After two years of marriage, Khloe Roswell went to reissue her marriage certificate—and discovered the document she'd cherished was a forgery.

Determined to confront her husband, Trey Fox, she instead overheard the devastating truth: the man who had tenderly cared for her for six years had, in fact, been married for five—to their university’s advisor, who was six years older than him.

She wasn't just his cover; he had branded her barren and forced her to raise his child with another woman.

Disgusted, Khloe called the lawyer about her inheritance. Her declaration was simple and left no room for doubt. "I am unmarried. I have no children. The assets are mine, and mine alone."

With that, she walked away without a backward glance. Trey, smug and convinced she had nowhere to go, waited for her to come crawling back.

He never imagined the day he'd see Khloe again in a marriage alliance broadcast to the nation. Now, she stood in the spotlight, commanding unimaginable wealth, side-by-side with a man at the pinnacle of power—basking in the world's envy.

In the second year of her marriage, Khloe accidentally tore her marriage certificate while tidying a drawer.

She rushed to the courthouse to have it reissued, only for the clerk at the window to frown.

"Miss Roswell, there's no record of your marriage in the system."

"That's impossible. I've been married for two years!" Khloe handed over the torn document, her voice sharp with disbelief.

The clerk checked three more times, then turned the screen toward her.

"See? Nothing. And look here, the seal is crooked. This certificate is most likely a forgery."

Khloe stumbled out of the courthouse, feeling utterly hollow and disoriented. The world seemed to blur around her when her phone rang.

"Miss Roswell, hello. I'm the attorney for your late father's estate. Would you be available to come to Pearson Law Firm to review and sign the inheritance documents?"

'Another scam,' she thought, her finger hovering over the "end call" button.

But the man continued, "Your mother's name was Adele Roswell. Twenty years ago, she left you at the gates of the Harden Housee. After a thorough investigation, we have confirmed that you are the sole biological child of Neil Morrison."

The name hit her like a physical blow. Neil Morrison. The financial titan, the richest man in Goldmont City.

Stunned into silence, Khloe stood frozen on the courthouse steps. Then, moving on autopilot, she rushed to the appointment.

What she learned in lawyer's office was the most staggering revelation of her life: her biological father, Neil Morrison, had passed away the previous month. His estate—a vast empire of stocks, global real estate, and controlling interests in countless corporations—was valued in the billions.

And she, the daughter who never knew him, was his one and only heir.

Her head buzzed as if struck by lightning. The lawyer's next question cut through the fog.

"May I ask about your marital status? Do you have children?"

At once, her husband's face flashed in her mind.

Her hand clenched around the broken certificate hidden in her bag. She gripped the pen tightly and said, "Give me two hours. I need to confirm something first."

Leaving the law office, she headed straight for her husband's company.

The door to Trey Fox's office was ajar. She had just reached out when a low, sultry voice drifted out, "Trey, we've been married five years. When will you finally make it public?"

Khloe froze.

She knew that voice all too well. It belonged to Angela Thompson, their former university advisor.

Angela was six years older than Trey, but aside from that, she was flawless—stunningly beautiful, with a perfect figure, an untouchable goddess in the eyes of the student body. Back in their university, she had been universally adored, renowned as the most popular and beloved counselor on campus.

Khloe held her breath. A second later, she heard her husband's familiar voice.

"The company is about to go public, and I still need her for a few more things. Besides, my grandfather's will explicitly forbids you from being recognized by the Fox family. If we go public now, my grandmother will come after you. I can't stand the thought of you getting hurt."

A roaring sound filled Khloe's ears. She clamped a hand over her mouth, choking back the sob rising in her throat.

That marriage certificate—the one she'd painstakingly taped back together and cherished like a priceless treasure—was nothing but a lie. From the very beginning, she had been the fool, dancing alone in the dark.

She fled the building, pulling out her phone the moment she hit the sidewalk. Her voice was unnervingly calm, as if all the emotion had been drained from her.

"Mr. Bateman, I'll sign the inheritance papers now. And for the official record: I am unmarried and have no children. Every single asset is to come to me, and me alone."

