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.

"Thank you, Oliver." Gwen smiled sweetly, leaning into his arm. She then averted her gaze to Angela and said, "By the way, I almost forgot, there’s a party at the villa tonight. Angela, you must come!"

Angela quickly deterred her gaze, clearly uncomfortable. "I have something else to do."

"Oh, come on," Gwen pressed, her voice dripping with sweetness. "It’ll be fun. We’re almost family now!" Seeing that Angela was unmoved, Gwen turned to Oliver with a coy smile. "Please, let Angela go with us."

It was the first time Oliver had insisted she attend an event for someone else. He usually preferred that Angela avoid mingling with crowds, yet for Gwen, he made an exception. Angela couldn't help but notice the difference in his treatment of Gwen versus herself.

It was a stark reminder that all his exceptions and indulgences were for Gwen. But Angela no longer felt the sharp pain she had at the beginning.

Some people come into your life, others leave. And now, it was time for Angela to leave.

After they left for the party, Angela let out a long sigh of relief. With the help of several movers, she quickly packed up her personal belongings. The house, her life with Oliver—everything—was in the process of being put behind her.

...

At the party, Angela stood quietly in a corner, a drink in her hand, lost in thought.

Gwen, accompanied by a few girls, approached her, eager to drag her into their fun. Reluctantly, Angela followed them to the poolside. She stood at the edge, looking out at the water, her mind far from the festivities.

Suddenly, she felt a sharp shove from behind, and before she could react, she was falling, the cold water engulfing her.

A loud splash echoed across the space, followed by the clatter of a nearby drink table tipping over.

As Angela struggled to push herself up, her head barely above the water, she saw glasses crashing into the pool. Gwen ducked instinctively to protect Angela, but the pool's edge scraped her arm.

Fresh blood poured from the wound, quickly turning the water a disturbing shade of red.

It was a horrific sight.

Although Gwen wasn't injured, the shock was clear on her face.

Oliver heard the commotion and rushed over. His eyes widened when he saw Angela flailing in the pool, crying for help. Still, he shifted his focus to Gwen, pulled her into his arms to comfort her in a smooth, practiced motion, and then barked orders to his bodyguards.

"Help Angela out of the water." He turned to the others, his tone commanding. "Take her upstairs to the guest room, change her—don’t let her catch a cold."

Before leaving, he paused, casting a last glance at Angela, still dripping wet and shivering.

Gwen, ever the opportunist, added one last, seemingly concerned comment. "Be careful, Angela." She gave a delicate smile. "You’re lucky to have such a caring aunt like me who dotes on you."

But as Angela met Gwen's eyes, she saw the fleeting gleam of triumph in her gaze masked behind the façade of concern.

...

After being swiftly treated by the private doctor, Angela rested on the edge of the bed, her arm bandaged. Then, she noticed Oliver standing by the door, his face unreadable. He held her phone in his hand—dropped by the poolside in the chaos.

"Thank you, Uncle," Angela said, biting back the pain from her arm as she extended a hand to take the phone. But Oliver pulled it back.

"When did you get in touch with your aunt?" he asked, his voice low and steady.

Angela's heart skipped.

"What did she say?" Oliver pressed. "Aunt Joanne just told you to call her back when you have time. What did she want with you?"

Angela's mind raced. Joanne hadn't mentioned anything about coming back, and Angela felt a brief sense of relief. Yet, Oliver's insistence on asking left her with no choice but to come up with an explanation.

"Um... Auntie is in New York City," Angela said, her voice calm. "She said she would send me some seasonal pastries."

Before Angela was born, Joanne had worked for the Watson family. She had cared for Angela until she was eight when an incident led Joanne to move to New York. There, she met a wealthy businessman and became his partner.

"Oh, and she asked if you had any flavor preferences," Angela added. "She said she’d prepare some for you, too."

Oliver didn't seem suspicious and tossed her the phone without further question.

"No need," he said curtly before turning and leaving.

After a few hours, Gwen's nephew, Ralph, escorted Angela back to the house. She had refused, but Ralph insisted, and it seemed easier to go along with him than argue.

When they reached the entrance, just as Angela was about to change her shoes, Ralph suddenly grabbed her from behind, pulling her into a tight embrace.

Startled, Angela struggled, trying to free herself.

But before she could do anything, the sound of the door unlocking echoed through the hallway. Ralph loosened his grip but still held one of her hands, his fingers tightly wound around hers.