A cloying blend of women's perfume, tobacco, and stale liquor assaulted her senses.

Eva Sullivan didn't need to look up to know who stood before her.

Instinct took over. She recoiled, putting several feet of distance between them. "What is the meaning of this, Mr. Henson?"

Seeing his face again clawed at old wounds. It felt as though a fist had clenched around her heart, squeezing until it bruised.

Elliot noticed her revulsion. His expression faltered, but he quickly recovered, tilting his umbrella to shield her from the downpour. "What happened before... that was my fault. I'm here to apologize."

His tone dripped with heavy, feigned remorse. If she hadn't heard the truth with her own ears that night, she might have been fool enough to believe him again.

She glanced at the curtain of rain, then fixed him with a cold stare. "If you have something to say, say it."

For the favored son of the Henson family to lower himself to this—standing in the rain, offering apologies—it meant he had hit a wall. A wall only she could dismantle.

Elliot reached for her hand, but she sidestepped him effortlessly.

A flicker of annoyance crossed his brow, instantly masked by a look of tender concern. He pulled a velvet box from his pocket and offered it to her. "You mentioned you liked this once. I had a friend bring it back from abroad."

Inside lay a bracelet of lustrous pearls and deep red rubies—the latest piece from her favorite designer. She had planned to fly to Paris to buy it herself before the crisis at her uncle's company derailed her life.

She couldn't remember the last time she had cared about such things.

Once, this gesture would have sent her heart racing. Now, looking at the glittering gems, she felt nothing but a hollow ache.

"Let me guess," Eva said, her voice flat. "You're here about the Salazar contract."

She didn't touch the bracelet. She just stripped him bare.

Elliot's patience snapped. He dropped the pretense. "You handled Blake Salazar's order before. The contract has expired, and I hear he's looking elsewhere. I need you to smooth things over."

Eva let out a short, self-mocking laugh. "Sorry. I can't help you."

Years ago, when Old Mr. Henson returned to the country, Elliot had been desperate to prove himself. He had boasted that he would secure the Salazar Group's annual contract. But it was a massive account, and wolves were circling. Elliot's proposal had been mediocre at best.

To save him, Eva had debased herself. She leveraged every connection, drained her savings, and played the dutiful companion to Blake Salazar's wife for a week just to get a foot in the door.

She remembered the night she finally secured the deal. She had drunk until she vomited, curling up on a bathroom stall floor, clutching the signed contract to her chest while alcohol burned a hole in her stomach.

And her reward? Walking in on Elliot tangled in the sheets with another woman.

God, I was stupid.

She turned to leave, but Elliot caught her wrist in a vice-like grip.

"Eva Sullivan, what is wrong with you?"

His face had darkened, the veins in his hand bulging as he squeezed the umbrella handle.

Eva ripped her arm free, her gaze turning glacial. "A soulless, boring bootlicker. Isn't that what you called me? Have you run out of entertainment, Mr. Henson?"

She stared straight into his eyes. For a second, his pupils dilated. Panic flashed across his face.

"You heard that? Listen, let me explain. I didn't mean it. I just—"

"You were just drunk? It meant nothing?" Eva smiled, though her eyes burned with unshed tears. "Is that the script?"

"Eva..."

The rain intensified, drumming a chaotic rhythm against the asphalt.

Eva took a steadying breath and looked away. "We are done. Completely."

"No, actually, we never really started. Instead of debasing yourself here, you should try relying on your own competence to save that contract."

Elliot's expression hardened into ice. He straightened his spine, looking down at her with his usual arrogance. "I'm giving you a chance. Don't regret this."

Eva looked up, catching a glimmer of expectation in his eyes.

Expectation?

He actually thought she would fold. He thought she would beg him to take her back, just like before.

She laughed, the sound sharp and brittle. "My only regret is that I ever met you."

Elliot slammed the bracelet onto the wet ground. He gave her one last look of utter contempt before turning on his heel.

A moment later, the roar of an engine tore through the air. His luxury sports car peeled away, tires screeching as they mercilessly crushed the scattered pearls into the mud. Dirty water splashed up, stinging Eva's face.

She watched the taillights fade into the gray mist.

She stood rooted to the spot, her eyes losing focus.

It was over.

CRACK.

Thunder exploded overhead, a deafening boom that shook the ground beneath her feet. It felt as if a hammer had slammed into her chest.

A child's scream echoed in her ears.

In a heartbeat, the street vanished. She was back there. The smell of burning rubber... the white smoke rising from the twisted metal... the rain unable to wash away the blood.

She lay on the glass-strewn pavement, unable to move, watching through a haze as paramedics lifted her parents onto stretchers. They were so still. So red.

