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.

Angela pushed the door open and looked up, immediately meeting the cold, distant gaze she had come to expect.

"What are you doing here?" Oliver asked, his tone sharp, almost dismissive.

"I..." Angela faltered, unsure how to continue.

"If you don't have anything to say, just leave," he cut her off, his eyes never leaving his computer screen.

Angela bit her lip as if something had just clicked in her mind. She walked toward him, her footsteps quieter now.

"Uncle, about the solarium... I want to clear it out."

It was the room he had designed to mirror the layout of the Watson family's old mansion after buying this villa.

"Why?" Oliver's voice remained impassive, though his brow arched slightly in curiosity.

"I don’t want it anymore." Her voice dropped, barely audible, her eyes downcast.

The house was in her name. He had told her years ago that she would own the place.

But now? He'd brought someone else into her domain.

Hence, Angela felt the solarium to be unnecessary.

"Do as you like," he stingly replied.

This time, Oliver didn't even bother to lift his eyes from the screen. His indifference was almost chilling.

She must have become an inconvenience to him, she thought. It was time for her to leave to make breathing easier for him.

"Thank you, Uncle," she said softly, her voice laced with sincerity. She still bowed slightly, grateful for his care over the years.

But as if sensing her mood, Oliver stood up, walking toward her.

At that exact moment, Gwen, dressed in a sheer silk nightgown, "tap-tapped" into the room, bouncing into Oliver's arms with a playful giggle.

She reached out, but before she could even touch his chest, Oliver swiftly pulled her into an embrace.

"Oliver," Gwen cooed, "I just saw the solarium from the balcony. It looks so beautiful!"

"Do you like it?" Oliver's lips curled up in a small, affectionate smile.

"Mm, but..." Gwen lifted her right arm, revealing a bandage wrapped around it. Her gaze lingered lazily on Angela, who was already about to turn away.

"Wait," Oliver called, stopping Angela before she could leave. "Help Gwen pick some flowers," he ordered.

Angela hesitated for a moment, then relaxed her clenched fist, nodding in acknowledgment.

Behind her, their laughter echoed, soft at first but growing more flirtatious and intimate with each passing moment.

Angela quickly went downstairs, grabbing a pair of pruning shears. She approached the flower room, trying to block out their sounds in the background.

Her phone buzzed relentlessly on the way down.

It was Gwen, sending a string of messages, telling her exactly which flowers to pick.

Gwen had practically mapped out the entire room for her.

Angela was exhausted from the endless cutting, but the flood of sweet photos Gwen kept sending her made her forget her fatigue.

When she wanted a specific flower, Oliver always Oliver always picked it for her. All she had to do was sit on the swing, point, and he'd fetch whatever she asked for.

He used to say her hands were meant for the piano, that she shouldn't get them dirty. When she was younger, he'd taught her how to play, always in the front row at every competition, watching her perform. But over time, he started to disappear.

The last time, she waited for him on stage for hours. The performance ended, but Oliver never showed.

When she returned to the hotel that night, heartbroken, she wrapped herself in the blanket, trying to block out the ache.

She never expected him to barge in like that.

That was the night he confessed to Gwen.

And when he whispered her name later, it felt like a knife twisting in Angela's chest.

She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to push the memory away, but it was like a vice around her heart. It was both painful and suffocating.

"Ouch!"

Angela snapped out of her thoughts with a sharp intake of breath. A thorn had pierced her skin. In her panic, she yanked her hand back, watching as a streak of blood ran down her palm.

Clenching her fist, she rushed back to the living room, searching for the first-aid kit.

After quickly bandaging the cut, she gathered the large bouquet of flowers in her arms and headed to Oliver's door.

"Uncle, the flowers in the solarium are ready," she said, her voice quiet, almost hesitant.

He opened the door without a word, took the flowers from her hands, and then slammed the door shut with a sharp motion.

The wind from the door hit her, lifting her hair and sending a chill through her body.

It was cold.

Angela pressed her lips together, fighting back the sting of tears. She turned back to her room, her steps heavy and slow.

