---

"Gwendolyn, come pick me up. Some woman set me up!" Joey's angry shout reverberated as I stood outside the villa.

I glanced at my phone; it was 2:03 AM. Situated in the city's most lively district, the villa felt isolated and quiet, except for a few dim street lamps that made the night seem even darker.

Normally, I’m the epitome of calm, but tonight annoyance lingered in my chest. Taking a deep breath, I rang the doorbell as I reached the entrance.

The door swung open quickly. An older man in a classic tweed suit stood there, observing me with mild interest. "You're here for Mr. Davis, I presume?"

I nodded. "Yes."

He gestured courteously for me to follow. "Please, come in."

The villa's courtyard was luxurious, yet in the subdued light, it seemed stark. In my haste to respond to Joey's call, I'd pulled on a light gray cardigan over my leggings. The crisp night air nipped at my skin, raising goosebumps.

A few minutes later, I was led into the villa's grand living room. The first thing I spotted was a man sitting prominently in the center. Before I could make out his features, something collided with me unexpectedly.

It was Joey.

Though awake, the alcohol still clouded his senses. He clung to me, words slurred, “Gwendolyn, if you hadn’t come, I’d have lost everything. She said she wanted to buy me drinks, but then her friends got me drunk and dragged me here.”

Joey worked as a server at a swanky nightclub, earning more than I did at the pharmacy. He rarely turned down drinks with clients, especially with his rugged looks and athletic build, often drawing attention from the wrong crowd.

Fueled by a mix of indignation and alcohol, Joey turned to point at a young woman lounging on the sofa, raising a challenging eyebrow. "What you did was way out of line! I'm taken, and your advances are unwelcome."

With determination, he grabbed my hand and steered us towards the exit.

Suddenly, an authoritative voice commanded, “Joey, hold on!”

The young woman jumped up from the sofa, her pretty features twisted with anger and embarrassment. Her fingers sparkled with oversized diamond rings. "Who do you think you are? You should be grateful I’m interested!"

A man’s gentle voice interjected, despite the reprimand in it. "Mariana, that’s enough."

He stood, revealing his strikingly handsome face—sharp features softened by his pallor and the warm empathy in his eyes, suggesting a gentle soul beneath a stern exterior. It didn’t take long to realize he was someone who battled chronic insomnia.

Offering a sincere smile, he spoke with genuine remorse, "I apologize for my sister’s behavior. It won't happen again, but if by chance it does, we’ll ensure the authorities are involved."

His calm demeanor was reassuring, and I nodded in acceptance. "I appreciate your understanding, but if anything like this happens again, I won’t hesitate to report it."

He maintained his gentle smile, full of apology. "I understand. Luckily, no harm came to your boyfriend. I hope tonight’s ordeal doesn’t affect your relationship."

Boone, one of his staff, stepped forward with an elegantly wrapped gift box and handed it to the man. Extending it to me, he said, "A small token of apology."

I quickly declined, "That’s unnecessary. Thank you."

Before I could finish, Joey leaned heavily against my shoulder, asleep.

Despite our awkward stance given my five-foot-five frame against Joey’s six-foot stature, the stress of the evening had left him exhausted, choosing to lean on me, the one he trusted.

I gently tousled his curly hair, trying to wake him, but rousing a drunk man turned out to be impossible.

The man glanced at the clock, then asked, "May I have your name?"

“Gwendolyn Morris,” I replied, turning my gaze back to him.

Smiling warmly, he introduced himself, "Marco Griffin. It’s late, Miss Morris. If you and Mr. Davis would like, you're welcome to stay the night; we have several guest rooms available."

Mariana’s sulking voice interrupted, her foot stomping dramatically. "Marco!"

Marco turned to her, his tone indulgent. "No more fussing. It’s late. Boone, please escort Miss Griffin to her room."

Boone bowed slightly to Mariana. "Miss, this way please."

With a huff, Mariana shot me a glare before grudgingly storming upstairs.

“Miss Morris?” Marco asked, looking for my decision.

Gently, I shook Joey awake, whispering in his ear, “Joey, let’s go home.”

He stirred slightly, and I coaxed him gently, “Let’s leave.”

We walked hand in hand towards the exit when Marco's voice stopped us. “Miss Morris.”