The memory clawed at her throat. The agony, sharp and familiar, pierced her heart. It had been over a decade, yet every thunderstorm dragged her back to that hell.

"Eva! Eva!"

A frantic voice broke through the nightmare. Eva turned her head, her vision swimming. As the face before her sharpened, the dam broke.

"Auntie..."

"I've got you. I'm here."

Amelia Fletcher pulled her into a fierce embrace, patting her back rhythmically. "It's okay. Let's go home."

Inside the warm house, Landon Mason emerged from the kitchen, spatula in hand. Seeing Eva's drenched, trembling form, his face crumpled with worry.

He opened his mouth to ask what happened, but a sharp glare from Amelia silenced him. He swallowed his questions and retreated.

Upstairs, Amelia wrapped Eva in thick, warm towels.

"Silly girl," she muttered, rubbing warmth into Eva's arms. "Why didn't you call your uncle to pick you up? Look at this weather! And that husband of yours—Austin let you come home alone in this storm? The man is useless."

"Auntie, he's in Harbor City on business," Eva lied through chattering teeth. "He had the driver bring me."

Amelia paused, studying her niece's pale face. "Did he... did he bully you?"

Eva shook her head, forcing a weak smile. "No. He treats me well."

Seeing the doubt in Amelia's eyes, she added, "He bought the Harbor Bay villa. He said it would be our wedding home."

Amelia hesitated, then sighed softly. "As long as he treats you right. Go take a hot bath. I'll make you some ginger soup."

"Thank you, Auntie."

The moment the door clicked shut, Eva's smile collapsed. She leaned against the wall and slid down to the floor, tears streaming silently down her face.

While rain drowned Seaview City, Harbor City basked in clear, ruthless sunlight.

A black sedan glided through the bustling streets, the harbor waters glittering in the distance.

Inside the car, Austin Farley rested his head against the leather seat, eyes closed. When Grace Simmons's call came through, he answered without moving.

"Sir, Mrs. Farley has returned to the Mason residence."

"Mm." His voice was low, devoid of emotion.

Grace hesitated on the other end of the line. "There's... something else. Elliot Henson went to the Mason house to see her. It appears they still have unfinished business."

After a long silence, Austin slowly opened his eyes. A glint of cold calculation flashed within them. "How did you know?"

His tone was calm, yet it carried a suffocating weight that made Grace's heart hammer against her ribs.

"I was worried about Mrs. Farley. I thought—"

"Next time you overstep, just leave."

Austin didn't wait for an explanation. He ended the call.

By then, the car had rolled to a stop. The driver exited swiftly to hold the door open.

The manor, perched halfway up the mountain, was already teeming with guests. The sprawling estate was packed with Harbor City's elite—heirs in bespoke suits and socialites in couture gowns. The moment Austin stepped into view, the atmosphere shifted. He drew gazes like a magnet.

The butler hurried to the poolside and whispered to a man currently frolicking in the water with a beauty. The man immediately climbed out, wrapped a towel around his waist, and headed upstairs.

"Why show up now? Being late isn't your style."

Austin ignored the jab. He hit send on a text message he had been drafting before finally speaking. "Where is he?"

The man grinned, closing the distance between them. "What's the rush? Since you're here, have a drink. He can't run away."

Austin glanced at him. He said nothing, but his gaze was heavy enough to strip the humor from the air.

Unsettled by the scrutiny, the man raised his hands in surrender. "Fine. I'll have someone bring him over later. But aren't there any decent composers in Seaview City? You had to come all the way here? And for a third-rate hack drowning in gambling debt, no less."

Austin idly spun his phone between his fingers, eyes lowered, expression flat.

"Maybe."

The man frowned, then his face lit up with a sudden thought. He leaned in again. "Oh, right. My mom made a decree—she's inviting you to dinner tomorrow. There's a surprise."

One look at the man's fawning expression told Austin exactly what kind of "surprise" was in store. "Not convenient."

The man blinked. "What do you mean, 'not convenient'? Mom said you've rejected her invite multiple times. She's losing face in front of her social circle. You have to go this time. Just once."

Austin lifted his gaze. "I have a family now. Thank Auntie for her kindness, but no."

"..."

The man sprang up as if struck by lightning. "Since when?"

"Six hours ago."

"..."

Deathly silence filled the room.

Seconds later, a notification chime broke the deadlock. Austin glanced at his screen. It was a photo of a man and a woman embracing in the heavy rain.

Grace's message followed: Sir, I just didn't want you to be deceived.

The rain blurred the faces in the photo, but the clothes the woman wore were all too familiar.

Austin's jaw tightened. He typed a reply.

You're fired.

"Cousin, what are you looking at? A photo of my new cousin-in-law? Let me see!" The man lunged forward, his face alight with gossip.

