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."

"The Morrison family home?" Khloe echoed.

"Yes," Nigel confirmed with a respectful nod. "The Morrison family. From now on, it is your home."

Khloe stood in silence for several seconds. Niel Morrison was her biological father, and the vast fortune he left had already fallen into her hands. Returning to the Morrison family was inevitable. She couldn't hide from it—nor did she need to.

At last, she nodded. "Very well. Since it's my home, I should see it for myself."

What was bound to come would arrive sooner or later.

On the drive, Nigel briefed her on the family's current affairs. The Morrison empire was vast, with the majority of assets once held directly by Niel.

A smaller portion rested with Niel's father and elder brother. Now that Niel's entire estate had passed to Khloe, she had become the Morrison Group's largest shareholder.

At present, Niel's father, Henry Morrison, was abroad recuperating. Niel's widow, Clarice Davis, managed the household, while the company's operations were left to their adopted son, Ethan Morrison.

An hour later, the extended Rolls-Royce glided through the iron gates of the Morrison estate.

The mansion complex sprawled across more than ten thousand square feet, majestic and intimidating. The drive from the gates to the main villa alone took over ten minutes. Its architecture dwarfed ordinary mansions, every stone radiating extravagance, as though even a single brick could buy a city block.

It was Khloe's first time entering such an opulent world. She would have been lying to claim she wasn't nervous, yet she forced herself to remain composed.

Nigel led her into the main villa's reception hall. As the heavy doors opened, Khloe saw a regal woman standing before the floor-to-ceiling windows, two attendants flanking her. On the sofa sat a young man in a tailored suit.

The woman's gaze swept briefly across Khloe before she approached.

"This is Madam Clarice, your late father's wife," Nigel murmured in her ear.

"And that is Master Ethan, your late father's adopted son. He is your foster brother," he added, nodding toward the man on the sofa.

As Clarice lifted her chin in a silent command, Nigel withdrew, ushering the staff out of the room. In moments, only Khloe and the mother-son duo remained.

"So. You are Khloe."

Khloe gave a single, quiet nod. Though Clarice's mouth was curved into a smile, Khloe could feel the ice in her gaze.

"Sit," Clarice instructed, her voice cool. "You're home now. There's no need to stand on ceremony."

Ethan echoed the sentiment with polished, empty politeness. "Please, make yourself comfortable."

Khloe chose a seat in the far corner of the lavish sofa. "Clarice," she began, getting straight to the point, "may I ask why you wanted to speak with me?"

"Let's not waste time," Clarice interrupted, bypassing any pretense of a warm welcome. "I need you to relinquish your claim to the majority of your inheritance."

She gave a slight nod to Ethan, who slid a pre-prepared agreement across the table.

"Khloe," he said, his tone as cool and impersonal as a business transaction, "my father's estate was left entirely to you. However, control of the company cannot fall into your hands. We trust you understand. As compensation, we are prepared to offer you ten million dollars in cash."

It was delivered not as an offer, but as a decree.

Khloe blinked, then picked up the document and began flipping through its pages with an air of detached curiosity.

Voluntarily forfeit all Morrison family shares, voting rights, and properties…

Clarice took a slow, unhurried sip of her tea.

"I know all about your background," she stated, her voice dripping with condescension. "Your mother and Niel shared nothing more than a fleeting affair. You were an accident. Abandoned to an orphanage at three years old... you've had a difficult life. Ten million is more money than you've ever dreamed of. But the public face of the Morrison family cannot be an illegitimate child. I expect you to have the self-awareness to understand that.

"Nevertheless, you are Niel's daughter. You carry the Morrison blood. In name, you will remain the eldest daughter of this family. Should you ever find yourself in need, you may come to me."

Her tone was utterly final, leaving no room for doubt that she expected immediate compliance.

Khloe closed the folder and set it back on the table. She met Clarice's gaze, her own eyes steady and unflinching.

"Khloe, if you have no objections, please sign here," Ethan urged, nudging a pen across the tabletop.

"I refuse."

Khloe had anticipated this. The Morrison family would never genuinely welcome a so-called "bastard child" with open arms. What they called a negotiation was merely coercion dressed in civilized clothing.

Her voice remained steady as she continued, "Clarice, you call me illegitimate. But the law recognizes paternity. My father left a will, a DNA report, and had me sign a notarized inheritance agreement with his attorney. That is more than enough to establish my legal right."

Clarice's face darkened as she studied Khloe, as if seeing a completely different person. It had never occurred to her that this girl would dare to push back.

"You should understand, Khloe," Clarice sneered, her composure cracking to reveal pure contempt, "even if the estate is legally yours, you lack the capability to manage it."

Ethan, too, looked stunned. No one in Goldmont City had ever dared to refuse his mother so directly.

"Khloe," he said, dropping all pretense of politeness, "this isn't a request. The Morrison family's affairs are far more complex than you can imagine. Your decision impacts everyone. You cannot stand against the entire family."

