As Heather pulled Brett into the private room, Chrishell and Jason were being cheered on to drink from the same cup.

Chrishell, with her delicate and seductive appearance, had an air of innocence on the surface, but Heather knew she was far more uninhibited at heart. The sounds she had made in that video could easily drive a man to the brink.

Seeing Brett arrive, Chrishell greeted him sweetly, "Brett, Heather, you're here."

Her soft and gentle voice greeting him seemed to send Brett into a daze.

Most of the people in the room were Jason's friends, who naturally knew that Brett was his older brother.

In recent years, the Vanders had risen rapidly, with Brett at the helm as the new generation's leader, his influence undeniable. The crowd around him was eager to ingratiate themselves, and even Chrishell couldn't hide the admiration in her eyes.

Heather, pretending nothing was amiss, casually sat down across from Jason.

She noticed a painting on the table — a portrait of Chrishell. The skill in the artwork was impressive, undoubtedly Jason's work. He had a notable talent for art and had already secured a position as an instructor at an art academy, with his works fetching high prices on the market.

It was almost laughable to Heather that Jason, aware of his girlfriend's infidelity, could still calmly celebrate her birthday like this.

Glancing past the coffee table and the other guests, Heather leaned forward and asked, "Professor, would you be willing to paint something for me as well? My birthday is coming up soon."

Jason's cold gaze locked on her, silently warning her not to stir up trouble in front of so many people.

When he ignored her, Heather turned her head dramatically and spoke up to Chrishell, "Chrishell, would you ask Jason to paint a portrait for me too? He listens to you the most, doesn't he?"

Chrishell, distracted as she flirted with Brett, absentmindedly replied, "Jason, go ahead and paint one for Heather."

Faced with Chrishell's request, Jason couldn't refuse. Sipping his drink, he didn't protest further.

Heather, undeterred, sent him a message on her phone: "Professor, I want a nude portrait."

Jason casually turned off his phone without even acknowledging it.

Heather extended her leg beneath the table, teasingly kicking his calf through the gap.

Another message followed: "Professor, your brother and your girlfriend just went to the bathroom together."

Jason glanced up briefly, noting the absence of both Brett and Chrishell, but remained unfazed, as if the message hadn't affected him at all.

Such self-control, Heather thought as she smirked. She nudged her foot higher, slipping it under his pant leg, tracing the tense muscles of his calf with her toes.

Finally, no longer able to bear the disruption, Jason stood up and left his seat.

Around them, the crowd was too engrossed in drinking and singing to notice anything amiss in the corner.

Heather watched as Jason walked out of the room, and she followed him closely.

He found an empty private room and sat down, the dim lighting casting shadows over his face. He lowered his head slightly as he lit a cigarette, his eyes narrowing as the smoke curled around him.

The collar of his shirt was unbuttoned just enough to hint at something more beneath his refined appearance. When he smoked, there was a dark, seductive quality about him that always drew her in.

In terms of looks, Heather had always felt that Jason far outshone Brett.

When he glanced up and saw her following him again, a flash of irritation crossed his face, and he made a move to leave.

Heather blocked his way, pulling out her phone. "Want to know what your brother and your girlfriend are up to?"

She opened an app on her phone. "I planted a bug on your brother that can transmit real-time audio. Listen."

From the phone's speaker came Chrishell's breathless voice, broken and pleading, "Brett... I can't take it anymore…"

Brett's heavy breathing followed, his voice rough and taunting. "Scream louder, let my dear little brother hear you too."

Heather listened, utterly entertained. "Do you really think she's pregnant? I wonder if they'd even manage to make a baby like this."

Jason remained silent, but Heather could guess what was on his mind. She knew it was all part of the manipulative games women like Chrishell played. Yet with Brett so thoroughly taken in, it wouldn't be surprising if there really was a child one day — perhaps even an illegitimate one.

The sound of Chrishell's shrill moans filled the room, and Jason suddenly snatched the phone out of Heather's hand, swiftly shutting off the app. Coldly, he tossed the phone back to her.

"Heather, what are you trying to accomplish?" His voice was low and icy, thick with contempt.

Heather rose onto her toes and wrapped her arms around his neck. "Didn't I already tell you? I want you to help me get pregnant. Your genes are so similar to your brother's; he'll never know the difference. I'll use this child to claim my share of his fortune."

Jason pushed her away with disgust. "Minx."

Heather's laughter rippled through the room as she leaned in closer, her body pressing against his arm. "How did you know the perfume I'm wearing today is called 'Minx's Embrace'? Do you like it?"

The enticing scent enveloped them both, as if the very air around her was steeped in seduction — a baited hook waiting for its catch.