After finishing at the law firm, Khloe drove home. But her mind was elsewhere, and she failed to notice that the car in front of her had stopped. The jolt of the rear-end collision was minor, but it was enough to split her forehead open.

At the hospital, after the ER doctor stitched up her forehead, a sudden, chilling thought sent her straight to the gynecology department.

When she got the results, her heart turned to ash.

"Are you saying... my uterus is perfectly healthy?"

"That's correct. According to these scans, you're in excellent health."

"I can get pregnant?"

"Of course."

"And it won't affect... my sex life?"

The elderly doctor, despite decades of experience, looked slightly taken aback. "No, not at all."

But before their wedding, Trey had waved a medical report in her face, claiming she had a severe uterine condition—that she could never have children, and that even normal intercourse could cause irreparable damage.

"Even so, I'm going to marry you," he had told her, his eyes full of tender resolve as he held her hands. "In this lifetime, I choose you."

For that promise, she had endured the Fox family's wrath.

She had watched her father-in-law smash a teacup, roaring, "Bringing a barren woman into this family will be the end of our bloodline!"

She had listened as her mother-in-law sobbed to relatives at family gatherings, "Trey is under a witch's spell."

And every time, he would just smile and reassure her, "Don't listen to them. You have me, that's all that matters."

So for two years, she endured her mother-in-law's endless insults—"a broken woman," "useless, can't even give my son a child"—each word a thorn festering under her skin, stealing countless nights of sleep.

…

When news of her accident reached him, Trey rushed to the hospital, tall and striking in his crisp white shirt. His visible concern should have stirred memories of their six years together.

She remembered their first meeting in Angela's office. She was just dropping off documents for a classmate. He had looked up, given a polite nod, his dark eyes locking with hers. He hadn't said another word.

That was followed by four years of relentless pursuit.

Trey had been the university heartthrob—handsome, brilliant, born into wealth. Combined with his fierce determination and disarming gentleness, he was practically irresistible.

Khloe, an orphan raised in cold solitude, was no exception. She had finally surrendered, melted by the heat of his devotion.

Now, seeing her dazed and unresponsive, he assumed she was in shock from the accident. He pulled her into his arms, trying to comfort her.

But Khloe recoiled instinctively, shoving him away. She rose to her feet.

"Let's go," she said, then strode past him.

The chest that had once been her only refuge now filled her with nothing but revulsion.

Back in the car, Trey cast her worried looks.

"What happened? You've always been a careful driver. What went wrong today?"

She said nothing. She kept staring at the glaring sparkle of the diamond ring on her hand.

He reached out to hold her hand, as naturally as always.

She pulled away. Again.

"Still upset with me? Fine. If you don't want to talk, I won't press you. We have a very important guest joining us for dinner tonight. I've already told the housekeeper to make all your favorites. Hopefully, that will put a smile on your face."

He was being so gentle. And the gentler he was, the more Khloe wanted to laugh in his face.

"Come on, don't be angry. Once we get through this IPO, I'll make it up to you. I promise. It's just taking all my attention right now."

Misreading her stony silence as forgiveness, he smiled.

"Oh, I'm not angry," she said, her voice dangerously sweet. "I'm actually quite... entertained. My life has suddenly become so much more interesting."

Her words were laced with venom, but he was completely oblivious.

The Fox estate was a sprawling, 5,000-square-foot villa in the most exclusive riverside enclave of Goldmont City.

Every brick of it had been built on the back of Khloe's sacrifices. She had put her own career on hold after graduation, pouring all her energy into building his company.

The moment they stepped inside, the sound of laughter floated down from the second floor.

A child's giggle. And a woman's soft, melodious voice.

The child was Pete Fox—the boy they had "adopted" shortly after marrying, now five years old.

Khloe looked up. And there, after five years, stood Angela.

She was wearing a teal knit dress, her long hair falling in soft waves. Time hadn't faded her beauty; it had refined it, adding a deeper, more potent allure.

