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."

After a long silence, Theodore slowly opened his eyes, a trace of sharpness flashing in them. "How did you know?"

His tone was calm, but it carried an invisible pressure that made Harper's heart tremble.

"I was worried about Madam, and I was thinking—"

"Next time you do something this unnecessary, just get out."

He didn't give her a chance to explain and hung up.

The car had stopped at some point. The driver quickly got out and opened the door.

The estate halfway up the hill was packed with well-dressed young men and women dripping in jewelry. The moment Theodore appeared, he drew immediate attention.

The butler hurried to the poolside and said a few words to the man splashing around with a beautiful woman. He immediately climbed out, wrapped a towel around himself, and headed upstairs.

"Why are you only getting here now? Being late isn't your style."

Theodore ignored him. He sent the text message he'd already drafted first, then spoke. "Where is he?"

The man smiled and leaned in. "What's the rush? Since you're here, play a little first. He's not going to run away."

Theodore lifted his head and glanced at him, saying nothing.

The man squirmed under that gaze and raised his hands in surrender. "I'll have someone bring him over later. But aren't there any good composers in Harbor City? You had to come here? And the one you're looking for is some third-rate composer drowning in gambling debt."

Theodore idly spun the phone in his hand. His lowered eyes were flat, emotionless.

"Probably."

The man frowned, then seemed to remember something and leaned in again. "Oh right, my mom wants you to come for dinner tomorrow. There'll be a surprise."

The moment Theodore saw his smug look, he understood what kind of surprise he meant. "Not convenient."

The man blinked. "What's not convenient? My mom said you've already turned her down several times. It makes her lose face in front of her friends, so this time, no matter what, you have to go."

Theodore raised his eyes. "I already have a family. Thank my aunt for her kindness."

"…"

The man shot up like he'd been struck by lightning. "Since when?"

"Six hours ago."

"…"

The room fell into deathly silence.

A few seconds later, a notification broke the deadlock. A photo appeared—a man and woman embracing in heavy rain.

Harper's message popped up: Mr. Farley, I just didn't want you to be fooled.

The faces in the photo weren't clear, but the clothes the woman was wearing looked very familiar.

His Adam's apple bobbed. Theodore replied: You're fired.

"Cousin, what are you looking at? A photo of my sister-in-law? Let me see!" The man pounced over, face full of gossip.

Theodore pocketed his phone, eyes dark. "If I were you, I wouldn't be so happy."

The man immediately understood, threw his head back, and let out a long howl. "Oh no! Looks like I need to flee abroad for a few days. Hey, Cousin, how about I go to Harbor City with you? Perfect timing to meet my new sister-in-law."

Theodore looked him up and down, his gaze finally landing on that head of hair—white bleeding into purple, purple bleeding into red. "Your new sister-in-law may not want to see you."

At that moment, a certain new sister-in-law sneezed. Looking at the text from an unfamiliar number, she was confused: Already landed in Harbor City!

She read it over and over, and her mind drifted back to what Theodore had said when he left.

She hesitated, then silently put the phone down.

She didn't know how to reply. Or what to reply.

After dinner, the rain that had raged all day finally stopped.

A gentle evening breeze, wrapped with moisture, rose and fell in the air. Willow curled up on the terrace sofa, looking at the pitch-black sky. She picked up the beer beside her and took a sip.

Her mind replayed everything that had happened these past few days, over and over.

The phone screen on the table lit up. A message popped up—news about what she'd asked a friend to look into.

After she replied, she vaguely remembered she still had one message left unanswered.

She opened the chat again. Looking at those brief five words, she typed back: Okay.

A little over ten seconds later, the sender called.

Staring at the green call button flashing on her screen, Willow's heart inexplicably tightened.

When the call connected, the man's low voice drifted through, carrying a hint of something she couldn't name. "This is my number. Save it."

"Okay."

Silence stretched between them.

For someone usually so adept at navigating social situations, her mind had gone completely blank. She didn't understand why she was so nervous.

"It's late. Sleep well! Good night!"

A few seconds later, his voice came through: "Mm."

Theodore stood before his hotel's floor-to-ceiling window, gazing at the harbor in the distance. "Good night," he said softly.

Unfortunately, she'd already hung up.

Early the next morning, Willow woke to an avalanche of messages. They were all about the same thing: Victor had officially announced his girlfriend.

All these years, Victor played around as he pleased, but he'd never brought anyone into the open. The one who'd been by his side longest was only Willow.

So when this news dropped, the whole social circle exploded.

Several friends called to confirm the news, but most were just waiting for the show—to see whether Willow would lose it and run to Victor to humiliate herself.

She ignored the gossip messages. As if possessed, she opened her social media feed.

The first post was a couple photo, clearly edited within an inch of its life.

Victor's expression was casual, without much deep affection. The woman nestled in his arms, however, looked like she'd won the lottery—brows lifted, radiating smug satisfaction.

Willow stared at the photo until her eyes burned. Then she turned off her phone, got up, and went to wash up.

She had something more important to do today.

When she came downstairs, Georgia had already prepared breakfast.

"Good morning, Aunt. Where's Uncle?"

