"Victor, are you really going to say yes to Willow Sullivan?"

In the smoke-filled private room, a man stood and poured Victor Henson a glass of liquor, tossing out the question like idle gossip.

Victor took the cigarette pack, stuck one between his lips, and lit it with a careless smile. "Would you date a soulless, boring doormat? She's just something to mess with when I'm bored."

The room erupted in laughter. The guy who'd asked gave Victor a thumbs-up. "That's our boy. That idiot Willow's probably racing through the rain right now, all giddy to deliver your medicine."

At that moment, the "idiot" they were mocking stood just outside the door, hearing every word.

Her grip on the glass bottle tightened. With a sharp crack, blood mixed with rainwater dripped from her fingertips.

Searing pain.

Willow Sullivan had loved Victor Henson for eight years. Eight years of pouring everything she had into him.

When he traveled for business, she booked his flights and packed his bags.

When his stomach acted up, she—someone who'd never touched a stove—taught herself to cook, just so he could eat something gentle.

When he entertained clients, one phone call was all it took. She'd show up, drink on his behalf until she was throwing up in the bathroom.

Tonight, rain hammered the city. Victor had called, claiming his stomach was flaring up, demanding she deliver medicine within ten minutes. He'd even dangled the promise: make it in time, and he'd finally agree to be with her.

She thought she was finally seeing daylight. She didn't realize this was just Victor's way of training a dog.

Her fingers slowly uncurled. Crushed glass and blood scattered across the floor, and Willow's eyes burned red.

She tucked a soaked strand of hair behind her ear with trembling hands. Passersby stared at her like she was some kind of freak, only whispering once they'd walked far enough away.

Her phone buzzed. She pulled it out numbly and answered. It was her uncle.

"Willow, it's so late—why aren't you home yet?"

Before she could respond, her aunt's voice cut in from the background. "If she doesn't want to come back, then don't force her. The girl's grown—you can't keep her chained to your side forever. Right now she's got tunnel vision for that Victor Henson. You think she even remembers she has an uncle? I'm telling you, don't meddle too much, or you'll just annoy her."

"What are you going on about?"

"What am I going on about, Joseph Mason? So now I can't even speak in this house anymore, is that it?"

Listening to them argue, Willow's grip on the phone trembled.

Ever since her uncle's company hit trouble, fights like this had become constant.

And she knew the real problem was her. But she...

She took a deep breath, guilt twisting in her chest. "Uncle, Aunt—I'll do it. I'll marry into the Farley family."

Silence on the other end.

Then her aunt Georgia Fletcher's voice came through, stunned. "Willow, what did you just say?"

Everyone in Harbor City's elite circles knew Willow Sullivan had chased Victor Henson for eight years, swearing she'd marry no one else.

Because of it, Georgia had endured endless mockery at society gatherings.

Toad lusting after swan meat, they called her niece.

"I'm sorry, Aunt. For all the worry I've caused you. I won't be selfish anymore."

"Willow, are you okay? Where are you? Let your uncle come get you." Georgia had wished countless times that Willow would agree to the Farley marriage and save the company from ruin—but hearing that hollow voice now, worry crept through her.

Willow had sworn off Victor before. Every time, she'd mope for a few days, then go right back to orbiting him. No amount of persuading ever worked.

This time felt different. Wrong.

"I'm fine. I'm staying at a friend's place tonight. I won't be coming home."

Willow forced a smile, though it looked worse than tears.

After hanging up, she glanced back at the private room door just steps away.

She never wanted to love Victor Henson again.

This time, it really was a clean break.

When she went downstairs, her phone rang again. Victor Henson's name kept flashing on the screen.

Willow didn't even hesitate—she hung up.

A little over ten seconds later, his message came through. Just a single punctuation mark: ?

Willow paused, then replied: The rain's too heavy. Can't get a cab. Running over right now. Wait for me a bit longer.

After the message sent, there was no reply. Just like always.

Willow gave a self-mocking smile and silently added his contact to the blacklist.

When she stepped outside, the rideshare she'd booked in advance was already waiting.

When Victor had called her, the rain was coming down hard. She'd waited forever and still couldn't flag down a car, so she'd had to book a rideshare ahead of time, with the pickup location pinned near the club. She'd been afraid his stomach condition would flare up and the medicine wouldn't work—and by then, it would be too late to find a car.

Now, looking back at everything she'd done, the words pathetic hanger-on kept spinning through her mind.

She figured it was probably because her life had been too comfortable lately. Made her head go soft. Made her single-mindedly determined to create trouble for herself.

When she was ten, her parents had taken her out for a day trip. On the way back, they got into a car accident. She was the only one who survived.

The Sullivan family made it clear they didn't want her. Said she was a girl—what use was that? Called her a jinx. Between the lines, the message was obvious: don't bother coming back.

It was her uncle and aunt who took her in.

Her aunt couldn't have children of her own. All these years, her uncle and aunt had treated her like their daughter. Whatever she wanted, they gave her—except for Victor Henson.

Her aunt had said the Henson family was a dragon's den, and Victor didn't look like someone who could protect her.

Willow hadn't believed it back then. She'd even kept talking up Victor's good points to them.

But now? Now her face burned with humiliation.

The curtain of rain blurred the lights and scenery outside the window, and it gradually blurred the chaos in her heart too.

After getting her hand bandaged at the hospital, she took a cab to the hotel.

When she pulled out her phone to pay, a pop-up notification appeared with a piece of news:

#The person in power at Farley Group suddenly returned to the country today#

She scrolled down. There was an extremely blurry photo attached.