"Khloe, look who's here!"

Trey's voice was filled with an excitement she had never heard directed at her. For the first time, she saw him truly, unreservedly elated.

This wasn't the calm happiness he showed with her. This was passion, raw and unrestrained—the kind that only exists with a true, consuming love.

"Ms. Thompson?" Khloe arched an eyebrow, feigning surprise while her stomach churned with nausea.

The elegant, composed woman in front of her was a world away from the breathy, coquettish voice she'd overheard in the office.

"Khloe, it's been so long!"

Angela eagerly took Pete's hand and came downstairs, greeting her warmly.

Khloe's eyes lingered on Pete.

Shortly after their wedding, Trey had persuaded her to adopt him from the same orphanage where she'd once lived. He'd claimed it was the only way to placate his parents, who would stop pressuring her to bear children.

She had believed he was doing it for her. She had agreed.

But raising Pete had been torment. The boy was volatile, often throwing objects at her in fits of anger, as if harboring deep-seated hatred.

Once, he had even shouted in her face, demanding Trey give him back his "real mother."

She had wanted to give up. But Trey always pleaded with her to endure, reminding her how pitiful the boy was without a mother, and how she herself had been abandoned as a child.

Now, as she watched Pete clutching Angela's hand, the pieces finally clicked into place.

They had been married for five years. Pete was five years old.

So that was it. The Fox family had barred Angela from the household, and Khloe had been the convenient shield—raising their son, bearing the scorn, while they lived their hidden life in secret.

At dinner, Trey and Pete took turns serving Angela. The three of them chatted and laughed like a family, while Khloe sat silent, the outsider at her own table.

Seizing a lull in the conversation, Trey set down his fork and turned to her, his tone deceptively gentle. "Khloe, Ms. Thompson is working on a new book about parenting. She needs a quiet place to write. With the company's IPO and you being so overwhelmed, I was thinking…"

His voice softened further. "I'd like her to stay with us for a while. She could even help you with Pete. He adores her."

She could hardly believe it. Five years of hiding their affair wasn't enough. Now he wanted to move her into their home.

Khloe continued eating calmly, as if she hadn't heard a word.

An uncomfortable tension thickened the air.

"Khloe," Trey prompted, his voice tight with embarrassment, "I'm talking to you."

With a soft, deliberate clink, Khloe set down her bowl.

Before she could speak, Angela quickly interjected, her voice a placating murmur. "Oh, please, I never meant to cause any trouble. Khloe, Trey is only suggesting this because he's worried about you. He doesn't want you to be so exhausted, juggling work, the house, and Pete. He just thought I could help share the burden."

"No! I want Angela to stay!"

The little boy beside her slammed his tiny fist on the table, his cutlery rattling.

"Pete, sweetheart, we don't act like that…"

"Pete, that is enough!"

Their voices overlapped—Angela's gentle coaxing and Khloe's sharp reprimand.

In a flash of pure, unbridled rage, Pete snatched his glass of juice and hurled it directly at Khloe.

Khloe didn't even have time to react before a glass of juice was flung straight into her face.

The maids rushed over at once to help clean her up.

"Pete!" Trey's face darkened with fury.

Startled, Pete bolted upstairs in a streak of panic.

Trey made to chase after him, but Angela quickly stood and blocked his path.

"Trey, he's just a child. Violence won't solve anything. Let me check on him."

As she spoke, her eyes flicked toward Khloe, who was wiping herself clean. She seemed to want to say something more but held it back.

Only then did Trey return his attention to Khloe. "Are you alright? Let me see."

She had already wiped herself down, but his hand reached out again, wanting to touch her face.

"Disgusting! Don't touch me." The words slipped out without thought.

Trey frowned, completely misreading her. "How could I ever think you're disgusting? The only thing I feel is terrible that you got hurt. If I'd known Pete would have an outburst like that, I never would have put the burden of raising him entirely on you."

Khloe's lips curled into a mocking smile.

"You're right. If his real mother were here, she'd probably do a much better job. It's a shame she's gone, and his adoptive mother clearly doesn't know what she's doing."