But Jason's expression remained unmoved. He turned on his heel, intending to leave. Just as he reached for the door, the sharp sound of glass shattering echoed behind him, followed by a woman's pained cry.

He turned to find Heather collapsed over the coffee table, motionless. Without thinking, he rushed over and pulled her up by the arm.

In an instant, Heather coiled around him like a vine, her arms tightening around his neck as she giggled and pressed her lips against his cheek. "Jason, you're so worried about me."

Jason struggled to free himself from Heather's tight grip, but she clung to him with all her strength, her arms and legs wrapped around him like a vine.

"Jason, I know you and your brother have different mothers," she whispered seductively. "He acts like a good brother on the surface, but behind your back, he's always plotting against you, keeping you at arm's length."

Her voice softened, full of temptation. "If I get pregnant with your child and marry him, everything in the Vanders will belong to us. No matter how hard he schemes, in the end, he'll be working for you. Doesn't that sound satisfying?"

Jason's gaze lowered to her, his expression cold and unreadable.

Heather leaned closer, her breath tickling his ear. "Are you really not interested in your brother's money? Or his woman?" Her lips brushed against his nose, trailing down to his Adam's apple.

She sank to her knees on the carpet, lifting her tearful eyes to look up at him, her red lips parted slightly — as if she were a faerie, drawing him deeper into her web.

Just then, a group of people approached the door outside, led by a server. They were laughing and chatting, ready to enter the room. As the door handle turned, Jason's fingers tightened in her hair, yanking her back abruptly.

The noise outside seemed to fade, and the footsteps grew distant again.

Breathing heavily, Heather reclined on the sofa, her lips glistening with moisture as she watched him, silently inviting him with a sly smile.

But Jason remained emotionless as he methodically adjusted his disheveled clothes.

Heather sat up, her eyes gleaming with provocation as she hooked her arm around him. "Jason, come on. It's my ovulation period, the best time to conceive a boy. Don't you want to seize this chance?"

Jason straightened, his usual air of dignity returning as he looked down at her with disdain. "A woman like you doesn't deserve to carry my child."

Heather watched in disbelief as he headed for the door. Infuriated, she chased after him. "Jason, are you even a man?"

He glanced back at her, his gaze lingering on her bold, red lips. "Didn't you already find out if I'm a man just now?"

Heather's fury surged. "Is that it? Are you impotent or something?"

He didn't bother to respond, just walked away without looking back.

Fuming, Heather shouted after him, her anger spilling over. "You deserve to be a cuckold! Chrishell and your brother are making a fool of you, and you don't even dare lay a finger on me!"

But Jason paid no attention to her taunts, leaving her behind without a second glance.

Heather returned to the private room, her heart ablaze with frustration, only to find Jason absent while Brett and Chrishell were already back.

Chrishell sat at one side, her face glowing with affection as she sang a love song, her eyes filled with longing. Brett listened, utterly entranced.

Suddenly, Heather felt the atmosphere suffocating and dull. She rose abruptly, leaving the room in search of air.

After a short drive, she arrived at the Jenner family home, where a servant was trying to feed her mother dinner. However, her mother was being uncooperative, splattering soup all over herself.

The servant, irritated, raised a hand to strike her but quickly recoiled upon seeing Heather approach.

Heather stepped in, took the bowl of soup, and sat down next to her mother. She looked at her mother, whose figure seemed to sag, a shadow of her former self.

Six months ago, her mother had discovered that her father not only had a mistress but also a secret illegitimate son. In a fit of rage, she had jumped from the second floor, landing hard.

Her father felt no remorse; instead, he continued to flaunt his affair, bringing his mistress and their child out in public. Since then, her mother had become a shell of herself, existing as a vegetable with no hope left in her life.

Heather gazed at her mother's burnt-red lips and sighed. "Mom, you're being foolish. Why punish yourself for someone else's mistakes?" She scooped up a steaming spoonful of soup. "If anyone should suffer, it should be the one who erred!"

In a sudden outburst, she flipped the hot bowl of soup onto the servant. The woman screamed in pain but dared not retaliate, only stammering apologies, claiming she hadn't taken proper care of Heather's mother.

Heather returned to her chair, wiping the soup stains off her mother's clothes.

The servant's fear of her wasn't just because she was the eldest daughter of the Jenner family, but because she was on the brink of becoming Brett Vander's wife. If she lost that status, she and her mother would have nowhere left to stand.

Determined, Heather made a vow in her heart: she would do everything in her power to hold onto this marriage.

Not long after, it was time for Brett and Jason's father's birthday celebration, and the family banquet was lively, filled with the buzz of laughter and conversation.

Brett, in his role as heir, orchestrated the entire event. He was basking in the attention, exuding pride with every movement.

Heather was at his side, smiling politely, playing the perfect companion.