He instructed Boone to arrange for a driver to take us home. Not allowing me the opportunity to refuse, Marco added with a wry smile, “If you don’t accept even that, I’ll feel too guilty to sleep tonight.”

A glance at his weary face prompted my soft response, “Thank you.”

...

Later, Marco watched from his bedroom window as I helped Joey into the car. His fingers absently searched his chest pocket for a cigarette that wasn’t there in his fresh shirt.

The room remained dark as Marco retrieved a cigarette from a drawer, placing it between his lips, though unlit, while Boone entered with a respectful nod. “Sir.”

Without turning, Marco responded coolly, “If she’s that interested in men, find her a few more. And that brother of hers, isn't he tired of their family's oversight? If they love this world so much, let's help them enjoy it fully.”

Boone nodded in understanding, “Yes sir. And regarding Miss Morris and Mr. Davis?”

Silence followed Boone's question as Marco returned to the window. The car carrying Gwendolyn and Joey had long since disappeared into the night. Fingering his lighter, a flicker briefly lit his face, casting eerie shadows across his handsome features.

Smoke curled from his lips as his voice mingled with the dusky air, “They seem truly devoted to each other.”

That was all he said, but Boone, who had been with him since the age of fifteen, knew well that Marco secretly loathed couples who genuinely loved each other.

The night was dark and heavy, with neon lights outside resembling stars embedded in the horizon, streaming their flickering light freely into the study. Inside the spacious room, only a single warm table lamp was lit, casting a soft glow over two men seated across a mahogany desk.

The older man, settled in the executive chair behind the desk, gently rubbed the rim of a coffee cup, his sharp eyes focused on Marco, his voice steady. "Mariana might be young and impressionable, easily swayed by the smooth talk of the men outside. But as her older brother, you must stay level-headed and fulfill your responsibilities. You can’t let these incidents happen again."

Just two days ago, Mariana had caused quite a scandal in their social circle by injuring a suitor over some male model. Their father, Henry Griffin, had been vacationing in the Caribbean with his girlfriend but rushed home as soon as he got the news.

Marco lowered his gaze, appearing to listen intently, his long, strong fingers absently spinning a lighter. After a moment of thought, he chuckled softly. "Father, you’re right, Mariana did go too far this time. Fortunately, the Griffin family stands behind her—it’s just a concussion after all, and just a wedding on the line. As her half-brother, it's tough for me to be too critical; young girls can be so sensitive."

Henry Griffin rose from his chair and slowly approached Marco. He patted Marco’s shoulder lightly, portraying a concerned and thoughtful father. "Marco, are you still holding onto grudges from the past? I know you were wronged, and I’ve tried to make amends over the years. Sometimes, it’s best to move on."

His words seemed caring, yet carried a subtle warning. Marco tilted his head, his warm eyes meeting his father’s gaze, brows furrowing slightly in genuine confusion. "The past? Which incident would that be, Father?"

Each injustice was etched in Marco's heart, but there was no one to speak on his behalf. A breeze had started up outside, causing the newly budded magnolia tree to sway, as if performing an eccentric dance.

Henry found himself momentarily at a loss for words, pondering how to respond when Marco’s eyes crinkled with a playful smile. "You’re overthinking it, Father. Mariana is my sister, and I care deeply for her."

Henry exhaled slowly, smiling. "Among the three of you, you’ve always been the most obedient and least troublesome. It’s comforting to hear you say that. By the way, there’s a charity event at the Elysian Senior Center soon. I’d like you to represent the family. These events are great for your public image."

Marco glanced down, a cold smirk playing on his lips. "Alright."

Satisfied with Marco’s agreement, Henry Griffin left, leaving Marco alone in the dimly lit room, his eyes fixed on the lighter in his hands.

Boone entered the room. "Sir, are you really going to the charity event next Sunday? It’s like taking the blame for someone else."

A cold voice replied, "Why would it be for someone else? He's my brother. By the way, how did Father explain it to the public back then?"

Boone answered, "He said his son was naive but well-meaning, having just signed a donation project with the senior center. But sir, you weren’t the one who lost two hundred million at a Las Vegas casino. The media merely said it was the Griffin family's heir without specifying who. Given that your mother was Father’s legitimate wife, people assume it’s you."

