A sharp, ear-piercing sound cut through the air, and Gretchen felt like her eardrums were about to burst.

“Someone… someone…”

Bernard sniffled then sprinted toward the car like he was in a hundred-meter race while Gretchen limped after him.

When she finally reached the car, she saw what happened: Marjorie’s high heels had gotten scuffed somehow, leaving a noticeable patch where the paint was chipped.

“What am I going to do, Bernie? It looks so ugly now!”

Bernard was about to get in the car when his phone buzzed with a reminder of his appointment—it was the shareholder meeting for one of his hotels, something he couldn’t skip.

“I’ll have the driver take you to IFC to buy a new pair,” he said, then turned to Gretchen. “You’re not busy, right? Go with Marjorie.”

He added, “Her back’s hurt from dancing, so she can’t bend down. You can help her change shoes.”

Marjorie smiled sweetly, her dimples shallow and delicate. “Thanks for helping me, Gret—”

“I’m busy,” Gretchen cut in.

Bernard looked like he couldn’t believe what he’d just heard. “What did you say, Gretchen?”

Gretchen didn’t hesitate to repeat herself. “I’ve got other things to do. I’m busy.”

With that, she turned and walked out of the parking lot, heading straight for a designer jewelry shop.

Even though the engagement ceremony wasn’t as formal as a wedding, she still needed an engagement ring.

She picked out a plain silver ring—no diamonds, no flashy plating. The design was simple and timeless, but the thick band made her fingers look even longer and more elegant.

The sales assistant greeted her with a polite smile. “Are you buying one ring or a pair, Ma’am?”

“A pair,” Gretchen answered.

“What’s the gentleman’s size, Ma’am? I can check if it needs to be custom-made.”

“Size 23,” Gretchen answered automatically.

As soon as the words left her mouth, she realized her mistake.

That was Bernard’s size. She knew it because, once upon a time, she’d secretly measured his finger while he was napping. But that detail didn’t matter anymore.

The sales assistant noticed her hesitation and reassured her with a warm smile.

“We can adjust the size for any ring—male or female. Why don’t you pick the design you like first, Ma’am?”

Gretchen finalized the order, arranged to pick it up in a week, and headed home feeling satisfied.

But while she was still in the cab on the way back, her phone rang. The sales assistant was on the other end, her voice trembling with panic.

In the background, Gretchen heard a familiar woman’s voice.

“Business is about selling to the highest bidder, isn’t it? I’m offering 10 times the price!”

Her chest started racing. “What happened?”

The sales assistant’s voice cracked, sounding like she was on the verge of tears. “There… There’s a woman who came in, and… and she really wants the ring you ordered, Ma’am. She’s demanding we… we sell it to her.”

That familiar voice interrupted again, sharp and entitled. “Here’s my payment. I’m taking it. My fiancé said if you don’t sell it to me, your stop won’t even open tomorrow!”

And then, the line abruptly went dead.

Gretchen didn’t need to guess. She knew exactly who the demanding customer was—Marjorie.

She closed her eyes briefly to compose herself, and then she pulled out her phone and dialed Marjorie’s number. The phone rang four times before it was answered, but the voice on the other end wasn’t Marjorie's.

It was Bernard. “Gretchen, you’ve got some nerve to lie to me. You said you were busy, but you were just out shopping instead!”

Gretchen didn’t even acknowledge his accusation. Her tone was cold and steady when she said, “Give it back.”

Bernard played dumb. “Give what back?”

After a pause, maybe realizing he couldn’t talk his way out of it, he finally said, “You mean the ring? Come on, Marjorie really likes it. Just let her have it.”

But Gretchen didn’t waver. “Why should I? Give it back to me.”

For a moment, Bernard was stunned. But when he spoke again, his tone was icy. “Hey, who do you think you’re talking to, huh?”

In the background, Marjorie’s sweet voice chimed in, full of fake innocence.

“Oh no, did I take something Gretchen liked? Bernie, don’t blame her. I’ll give it back if it’s such a big deal…”

Bernard gritted his teeth, his voice low and clearly restrained.

“Gretchen, can you stop being so difficult? I can call off the engagement anytime before it happens, you know.”

Gretchen replied calmly, “Suit yourself.”

After that, silence hung heavy in the air until Marjorie spoke again. “Gretchen, don’t be mad. I’ll give it back to you soon.”

Later that day, the doorbell rang at Gretchen’s place.

When she opened the package, she found the engagement ring—cut into four jagged pieces as if by wire cutters.

Along with it was a note.

[Gretchen, I promised Bernie I’d give it back to you. So… does this mean you’re not mad at me anymore?]

Before she could process her anger, the doorbell rang again.