But Khloe saw it clearly—this was a simple power play. To them, money was control, and she was a nobody they expected to buy off with pocket change.

Unfortunately for them, she wasn't one to bend.

"So this isn't a negotiation, but an ultimatum?" A faint, cold smile touched her lips. "How unfortunate for you. A legal inheritance cannot be voided by anyone's 'notice.'"

"I've already reviewed the Morrison Group's portfolio. Core real estate assets are valued at over ten billion, with annual revenue consistently above eight billion. And you offer me ten million as 'compensation'? That might buy a single commercial storefront. But against a ten-billion-dollar empire, it isn't a settlement—it's outright theft."

She slid the agreement neatly back across the table.

Clarice and Ethan exchanged a look of sheer astonishment.

"If there's nothing else, I'll take my leave," Khloe stated evenly. "We can either proceed according to the law, or we can negotiate in good faith. Ethan, you are my father's adopted son. Under the inheritance law, your claim follows mine. Would the Morrison family truly allow an unrelated adoptee to supersede their own bloodline?"

She stood and turned toward the door.

"Stop her," Clarice snapped.

The bodyguards flanking the hall immediately moved to block the exit. Khloe paused, her eyes narrowing dangerously. "Clarice, are you resorting to force?"

"Don't mistake my patience for weakness," Clarice replied, her tone icy. "Sign the agreement while I'm still willing to offer you anything at all."

Ethan loomed over her, his height casting a shadow. "Then name your price."

"My price," Khloe said, meeting his gaze without a flicker of fear, "is everything my father left me. Not a single cent less."

"Then you leave us no choice," Ethan said, his voice turning cold and hard as the guards closed in.

Clarice retreated toward the window as the heavy doors began to swing shut, sealing Khloe inside.

Khloe stood her ground, spine straight and gaze like ice, ready for whatever came next.

But just then, hurried footsteps echoed down the corridor.

A dozen men in impeccably tailored black suits filed into the room, with Nigel following closely behind them.

Ethan froze mid-step. He recognized the insignia on their lapels. His face paled, and he instinctively looked to his mother for direction.

"Madam," Nigel said, leaning close to murmur a few quiet words into Clarice's ear. Her haughty expression shattered, replaced by sheer disbelief.

"What did you just say?"

"Master Henry just called to confirm," Nigel replied. "The Hunt family has chosen the young mistress."

Before the weight of this could even settle, one of the newly arrived men broke from the group and walked directly up to Khloe.

"Miss Khloe?" he inquired, his tone respectful.

Still processing the sudden rescue, she managed a nod.

"My master requests the honor of your company for dinner tomorrow evening." He presented her with a stark, black business card, its lettering stamped in sharp, raised gold foil. Having delivered his message, he and his contingent withdrew as swiftly and silently as they had arrived.

Khloe looked down at the card in her hand. A single name stood out, commanding and unmistakable: Nick Hunt.

The Morrison family guards looked on, bewildered, their eyes darting between Ethan and Clarice. It was only after Clarice gave a sharp, nearly imperceptible nod that Ethan, seething with frustration, waved a dismissive hand for them to stand down.

Though utterly confused by the intervention, Khloe didn't hesitate. She didn't look back as she walked out of the reception hall and out of the mansion.

The moment the front door closed, Ethan whirled toward his mother. "Mom! How could we just let her go?"

"What else could we do?" Clarice's voice was frigid, her perfectly manicured nails drawing half-moons in her own palms. "You saw who that was. That was the Hunt family."

Outside the estate, Khloe spotted a convoy of black cars pulling out. Dark tinted windows gave her a sudden chill, as though unseen eyes were locked on her.

"Khloe."

She turned. A white Bentley had rolled up beside her. The window lowered, revealing a middle-aged man in casual sportswear.

"I'm your uncle, Oscar Morrison," he introduced himself with a smile. "Get in. I'll give you a ride."

Up close, Khloe could see the resemblance in his features. But after the ambush she'd just survived, her guard was at an all-time high.

"Thank you, but I'll manage on my own," she replied, her tone flat and final.

She continued walking. He kept the car rolling slowly alongside her, letting out a sigh that was meant to sound understanding. "Don't be so wary. I'm not like the others. I'm actually here to help you."

When she didn't respond, he pressed on, his voice taking on a conspiratorial tone. "Look at it from their perspective. You're an illegitimate daughter who just fell into a multi-billion-dollar inheritance. No powerful family would just roll out the welcome mat. But you're in a unique position—because the Hunt family has taken notice of you."

"If you agree to a marriage alliance with them, your standing within the Morrison family will be cemented overnight. Clarice wouldn't dare lay a finger on you then."

That finally made Khloe stop in her tracks.

She turned to face him fully, her expression unreadable. "A marriage alliance?"