The day Angela Watson learned about Oliver Kingston's engagement, she knew it was time for her to go. She had tried to ignore the growing knot in her stomach, but the news clarified everything.

It was time to leave Springfield City.

Without overthinking, Angela grabbed her phone and dialed her Aunt Joanne's number.

"Auntie, I’ve made up my mind. I’m leaving Springfield City and moving back to my hometown."

On the other end, there was a long pause, followed by a burst of joy. "When’s your flight, Angela? We’ll come pick you up at the airport."

Angela sighed, trying to figure out the best way to explain. "I still have a few things to take care of. It’ll probably be in about two weeks."

"Two weeks, huh? Alright, well, your uncle’s been taking care of you for twelve years now. You’d better take this time to say a proper goodbye to him."

Angela barely whispered, "Mm-mm," before hanging up.

——

She dropped back into her chair, staring blankly at her desk. Her fingers absently traced the edges of the photo frame in front of her as though it could offer some comfort. She lifted the frame and looked at the photo inside.

There she was, eight years old, holding a bunch of colorful maple leaves. She'd been tossing them up into the air while Oliver, at sixteen, stood just a few feet away, surrounded by the golden swirl of falling leaves. He'd caught one in midair, casually holding it close to his chest with that warm, easy smile. The kind of smile that made everything feel safe.

That day, the world had felt so simple and perfect. Her whole family had been there, including Oliver.

She turned the frame over.

On the back was a family photo—the Watson family. Oliver was right there in the front row, holding her hand. Behind them stood her grandfather and parents. The image seemed to capture a moment frozen before everything went wrong.

Her heart clenched as she looked at it. All of them were gone now. Her parents, her grandfather—they were all gone.

And now, it was just her and Oliver, but they could never return to what they once had.

When she was five, her grandfather adopted Oliver, making him her uncle.

A few years later, Oliver's family took him back to Springfield City, far away from here. And then, when Angela was eight, everything had fallen apart. Her family's business went under, and soon after, there was a tragic car accident that took her parents and grandfather from her.

Oliver had come rushing back, all the way from Springfield, to attend the funeral and bring her home with him. The grief was unbearable, and at such a young age, she hadn't known how to process it. Some people suggested sending her to a sanatorium to take care of her fragile mind.

But Oliver, maybe out of gratitude for the family who had adopted him, or maybe just because they had known each other since childhood, had refused to let her go anywhere else. He had taken it upon himself to care for her. He ensured she ate, drank, and stayed healthy, even staying by her side while she slept.

As time passed, Angela had healed, but it wasn't just her physical health that had improved. Oliver kept caring for her, patiently guiding her through the worst, helping her grow into the person she was today. And as he did, she realized he was her life's most important person.

At first, she didn't really understand what that meant. But over the years, something in her had changed.

On her eighteenth birthday, Oliver had thrown her a big coming-of-age party. She'd worn a beautiful strapless dress, holding her birthday cake as she walked toward him. He was a little tipsy, leaning against the table, when he asked her what wish she'd made.

"I want us to become a real family, Uncle Oliver."

He'd smiled, a little confused. "You're my niece. We're already my family, Angela."

But then his fingers brushed against her forehead, gently tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

Without thinking, she had stood on tiptoe, kissed the cream off his lips, and said, "No, I mean the kind of family between a man and a woman."

For a split second, his face froze, and that gentle look was replaced by something else—something darker.

He shoved her away from him, his voice rising. "For god sake, I’m your uncle!"

"But we don’t share blood," Angela reasoned.

Oliver replied, his voice edged with desperation, "You're a Watson, Angela. Even if we're not blood-related, what really sets us apart from being family?"

It was the first time he had ever raised his voice at her. There had been a brief silence, and then he added, in a softer tone, "When you were taken away, they already removed you."

The heat had rushed to her face. She had felt embarrassed yet still longed for Oliver's affection. Without thinking, she reached up and wrapped her arms around his waist.

Oliver's hands had slowly pried her fingers away from him, one by one.

His voice was quiet, filled with regret. "Angela, I... I failed you."

She didn't understand it then, but as she pulled back, she asked, "What does liking someone have to do with being taught?"

It was the first time she'd ever stood up to him. The two of them had left that conversation on bad terms.

From then on, Angela threw herself into her studies. She worked hard, earning top marks and winning awards in competitions. Each time she gained something, she brought it to Oliver, hoping he'd see how much she had grown and learned.

She repeated the same confession every time, hoping that this time, he'd understand. She was showing him that he had taught her well. She could finally tell the difference between affection and love.

Despite his rejection, she never gave up.

And then, that one night happened.