Trey froze, his expression tightening.

"What are you talking about? Pete is adopted. You're his mother—the only mother he has, and you're a wonderful one."

He even reached out to ruffle her hair in a show of affection.

The sudden, intimate gesture made Khloe's skin crawl.

Back in the bedroom, she immediately locked herself in the bathroom and turned on the shower.

Trey followed shortly after. He hadn't come to check on her—his real purpose was to resume his campaign to move Angela in.

He called it a "discussion," but Khloe knew her opinion was irrelevant. He and Angela were the real couple; she was just the placeholder.

"With the company's IPO, I have no time for Pete, and I need you focused on work. Angela is a child development expert, and you saw how well Pete responds to her…"

"Fine. Whatever you want."

She cut him off, her stomach churning with disgust the longer he spoke.

Trey instantly softened, mistaking her surrender for understanding. "Khloe, I knew you'd be reasonable. You know I only want what's best for our family."

His eyes melted into a pool of fake tenderness as he stood and moved to put his arms around her waist.

But Khloe turned sharply and held up her phone like a shield.

On the screen was a listing for a modern riverside villa in the city's financial district—a more prestigious and expensive property than their current home.

"Trey, what do you think of this place?"

"It's prime real estate. That area is incredibly valuable." He frowned slightly, unsure of her angle.

"My birthday is next month. I've decided I want this villa as my gift."

She smiled sweetly, her voice soft and melodic.

Trey had lied to her for two years. She had lost more than time; she had sacrificed her own career. To save his failing startup, she had dropped out of her graduate program and turned down a prestigious job offer.

In just two years, she had turned his business around. Soon, it would go public, making Trey a billionaire.

And she? She would be discarded, used up and thrown away.

There was no way she would let that happen.

In the past, Trey had always promised her the world. But Khloe had never asked for anything—until now.

Trey hesitated. "Why the sudden interest in real estate? Isn't our house good enough for you?"

"This isn't just a house, it's an investment. And once your company is public, hosting clients at a prestigious address like this will give you the status you deserve. It's for your benefit, too."

Every word was carefully crafted to appeal to his ego and ambition, and she watched his doubts evaporate in real time.

In his mind, Khloe was still the selfless woman who couldn't bear to spend his money on herself—always putting his needs first. A wave of guilt, mixed with a sudden surge of affection, washed over him.

"I don't need a new house for status. Having you by my side is all the status I need."

He moved to embrace her again, but she sidestepped his arms.

"I told you, it's my birthday wish. Just humor me. You're not going to be cheap about it, are you?"

Her playful tone disarmed him completely. Trey felt a familiar stir of desire. There was something different about her tonight, a new spark that unnerved and intrigued him.

"How much is it?"

"Oh, it's nothing too crazy. Just seven million."

Her smile was radiant.

Trey's face went rigid. He didn't want to seem stingy, but the number was a punch to the gut. Still, with the company's public offering looming, he couldn't afford to upset her now.

"Alright. If you love it that much, it's yours."

Right then and there, he called the finance department and authorized the transfer while she watched.

That same night, seven million dollars landed in Khloe's personal account. The memo line was meticulously noted: For Khloe's birthday villa.

Her bank balance skyrocketed from a meager 15,000 dollars—money she had painstakingly saved from part-time jobs and scholarships—to a staggering 7,015,000 dollars.

For the entire two years of their so-called marriage, she had managed the household budget without ever taking a salary for herself, having handed over all financial control to him the day they "married."

The next morning, Khloe walked into the dining room and froze.

Trey was wearing an apron, chatting and laughing with Angela as he cooked breakfast. Pete followed them like a happy little shadow, obedient in a way Khloe had never seen.

The picture of a harmonious family shattered the moment Khloe entered.

Angela's hand slipped off Trey's shoulder at once. He hurried toward Khloe.

"You're awake! I made breakfast. Come, you have to try it."

