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?"

Theodore paused, his long fingers brushing the watch face on his wrist. His expression gave nothing away.

Willow blinked. As she waited for his answer, her gaze drifted back to his face.

His features were too striking—every glance made her want another.

As if noticing her little move, the corner of his mouth barely lifted. "Miss Sullivan doesn't need to feel too much pressure. Between us, it's just cooperation."

She froze. "Cooperation?"

She couldn't figure out what she possibly had worth "plotting against."

The Mason family's business had been doing well, and she'd managed to squeeze into Harbor City's upper-class circle, but compared to a top-tier old-money family like the Farleys—one that rarely showed their faces—people like them, second-generation kids who only knew nightlife, weren't worth mentioning. Not to mention the Farley patriarch, a figure who existed only in other people's fantasies.

What could someone like that possibly want from her?

Theodore nodded, his dark eyes calm and unreadable.

"I need a wife."

A long silence followed.

Willow: "……"

That was like saying something and also saying nothing!

In the lobby of City Hall, bright red slogans scrolled back and forth on the screen.

In less than twenty minutes, a fresh, still-warm marriage certificate was placed in Willow's hands.

Outside, the sunlight was blazing. Dappled shadows fell across the document. For some reason, she let out a breath of relief.

A strange feeling.

Theodore descended the stairs and walked up to her. He lowered his head. The noon sun fell on him, tinting his dark eyes with a layer of warmth, softening some of the sharpness and indifference.

"My flight to Harbor City is at two this afternoon. My return date is uncertain. I'll have my assistant take you home first."

Willow looked up at him blankly, suddenly having the illusion that a boyfriend was checking in with his girlfriend.

"Okay."

She watched his tall, straight figure disappear, then lowered her eyes to the certificate in her hand.

The glaring red cover opened to reveal their photo—her and Theodore, side by side.

Handsome man, beautiful woman. They actually looked pretty well-matched.

Before she could be amused by the thought, a woman in professional attire approached.

She raised a hand and pushed the gold-rimmed glasses on her nose, smiling appropriately. "Hello, ma'am. I'm Mr. Farley's assistant, Harper Simmons."

The woman had neat short hair. She looked capable, and her manner was comfortable, the kind that made people let down their guard.

The people around Theodore were indeed not simple.

On the way back, Willow watched the increasingly unfamiliar streets. "Where are we going?"

Theodore had said he'd have his assistant take her home, but this road wasn't the way back to Mason Villa.

Harper kept her eyes on the road. "Mr. Farley has already purchased the Harbor Villa on Coastal Road as the marital home for the two of you. We're heading there now."

Coastal Road. Harbor Villa.

A location where every inch of land was worth a fortune—Harbor City's number-one villa district, so expensive that even the air seemed to come with a price tag.

When the electric gate slid open, Willow looked at the grand scene before her and thought of Victor.

Back then, Victor had wanted to buy a place here. He'd put in a lot of effort, but in the end, he couldn't even get through the gate.

She still remembered his expression when the agent told him his status didn't qualify—furious, yet still forcing composure.

Pretty interesting.

The car stopped in the parking area. Harper got out and opened Willow's door. Her tone was strictly businesslike.

"Mr. Farley said the door code is your birthday. This is my business card. If you have any needs, call me anytime."

After the assistant left, Willow stood under the porch, staring at the high-end electronic lock.

Why was the door code her birthday?

And how did Theodore know it?

She entered the numbers. The moment the door opened, she understood.

Someone like Theodore wouldn't marry by randomly picking someone. The information on her ancestors for eighteen generations was probably sitting in a drawer in his office.

The villa's decor was minimalist, but the kitchen, dining room, and bedroom had everything they needed.

In the walk-in closet, men's and women's clothes hung neatly in a row—all the newest styles.

Willow lay on the soft bed. She'd planned to sleep, but the moment she closed her eyes, her phone rang.

An unfamiliar number.

She hesitated, then hung up.

The next second, it rang again.

Frowning, she answered.

"Where are you? I have something to see you about."

Even without a saved contact, she recognized Victor's voice immediately.

She hung up without thinking.

Since she'd decided to start a new life, the people and things from before needed to stay far away.

She turned over to go back to sleep, but her phone rang again.

Before she could hang up, a text appeared: You wouldn't want me to visit your uncle and aunt for a nice long chat, would you?

Willow's expression turned cold. Her finger paused on the screen. Another message followed: Answer the phone!

She connected. Victor's voice came through, softer this time.

"Where are you? I'll come pick you up."

Her tone was flat. "I think I made myself clear last time. How about we don't contact each other anymore?"

Silence on the other end. As if suppressing his anger.

After all, Willow had chased him for eight years. Eight years of coming when called and leaving when dismissed. This time, Victor had given her plenty of face, and she was putting on airs instead.

"Willow Sullivan, are you serious?"

She curled her lips. "Do I look like I'm joking?"

He hung up abruptly.

This time, she didn't hesitate. She blocked the number.

Outside the floor-to-ceiling window, dark clouds spread across the sky, and the sea churned.

Looked like a storm was coming.

Willow took a deep breath, her mind drifting to the absurd eight years past.

Eight years so humble she'd been in the dust.

To prevent Victor from actually going to her uncle and aunt with nonsense, she took a cab back to the Mason residence.

Half an hour later, the moment the taxi stopped at Mason Villa, distant thunder rumbled. Fat raindrops connected into lines, crackling against the glass.

Willow's heart sank. Chaotic images flashed before her eyes.

She took a deep breath, paid quickly, and pushed the door open.

The downpour drenched her instantly. Just as she ran toward the villa, a pair of hands gripped her wrist and yanked her into an embrace.