Austin locked his phone and pocketed it, his aura darkening instantly. "If I were you, I wouldn't be celebrating."

The man paused, reading the room. He threw his head back and let out a dramatic howl. "Oh no! Looks like I need to flee the country for a few days. Hey, Cousin, how about I go with you to Seaview City? It's the perfect time to meet the new Mrs. Farley."

Austin looked him up and down, his gaze resting on the man's hair—a garish gradient of white fading into purple and red.

"Your new cousin-in-law might not want to see you."

At that exact moment, a certain new cousin-in-law sneezed.

Eva rubbed her nose, bewildered. She looked down at the text message from an unfamiliar number on her phone: Already landed in Harbor City.

She read the five words over and over. Suddenly, Austin's parting words echoed in her mind.

She hesitated, then set the phone down on the table.

She didn't know how to reply. She didn't know what to say.

Dinner had passed, and the rain that had raged all day finally ceased.

A gentle evening breeze, heavy with moisture, drifted through the air. Eva curled up on the terrace sofa, gazing at the pitch-black sky. She picked up a beer and took a slow sip.

Reflections of the past few days played on a loop in her mind.

The phone screen on the table lit up again.

It was news regarding the investigation she had asked a friend to conduct.

After replying to that message, she remembered the unread text from her husband. She opened the chat interface again. Staring at his brief update, she typed a simple response.

Okay.

Less than ten seconds later, her phone began to ring. It was him.

Eva stared at the pulsing green call button, her stomach twisting into a tight knot.

When the call finally connected, the man's deep voice traveled through the receiver, carrying a magnetic, almost seductive cadence.

"This is my private number. Save it."

"Okay."

Silence stretched between them after the single word fell.

Eva, usually so adept at social navigation, found her mind completely blank when faced with the man on the other end. She couldn't understand why he made her so nervous.

"It's getting late," she managed finally. "You should rest. Good night."

A few seconds of static passed before his voice returned, low and heavy. "Mm."

Miles away, Austin stood before the hotel's floor-to-ceiling window, gazing out at the harbor lights reflecting off the dark water.

"Good night," he said into the void.

But the line had already gone dead.

The next morning, Eva woke to a phone on the verge of exploding. Her notifications were flooded.

The headlines screamed one thing: Elliot Henson Officially Announces New Girlfriend.

For years, Elliot had played the field, indulging in every fling, but he had never brought anyone into the public eye. The only constant presence by his side had been Eva Sullivan.

The announcement sent shockwaves through their social circle.

Calls poured in from "friends" claiming they wanted to verify the news, though Eva knew better. They were vultures circling, waiting to see if she would snap, lose her dignity, and run to Elliot begging for an explanation.

Eva ignored the gossip. Like someone possessed, she opened her social feed.

The first post that assaulted her vision was a heavily edited couple's photo. In it, Elliot looked rakish and unbothered, his expression lacking any real affection. The woman nestled in his arms, however, looked as if she had secured the crown jewels—chin lifted, her entire posture radiating smug triumph.

Eva studied the image until her eyes burned. Then she turned off her phone, climbed out of bed, and went to wash up.

She had more important things to do today than mourn a dead relationship.

When she went downstairs, Amelia had already laid out breakfast.

"Good morning, Aunt Amelia. Where's Uncle?"

Amelia smiled, ladling porridge into a bowl. "He went to the company at the crack of dawn. Austin is a man of his word—the funds were credited last night. Your uncle rushed over to cash out and cover the back wages."

So fast.

Eva hadn't expected Austin to move with such efficiency. Was that what he had called to discuss last night?

As she headed out the door, she hesitated, thumb hovering over her screen. Finally, she typed a message to Austin: Thank you.

It sank like a stone in the ocean. No reply.

Eva didn't mind. A man like Austin didn't have the idle time to wait around for text messages. They weren't familiar enough for instant replies or exchanging pleasantries about the weather.

However, just as her taxi pulled up to her destination, her phone buzzed.

Austin: How do you intend to thank me?

Eva stared at the words, her pulse skipping a beat. After a long pause, she typed back: I'll treat you to dinner when you return.

This time, the silence was permanent.

Eva pocketed her phone, pushed open the heavy doors of the Western restaurant, and headed straight for the second floor.

By the window, seated on a plush leather sofa, a woman waited. She was in her thirties, possessing a depth and elegance that transcended her age.

"Michelle. It's been a while."

Eva smiled as she approached, placing a blue gift bag on the table. "For you."

It was a limited-edition luxury item, unavailable domestically. Eva had pre-ordered it six months ago, originally intending it as a birthday gift. Thankfully, Michelle's birthday hadn't passed yet.