Marco nodded. "Then, tonight, let’s make sure the pictures are clear and the story is well-written."

Boone paused, his phone ringing at that moment. He answered, and whatever he heard lit up his usually impassive face with delight. Hanging up, he grinned at Marco. "Sir, our sources say your brother lost quite a bit at the casino in Monaco tonight."

"Fantastic."

Boone, still excited, said, "Looks like the press in Monaco will be pulling an all-nighter."

Marco replied calmly, "Let’s make sure they’re well compensated for their efforts."

Boone gave Marco a thumbs-up. "Sir, that’s a smart play. Also, Mariana's incident with that suitor cuts off a potential ally for your brother. If the Kennedy family had supported them, it would’ve been difficult for us."

---

The Elysian Senior Center was nestled in the suburbs, surrounded by natural beauty with an open view. A few days earlier, Marco had ensured that the center’s head was informed: no ceremony, no photos, and no interviews for the donation event.

The head of the center had been so moved by these requests that his eyes turned red. When Marco arrived, the man warmly grasped Marco's hand. "There aren’t many like you who quietly do good, Mr. Griffin. Thank you, truly, on behalf of all 106 residents here."

Marco’s smile was gentle. "Director Collins, you’ve devoted much of your life to the elderly and charity. Compared to your efforts, my contributions are modest."

They exchanged pleasantries and entered the center. Boone was overseeing the unloading of donations from the truck. It was just eleven o’clock, the perfect time for the seniors to be active, and Marco watched from the end of the corridor as they gathered around a woman.

The woman had her back to Marco, and though he couldn’t hear her words, the joy on the faces of each resident was clear.

Director Collins smiled. "Oh, that's a volunteer who often comes by to help. A while back, some residents struggled with insomnia, so today she brought calming herbal tea and incense. She's very caring."

Just then, Boone approached. "Director, we've unloaded everything." Director Collins nodded. "I’ll go check the inventory. Mr. Griffin, please feel free to explore. We can have lunch together afterward." With that, Director Collins hurried off.

Marco withdrew his gaze, looking down the corridor again to where, among those sincere smiles, the woman turned, and he recognized a familiar face.

Her lips lifted slightly, her smile as warming as a gentle breeze.

Boone’s voice was tinged with surprise. "Isn't that the woman from the other night…"

"Gwendolyn Morris." Marco’s voice was calm but cool.

Boone snapped his fingers. "Right, that's her, Miss Morris. What's she doing here?"

Marco Griffin was certain that Gwendolyn Morris had recognized him when their eyes briefly met. Some people have a presence that lingers in the memory—a standout quality. In such moments, the other person would usually initiate the greeting. But Gwendolyn didn’t.

She was busy, gently massaging the arm of an elderly woman with silver hair, her skilled hands alternating between soft and firm pressure. In a soothing voice, she advised the lady to keep her dinner light and avoid overindulging in sweets. The elderly woman agreed wholeheartedly, only to be humorously betrayed by her companion, who revealed her weakness for desserts. This made Gwendolyn laugh—a smile warmer than the spring sunshine.

“Let’s go,” Marco said, turning away, beginning to walk off. Boone Williams, trailing behind him, asked softly, “Aren’t you going to say hello to Miss Morris?”

Marco stopped and shot Boone a sidelong glance. “Do we know each other that well?” he replied, feigning indifference.

Boone lowered his head, acknowledging his error. After exchanging farewells with the director of the nursing home, Marco left.

The sleek black car pulled away from the nursing home, merging onto the expansive highway. Marco sat in the back seat, his gaze settling on Gwendolyn, standing alone at the bus stop.

It was March in the North, the season when cherry blossoms were in full bloom. The highway was lined with cherry trees, and Gwendolyn blended into the backdrop of pink blossoms and the bus stop sign, resembling a picturesque scene. As the car was about to drive past, Marco instructed the driver, “Stop.”

The driver braked, bringing the car to a halt a short distance from the bus stop, then reversed slowly to stop right in front of Gwendolyn.

Instinctively, Gwendolyn turned to look. The window lowered gradually, revealing Marco’s gentle, smiling eyes.

“Miss Morris?”

Marco's smile widened, his tone polite and warm. “What a coincidence, Miss Morris. Are you heading back to town as well?”

