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.

A mix of women's perfume, tobacco, and alcohol hit her full in the face.

Willow's brain needed only a second to identify who carried this complicated scent.

She frowned unconsciously, stepped back, and widened the distance between them.

"What does Mr. Henson mean by this?"

Seeing this face again, Willow couldn't help recalling fragments of their past.

Her heart felt like someone had viciously crushed it in their fist.

Victor noticed something was off about her, and his expression shifted.

He tilted the umbrella toward her, his tone heavy. "What happened before was my fault. I apologize."

If she hadn't heard those words with her own ears, Willow definitely would have been fooled by him again.

She glanced at the heavy rain beyond the umbrella, then turned back to look at Victor, her voice flat. "If you have something to say, say it."

For a golden boy like him to lower himself and come here—even apologize to her so humbly—meant he'd run into some thorny problem.

And this problem could only be solved by her.

Victor reached for her hand, but she dodged.

His brows furrowed, but he quickly suppressed his displeasure.

He handed over the bracelet he'd bought in advance. Under the drumming rain, his voice softened considerably.

"You said you liked this before. I had a friend bring one back from overseas."

Round pearls paired with rubies—the new design from her favorite designer. She had originally planned to make a trip to Paris to pick it up personally, but then something happened to her uncle's company.

She couldn't even remember how long it had been since she'd paid attention to such things.

So long that now, with the bracelet right in front of her, it stirred nothing in her heart.

"If I'm not wrong, you came today for Spencer's contract."

She didn't take the bracelet, but directly exposed Victor's purpose.

Victor's patience ran out. He stopped beating around the bush. "Spencer's contract was handled by you before. The agreement's up for renewal. I heard he has other ideas, so I want you to help."

Willow gave a self-mocking smile. "Sorry. I can't help."

Back then, when Old Mr. Henson returned to the country, Victor was eager to perform in front of the old man, so he'd boasted he would secure the Salazar family's entire year-long contract.

But with such a big piece of meat, there were plenty of wolves watching it. Victor didn't have much of an advantage when it came to proposals.

To help him, she'd put in money and connections, accompanied Mrs. Salazar on outings for a whole week before she got the chance to meet Spencer.

At that dinner, she drank until she threw up, then hugged the contract and slept on the bathroom floor all night.

But when she brought the contract to Victor, she discovered him being affectionate with another woman...

Thinking back now, Willow felt she'd been unbelievably stupid.

She turned to leave, but Victor grabbed her wrist tight.

"Willow Sullivan, what exactly do you mean?"

Victor's face at that moment was so dark it looked like water could be wrung from it. His hand on the umbrella handle kept tightening, knuckles turning white.

Willow shook off his grip, her expression turning colder still.

"For someone like me—soulless, boring, a pathetic simp—haven't you had enough fun yet, Mr. Henson?"

She stared into his eyes. For an instant, his pupils trembled slightly, a flash of panic crossing through.

"You heard that? Listen to my explanation. I didn't mean it. I just..."

"You were just drunk. Talking nonsense." Willow curled her lips into a smile, her eyes reddening. "Is that what you want to say?"

"Willow..."

The rain beyond the umbrella seemed to intensify, pounding against the umbrella's surface.

Willow took a deep breath and looked away. "From now on, you and I won't have the slightest relationship."

"No—we never had a relationship in the first place. Instead of running here and begging so humbly, Mr. Henson, you should think about how to win the contract back on your own merit."

Victor's expression went cold. When he spoke, he still carried that lofty air. "Willow Sullivan, I gave you a chance. Don't regret it."

Willow raised her head and met his gaze, clearly seeing a trace of expectation in his eyes.

Expectation?

He couldn't possibly think she would still be like before, begging him humbly to turn back?

She suddenly laughed and said, word by word, "The thing I regret most right now is knowing you."

The bracelet he'd been clutching was thrown viciously to the ground. The last look he gave her was full of indifference.

The engine roared, and the luxury sports car sped away.

Rolling wheels crushed the pearls scattered on the pavement. A few drops of splashed water landed in Willow's eyes.

The car went farther and farther, becoming blurry and indistinct.

Willow stood there the whole time, her gaze gradually turning hollow.

Everything was over.

One thunderclap after another exploded overhead, again and again, as if someone were holding a hammer and smashing it into her heart.

A child's crying sounded by her ear.

Her memory abruptly dragged her back to that car accident scene with spring thunder surging.

The drizzling rain couldn't extinguish the white smoke rising from the engine. She lay on ground covered with broken glass, hazily watching doctors lift her mom and dad—covered in blood—onto stretchers.

Gradually, blood dyed her eyes red, and a sharp pain drilled into the tip of her heart.

After more than ten years, this kind of pain erupted on every thunderstorm day, constantly devouring her.

"Willow, Willow..."

Her aunt's voice suddenly sounded by her ear. Willow turned her head blankly. The moment the image before her gradually became clear, surging emotions reached their peak, and she couldn't hold back anymore. She started crying.

"Aunt..."

"Silly child, I'm here. I'm here."

Georgia hugged her and gently patted her back. "Let's go home. Go home."

When they entered the house, Joseph poked his head out of the kitchen holding a spatula. Seeing Willow come in looking utterly bedraggled, his face filled with worry.

He was about to ask what happened when Georgia gave him a look, and he swallowed his words.

Back in her room, Georgia ran to the bathroom and brought over two towels, wrapping her up.

"You silly child—if you were coming home, why didn't you call your uncle to pick you up? It's raining so hard, and Theodore Farley actually let you come back alone. That's simply too awful."

"Aunt, he went to Harbor City on a business trip. He had the driver bring me back."

Georgia paused, looking at her with considerable worry. "He... didn't bully you, did he?"

Willow shook her head and forced a smile. "No. He treats me pretty well."

To keep Georgia from disbelieving her, she added, "He also bought Harbor Villa. Said it would be our marital home."

Looking at her like this, Georgia hesitated. After a long while, she let out a soft sigh. "As long as he treats you well. All right, go take a hot bath first. I'll go downstairs and make ginger soup for you."

"Thank you, Aunt."

After watching Georgia leave, Willow's smile finally couldn't hold and fell. The moment she turned around, tears fell uncontrollably.

In Harbor City, rain poured down in torrents. In the other Harbor City, the sky was clear and cloudless.

A black sedan slowly drove along a crowded street. One ferry after another drifted past in front of it.

When Harper's call came in, Theodore was leaning back in his seat, resting.

"Mr. Farley, Mrs. Farley went back to the Mason residence."

The man's voice was light, without much fluctuation. "Mm."

The other party hesitated for a moment, then continued. "Victor Henson went to the Mason residence to look for Mrs. Farley. The two of them still look like they're... not completely cut off."