Oliver stormed into her room, his eyes impassioned and blazing. Before she could ask him, he ripped her nightgown open, and as he did, she didn't push him away. Angela drew him near, pressing her lips against his—surrendering her body and soul to the man she loved most.

If Oliver Kingston really cared about etiquette and societal expectations, Angela was the one to throw those rules out the window. She was all in—betting on everything. Unfortunately, it didn't work out the way she hoped.

She failed.

After what happened that night, Oliver didn't just pull away—he completely vanished.

And just a few days later, Angela saw the news. He was getting engaged to someone else.

The lucky woman was Gwen Hoffman. All flushed and glowing, she told the world they had been secretly dating for months.

Angela felt a chill run down her spine as if the world around her had suddenly gone cold. She couldn't sit still. Without thinking, she rushed into Oliver's office and confronted him, asking through gritted teeth if his family was forcing him into marriage.

He looked at her, that same cold smile on his face.

"Naive," he said, almost dismissively. "I'm the head of the Kingston family. Who could possibly force me into anything?"

He paused, his eyes narrowing. "Stop imagining things. You’re still young. Focus on learning more."

Angela couldn't even remember how she made it back home that day. All she could remember was the overwhelming weight of her heart-shattering. It was worse than when her family had collapsed. The grief felt suffocating.

And then, Joanne's call came through. "Angela, the maple trees here in New York are starting to turn yellow. Do you want to come back and see it? Also, I'm doing fine. I’ve got everything I need here. And Richard treats me well. It’s just that… Me and my husband have kids. This big house feels so empty. It would make me so happy if you could stay with me for a while."

Angela hesitated. If she left now, she knew she wouldn't come back. But part of her held onto that faint hope, which was tied to everything she felt for Oliver.

So, she respectfully rejected her aunt's offer.

But that hope? It stayed, faint as it was, until yesterday.

During a live stream, Angela saw Gwen's necklace. It glinted in the light, and for a moment, Angela felt like a needle had pierced her heart. That was the necklace her mother had given Oliver. The one she had left for him. And now, he was using it to propose to someone else.

Angela's fingers dug into her arm as she stared at the video, unable to look away. Her skin turned pale, and the red marks from her nails were clear against her arm. She knew the pain was real. And, more than anything, she knew it was finally time to let go.

Just as she was drowning in her own sorrow, a sharp cry from downstairs yanked her back to the present. Without thinking, she bolted barefoot out of the room.

Angela saw Gwen covering her hand, leaning pitifully in Oliver's arms.

"I just thought it looked pretty and wanted to touch it," Gwen said, her voice high and sweet. "Who knew it would bite me?"

Angela's heart raced. Her cat, Nala, was usually calm, never biting anyone. That cry—it wasn't just from being startled. There was a real pain in it.

She rushed to the sofa, her feet sliding on the floor as she scooped up the trembling cat.

Oliver's voice was oddly soft, his gaze distant. "That cat’s a beast. If you don’t like it, Gwen, we can get rid of it."

Angela's heart sank, the words stinging like salt in an open wound. She could barely hold herself together as she carefully cradled Nala against her chest.

"Oliver, Nala isn’t—"

She cut herself off, her voice faltering as she stared down at the cat. This was the gift Oliver had given her for her seventeenth birthday. Back then, she had been worried it would be hard to care for, but Oliver had promised her he could handle it.

"If I can take care of a person," he had said, "I can definitely take care of a cat."

That day, she'd held the little kitten in her arms, feeling content.

But now?

Now, he was calling her pet a "beast"—a word she never imagined he'd use for something so dear to her.

The sharp sting of betrayal hit her harder than anything before. She tried hard not to let the tears fall, but it was like holding back an avalanche.

"Even though it’s just a beast, at least it’s Angela’s pet. I won’t argue with her. But the vaccination will be painful—can you take me to the vet?" Gwen's voice was syrupy and sweet, practically dripping with fake kindness as she pressed closer to Oliver, her face soft with feigned innocence.

"Nala's already had its vaccination…" Angela mumbled, and she knew Gwen lied. After all, there were no scratches or marks on Gwen's hand.

Oliver shot Angela coldly as he scooped Gwen into his arms and walked toward the door. He didn't even bother to look at Angela's bare feet.

Gwen, her face a mask of coyness, leaned against Oliver's shoulder and kept shooting Angela these little glances, a smug grin tugging at the corners of her lips.

The front door clicked shut behind them, and the sound of the reminder beep from Angela's phone echoed in the silence. It was time to take Nala to the shelter.

With a shaky breath, Angela wiped her eyes, quickly gathered her things, and left the house.

The sleek black car came screeching to a halt right before Angela.

