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.

But the very next second, a single sentence from Theodore shattered Jesse's fantasies completely.

"Jesse's current condition makes marriage inappropriate. Since he's unwilling, this engagement is canceled."

"Uncle, I—"

Jesse froze, scrambling to speak. He'd changed his mind.

He hadn't expected Willow to look nothing like the rumors claimed—old and ugly.

Before he could finish, one look from Theodore silenced him.

In the Farley family, you didn't interrupt an elder mid-sentence.

Jesse lowered his eyes and swallowed his protest.

No matter. Once his uncle left, he'd beg Grandma again. She'd definitely let him marry Willow.

"Miss Sullivan, don't worry. This is the Farley family's fault. I'll give you an explanation."

Theodore lifted his gaze to Willow—those pitch-black eyes unreadable, without the slightest ripple.

Willow understood she had no say in this matter.

She nodded silently.

Someone like Theodore—if he said he'd give her an explanation, he wouldn't go back on his word, right?

Maybe she wouldn't have to marry into the Farley family and could still resolve Mason Group's crisis.

When they left the estate, Theodore had the butler personally escort them back to the Mason residence.

After returning, Willow felt a wave of guilt. "I'm sorry, Aunt. This is all my fault. I made you and Uncle lose face."

In their circle, her reputation was ruined now—and she'd dragged her aunt and uncle down with her, making them targets of mockery.

Thinking back on the past eight years, she felt like she'd been under some kind of spell.

At least she was clear-headed now.

She just hoped it wasn't too late.

Georgia sighed and comforted her gently. "This isn't your fault. Since Theodore said he'd give you an explanation, he probably won't go back on his word. Let's wait. It's getting late—go rest."

Willow nodded, lifted her skirt, and went upstairs.

For three days straight, there was no news from the Farley family.

Willow didn't get Theodore's explanation—but she did get a phone call from Victor.

She'd blocked all his contact information, so when his voice came through someone else's phone, she was momentarily dazed.

"Willow Sullivan, what's the meaning of this?"

She stood on the balcony, gazing at the distant sea horizon, her voice light. "What do you mean, what's the meaning?"

Victor's tone sharpened with irritation. "That night, I waited for you all night."

Just to see her in a sorry state and laugh at her—he really went to such lengths.

Her lips curved faintly. "Mr. Henson, why were you waiting for me?"

"Willow Sullivan, are you playing me?"

Her brow relaxed, and a trace of relief flickered across her face. "Victor Henson, we're even. I don't owe you anything anymore."

She didn't give him a chance to respond before hanging up.

Raising her head toward the distant mountain range, she suddenly remembered—that time after the car accident, when she was abducted from the hospital and tied up in a rundown factory deep in the mountains.

Back then, the Sullivan family had left her in the hospital. Her aunt and uncle were on a plane back to the country. Her eyes hadn't recovered yet, her vision so weak she couldn't make out faces.

At ten years old, she was too naive. Some stranger claimed they were sent by the Sullivan family to take her to the cemetery, and she believed them and followed.

She was tied up alongside an older boy, both of them waiting for their families to pay the ransom.

At first, she was full of hope—hoping her so-called family would save her. But on the second day, the kidnappers decided to kill them.

The reason was simple: the Sullivan family said they couldn't come up with the money.

To save her, that boy used his arm to block a knife meant for her. When the kidnappers weren't paying attention, he grabbed her and ran.

During those days in the mountains, cut off from the outside world, he was the one who protected her—finding her food, finding her water.

He was the one who held her hand and brought her back to Harbor City safe and sound.

She thought she'd never see him again in this lifetime—until she spotted the exact same scar on Victor's arm at the school sports meet…

A sudden knock on the door. Georgia's voice came through. "Willow, are you up? Someone from the Farley family is here. Get yourself together and come downstairs."

When she came downstairs, Theodore was already seated on the living room sofa.

After the maid served tea and snacks, Joseph spoke. "To be honest with you, Mr. Farley—when Willow was little, she lost both her parents. My wife and I raised her. All these years, she's been like our own daughter. I can't bear to see her suffer even the slightest grievance. The marriage arrangement with the Farley family should be called off."

From the start, Joseph had opposed the match.

The little girl he'd painstakingly raised wasn't a commodity. He refused to let her sacrifice her happiness for business.

But Georgia had insisted on the alliance, said they'd let Willow decide, then dragged out Victor and made her choose between the two men.

With no other option, he'd agreed to wait for Willow's decision. He just hadn't expected the girl who'd always chased after Victor to actually accept the arrangement.

The Hensons were a dragon's pool and tiger's den. The Farleys weren't any better.

Now that Jesse was also unwilling, he could cancel the engagement without slapping the Farley family in the face.

Theodore's eyes lowered slightly. His long fingers pinched the blue-gray teacup. In the pale light, his expression was unreadable.

He took a sip of tea. "I didn't come to plead for Jesse. I came to propose."

Propose?

To whom?