Georgia smiled, ladling porridge for her. "He went to the company early. Theodore really does what he says—the money was deposited last night. Your uncle rushed to cash it out and get paychecks sent first."

So fast!

Willow hadn't expected Theodore to move this quickly. Could his call last night have been about this?

On her way out, she hesitated, then sent Theodore a message: Thank you!

No reply. It sank like a stone.

She didn't mind. Someone like Theodore—how could he possibly sit around waiting for her texts? Their relationship wasn't close enough for instant replies and daily greetings.

But when she arrived at her destination, his message came through: How will you thank me?

Willow stared at those words for a while before typing: When you come back, I'll treat you to dinner.

Again, no reply.

She put away her phone, pushed open the Western restaurant door, and headed straight to the second floor.

By the window, on an expensive leather sofa, someone was already waiting.

In her thirties, Tessa Salazar carried a weariness that didn't match her age.

"Mrs. Salazar, long time no see!"

Willow smiled, placing the blue shopping bag on the table. "For you."

A new release from a luxury brand—no domestic stock, preordered six months ago. She'd originally planned it as her own birthday gift.

Luckily, her birthday hadn't passed yet.

In the past, Tessa would've excitedly torn it open, cooing over it, practically wanting to transfer all her lipstick collection to Willow's face out of gratitude.

Now she barely glanced at it. "Thanks, but I'm not in the mood."

Willow ordered orange juice and studied her. "What's wrong? Who upset our little fairy?"

Tessa picked up the glass beside her and downed all the liquor in one gulp.

After a moment, her dull eyes suddenly brightened. She looked at Willow like she'd found a lifeline. "Will you come somewhere with me?"

Willow had prepared herself to drink and commiserate. She never expected Tessa to drag her along to catch a cheating husband.

The elevator rose. The silver walls reflected their faces.

Both looked worse than the other.

The Mason family had barely survived this crisis. Even with Theodore's investment, they were badly hurt. Willow had wanted to secure the Salazar family's cooperation and discuss expanding production lines with her uncle.

When she'd called Tessa yesterday to arrange this meeting, she'd carefully steered the conversation toward which company the Salazars wanted to partner with next quarter.

As expected—the Sullivan family.

Publicly or privately, she didn't want this deal falling into their hands. She'd planned to make another pitch.

But now...

Whether this affair-busting succeeded or failed, the moment she followed Tessa into that suite, the Salazar contract would slip through her fingers forever.

Ding.

The elevator arrived. Soft carpet swallowed the click of their heels.

Willow followed Tessa to the innermost suite door.

The keycard touched the sensor. The lock clicked open. Tessa gripped the handle and pushed.

A woman's moans and a man's low laughter drifted from the bedroom.

Willow didn't need to look to know what was happening inside.

Tessa was already losing control. Her shoulders trembled violently, her grip on the golf club shaking.

Eyes reddening, she said flatly, "Sorry to trouble you, Willow. Wait outside for me."

Willow stood at the doorway, watching that thin, fragile back. She felt the urge to help, but a few seconds later, reason won out. She walked away.

Her own life was already a mess. What right did she have to play savior?

The woman's screams erupted from the room—hysterical.

Each accusation struck like a drill to the heart, hitting the weakest places buried deep inside.

Willow leaned against the wall, staring at the expensive antique painting across from her. Her heart felt like it was being fried in hot oil.

This scene felt familiar.

Chaotic memories tangled together like yarn—the more she pulled, the worse the knots became.

She forced herself to calm down. Her phone's notification sound pulled her from the past.

Another entertainment headline. This time, the photo was crystal clear.

Theodore Farley.

Looking at that striking face, Willow blanked for a moment. Only then did it hit her—she was already married to him.

A sharp smack yanked her back to reality.

She turned toward the room. Tessa was struggling up from the floor, clawing at the man again.

Spencer Salazar cursed in pain. "You crazy woman, let go!"

In the scuffle, Tessa was flung aside. Her head struck the table corner. Bright red blood immediately ran down her temple, dripping onto the carpet.

The two culprits watched coldly, making no move to help.

Willow even heard a trace of laughter.

The closest person had torn off his mask, yet the one driven mad was the one hurt most.

Tessa laughed through her fury. The next second, she grabbed a vase and hurled it at them.

Spencer barely dodged. Cursing, he stepped forward to hit her.

Willow flung open the door, crossed the room in three strides, shoved the man hard, and helped Tessa up.

"Spencer, this is a society ruled by law!"

He sneered, anger surging. "This is my family business. Get out of the way!"

Willow shielded Tessa, backing up. Her pretty face showed nothing but cold stubbornness.

"I recorded everything and sent it to a friend. If we don't walk out safely today, you know the consequences."

The menace around him finally eased slightly. "Willow, I've always treated you well, haven't I?"

"I don't want to be enemies with you either, Spencer. But you're really pushing it."

He chuckled, walked to the sofa, and picked up his cigarette case, ready to negotiate.

But the next second, Tessa lunged at him like she'd snapped, hitting and kicking.

Afraid Tessa would get hurt, Willow stepped in to help.

And then...

Faster than legal punishment came the patrol cars.