Willow didn't pay it any attention and opened the payment app.

She'd heard that the young Mr. Farley her aunt had found for her—though he carried the Farley name—didn't have inheritance rights. So after she married in, she probably wouldn't have much contact with whoever was actually in power.

Thinking about the marriage alliance now, her heart didn't ripple much anymore.

Her uncle and aunt had been so good to her. She should be sensible too.

Early the next morning, when Willow returned to the Mason residence, Georgia had already laid out all of Jesse Farley's photos and information in front of her.

His looks were decent. His whole vibe gave off a spirited, ambitious energy—like a young man ready to take on the world.

Among the Farley family's younger generation, he ranked third. Word was he'd just come back from studying abroad, and his personality was supposed to be pretty agreeable.

Even without inheritance rights, with the Farley name backing him, his future would be smooth sailing. Not a bad deal.

"There's a banquet tonight. You'll come with me—it's the perfect chance for the two of you to meet."

Georgia paused after she finished speaking. After hesitating back and forth, she finally told Willow something else about Jesse Farley.

Only then did Willow understand why someone with her status could marry into one of Harbor City's top-tier wealthy families.

Jesse Farley had gotten involved with some woman at a nightclub—and gotten her pregnant.

After she gave birth, the woman tried to leverage the child to climb the social ladder. The Farley family would never let someone like that into the family, and they didn't want to make a scandal of it either. So on one hand, they paid the woman off and sent her away. On the other hand, they found Jesse a well-educated, sensible wife—one who would be easy to control.

"This situation—if you can't accept it, then forget the whole marriage. Don't blame your aunt. I only just heard about it myself."

Even though Willow wasn't her biological daughter, Georgia had truly loved her for over ten years.

If they hadn't already reached the point of having no other choice, she really wouldn't have resorted to this.

"Aunt, I can accept it."

Money and status. And she could become a mother without going through the pain of childbirth. Aside from not having love, she'd have everything.

This marriage was perfect for her.

As soon as darkness fell, the banquet was already in full swing.

The hillside manor dripped with luxury—glittering chandeliers, guests brushing shoulders as they mingled, extravagance on full display at every turn.

Everyone here was either wealthy or powerful.

Georgia led Willow through the crowd, searching for Jesse, but after a full circuit, they hadn't spotted a single member of the Farley family.

"Willow, I need to make a call. Wait here for me."

"Okay."

Willow found an inconspicuous corner and sat down to wait. She had no real interest in these events, but if someone approached to make small talk, she could hold her own without embarrassing herself.

The Mason family held their own weight in these circles. She'd spent enough time accompanying Georgia among the wealthy wives to know what topics interested them, what responses would charm them.

But it was exhausting. Better to sit quietly alone.

After a long wait, Georgia still hadn't returned. Instead, a man who looked like a butler approached, polite and courteous. "Are you Miss Sullivan? Mrs. Fletcher is speaking with Mrs. Farley. She asked me to bring you over."

Willow gave a slight nod and followed him into the villa at the back of the property.

The door had barely opened when a man's voice reached her from the living room, dripping with contempt.

"Why did you decide on Willow Sullivan without asking me?"

"Everyone knows she's Victor Henson's simp. There's no way I'm marrying her—whoever wants her can have her!"

Hearing that word again, Willow's fingers curled slightly. But her striking face remained expressionless, as if she wasn't the one being discussed at all.

The butler looked embarrassed. He gave a dry cough and stepped into the living room first. "Madam, young master, Miss Sullivan is here."

Jesse snorted with undisguised disdain and rose to leave.

The next second, a cool, low voice cut through from upstairs.

"Jesse Farley, apologize to Miss Sullivan!"

In the pale light and shadows, a tall figure descended the stairs.

Sharp features, clean lines—the man carried himself with cold, reserved nobility.

Jesse straightened immediately. "Uncle."

The fear was obvious. The moment this man appeared, Jesse's slouching posture snapped to attention.

Willow's brow lifted slightly as she placed him.

Jesse's uncle. Theodore Farley—the true heir to the Farley empire, a man Harbor City couldn't afford to ignore.

The kind of figure who made front-page headlines just by returning to the country.

His presence here was undoubtedly about Jesse's marriage.

She raised her eyes. Their gazes collided, and the sheer pressure of his stare made her lower her head, her pulse quickening.

Theodore's gaze swept over her casually. Those pitch-black eyes betrayed nothing.

Only after he sat down did Mrs. Farley dare to speak. She stepped forward and took Willow's hand, her expression shifting to affected warmth as she tried to smooth over the earlier scene.

Jesse seized the moment to slip away.

Theodore's cool voice stopped him cold.

"Do I need to say it twice?"

Jesse froze mid-step. He turned back and met Willow's eyes.

The words "I'm sorry" reached his lips—then died there.

"Damn. Who said she was ugly?"

Victor liked gentle, obedient women, so when she was with him, Willow had never worn dramatic makeup. Her usual style was plain—delicate and proper, but nothing that would stop anyone in their tracks.

Now that she'd decided to leave him behind, she dressed however she pleased.

She lifted her gaze. Bright, gorgeous features, beautiful in a way that demanded attention—the kind of face you couldn't look away from.

A cold stare landed on Jesse, and he shivered involuntarily. Snapping back to reality, he muttered, "Sorry, Miss Sullivan."

Suddenly, marrying Willow Sullivan didn't seem so unbearable after all.