Her eyes scanned the dining table—it was laden with an elaborate spread. On a normal day, the housekeeper prepared their meals, and Trey never set foot in the kitchen. Their usual breakfasts were simple. This feast had undoubtedly been orchestrated for Angela.

A faint, knowing smile touched Khloe's lips. "Are these all your favorites, Ms. Thompson?"

"Yes. Trey was so thoughtful," Angela replied, her voice sweet. "He was worried I wouldn't be used to the food here. A man who's this considerate is a rare find. You're a very lucky woman, Khloe."

A subtle, superior gleam flashed in Angela's eyes as they met Khloe's.

"Oh, I know," Khloe agreed smoothly. "Trey has always been incredibly considerate. Not just to me, but he's so charming and attentive to all women."

Trey flushed. "Don't talk nonsense. I'm not like that."

Her tone was light and playful, but it was enough to make Angela's smile tighten.

Sensing the shift, Pete lashed out. As Khloe reached for the last fried egg, he deliberately splattered dark soy sauce all over it—the liquid splashing onto her hand.

"Pete! What is wrong with you?!" Trey snapped.

Angela quickly handed Khloe a napkin, then bent down to speak to the boy in a gently chiding tone.

"Pete, even if you're full, that's no way to behave. And you've made a mess of your mother's hand. You need to apologize."

Pete shot a defiant look at Khloe before mumbling a sullen, "Sorry."

After wiping her hand, Khloe studied the scene. The boy's chin was still held high in defiance, and Angela had masterfully downplayed his aggression as simple misbehavior.

"Alright, you're finished eating. Why don't you go play in your room?" Angela said, smoothly trying to end the confrontation before Khloe could respond.

"Wait."

In one fluid motion, Khloe stood, grabbed Pete by the arm, and pulled him against the wall. "Don't move."

"Let go of me, you witch!"

He kicked and struggled, but she twisted his arms behind his back, holding him firmly in place. Then, she plucked a slender, flexible switch from a decorative vase and brought it down sharply on the back of his legs.

"WAAAH—!" Pete howled, tears immediately springing to his eyes.

"Khloe! What are you doing?!" Angela cried, rushing forward. "He already apologized! Is this really necessary?"

"Ms. Thompson, Pete is my son," Khloe stated, her voice like ice. "It is a mother's duty to discipline her child. Why are you so desperate to interfere? One might almost think... he was yours."

Her strikes did not let up. The switch landed several more stinging blows.

Angela's face went pale, her nails digging into her own palms. "I... I just meant he's still so young. It wasn't that big of a mistake..."

"A small mistake, left unchecked, becomes a major flaw. I'm not well-versed in your gentle parenting methods. If I don't teach him respect now, he will be uncontrollable later."

Her words left Angela speechless.

Even Trey was stunned into silence. Khloe had always been strict, but she had never resorted to physical discipline before. Still, Pete's behavior had been unacceptable...

Trapped between Angela's pleading look and Khloe's icy resolve, Trey finally stepped forward and caught her arm. "That's enough. He's learned his lesson."

Khloe tossed the switch to the floor. Pete scrambled behind Angela, his sobs now those of genuine shock and pain.

Angela frowned, her lips pressed into a thin line, and patted the boy's back soothingly.

"Remember this, Pete," Khloe said, her voice cool and commanding. "As long as I am your mother, you will show me respect. If you don't learn this lesson, that switch will be much less forgiving next time."

Her tone was stern, but a cold smile played on her lips. The effect was so intimidating that even Pete's sobs quieted to silence.

Trey stood frozen, bewildered.

Without another word, Khloe left the dining room.

He instinctively moved to follow her, but Angela clutched his hand, stopping him.

"Trey…"

Her eyes welled with tears, full of a deep-seated grievance. For years, she had played the part of the understanding one, secure in his love, always appearing gentle and magnanimous.

But this—this was too much. Khloe was publicly humiliating her.

It was the old Fox family patriarch who had torn them apart all those years ago. Back then, Trey was just a student, powerless to fight back. Angela had nearly lost her university position and was forced to pivot her entire career to child development.

