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."

Heather had made up her mind to cross Jason off her list of candidates for "borrowing sperm." Since that day, she hadn't bothered with him again.

Today, she was out for business, meeting someone to discuss a deal for her family. But once she arrived, she found herself roped into a card game.

She wasn't a great player and had been losing round after round. The others teased her, one of them laughing, "Lost it all, huh? Better call Brett to come bail you out. We'll be keeping his wife as collateral."

Heather blushed, playing along coyly. "Who's his wife? We're not married yet."

The group erupted in laughter. "Isn't it as good as done? You becoming Mrs. Vander is already set in stone. If you ask us, you should hurry up and start helping him at Vander Inc.. The Jenner family will go to your brother sooner or later, and here you are, working yourself to the bone…"

Her smile faltered, the laughter around the table tapering off with it.

Her "brother," still in school, was cherished by their father like a precious gem. It was no secret he was being groomed to take over the family business one day.

As for Heather, the daughter born to the legitimate wife? To her father, she was nothing more than water spilled from a cup—gone, forgotten.

If it weren't for her engagement to a Vander, keeping her in a position of some influence, her father would have likely brought his mistress and illegitimate son home long ago, making them the legitimate family.

The smile that remained on her face had turned cold, devoid of warmth, as she tossed out a card, indifferent to the game.

A voice behind her interrupted. "I wouldn't go with that if I were you."

A man leaned over, gently guiding her hand to take the card back and replace it with another.

She turned her head slightly, catching a glimpse of the man—it was Brett's cousin, Tyler Richie.

Tyler, a notorious playboy with a trail of romantic entanglements, settled lazily into the seat behind her.

The group, always ready to tease, couldn't resist. "Rescuing the damsel in distress, are you, Tyler?"

Tyler leaned in closer, his voice casual but suggestive. "Isn't it natural for a guy to look out for his cousin's wife?" His breath brushed against her ear as he spoke. "You don't know how to play, do you? Let me help you with a few hands."

Heather's eyes met his, and she could clearly see the glint of something darker—an unmistakable, primal hunger in his gaze.

She looked at him, this younger man who, to some degree, resembled Brett.

As Tyler "helped" her with her cards, his fingers brushed hers more than once—lingering touches that were far from accidental.

Heather kept her silence, a playful smile gracing her lips as she continued to play cards. Whenever she lost a hand, she'd elbow Tyler's chest, pretending to scold him for his poor advice.

He only chuckled in response, his grin widening, his body drawing closer to hers. His hand, now with increasing boldness, found its way to her slender waist, lingering under the pretense of casual assistance.

As she played, her mind drifted, calculating. This man—Tyler—he might just work.

Tyler was a relative of the Vanders, close enough by blood that if she were to "borrow" from him to conceive a child, it wouldn't be too far off from her original plan.

The cards became an afterthought as her thoughts raced, and soon, she excused herself to the restroom.

When she emerged, she cast a knowing glance in Tyler's direction, a subtle invitation. As she expected, he followed her immediately.

They walked one behind the other, heading toward the upstairs guest rooms. Heather swayed her hips ever so slightly, feeling the weight of his gaze latch onto her like a hook.

She still had it—the power to wrap men around her finger with a mere flicker of her charms.

Except, of course, for the two Vander brothers—those two were blind as bats.

As she walked toward the elevator, her resolve grew stronger with every step. She deliberately slowed her pace, allowing him to catch up.

His voice was low, laced with mischief as he murmured behind her, "Heather, I've got a suite upstairs. How about I give you a proper lesson in cards?"

Heather smiled coyly, her lips curving in a delicate, seductive arch. She was just about to step into the elevator with him when she felt Tyler freeze beside her, his hand suddenly retracting from her waist as if burned.

She followed his gaze, and her own smile faded.

Across the lobby, standing under the bright lights, was a tall figure, his posture rigid, his eyes filled with cold fury.

It was Jason.

Tyler, ever the sycophant, scurried over to greet Jason with an overly eager smile. "Jason!" he called out, his voice dripping with forced enthusiasm.

But Jason didn't spare him a glance. His piercing gaze remained locked on Heather from across the room.

For a fleeting moment, the scene felt surreal, almost like a twisted fable. She was the seductive enchantress, moments away from ensnaring Tyler with her beguiling charms, when Jason, the righteous priest, appeared from the heavens to thwart her wicked plans.

Heather glanced at Tyler, his pitiful cowardice on full display. She knew immediately that the night wasn't going to go as planned.

Annoyance flared in her chest as she shot a venomous glare at Jason. That damned ghost, she thought bitterly, always hovering around, ruining things at the worst possible moment.

Turning on her heel, she stormed off toward the restroom, her frustration barely contained.

Inside, she washed her hands slowly, letting the cool water run over her fingers as she lathered the soap into bubbles. She sensed someone behind her, and without even turning, she caught his reflection in the mirror.