Gwendolyn was momentarily caught off guard. They had seen each other just half an hour ago, without exchanging greetings, yet here he was, stopping to ask.

Gathering herself, Gwendolyn nodded with a smile. “Yes.”

“What a coincidence. It’s not easy to catch a cab here. I could give you a ride if you don’t mind—it’s on my way.”

From here to the city, only one bus route operated, with a sporadic schedule. Sometimes, the wait could be over an hour. Normally, Gwendolyn wouldn’t mind waiting, but today she had only taken a half-day leave from work and needed to be back by two o’clock. It was already twelve-thirty.

Gwendolyn smiled. “Thank you, Mr. Griffin, I’d appreciate the ride.”

With Boone in the front passenger seat, Gwendolyn sat in the back with Marco. The car’s interior was roomy, yet sitting next to Marco made her feel uneasy. She subtly leaned towards the car door, creating a comfortable distance between them.

Marco appeared oblivious, turning his head slightly as he asked, “Miss Morris, what brings you here?”

Gwendolyn hesitated. Hadn’t he seen her? But she kept her smile. “I came to visit the elderly at the nursing home.”

Marco looked briefly surprised, a hint of confusion crossing his face. “You were at the nursing home too? What a coincidence. I just left there myself, yet I didn’t see you.”

He chuckled self-deprecatingly, adding, “Sorry, I wasn’t wearing my glasses today. Maybe I didn’t recognize you from afar. If I overlooked you, please don’t take offense.”

Gwendolyn couldn’t decipher his sincerity, but Marco’s excessively polite demeanor almost made her feel like the impolite one. She smiled. “You’re too kind, Mr. Griffin.”

The car sped along the road, the scenery blurring past the windows. The heater was on high, making Gwendolyn feel a little too warm. She unbuttoned her coat, revealing the light pink sweater beneath, the fabric clinging to her figure.

Marco watched her movement with an inscrutable expression, his eyes carrying a hint of skepticism.

The drive took two hours, passing mostly in silence. When the car finally stopped at her destination, Gwendolyn retrieved three sachets from her bag.

“These are sachets I made for the elderly at the home—extras really,” she explained. “They contain herbs that aid sleep. You can place them by your pillow for relaxation.”

With that, she handed the sachets to Marco, Boone, and the driver.

Boone handled the sachet reverently, marveling at its beauty—it was his first time seeing such a delicate item. Made from sea-blue silk and adorned with a golden tassel, it was both elegant and tasteful.

Boone and the driver were clearly delighted, thanking Gwendolyn repeatedly.

Marco held his sachet with a polite smile. “You’re very thoughtful, Miss Morris.” But if you looked closely, his eyes held no warmth.

Gwendolyn nodded politely, thanked them again, and stepped out of the car.

As the car started again, Boone admired the sachet, turning it over in his hands. He chuckled, “Miss Morris gave such a thoughtful gift—a sachet to help with sleep, knowing about your insomnia, Mr. Griffin…”

Boone suddenly realized his oversight. Only those close to Marco knew about his insomnia. How did Gwendolyn, who had only met Marco twice, know?

Boone glanced at Marco through the rearview mirror, choosing his words carefully. “But Miss Morris did say these were for the home, so perhaps it was just a coincidence.”

Marco’s slender fingers fiddled with the tassel, his expression unreadable.

Silence fell over the car once more until they entered a city tunnel. In the brief darkness, images of the elderly at the nursing home, gazing at Gwendolyn with reverent eyes, flickered through Marco's mind. It was as if they were admiring a warm, compassionate presence.

Marco allowed himself a quiet scoff. As they exited the tunnel, Marco rolled down his window, the March sunlight casting a glow on one side of his face while the other remained in shadow.

“Pull over,” Marco instructed the driver.

He stepped out, walked to a trash bin, and casually tossed the sachet inside, muttering a single word: “Pretend.”

Boone, standing behind, discreetly patted the sachet in his pocket. The next moment, he heard his boss say, “Boone, have you heard the saying, ‘Forbidden fruit is the sweetest’?”

Boone nodded, “I think I’ve heard something like that.”

Marco’s eyes held a mocking glint. His deep, leisurely voice carried a hint of coolness. “Yet she seems so devoted to her boyfriend, she might just resist temptation.”