Out of options, Trey had brought Khloe home as a shield, a beautiful facade to placate his family.

Angela had once asked him why he chose her. He'd been honest. At first, it was her looks—presenting a beautiful wife would satisfy his family's expectations. Later, he discovered she was an orphan, completely alone, and a brilliant finance talent being headhunted by top firms.

Having her by his side was a strategic move for his career.

But to reassure Angela, he had secretly registered their marriage after only a short time with Khloe. That way, no matter what happened, their assets would belong to Angela as well.

He had promised her that once he solidified his control of the family company, he would make their relationship public.

From the very beginning, Khloe was just a tool.

And now, that tool was daring to fight back? Angela couldn't stomach it.

Of course, Trey's heart ached for her. But now wasn't the time to reveal their hand. He pulled Angela into a brief, tight embrace, his brow furrowed in frustration, before finally releasing her and hurrying after Khloe.

As Khloe moved to get into the car, Trey quickly smoothed his expression and moved to join her, as was their usual routine for the drive to the office at that hour.

"Have your assistant drive you," Khloe said evenly. "I've got an appointment with a realtor. I'm going to look at a house."

Trey froze in surprise. "But there's a major company meeting today—"

"This property is about to have multiple offers. If I don't see it today, it will be gone."

Khloe cut him off, her tone placid. A faint smile played on her lips, not quite reaching her eyes. "Besides, you're always the one telling me that work is endless, and that I should learn to treat myself once in a while."

For a reason he couldn't pinpoint, a chill ran down Trey's spine. He forced an easygoing smile. "Alright, then I'll skip the office too. I'll come with you."

"That's not necessary."

Her smile widened, bright and almost girlish, as she turned and lightly tapped a finger against his chest. "I want to pick it out myself. Once I've made up my mind, I'll take you to see it."

Of course, she saw right through him. He didn't want to accompany her; he wanted to supervise her. If the property was purchased jointly, it would ultimately become an asset for him and Angela.

Her voice was so playful it made Trey's heart skip a beat. He caught her wrist. "So it's a surprise for me?"

"Of course it is."

Khloe's smile stiffened for a second before she pulled her hand away.

"Alright. I'll let you have your way," Trey murmured, his voice dropping as he slid an arm around her shoulders, pulling her into a casual embrace.

Khloe had no room to retreat, forcing herself to stand still and not flinch from his touch.

But as he watched her car disappear down the street, the pleasant facade melted from his face. Was it his imagination, or had she changed? Or was it just a woman's intuition—had she picked up on something and was now acting out of jealousy toward Angela?

He tugged irritably at his tie. He couldn't let Khloe get under his skin. It didn't matter how capable she was, or how devoted she had been. In the end, he would only ever have one wife: Angela.

An hour later, Khloe stood before a floor-to-ceiling window, gazing out at the financial district.

The unit was a single-level penthouse, fully finished with top-grade materials and state-of-the-art smart-home technology. The décor struck a balance between minimalist and ultra-luxurious, every furnishing chosen with impeccable taste. Though not the largest floor plan—just over 3,000 square feet—it occupied the most coveted address in the entire city.

She could already imagine how breathtaking the view would be when the city lights began to shimmer after dark.

"I'll take it. Please prepare the paperwork. The deed will be in my name only," Khloe told the sales manager with quiet satisfaction.

The property was turnkey ready. That meant she could walk away from that suffocating, disgusting so-called "home" whenever she pleased.

"Of course, right away." The manager's eyes lit up with pleasant surprise. He had assumed she was just browsing, but her decisive purchase instantly elevated her status. He personally escorted her to the VIP lounge, ordered refreshments, and went to prepare the contract. All Khloe had to do was sign and swipe her card; his team would handle the rest.

She was waiting when a shrill, imperious voice cut through the calm.

"So you're the one trying to steal the apartment I had my eye on?"

Khloe turned to see a young woman in head-to-toe designer striding toward her, flanked by two bodyguards and trailed by another sales manager.

"Are you speaking to me?" Khloe asked mildly.

