"What's the matter?"

In the back of the black Maybach, a man of almost surreal features sat in silence, turning the pages of a magazine without looking up.

The driver's voice trembled slightly. "Sir… I believe we may have struck someone."

"Go and check if they're alive."

The driver grabbed an umbrella and hurried out of the car.

Through the sheets of rain, he saw a woman lying on the ground. She was curled up, perilously close to the tires. One more foot, and it would have been a tragedy.

"Miss! Are you okay?"

The driver crouched down, taking in the sight of the utterly drenched young woman.

Her hair was stuck to her pallid face, her slender frame shaking violently in the torrential rain—she looked like she could barely hold herself up.

"Help me!"

Claire lifted her head, the headlights blinding her. She could see nothing clearly, but with all her remaining strength, she reached out and clutched the driver's pant leg.

"Please… save me!"

She couldn't die. Not yet. She had revenge to take. Iris and Calvin had to pay.

"There she is!"

A low, rough shout came from behind, followed by the pounding footsteps of several men rushing toward them.

"Help me!"

The disturbance outside finally drew Jordan Bennett's attention. He glanced through the window.

Through the rain-streaked glass, he saw several men surrounding a woman. They had hauled her up, leaving her helpless—a lamb awaiting slaughter.

He had only meant to look. He had no intention of intervening.

But when the woman turned her face slightly in his direction, his brows drew sharply together.

He opened his umbrella and stepped out of the car. Long, deliberate strides carried him toward the commotion.

"Sir… they—" the driver began.

"Let her go."

His voice was ice, cutting through the din of the rain. Claire squinted, straining to make him out, but the downpour rendered his features an indistinct blur.

"Please… save me," she pleaded again.

The rain-diffused light fell clearly on her face.

Jordan's grip on the umbrella handle tightened imperceptibly. Then, his voice dropped, low and commanding. "I said… let her go."

"Who the hell do you think you are?" one of the thugs sneered, stepping forward to shove him.

Jordan turned, and with a swift motion, the man was sent sprawling into a deep puddle with a heavy splash.

The others, stunned by his speed and precision, hesitated.

"Get him! All of you, now!"

One by one, they fell. Jordan dispatched them with effortless, brutal efficiency.

Their leader, seeing the situation, immediately released Claire and scrambled away in a panic.

"Claire… can you hear me?"

Jordan bent down and gathered her into his arms.

The years had changed her—she had grown, matured into her features.

Her eyes remained closed, long lashes quivering faintly, like the delicate wings of a trapped butterfly.

"Don't touch me…" The girl shivered violently in his embrace.

A frown etched itself between Jordan's brows. Something long dormant within his chest seemed to fracture and stir.

Even the driver had recognized her. "Oh, isn't this the Aniston girl? The one who's causing a stir by choosing a groom by lottery? Master George said she could pick from any eligible heir in the Bennett family."

"Hm." Jordan raised an eyebrow. "And Calvin doesn't want her?"

"That's the rumor, sir. He's apparently involved with Claire's half-sister… the illegitimate Aniston daughter."

"Ha." A cold, humorless smile touched Jordan's lips. "My… nephew has remarkably poor taste. To spurn the woman who pursued him for years in favor of an illegitimate child."

He didn't like her. Fine.

Jordan did.

If he hadn't heard she was resorting to a marital lottery, he wouldn't have returned at all.

Claire bolted upright in bed, gasping, the phantom weight of those men still clinging to her skin. Fear coiled in her chest, her heart hammering against her ribs.

"You're awake?"

A stranger's voice sounded beside her. Claire looked up just as a man stepped out of the bathroom.

He was shirtless, his physique so flawlessly defined it looked sculpted—broad shoulders, a tapered waist, every muscle taut with restrained power. A towel hung low on his hips, the deep V-line of his abdomen on full display. The sight was effortlessly, devastatingly masculine.

Heat flooded her cheeks. She yanked the blanket up to her chin, panic tightening her throat. "Who are you? Where am I?"

"You don't remember?" The man raised a brow. "This is the Bennett estate. Take a guess."

"You're… Calvin's uncle. Jordan?"

A hazy memory surfaced. They'd lived under the same roof briefly when she was a child, before he'd left for overseas. She hadn't seen him since.

"Hm. Not bad." He gave a slight, approving nod. "I hear you're trading up from Calvin. Had enough of him?"

Claire looked down, her voice quiet but firm. "Yes. I refuse to be a stepping stone for him and Iris."

Jordan's eyebrow arched higher. "When did the boy go blind?"

His tone softened, almost imperceptibly. "Don't waste your sadness on him. You can do far better. I'm looking forward to the wedding."

He reached out, ruffling her hair with a casual familiarity before turning back to the bathroom. He emerged moments later, fully dressed, and left the room without another word.

Watching him go, Claire felt an inexplicable flutter in her chest.

Not long after, George hurried in, worry etched on his face.

"Claire, my dear! Are you alright? What happened? Did that grandson of mine upset you again?"

"I'm fine, Grandpa George," she assured him. "Would it be possible for me to stay here at the estate for a few days?"

"Of course, of course! You rest. I'll handle everything else."

She reached out, stopping him gently. "Grandpa George… please, don't tell Calvin I'm here."

"You have my word," he promised.

…

Meanwhile, across town, Iris had woken screaming from a nightmare that night and wept uncontrollably. Calvin rushed her to the hospital and spent two full days calming her, barely leaving her side.

It wasn't until the eve of the wedding that Calvin realized he hadn't heard a word from Claire in all that time.

Returning home, he questioned the staff, only to learn she hadn't been back once.