After everything Jesse said, he still wanted to propose?

Joseph and Georgia exchanged confused looks—then Theodore's next words made their eyes widen.

"I'm marrying Willow."

Willow froze mid-step, confusion flickering across her face.

Her gaze drifted to him.

Today he wore a tailored black suit. The gold cuff at his wrist caught the light. He sat there quietly, radiating an untouchable nobility from head to toe.

A man like this wanted to marry her?

When their eyes met, something in her chest stirred.

Theodore's brow shifted slightly. His gaze stayed level, betraying nothing.

"Mr. Farley, you're joking."

With Theodore's status, why would the Farleys let him marry a woman who brought nothing to the table—one who'd need his support?

His gaze was cool. "I don't joke about these things."

Joseph pressed his lips together. Surprise and shock warred in his eyes, leaving him unsure whether to smile or stay silent.

He'd never imagined any connection with the Farley family.

Theodore paused, then raised an eyebrow. "The marriage between our families is the talk of the town. If we break it off now, Miss Sullivan gets hurt the most. I don't think that's what you want either, Uncle Joseph."

The implication was clear: Willow's reputation was already in tatters. If the Farleys dumped her on top of that, her prospects—marriage or otherwise—would be ruined.

Every circle had its pecking order. Those at the bottom bore the weight.

Joseph understood, but still hesitated. "We should ask Willow what she wants."

"Uncle, Aunt—I'm willing."

Willow knew her uncle pitied her. Even if she never married, he'd support her for life.

But she couldn't be that selfish. Besides, this outcome was better than she'd expected.

Marrying Theodore was like investing in a high-risk, high-return project.

Even if this was just a stopgap for him, keeping her uncle's life's work from collapsing was still a win.

At her answer, something flickered in Theodore's calm eyes.

"I have a business trip in a few days. The return date is uncertain. I'll pick up Miss Sullivan tomorrow. We'll register first, then hold the wedding later. What do you think, Uncle Joseph?"

Joseph blinked. "Isn't that... a bit fast?"

Theodore's voice stayed even. "The sooner you marry, the sooner the Masons can turn things around."

No fluctuation in his tone.

But to Joseph, it carried a hint of mockery.

Shame crept in. He opened his mouth to explain, but Willow spoke first.

"Okay."

She knew the pressure her uncle had been under: the factory stalled, contracts bleeding liquidated damages, shareholders pushing to cut losses and sell.

If she was marrying Theodore anyway, what difference did timing make?

After seeing him off, Joseph watched the car disappear around the corner and sighed. "Willow, that was impulsive."

Georgia's expression was uneasy. "Why would Theodore Farley suddenly show up to propose? There has to be something behind this."

Joseph sighed, looking at his niece. "The Farleys are even more complicated than the Hensons. I'm worried you'll suffer once you marry in."

Even marrying into an equal family could mean suffering—let alone a dynasty like the Farleys.

And Theodore and Willow had no emotional foundation. If something happened, a man like him probably wouldn't protect her.

Willow knew they meant well. She stepped between them, hooked their arms, and smiled sweetly. "Maybe Theodore saw me at the banquet, was struck by how pretty I am, and fell in love at first sight?"

Joseph and Georgia looked at her, then burst out laughing.

"You really inherited your mother's narcissism."

Joseph tapped her forehead, but the worry in his eyes deepened.

Willow tilted her chin up. "I think you've got a bit of it too, Uncle."

Joseph's eyes widened. "Me?"

Georgia laughed. "Who was it sneaking out of bed at midnight to stare at himself in the mirror for hours?"

Joseph shook his head in denial and retreated inside.

Georgia followed.

Willow stood in the doorway, watching them walk in together. Something warm and gentle shone in her eyes.

Early the next morning, she pushed open the balcony door to get some fresh air—and spotted a Maybach parked at the entrance.

She rubbed her eyes, went back inside, and checked the time. 7:30.

Theodore had come this early.

She hurried to wash up and change. By the time she came downstairs, an hour had passed.

"Sorry, Mr. Farley. I kept you waiting."

The driver opened the door. When she got in, the man beside her was reading documents.

Today he wore a white dress shirt—simple, unadorned, but it made him look restrained, noble, elegant.

That face really did add points. In all of Harbor City, looks like his were rare.

Seeing her, Theodore set the documents aside. His voice was low. "It's fine. Did you bring the documents?"

Willow nodded. "Mm!"

Theodore gave an instruction. The driver started the engine.

The cabin stayed quiet. Neither spoke.

Willow watched the street scenery slide backward, debating whether to ask his purpose—even knowing someone like him might not tell her the truth.

But what if?

While she hesitated, they arrived at City Hall.

Theodore didn't rush to get out. He sat at ease and broke the silence first. "If Miss Sullivan has something to ask, ask directly."

Willow's eyelid twitched. She hadn't expected him to read her so easily.

One chance.

She turned—and crashed straight into his deep, fathomless eyes.

"Why do you want to marry me, Mr. Farley?"