"Who else would I be talking to? I called dibs on the unit in Bouvardia Ave! It's mine!"

The woman ripped off her sunglasses, revealing sharp, glamorous eyes flashing with pure entitlement.

"The manager never mentioned the unit was reserved, and you haven't paid a deposit. If I pay first, it's mine," Khloe replied coolly, uninterested in a pointless argument. She stood, intending to move to a quieter spot.

The woman stamped her foot—twice—in a show of frustration. "I don't care! I don't need your permission. I have priority here. Whether you like it or not, you need to back off!"

"Priority?" Khloe arched an eyebrow.

"Our policy is to prioritize clients based on their financial profile. Purchases aren't necessarily first-come, first-served. Clients with greater assets receive preferential treatment." The female sales manager delivered her explanation without so much as looking at Khloe, her tone dripping with open disdain.

Khloe's brows drew together. "This policy really does leave a person… speechless."

Just then, the original manager returned, looking deeply apologetic. He leaned in and whispered, "I'm so sorry. That young lady is a member of the Olson family—the heiress to Olson Toys, one of the largest toy brands in the country."

Ah. Khloe placed it now. Olson Toys was fifth on the city's list of top corporations. No wonder the woman carried herself with such unchecked arrogance.

The other manager pressed on, her tone patronizing. "I understand you're disappointed, but rules are rules."

"I'm not disappointed," Khloe replied, a cool smile touching her lips. "I'm just pointing out that, by your own rules, my financial standing gives me priority over hers. This apartment is mine. Please process the paperwork quickly. I don't have all day."

Khloe's words hung in the air.

"What?" both the heiress and her sales manager stammered in unison.

"She actually said she outranks me?" Miss Olson sneered, her voice dripping with disbelief.

The female manager frantically scanned her tablet. It couldn't be. Anyone with a higher net worth than the Olsons would have triggered system-wide alerts, and the general manager would have been personally notified to greet them.

Judging by Khloe's simple, understated clothes, she couldn't possibly be from established old money. A newly rich upstart, at best.

"Miss, perhaps you don't fully understand our process," the manager said, her tone condescending. "Our properties require a formal asset verification—"

"Then verify them," Khloe cut her off, handing over her ID without a hint of annoyance. She had dealt with far more than just social climbers and snobs.

The male manager looked doubtful but proceeded with the verification all the same.

Meanwhile, upstairs in a private viewing suite, a curtain fluttered. A tall, imposing figure stood and murmured to his assistant, who immediately began issuing commands, "Mr. Hunt has given instructions. Tell them to stop the verification. That woman is the Morrison heiress."

In Goldmont City, there was only one Morrison family—the number-one financial power in the city. But no one had ever heard of there being a Morrison heiress before.

Downstairs, Khloe settled back onto the sofa, perfectly composed.

The female manager had lost all patience. "Miss, please stop overestimating yourself. Maybe you can afford one property, but that's probably the extent of your wealth. Don't waste Miss Olson's time any further, or I'll have to call security to escort you out."

Miss Olson waved a dismissive hand, now looking almost amused. "Let her. I want to see what this 'priority' of hers looks like. But remember," she said, her eyes narrowing at Khloe, "if you've wasted my time, you will get on your knees and beg for my forgiveness. Otherwise, don't blame me for what happens next."

Khloe observed the newcomer with detached curiosity. The woman appeared to be even younger than her—barely twenty years old, embodying the quintessential spoiled heiress who had never been denied a thing in her life.

Khloe smiled faintly. "And if I do have priority? Will you get on your knees and beg me instead?"

"You—"

Before Miss Olson could finish her retort, the male manager came rushing back, his face pale and beaded with sweat. "Miss Morrison, my heartfelt apologies! You absolutely have priority! Please, forgive our terrible oversight!"

The revelation sent a shockwave through the sales team. Khloe's verified assets were in the hundreds of billions. And her identity? She was the Morrison family's daughter, recently acknowledged as the sole biological heir.