Every familiar face they encountered would inevitably ask the same question, "You've been together for years now, haven't you? When's the wedding?"

Brett brushed it off each time with the same vague response. "Soon."

But he avoided the topic, and Heather couldn't help but notice how uninterested he seemed in the idea of marriage.

His evasiveness triggered a sudden thought—Marriage needs a certain spark of impulsiveness. The longer a couple stays together, the harder it is to take the leap.

That evening, Brett drank a lot, flushed with excitement after his father officially announced his plans to retire. It meant that soon, Brett would hold the reins of power.

After the party, Heather guided him back to their room.

As she started to help him undress, he stared at her neckline, his eyes dark and intense. Without warning, he grabbed the fabric and tore her gown open with a roughness she hadn't seen in him for a long time.

It had been a while since he'd been this passionate, and Heather responded, half-resisting, half-leaning into his desire.

Both of them were swept up in the moment, but just as they reached the brink, Brett faltered.

Breathing heavily, sweat dripping from his face, he muttered, "It's no use. I still can't do it."

Heather lay there, staring at the ceiling. "Didn't you say you'd see a therapist?"

There was a long silence, thick with the unspoken. Finally, slurring slightly from the alcohol, Brett admitted, "It's not me... it's us. We've been together too long. There's nothing exciting anymore."

He stood, pulling his trousers back on. "Let's think about the wedding later. I'm going to be really busy for the next year or two."

Without another word, he left the room, leaving Heather staring up at the ceiling, her mind spinning. There was a sting in her chest, a sharpness that made her throat tighten, but no tears came.

Lying there, she heard the faint sound of footsteps in the hallway.

She sat up, glancing toward the half-open door. It was Jason.

His eyes swept over her, noticing the disheveled state of her clothing. He averted his gaze, his voice detached. "Dad wants Brett to go see him."

Heather's gaze locked onto Jason, her mind racing.

Earlier, Brett and Jason's father had made a subtle but clear point, mentioning that once he retired, he'd have more free time. It was his not-so-veiled way of hinting that she and Brett should hurry up and give him a grandchild.

She knew that Brett's father approved of her, and with his influence still intact, if she got pregnant, the wedding would be a certainty. Now was the time to act.

She softened her voice, letting it tremble slightly as she spoke, "Your brother's gone out."

Jason took a step forward as if to leave, but she called out to him, "Jason, won't you come in?"

He paused, but didn't turn to face her. "We're in the Vanders' home," he reminded her.

Heather sniffed, a pitiful sound escaping her lips as she pleaded, "I'm so cold. Please, come in and hold me."

He stood still, his posture rigid, his silhouette sharp against the dim light, a picture of untouchable elegance.

Barefoot, Heather slipped off the bed, her thin gown barely clinging to her body as she approached him.

There was something both desperate and seductive about her movements, like a ghost haunting her target. Her voice dripped with temptation as she whispered, "Jason, you've liked me ever since we were kids, haven't you? Back when we were still in school, you always waited until the last minute to head home, just so we could walk together. Isn't that true?"

Jason's face was expressionless, showing no sign that her words affected him.

Heather wrapped her arms around his waist, pressing herself against him. "Jason, it was Brett who proposed to me first. If you had told me back then that you liked me, I wouldn't have chosen him. You know that, don't you?"

Her lips brushed against his pristine white shirt, leaving faint traces of lipstick. "Jason, Jason… I've missed you so much while you were away all those years…"

Rising on her toes, she kissed him, then pulled him toward the room.

Jason watched her as she tried, with all her might, to please him, but his gaze remained as cold as ever.

Heather was relentless, clinging to him, pulling him further into the room, convinced she was on the verge of success.

But in an instant, his hand grabbed her and pinned her against the doorframe. His voice was icy, sharp with disdain. "Miss me? Or just trying to use me?"

Her hand fumbled for his belt. "Jason, I truly love you…"

His grip tightened around her wrist, stopping her. "Love? Do you even know what that means?" His eyes darkened with contempt. Her hand was just serving his brother, and now she was using it to undress him, all while telling him she loved him.

He looked her over with pure disgust. "Heather, stay away from me. You're filthy."

The words hit her like a slap. And the look in his eyes mirrored the same disdain Brett had shown her just moments earlier.

Filthy.

They both looked at her with the same disdain. What gave them the right?!

A wave of humiliation and fury crashed over her, and she felt herself being consumed by a deep, overwhelming sense of bitterness and defeat.

Ripping her arm from his grasp, her passion evaporated, replaced by cold resolve. "You're right," she said, "I was trying to use you."

She stepped away, walking toward the door, and with a frigid calm, she shut it behind him. "But now, you're not even worth using."