“Leave the items in the guard room. Someone will bring them to the owner. Now get out of here!”

I looked down at the delivery outfit I was wearing—clothes I’d bought just to play house with my son.

No wonder I was mistaken for a delivery person.

I was just about to explain when someone beside me recognized me first.

“Arielle? Julian, isn’t this your ex-wife?”

“I haven’t heard anything about her in years. Turns out she ended up delivering food after leaving Julian? That’s hilarious. This kind of job suits a loser from a low-class background like her.”

Manager Holloway overheard the comment about me being Julian’s ex-wife. Although he couldn't understand how someone like me had once been with him, he still asked obsequiously,

“President Cross, should we… let her in?”

Julian had been staring at me the whole time, his expression unreadable.

Before he could speak, Vanessa stepped forward and warned sharply,

“Aze, the entire concept behind Imperial Crest Manor is to provide an elite living environment—more private and peaceful than ordinary communities. That’s why it attracts the top-tier crowd in New York.”

“Everyone who lives here is either wealthy or influential. If you let someone like a delivery worker in, what if something goes missing from a home and the owner files a complaint? Especially now that the international boss is here—if he finds out you're being so unprofessional, it could ruin the deal.”

I almost laughed. Was Vanessa implying I was a thief?

Julian gave me a cold glance and said indifferently,

“She’s just my ex-wife. She’s not worth bending the rules for.”

Hearing that, Manager Holloway stepped forward and shoved me.

“You hear that? Do you even know how much a single floor tile here costs? And you have the nerve to ride that broken scooter into this place? Get out!”

I hate people who look down on others. I slapped his hand away and said coldly,

“First of all, I don’t consider food delivery a lowly job. Every honest worker earns their living with dignity—there’s no such thing as a low profession.”

“Second, I’m not here to deliver food. I’m looking for someone, and it’s urgent.”

“And finally—let me in. If I break a tile, I’ll pay double the cost in compensation!”

Manager Holloway sneered.

“You? Compensate? These floor tiles are imported, airlifted from abroad. Each costs hundreds of thousands. And that's not even including labor and fuel charges. How much do you make—100 dollars a day? You couldn’t afford it even if you worked your whole life.”

“A poor woman like you claims to know someone here? Stop lying. Leave now, or I won’t be polite.”

He shoved me hard. I lost my balance and fell to the ground along with my scooter.

“Enough!”

Julian scowled at Manager Holloway. “Why are you making a scene in the middle of the night? Don’t you care about disturbing the residents?”

He walked over instinctively and helped me up, frowning.

“Do you really need to pretend to be rich just to earn a few bucks running errands? Fine. I’ll place another order for you—pick something, and I’ll have it sent to your house. I’ll pay you 10,000 for the delivery. Happy now?”

“Arielle, I know you’re hanging around here because you still want to see me. But Vanessa is my wife now. Even if you go blind, I won’t marry you again.”

Vanessa laughed mockingly.

“Oh, by the way, I just remembered—we’re out of condoms at home. Miss Sinclair, could you grab us a few boxes? There’s no helping it, Aze just goes through them too quickly.”

Julian didn’t say a word. His silence was tacit approval.

I yanked my hand away, pulled out a tissue from my pocket, and wiped it furiously. Then I smiled.

“Thanks, but no thanks. I’m not that desperate. And I don’t hand out condoms to my ex-husband and his mistress. That’s just filthy.”

As I spoke, Julian’s face darkened. He grabbed the shopping bag from my hand and dumped everything onto the ground in a rage.

“Giving them to me is dirty, but it’s fine to give them to others? Don’t tell me you still can’t let go of me. Even the condoms you bought are my favorite—strawberry flavor!”

“You think acting tough and playing hard to get will make me soften? Let me tell you—I only have Vanessa in my heart now. I’m not looking back.”

I was speechless.

Everything at home had been chosen by someone else. He never let anyone else handle it.

How was I supposed to know I’d accidentally match Julian’s taste?

“Mr. Cross, you're overthinking. This is purely a coincidence. I’ve long forgotten your preferences. Please don’t flatter yourself.”

If the Jealous King heard this, he’d absolutely throw a tantrum.

He might even launch a crusade against all strawberry-flavored products.

A flicker of disappointment crossed Julian’s eyes.

I ignored him and lowered my head, intending to pick up the scattered items.

But he suddenly lost it—he kicked the packaging box away and seized me with his shoulders.

“Arielle, why are you pretending to be strong? Back then, you scoffed at the things I gave you. Now you’re delivering condoms to make ends meet?”

“Is it because 10,000 dollars wasn’t enough? Fine. If you kneel down and beg now, even if I won’t remarry you, I might allow you to be my canary.”

I blinked, ears twitching in disbelief.

“What did you just say?”

I thought time would’ve matured him.

Turns out, he only became more arrogant—and repulsive.

Julian straightened, pride lighting his expression.

“No need to look so shocked. I don’t have any lingering feelings for you.”