"Calvin, I'm so sorry," Iris wept, burying her face in his chest. "If it weren't for me, Claire wouldn't have run away. The wedding is tomorrow… what are you going to do?"

"Good riddance," Calvin said coldly.

He pulled her closer. "You've suffered in the shadows long enough, Iris. All so you could someday stand openly by my side in this family."

"It's okay," she whispered, the picture of devotion. "I'll stay quietly with you. I'll be the woman behind you. It's just… Claire keeps trying to hurt me. I don't know how much more I can take."

Iris dissolved into fresh sobs. Calvin held her, his voice low and reassuring. "Once I have full control of the Bennett empire, once the power is truly mine, I'll divorce Claire. Not even Grandpa will be able to stop me then."

"I believe you," Iris murmured. "I'll wait for you."

She rose on her toes and kissed him first.

Calvin's restraint shattered. He took her, again and again, losing himself in the promise of a future he was determined to seize.

…

Back at the Bennett family estate, Claire's phone buzzed with a series of messages from Iris. Attached was a video.

It showed Iris and Calvin, entangled in his bed.

Iris: [Claire, so sorry—your fiancé is in my bed right now. He's incredible. He's had me so many times.]

Iris: [I wonder… on your wedding night tomorrow, will he be in my room, or yours?]

Iris: [So what if you marry him? He's always loved me! Claire, why do you get to be the cherished Aniston heiress while I'm the shameful secret? Even with your family ruined, George still dotes on you! I'm taking everything from you. Everything. Including Calvin.]

Reading the messages one by one, Claire typed a simple reply: [So you don't love him. You just want to win against me.]

Iris: [Yes! I'm stealing him from you! I want you to hurt! I want you to regret ever crossing me!]

A faint, cold smile touched the corner of Claire's mouth.

Perfect.

That was exactly the confession she needed.

She printed out every single message. Tomorrow, she would give Calvin a surprise he'd never forget.

The next morning, Calvin put on his tuxedo and, flanked by his friends, headed to the hotel.

Iris cried the whole way. Calvin couldn't stand to see her upset, so he let her ride with him in the lead car.

When they arrived, Calvin was met with a crowd of relatives he hadn't seen in years.

Every one of them was a rising star in the Bennett family, people whose names he knew well. Some had once looked down on him for being born out of wedlock, but now they were all here. Calvin turned to his friends with a smug smirk.

"See this? Every Bennett who ever sneered at me is here. They've heard I'm on the rise and now they want to get close. They're all dressed up, trying to look important.

"Where's Claire? Why isn't she here yet?"

No sooner had he spoken than the young elites milling near the entrance began flowing into the hotel lobby. Not one of them even glanced his way.

"Come on, the draw's about to start!"

"I hope I get picked! It'd save our branch of the family!"

"To marry Claire and get a massive reward? Who wouldn't want that?"

Calvin watched the crowd pushing forward, then snagged one man by the arm. "What's going on? What draw?"

"You haven't heard?" the man said, looking at him curiously. "Your ex-fiancée, Claire, is inside holding a lottery to choose a husband. Whoever's name she draws, she marries."

"What?"

Calvin could hardly believe his ears. "A marriage lottery? Has she lost her mind? She's my fiancée—who else would she want?"

"You're joking, right? She called off the engagement and made a public announcement. Didn't you get the memo? Every eligible Bennett man is in the running… except you. You're out."

Calvin stood frozen, a cold dread seeping into his veins.

"That's impossible… She wouldn't."

He shoved his way into the hotel lobby, rage speeding his steps.

On the stage stood Claire, poised and serene, with George at her side.

"Welcome, everyone, to the union of the Aniston and Bennett families. Today's ceremony will be a bit unconventional," George announced. "Claire has decided to select her husband by lot from among the eligible Bennett men present. Anyone within a suitable age range may participate. Your names are already in the box. Whomever she draws will be today's groom. Furthermore, to celebrate Claire's marriage, I have decided: the man she marries will receive twenty percent of the Bennett Group's shares!"

"Twenty percent?"

Calvin saw red. He had spent years currying favor with his grandfather—and had been granted a mere five percent! And now, marrying Claire came with twenty?

"No, Grandpa! What is this? A lottery? I'm Claire's fiancé! Why a lottery?"

He tried to charge the stage but was held back by attendants.

Claire lifted her gaze, her expression cool and detached, and looked directly at him.

"Calvin, I told you. Our engagement is over. The man I marry today will not be you."

Seeing her utter indifference, Calvin's fury exploded. "Claire, what game are you playing? I'm right here! If you're not marrying me, then who? You've been obsessed with me for ten years. I don't believe for a second you'll marry anyone else!"

"Enough! You forfeited your right to speak! You had your chance and you threw it away. Since you don't want the Bennett shares, they'll go to someone who does!"

George's voice boomed through the hall. Calvin gritted his teeth, frustration boiling inside him. He didn't want Claire—but he desperately wanted those shares.

"Proceed, Claire," George commanded.

Below, Calvin's friends muttered among themselves, still in denial.

"Go on, draw! Let's see what stunt she's pulling."

"I bet the box only has Calvin's name in it."

"She's been in love with him for a decade. She could never marry anyone else."

Ignoring them, Claire reached into the ornate lottery box and drew a single bamboo slip without hesitation.

The entire room held its breath.

She looked down at the name inscribed on it.

Jordan.

Her hand stilled. Jordan? That was impossible. How could his name be in there?

George blinked, equally surprised. The draw was supposed to be for the younger generation. How had his own son's name gotten into the mix?

Below the stage, a man in a impeccably tailored suit sat with elegant composure, a faint smile on his lips.

Today's groom was never going to be anyone else.

It was always going to be him.