In the past, the woman across from her would have torn into the packaging, cooing over the item and calling Eva "darling" while threatening to kiss her cheek.

Today, Michelle merely glanced at the bag. "Thanks. But I'm not really in the mood."

Eva ordered an orange juice and studied her friend's face. "What's wrong? Who upset our queen?"

Listless, Michelle picked up the glass of hard liquor beside her and downed it in one burn.

A moment later, her dull eyes sparked with a desperate, frantic light. She looked at Eva as if she were a lifeline. "Will you come somewhere with me? Please?"

Eva assumed she wanted a drinking companion to drown her sorrows. She never expected Michelle would drag her along to catch a cheater.

The elevator ascended, the silver walls reflecting their grim expressions.

Neither looked well.

After the Mason family catastrophe, Eva's family business was still on shaky ground, even with Austin's investment. She had been banking on securing a partnership with Salazar Group, hoping to convince her uncle to expand their production lines.

During her call to set up this meeting, Eva had subtly prodded Michelle about who Salazar Group intended to partner with next quarter. As she feared, it was the Sullivan family—her estranged relatives.

Publicly and privately, Eva couldn't afford to let that order fall into the Sullivans' lap. She had planned to pitch her case again today.

But now...

Whether this confrontation succeeded or failed, the moment Eva stepped into that hotel suite with Michelle, the order was gone. It was professional suicide.

Ding.

The elevator doors slid open. The plush carpet swallowed the sound of their heels as Eva followed Michelle to the innermost suite.

Michelle's hand trembled as she tapped the key card against the sensor. The lock clicked. She pushed the door open gently.

From the bedroom, the sounds of a woman's high-pitched moaning and a man's low teasing drifted out.

Eva didn't need to see to know exactly what was happening.

Michelle began to shake violently. Her grip on the golf club she had brought along tightened until her knuckles turned white.

"Sorry to drag you into this, Eva," she whispered, her voice flat and hollow. "Wait for me outside."

Eva stood in the doorway, watching the woman's frail, trembling back. An impulse to rush forward and support her surged, but reason held her feet to the floor. She stepped back into the hall.

Her own life was a tangled mess of lies and contracts—what right did she have to play the savior?

From inside the room, a hysterical scream shattered the quiet.

Accusations flew like shrapnel. Question after question, piercing and raw, striking at the heart of the betrayal.

Eva leaned against the corridor wall, staring at an expensive abstract painting. Her heart felt like it was being seared in hot oil.

The scene was too familiar.

Chaotic memories, like a ball of tangled yarn, began to unravel in her mind. The more she tried to pull away, the tighter they constricted.

She forced herself to breathe, to ground herself in the present. A notification chime from her phone peeled her away from the past.

Entertainment news. Another headline.

This time, the photo was crystal clear.

It was Austin.

Eva stared at the man's striking, cold features for a long moment before the realization hit her: Right. I married him.

A sharp crash from inside the suite snapped her back to reality.

Eva instinctively turned and looked through the open door. Michelle was struggling to scramble up from the floor, lunging to scratch at the man again.

"You lunatic, let go!" the man roared in pain.

In the scuffle, Michelle was shoved violently aside. Her head cracked against the corner of a table. Bright red blood gushed from her temple, dripping onto the pristine carpet.

The two culprits stood over her, watching coldly, offering no help.

Eva thought she heard a faint, mocking laugh.

The man she had once loved tore off his mask, while the woman he drove to madness was the one bleeding out.

Michelle let out a broken, furious laugh. In a flash, she grabbed a heavy vase from the table and hurled it at the pair.

The man barely dodged. "Damn it!" he cursed, stepping forward with a raised fist.

Eva didn't think. She swung the door wide and sprinted into the room, shoving the man back with all her strength before shielding Michelle.

"Blake, stop! The law still exists, you know!"

Blake sneered, his face twisted with rage. "This is family business. Get lost!"

Eva pulled Michelle back, her expression hardening into stubborn, icy resolve.

"I recorded everything," she lied, her voice steady. "The video is already with a friend. If we don't walk out of here safely, you know what happens to your stock price."

The vicious aura around Blake faltered. He narrowed his eyes. "Eva Sullivan. I treated you well in the past, didn't I? Why interfere?"

"I don't want to be enemies with you, Blake. But you're bullying her too far."

Blake chuckled darkly. He walked to the sofa, picked up a silver cigarette case, and tapped one out, clearly intending to negotiate.

But the adrenaline hadn't left Michelle. With a wail of pure anguish, she launched herself at him again, scratching and kicking.

Terrified she would be hurt further, Eva rushed to pull her back.

And then...

Before the brawl could escalate, the wail of sirens cut through the air. The police arrived faster than anyone expected.