There he was, Jason. Impeccably dressed, his face a picture of cool, aristocratic composure.

The glasses he wore concealed the sharp intensity of his eyes, but she knew those same eyes were watching her closely, judging her with every passing second. He appeared as serene as ever, as if untouched by any worldly desire.

Heather let out a derisive snort. "What's the matter?" she drawled, her voice thick with sarcasm. "Seeing me with another man making you jealous?"

Jason frowned as he looked at her, his face hard, his voice sharp. "Don't be such a cheap woman, Heather."

Heather shook the water from her hands, her lips curling into a mocking sneer. "What does it matter to you? Even if I'm a cheap woman, it's none of your business. Even if you begged for it, I wouldn't be interested anymore."

She turned to leave, but his voice followed her, cold and steady. "Don't even think about it. I won't let you shame the Vanders."

"Are you crazy?" she spat, turning on him, anger flashing in her eyes. "Your girlfriend cheats on you, and you don't care. But when it's about me and your brother, you lose your mind? Who the hell do you think you are?"

Jason didn't flinch, his eyes hard as steel. "Stay away from Tyler. Everything he has comes from the Vanders. He won't dare defy us."

She laughed bitterly, throwing him a contemptuous look. "What about you? You've been in my bed more times than I can count."

Her eyes narrowed in defiance. "And I will chase after Tyler. What are you going to do about it?" She raised her chin, taunting him. "Your cousin has a reputation. Strong where it counts. Not like you or your brother..."

She wasn't finished. The words, sharp and biting, were still on her tongue when Jason moved. His hand shot out, fingers clamping around her throat, pressing her back against the wall.

He wasn't gentle. His grip tightened, his eyes dark, a dangerous shadow flickering in them. "Heather, this is the last time I'll warn you. Don't disgrace the Vanders, or I won't forgive you."

Pinned against the wall, Heather saw the cold fury in his eyes, a ruthless edge she hadn't expected. For a moment, fear gripped her, but it was quickly replaced by a crushing sadness. Tears welled up, spilling over, falling onto his hand.

"Kill me, then," she choked, her voice thick with emotion. "Go on, kill me! Everyone bullies me, and now you're doing it too!"

The tears seemed to startle him. His grip loosened as he stepped back, disgust flickering in his expression as if her tears had dirtied his skin. His brow furrowed, and he retreated, giving her space.

Heather clutched her throat, sobbing uncontrollably. "You men, you let Chrishell toy with both of you, and none of you care. But with me, it's all threats and violence!"

As Jason withdrew, she moved closer, desperation lacing her words. "Go ahead, kill me! Jason, kill me! I've been with your brother for years. If the marriage is called off, the whole world will laugh at me. I'd be better off dead!"

Jason shoved her away coldly, his voice laced with irritation. "So you can't live without him? Is not marrying him the end of the world?"

Heather sobbed, her voice desperate. "Everyone out there knows I'm the future Mrs. Vander! If I don't marry your brother, who else would want me?"

He turned his face away, but the indifference in his expression only fueled her anger.

She stormed over, fists pounding against him in frustration. "It's all your fault! Why did you bring Chrishell back? Your brother is obsessed with her. What am I supposed to do? Jason, you ruined my wedding, you took away my title as Mrs. Vander! Give them back to me"

His patience frayed, Jason grabbed her arm, his grip firm and unyielding. "Pathetic. You think Brett is the only man in the world?"

Heather cried out, defiant. "And what if he is? You're a man too, aren't you? If I don't marry your brother, will you take me? Will you marry me?"

It was as if she had struck a nerve. Jason recoiled, jerking his hand back as though he had touched something repulsive. His voice was ice. "Dream on."

Before she could catch his expression, he turned and walked away, leaving her standing there, rubbing her neck where his hand had been moments earlier.

Damn him. He actually used force. And for what? She hadn't betrayed him.

She wiped the tears from her face, bitter thoughts flooding her mind. Chrishell and Brett were practically inseparable, yet Jason never seemed to want to do anything about it. Why was it different with Heather?

Turning to the mirror, Heather touched up her makeup, her face still alluring, her body flawless. She might not be able to easily snare those two obtuse Vander brothers, but men like Tyler—he was in a whole different league, and she could toy with him whenever she pleased.

Pulling out her phone, she sent a voice message to Tyler, her tone delicate, with just the right amount of a tearful quiver. "Tyler, I hope I didn't cause you any trouble earlier."

His response came almost instantly. "No trouble at all, Heather. You dropped your hairpin. When are you free? I'll return it to you."

Heather smiled coyly at her reflection in the mirror.

See? It's that easy to reel them in.

Jason could rot for all she cared. What did she need with his cold, condescending attitude?

By the next day, she had all but forgotten his warnings. After carefully dressing up, she eagerly set off to meet Tyler, excited for their rendezvous.