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.”

Gwendolyn Morris worked at a large pharmacy situated near the bustling business district. Even though the street across was teeming with cars, customers were sparse by nine in the evening. At ten o'clock sharp, Gwendolyn clocked out. She switched off the lights, locked up, and headed to her scooter parked nearby, dialing Joey Davis on her phone as she walked.

Headlights from passing cars occasionally lit her way. It was that time of year when the temperature swung significantly from day to night, and the evening breeze was brisk. Gwendolyn wore the pharmacy’s standard blue scrubs beneath a black down jacket, her hair neatly tied in a bun, as per the store’s dress code.

Her phone emitted an automated message: "The number you have dialed is currently unavailable." Gwendolyn's elegant brows furrowed. She tried calling again twice, still no answer. Joey, who had worked an early shift today, should have been home by now. He'd recently started an Instagram account and often tinkered with it in their rented apartment after work. It was likely he wasn't answering because he was still busy selling drinks at the club.

Putting her phone away in her jacket pocket, Gwendolyn hopped on her scooter, donned her helmet, and merged into the traffic.

Inside the club’s private room, Joey was working with a rather agreeable client for the first time. He had managed to sell over a dozen bottles of alcohol, each priced above a thousand dollars, with some costing five figures—promising a hefty commission. Joey roughly estimated he could earn five to six thousand dollars tonight.

The dozen or so guests were animatedly engaged, clearly enjoying themselves. Yet one man sat alone, quietly nursing his drink in the dimmest corner of the room, disconnected from the festivities. While focusing on his client, Joey couldn't resist stealing glances at this solitary figure. With the dim lighting, Joey couldn't discern his face, yet something about him seemed oddly familiar.

A striking woman with a bob cut beckoned Joey. "Hey, handsome, come over here and tell me about the bottle next to you. If you impress me, I’ll take ten." The bottle was over a thousand dollars. Joey felt a thrill at the prospect of such a sale. It was indeed a night for witnessing the extravagance of wealth.

He quickly grabbed the bottle, crouched next to the woman, and began his pitch. After barely two sentences, she teasingly lifted his chin with her finger, remarking, "Up close, aren't you the same guy Mariana Griffin couldn’t snag? I heard the night she took you home, you called your girlfriend to pick you up from the Griffin estate. You’ve got guts, kid."

A man nearby sneered, "Guts? More like clueless. He had it easy and didn’t even know it." The woman laughed, "You don't get it. This is like straight out of a romance novel, pure drama."

Joey frowned and gently pushed the woman's hand away.

Chandler Hunter turned his gaze from Joey, making his way to the lone man sitting deep in the recesses of the private room. The laughter and chatter seemed detached from Marco Griffin, who was lounging on the couch, deep in thought. Chandler lit a cigarette for Marco and sat beside him. "What’s on your mind? You threw this party but are just brooding here?"

Marco replied nonchalantly, "Watching you all have fun is entertainment enough for me."

He wore silver-framed glasses with a silver-white shirt, the top two buttons undone, revealing a hint of his collarbone. Combined with his strikingly handsome face, he was alluring. He inhaled deeply, lounging back and staring at the soft glow of the ceiling light. Images of Gwendolyn’s face flitted through his mind as smoke curled from his lips. He wondered how she'd react if he blew smoke in her face. Would her meticulously composed demeanor crack?

Chandler nudged Marco, asking, "What’s got you lost in thought? That expression..." He paused, then muttered, "Like a predator sizing up prey." He glanced at Joey, who was tidying up the remaining bottles, ready to leave. Chandler chuckled, noticing, "Quite stubborn, isn’t he? A few jokes and he’s ready to walk out. Marco, I must admit, your sister knows how to pick them."

Marco didn’t respond to Chandler, his attention fixed on Joey. As Joey carried the drink basket out the door, a colleague’s voice reached them: "Hey, Joey, your girlfriend’s here to pick you up. Lucky guy, she’s..."

The door closed, cutting off the rest of the comment. Marco stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray, tossed on his jacket, and headed out.

Chandler stood up, calling, "Heading home already?"

Others in the room turned their attention to Marco as he left.

Without looking back, Marco waved to Chandler, "Enjoy your night; drinks on me."

The room erupted in cheers while Chandler hurried to catch up with Marco.

"I’ll join you."

Gwendolyn was seated in the club’s lobby area, looking up to see Joey approaching. She rose with a smile, meeting him halfway. Joey brushed her cheek gently. “Didn’t I tell you? It’s too cold on the roads; you might catch a cold on your scooter. Don’t come to pick me up next time. I can take the subway home.”

Gwendolyn held his hand, asking, "Drank much?"

Joey nodded, "A bit, had to for the clients, but not much—just a glass."

She felt a twinge of concern. Joey’s stomach wasn't great with alcohol, and drinking without eating wasn't wise. She pulled a warm sandwich from her pocket, wrapped carefully, and offered it to Joey. "Bought this on the way here. Kept it warm in my pocket. It’ll help with your stomach. Can we eat here, or should we step outside?"

Joey took a big bite directly from her hand. "No worries, a couple bites and it’s gone."

Holding Gwendolyn’s hand, he finished most of the sandwich in just a couple of bites.

She teased, "Skipped dinner again?"

Joey swallowed his last bite, chuckling sheepishly while pulling her into a hug. “Too busy, lost track of time.”

Gwendolyn looked up from his embrace, pretending to be stern. Joey quickly promised, "Next time, I’ll eat on time."

She poked him lightly in the chest, admonishing him, "Take care of your stomach."

Joey draped an arm over her shoulder, guiding her out. "Got it, let’s head home."

Unnoticed, Marco watched them leave, his expression darkening.

In the car, Chandler glanced at Marco in the back seat. "Didn’t you load up a hundred grand at the club just last year? Already burned through it? You’re too generous, topping up yourself like that."

Marco ignored Chandler, his focus on the scooter ahead—Gwendolyn hugging Joey tightly.

The club was in the city center, and even at nearly eleven at night, the traffic was still heavy. As the car approached Gwendolyn and Joey, Marco fixed his gaze on them and coldly instructed the driver, "Hit them."