“But we were husband and wife once. I don’t want you living miserably without my protection—it reflects poorly on me. I have more money than I know what to do with. Supporting one more woman is nothing.”

At that, Vanessa’s face twisted in jealousy. She quickly cut in:

“Aze, don’t be fooled. She’s baiting you into saying that.”

“Arielle knows we already have a marriage certificate, but she can’t bear to give up the Cross family fortune. That’s why she’s clinging to you again—just like before—trying to suck you dry. After all, no one’s buying her paintings…”

I turned to her coldly.

“Ms. Sinclair, watch your mouth. I’ve never taken a single penny from Julian—past, present, or future.”

“And before our divorce, you’d already spent plenty of his money. I’m sure you don’t need me to remind you.”

That million-dollar birthday bash she threw back then caused quite a stir in the city.

People gossiped, after all, because it was funded with shared marital assets.

Vanessa looked aggrieved and turned to Julian for support.

But to her surprise, he didn’t even glance her way. Instead, he looked at me, his voice heavy with unwillingness.

“Arielle, think carefully. Without me, you’re nothing. Be my canary, and I’ll give you the life of luxury you want. Isn’t that what you’ve always wanted?”

At that moment, I found everything utterly absurd.

So he’d never really understood me at all.

We met back in college—completely by chance.

I admired his talent in architecture, and he praised my distinctive painting style. We grew close without even noticing.

When I accepted Julian’s confession, I had no idea he was wealthy.

He hid his background, saying he just wanted to stay low-profile.

I knew he was close to Vanessa. I asked about it, and he told me they were like siblings—that I was the only one he loved.

But after the wedding, everything changed. Julian was constantly out—rarely coming home.

Then one night, he sent me a hotel address.

I thought he was drunk and needed me to pick him up.

But when I got there, I found him and Vanessa—disheveled and tangled together.

And I heard words that shattered everything.

On our anniversary, Julian even used random condoms he found to inflate three balloons for me.

Then Vanessa sent a message to mock me:

“Arielle, do the balloons made from the condoms Aze and I used look nice? He’s long since had enough of you. If you know what’s good for you, get lost.”

That was the final straw. I gave up completely and filed for divorce.

Now, thinking back, I pointed at my electric scooter and looked at Julian.

“Julian, get this straight—I’m married now, and I have a child.”

“Please don’t speak to me like that again. I don’t want my husband getting the wrong idea.”

Only then did Julian notice the child seat mounted on the back of my scooter.

He turned to me, stunned.

“You actually got remarried? And had a kid with someone else?!”

Before I could answer, he suddenly let out a scornful laugh.

“Arielle, this is all a show, isn’t it? You just want to see my reaction. You think I don’t know how delivery workers operate now? That baby seat is probably just for helping customers with their kids, right?”

“You’re a divorced woman with no real skills. Who else but me would’ve been kind enough to want a second-hand good like you?”

His voice was dripping with contempt.

The boy who once sat under the campus corridor, gazing at me tenderly and promising I’d become a world-famous painter—had completely vanished.

Maybe all those sweet words were just lies.

After all, he once said Vanessa was his true love.

I was merely a distraction, something to pass the time while he figured himself out.

As the elders say—there’s no need to explain yourself to people who don’t matter.

I raised an eyebrow.

“That has nothing to do with you.”

Just as I was about to walk past, Vanessa stepped in front of me with a mocking smile.

“Arielle, didn’t I make myself clear? Imperial Crest Manor is a luxury community. Poor people like you aren’t allowed in.”

“But if you really want to enter, fine. I heard one resident’s kid smeared poop all over the public restroom walls. The cleaning lady’s on leave, so you can go clean it up.”

“And while you’re at it, why not paint something on the walls? They’re a bit dull. I’ll even pay you 30,000 dollars. Better than delivering takeout, right?”

Julian chimed in as well.

“Arielle, Vanessa’s being generous. Don’t be ungrateful. No one buys your awful paintings anyway.”

I didn’t expect people could be this shameless.

“Since you two have such talkative mouths, why not put them to better use and lick the toilet clean yourselves? Keep your 30,000 and buy some mouthwash—you’ll need it to stop stinking up the place.”

Just last month, a European duke offered to trade two of his castles for one of my paintings—but I declined.

Is my art bad?

What a joke.

Hearing my retort, Manager Holloway immediately charged me.

“How dare you insult Mr. and Mrs. Cross like that? You must be tired of living!”

During the shoving, someone nearby shouted, holding up their phone:

“Wait! Stop making a scene. My friend just texted—he saw the international boss’s car coming from the hotel. His son’s in it!”

“Julian, Arielle insists on going in, but with a mouth like hers? She might scare the kid. What if the boss complains to his father? If he pulls out of the deal, that’s a disaster.”

“Exactly! She’s just a delivery worker. Let her go in. Don’t risk the cooperation just because of her.”

With Julian’s silent approval, Manager Holloway gave me a hard shove—

and pushed me inside.