The female manager's legs buckled. She collapsed to the floor, stammering, "I-I'm so sorry, Miss Morrison! I didn't know who you were! Please, don't take this out on me…"

Miss Olson turned to stone, her eyes wide with horror.

Morrison? From the Morrison family? In this city, a single word from them could make markets rise or fall.

"Please hurry with the paperwork. I don't have all day," Khloe said coolly, utterly unmoved by their sudden groveling.

The contract was thrust before her. She signed without a second's hesitation.

Miss Olson could only stare, her mind reeling. "You're a Morrison? But... I know everyone in your generation. I've never seen you before!"

"This has to be a scam!" she snapped, convincing herself it was the only explanation. She gestured sharply to her bodyguards, who moved to physically remove Khloe from the premises.

But before they could lay a hand on her, a new group of men in dark suits flowed into the lobby, swiftly forming a barrier. At their head walked a man with an air of quiet authority—middle-aged, impeccably dressed in a tailored suit, his silver-streaked hair complementing the gold-rimmed glasses perched on his nose.

"Miss Olson, we have met," he said. "I am Nigel Bartlet, head steward of the Morrison family."

The name alone sucked the air from the room.

Even Khloe felt a jolt of surprise. Why would someone from the Morrison family suddenly appear here? She wondered.

The sheer gravity of the moment left Khloe momentarily speechless. Miss Olson looked as if she'd been physically struck, staggering back a step.

Trying to salvage a shred of dignity, she stammered, "S-so... she really is a Morrison?"

Miss Olson still refused to believe it. To her knowledge, Niel Morrison's wife had been infertile—they'd only ever adopted one child. How could a biological daughter appear out of thin air, right after his passing?

Unless... she was a love child?

Nigel's smile remained impeccably polite, yet his words were a steel gauntlet velveted in courtesy. "Indeed. She is Mr. Niel Morrison's only biological child. The sole heir to the entire Morrison fortune."

Having said this, he stepped past Miss Olson, his gaze settling firmly on Khloe.

She felt slightly uneasy under his scrutiny.

Then, with a formality that seemed from another era, he executed a perfect, deep bow.

"A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Young Mistress."

The moment Nigel spoke, the entourage of men in black suits behind him bowed in unison.

The sheer gravity of the moment left Khloe momentarily stunned.

Miss Olson nearly stumbled backward from the shock. Clutching her handbag tightly, she tried to make a quick exit, but the black-suited men blocked her path.

"Young Mistress," Nigel said, not even turning his head, a faint, courteous smile on his face as he addressed Khloe, "I understand you've had a minor conflict with Miss Olson. Shall we resolve this matter now?"

Miss Olson's face turned ashen. Remembering her own earlier taunt—that Khloe would have to kneel and beg for forgiveness—she was gripped with horror.

'If I'm forced to kneel, how could I ever show my face in our social circle again? The humiliation would be unbearable!'

Even knowing the Morrison family's elevated status among the elite, Khloe had never encountered such a display. After a moment's pause, she said, "Forget it. I haven't suffered any real loss."

"In that case," Nigel straightened up, his tone polite but firm, "we must still ask Miss Olson to offer you a formal apology. This will allow both our families to save face moving forward."

Though Nigel was smiling, Miss Olson felt an intense pressure. She swallowed hard, forced to apologize to Khloe in front of everyone.

"I-I'm sorry."

Only after Miss Olson uttered the apology did the black-suited men clear a path. Burning with shame, she immediately covered her face and fled with her entourage.

After Miss Olson's departure, Nigel gave a slight signal, and the female sales manager who had been dismissive earlier was promptly led away.

Before Khloe could even process this, Nigel stepped forward again and gestured respectfully towards the entrance. "We will handle the remaining matters here. The car is waiting outside. Please, Young Mistress, allow us to escort you."

Khloe looked up at Nigel, the initial wariness in her eyes fading into a quiet composure.

She didn't move immediately. Her voice was steady as she sought final confirmation. "Escort me? To where?"

"But of course," Nigel replied, his smile warm, his tone leaving absolutely no room for question. "To the Morrison family home."