“Anne's grandmother — surely you know who she is.

“A philanthropist known at home and abroad. She's helped a great many people.”

“That's right, her grandmother raised this girl wonderfully. You don't need to worry about her character.”

Hah.

So my mother had been that devoted — even to my sister's child.

Ronnie was watching me with open curiosity：

“Mom……did Anne do something wrong?”

“This has nothing to do with that.”

My voice was flat.

Anne panicked：“On what grounds!

“On what grounds are you keeping me out of the Henson family!

“Tell me what's wrong with me! You can't just say no without a reason — I……I……”

I looked at her：“You what?”

“I refuse to accept this!”

I narrowed my eyes：“I run the Henson empire. I choose my son's wife. I didn't choose you — do I owe you a written report?”

“You — !”

Anne clamped a hand over her mouth.

She turned and ran out of the room.

The door slammed shut behind her.

I sat there, sipping my tea, expression unchanged.

The banquet carried on.

No one was going to cross me on my own territory.

And my son had been raised by my hand alone.

He had always respected my decisions：

“Mom, if she offended you before, don't hold it in on our account. It's bad for your health.”

I smiled and said nothing. But the banquet was winding down—and then the doors swung open：

“Where is Nadia Henson!”

Twenty years ago, I severed ties with the Henson family and gave myself a new name.

My sister, Victoria Henson, looked the same as she had two decades ago—only her waist-length hair was pinned back now, and her face had taken on the sharpness of a woman who'd aged into her ambitions.

The moment she saw me, she froze.

A few seconds passed. Then she smiled：

“Ronnie's mother is actually you?”

I didn't answer.

“Sister,” Victoria's eyes sharpened with mockery：

“Word is you never married—not once in twenty years—and yet…… you have a child?”

“Is there something you need, Miss Henson?”

Victoria finally remembered why she'd come. Her gaze cooled as it settled on me：

“Anne hasn't stopped crying since she got home.”

“Oh.”

“Don't you think you're absolutely shameless?”

“Hm?”

Victoria stared at me, hard：

“You couldn't get to me, so you took it out on an innocent girl!”

I smiled without a word.

“Nadia Henson.”

Victoria's voice went cold：“Don't think being the richest man's mother means you can do whatever you want.

“Don't forget, my husband held that title once too.

“And Anne's grandmother, my mother, is celebrated at home and abroad.”

I sat in my place at the head of the table, unhurried：“And?

“Your whole family thinks it can meddle in other people's marriages?”

“I……”

Victoria's grip tightened on her handbag：“I'm just here to remind you not to push it too far!”

“You barged into my banquet to force me to accept your daughter.”

My gaze turned cold：“So who, exactly, is the one pushing it?”

Victoria clenched her jaw. She was used to running unchecked in their elite social circle—everyone deferred to her out of respect for Mr. Stephens and our mother. None of that worked on me.

I glanced at security. Two guards stepped forward at once and caught her by both arms.

“Nadia Henson, you dare let them treat me like this!”

Victoria was panicking now.

I didn't look up.

She'd never been dragged out of anywhere before—but here she was, a guard on each side, hauled toward the door.

“Nadia Henson! This is too much! You've gone too far!!”

The doors closed, sealing her voice outside.

I wiped my mouth, stood, and bowed to the room：

“My apologies for the disruption.

“Small gifts have been prepared for everyone—please collect them from the butler on your way out.

“Enjoy the rest of your evening.”

With that, I turned and left the table. Ronnie followed me out.

The next morning I had barely gotten out of bed when word came that someone was at the front gate, asking to see me.

The door opened, and Ervin Stephens stood on the other side.

Since the last time we'd been face to face, a full twenty years had passed.

“I'm here on behalf of my wife and daughter.”

He got straight to the point. His eyes drifted over the estate's interior, and something like nostalgia flickered across his face：

“All these years, you built all of this on your own?”

I kept my tone flat：“Was anyone going to help me?”

His gaze settled on me. He let out a quiet sigh：

“What happened back then…… I was rash.”

“So, Mr. Stephens, which one of them are you really here for?”

His breath caught. The girl who used to hang on his arm, calling him “darling” like it was the most natural word in the world—that girl could now throw his words back at him without flinching.

He sighed again：

“I've spoiled those two.

“You know how it is. Mother and I have always doted on them.

“You were heartless yesterday. Neither of them has touched a meal since.”

“*Heartless?*”

I set down my coffee cup and locked eyes with him：

“Mr. Stephens, do I no longer have the right to manage my own family's affairs?”

“That's not what I meant……”

Ervin paused for a beat：“It's just that anyone with eyes can see it.

“This is revenge. Plain and simple.”

I smiled：

“If that's what you want to call it—fine. I admit it.”

“But isn't the thing you're really angry about the fact that I didn't marry you back then?”

Ervin grew agitated：“What happened back then can't be undone.

“If you want revenge, come after me. Don't take it out on an innocent mother and daughter!

“Name your price.

“Let Anne marry Ronnie and you can have everything I own. Every last cent.”

I looked at the man in front of me. That actually surprised me.

Then I laughed：

“Ervin Stephens.

“You're self-made.”

He went still.

Let out a sigh and turned his face away.

“You swore you'd never let yourself live in poverty again.

“And now you'd throw away everything you built? For them?”

Ervin sighed again：

“They……matter more than money.”

A bitter smile.

Those words.

He'd said them to me once, too.

Ervin Stephens.

In the end, I had him shown out.

He kept looking back as he left：

“Can't we talk about this a little more?

“I meant what I said about compensating you. I'm not joking.”

“Nadia, please.”

“They're really hurting.”

I looked out the window.

And what about the girl who knelt on the ground twenty years ago, sobbing that she'd been framed?

Ervin had barely been gone when someone else asked to see me.

The moment the door opened, we both froze for a beat.

Martin Vance.

The man who'd been in that bed with me.

My sister's boyfriend.

All these years, he'd believed I was the one who drugged him.

And for those twenty years, just like me, he'd never married.

“I didn't expect you to show up too.”

I spoke first.

Martin sat down across from me.

His gaze swept over my home, expression complicated, before settling back on me.

He opened his mouth：

“I didn't realize you were this determined.”

“Hm?”

“Ronnie Henson. I only found out yesterday that he's your son.”

I said nothing.

“That night?” he asked.

I knew what he meant. The night my mother set us up.

I shook my head.

He let out a breath：

“You don't need to deny it. I already know.”

“I really didn't.”

He studied me.

A trace of resignation crossed his face：“You always were stubborn.

“But you know exactly who I've been single all these years for.”

I drank my coffee and said nothing.

“Making things difficult for those two, honestly, that's going too far.”

“You're going to meddle in my family's affairs too?”

I shot him a cold look.

He sighed：

“Nadia.

“Strictly speaking, Ronnie is my child.

“That makes this my family's affair too.”

“I already told you he's not your child.”

Martin looked at me：

“Nadia, I'm not blind.

“That boy looks like me.”

I almost laughed：

Martin Vance was the sharp-jawed, ruggedly handsome type.

Ronnie was too.

“He has the same look as you, Mr. Vance, sure.

“But you're hardly the only man who looks like that.