"Where do you think you're going?" Oliver's voice cut through the air, his frown deepening as he noticed her wearing only sandals.

Angela sniffled, trying to steady herself. "I’m… taking Nala to get dewormed."

The sky above darkened, a storm clearly brewing.

"Get in the car," Oliver ordered, his tone leaving no room for argument. "I’ll take you."

Angela hesitated for a moment, but the words slipped out anyway. "Thank you, Uncle," she muttered, climbing into the car without another word.

Gwen, sitting beside Oliver, seemed in a good mood. She chatted happily with him but never missed an opportunity to glance at Angela through the rearview mirror.

"So, how old is Angela this year?"

"Twenty-one," Oliver replied, focusing on the road ahead.

"Does she have a boyfriend?"

Angela froze momentarily, then shook her head, not wanting to say anything.

Gwen's voice was playful as she continued. "Look at you, Oliver. There are so many eligible bachelors in your circle. Don’t you know anyone who’d be a good match for your niece?" She leaned in, her tone soft and teasing. "I’ve got a cousin, a distant nephew. He's the perfect age and status. What do you think about introducing them?"

Just then, the car came to a screeching halt as the traffic light turned red. Oliver quickly turned to her, his gaze warm, almost tender.

When he didn't respond immediately, just offering a smile, Gwen nudged his arm, her voice impatient and amorous. "Come on, Oliver, tell me what you think!"

Oliver's smile widened, and he raised a finger to trace the outline of her lips, clearly fascinated by her.

Gwen's face flushed a deep red, and for a moment, it felt like they were the only two people in the world. For anyone watching, young lovers always had that aura of sweetness about them.

But Angela? She just turned away, staring out the window, lost in darkness.

If it weren't for the sudden sneeze that caught her off guard, she could've kept staring for much longer.

"What's wrong?" Oliver asked, his voice sharp as he turned slightly to glance at her.

"Sorry, Uncle," Angela mumbled, trying to hold herself together.

"Oliver, I think I’m allergic to cat fur..." Gwen half-heartedly covered her nose with a hand, shooting Angela a look through the rearview mirror that was anything but subtle.

Oliver's expression shifted, his eyes narrowing as he looked into the rearview mirror.

"Get out of the car, Angela," he said coldly.

Angela opened her mouth, ready to argue, but Gwen cut in as she said, "It’s fine. I can hold on. Angela’s almost there, right?"

With that, Angela checked the new address on her phone—only two more kilometers. She thought everything would be fine if she could drop Nala off. Oliver would understand.

But now, it felt pointless.

The car had already stopped at the side of the road. Oliver tapped his fingers lightly on the steering wheel, a sign of impatience.

"I'll just get out of the car," Angela said softly, gathering her things and exiting the car, clutching the cat in her arms.

The rain came pouring down in sheets, instantly soaking her through. The car sped off, its headlights disappearing into the distance. Angela didn't even have time to avoid the rain. She was drenched from head to toe in seconds.

By the time she reached the cat shelter, she was completely soaked. After drying off, the shelter owner began the usual check-up on Nala. To Angela's surprise, they found a small cut near the base of Nala's tail—a scratch from a claw. Angela hadn't cried throughout all this, but when she saw that tiny injury, tears flooded her eyes, frightening the shelter owner, who quickly tried to comfort her.

"It’s fine, it’s just a little scratch. Don’t worry, I’ll take good care of her," the young woman reassured her quickly, but Angela could barely hear the words over the sound of her own sobs.

"How much is a cat like Nala worth?" Angela asked.

The owner paused, considering the question. "A purebred like her, with such a rare color and excellent quality? At least $70,000 or $80,000. You’re not… you’re not going to sell her, are you?"

The shelter owner's eyes widened, and Angela quickly shook her head, desperate to clarify.

"No, no," she stammered, wiping away her tears. "This was a gift from a friend. I just want to return the favor."

Nala had been a gift from Oliver. A ragdoll cat that he'd brought back from Northern Europe. Angela knew she'd have to return all the other gifts, but Nala?

Nala was different. She'd grown attached to her.

For now, Angela planned to board Nala at the shelter. When things settled down, she'd come back to pick her up. By the time Angela got home, it was already 11 p.m. She stopped at the front door, eyes falling on the high heels by the entrance. That was all she needed to know.

Oliver had brought Gwen home.

Without thinking, Angela looked at the dining table, but no food was left. It suddenly hit her that he hadn't waited for her to have dinner in a long time.

She looked at Oliver's room upstairs. The lights were on in the bedroom and the study area.

Angela tightened her grip on the hem of her skirt, then let go, only to grab it again as if trying to make up her mind. After a moment of brief internal struggle, she finally approached his room.