Angela lay back on the bed, her mind racing as she calculated everything.

Twelve years of care and support. That was how long Oliver supported and took care of her.

The house, the car, tuition, living expenses, gifts...

The house had been bought by Oliver. She planned to sell it, though it had appreciated quite a bit. It was all just accrued interest.

Then there were the costs of Nala and its upkeep, not to mention the burial plots in Springfield City. For her convenience, Oliver had purchased three plots for her family, setting up tombstones in their honor.

As the only heir of the Watson family, all these expenses were hers to bear.

She sighed and rubbed her swollen, tired eyes, sinking back onto the bed. She had just finished organizing the bills when her phone buzzed.

It was a message from Gwen.

[Angela, why didn't you like my post? Don't you like me?]

Angela opened the message and saw that Gwen had posted again.

A nine-square grid filled with intimate and flirtatious pictures of her with Oliver, and in the center, there was a photo of Gwen sniffing the flowers she had just picked.

The caption read: [Thanks for the feeling of being loved.]

Angela didn't feel like liking it. But, at this point, it didn't matter to her.

She swiped her finger across the screen and, following Gwen's intentions, tapped the red heart.

Then, Gwen added: [Gosh, I'm so tired... I need to sleep now. Oliver said he'll take me to the venue for our wedding tomorrow. In less than half a month, it'll be the wedding date. Oliver and I will be busy, so take care of yourself, Angela.]

Angela replied briefly: [I will.]

Staring up at the ceiling and lost in thought, she asked, 'They're getting married?'

The wish she had been waiting to be answered for all these years... and Gwen had managed to get it in less than a month.

It wasn't about timing. It was because Oliver never loved her.

She grabbed her phone again, opening the calendar.

The cemetery had told her she needed to pick an auspicious day to move the tombstone. The closest available date was fourteen days away. Coincidentally, it was the anniversary of her loved one's passing.

In the following days, Oliver traveled with Gwen to various places on a business trip.

Meanwhile, Gwen kept up with her constant updates on social media, tagging Angela in posts as if seeking her approval.

Angela, on the other hand, breathed a sigh of relief. After changing the bedroom door lock, she began organizing her things, silently preparing for whatever came next.

When Oliver returned, his frown deepened at seeing the truck parked in front of the house.

"Uncle, you're back?" Angela poked her head out from the second-floor balcony to greet him, quickly kicking the suitcase behind her into her room.

"What’s going on here?" Oliver asked, his tone sharp as he gave her a quick look before heading upstairs.

"Uncle, I told you the other day," Angela began, stepping carefully down the stairs. "The solarium... I don’t want it anymore."

Oliver stopped in his tracks, a brief flicker of surprise crossing his face before he walked toward her.

Angela retreated toward the door, her hands instinctively behind her back, gently pulling it shut as he reached her.

His towering figure loomed over her, and for a second, she felt uncertain.

He extended his hand toward her.

Was he trying to enter her room?

In the past, he used to come and go freely. He had even arranged the room himself.

Angela froze, her breath caught in her chest, her wide eyes staring at him.

But instead of stepping in, his long fingers brushed past her ear, and he pointed to the space behind her.

"You’re in my way."

Angela blinked, realizing he wasn't trying to enter her room. He was just... passing by on his way to his own.

She shook herself out of the moment, quickly glancing at her vibrating phone. Then, she headed downstairs after a few moments and ran right into Gwen, who had come in behind her.

"Angela, are those flowers going to be moved to my wedding house?" Gwen asked, a little too cheerfully.

Angela had just received a message from the driver saying someone had stopped them from moving the flowers. So it was Gwen trying to control it all.

She didn't want to give them to her, but Angela sighed and shook her head.

"Since Gwen likes them so much, just move them all over." Oliver, now changed into casual clothes, was descending the stairs slowly, one step at a time.

"Uncle, those are..." Angela started, but he cut her off.

"What are you standing around for? Hurry up and send them over."

Oliver's impatient remark was clear, but his voice had a strange softness as he lovingly looped Gwen's arm through his, pulling her close.