It was Bernard, standing outside.

Gretchen’s hands trembled, but she refused to acknowledge him.

But he wouldn’t stop pressing the doorbell.

“Gretchen, open the door. Let me explain.”

Unable to take the noise anymore, Gretchen flung the door open. Bernard stood there, his hair a mess, his face full of impatience.

“I’ll compensate you for it,” he said. “How much do you want? Five thousand? Ten thousand?”

Gretchen closed her eyes briefly and shook her head. “It’s not about the money.”

“Then what is it? Didn’t you go through all this trouble to marry me for money?” Bernard’s voice was dripping with annoyance. “Gretchen, stop playing games. I told you before—you can’t have it all. With me, it’s either money or feelings. You can only pick one.”

Gretchen met his gaze, her face expressionless. “Is that so? Then I don’t want any of that.”

With that, she slammed the door shut.

Bernard stood frozen in shock, but anger quickly took over. He pounded on the door, shouting, “Gretchen, what the hell is that supposed to mean? Open the door and explain yourself! It’s just a stupid ring—why are you making such a big deal out of it?!”

Inside, Gretchen slid down to the floor slowly, listening to his muffled shouting in a daze.

Suddenly, her phone buzzed. It was Rheinold.

“Gretchen, Terrence came back early. He’s here with me right now. Do you have time to come over?”

Terrence—Bernard’s older cousin and the key figure in the family business.

He graduated from Harvard with a repurposing for staying out of the spotlight, but it was well-known that he managed more than half of the Golbersteins Co.’s major operations.

The young man was the most important and capable member of his generation, far ahead of everyone else in the family.

Gretchen vaguely remembered meeting him once as a child—a quiet, composed figure.

The invitation caught her off guard, especially since it was earlier than planned. But still, she agreed.

“Of course, Uncle Reinhold. I’m free.”

The old man chuckled on the other end of the line. “Oh, Gretchen, you’ve really got such a great personality— gorgeous and competent! We’re so lucky to have you in our family! Very well, I’ll send a driver to pick you up right away!”

After hanging up, Gretchen began to worry. Marjorie ruined her engagement ring, and her partner’s ring, which she had customized in a rush, was now useless too.

Still, after a moment’s thought, she carefully wrapped the broken pieces of the ring, placed them in a box, and tucked it into her purse.

As she stepped outside, a voice stopped her. “Where are you off to?”

Apparently, Bernard hadn’t left.

He leaned lazily against his car, his eyes scanning Gretchen’s from head to toe. His tone was dripping with sarcasm.

“Got your hair done? Wearing a dress? What, you’re heading to a red-carpet event?”

But Gretchen just ignored him completely, walking straight to the car Reinhold had sent.

Bernard’s smirk faded when she didn’t respond. He opened the car door and slid into the front passenger seat.

“It’s my family’s car. I can ride in it too.”

The driver then looked uneasy. “S-Sir, your father sent me to pick up Miss Marxhausen.”

Bernard snapped, “Wherever she’s going, I’m going too. Got a problem with that?”

With that, the car sped down the road and finally came to a stop in front of the Golbersteins’s Garden Café.

Bernard let out a dry laugh.

“So you’re hanging out with someone but in our café? Are you trying to avoid paying your bill? Whoah, Gretchen, you’re really something!”

Gretchen heard his sarcasm from behind her, but she kept walking. She couldn't deny though that her chest ached with sadness.

‘We’ve known each other for years. Sure, the Marxhausens aren't in the same league as the Golbersteins, but we’re doing just fine.’

‘And yet, Bernard thought she wanted to marry him just for his money.’

‘How ridiculous!’

Lost in thought, she didn’t notice the slick spot on the floor. Her foot slipped, and she landed hard on the ground.

Some sticky, wet substance clung to her skirt and legs. Dazed from the fall and still recovering from her injuries, she couldn’t get up right away.

She must’ve looked pitiful slumping there because Bernard’s voice came again, cold and mocking.

“What’s this? Trying to play the damsel in distress now?”

His tone was lazy, almost amused.

“If you ask me, if you wanna get a man’s attention, that trick works better for someone like Marjorie. She’s delicate enough to pull it off. You? You’re too tall and tough—it just doesn’t work.”

Just then, a concerned voice called out. “Gretchen? Are you okay? Did you hurt yourself?”

Looking up, she saw Reinhold rushing out of the café to supposedly greet her, his face full of worry.

Beside him was a tall, broad-shouldered younger man.

The man didn’t say anything. Seeing her slumped on the floor, he just stepped forward and helped Gretchen up gently.

He smelled faintly of clean laundry, a light, calming scent that reached her nose. The warmth of his hand seeped through her clothes, steadying her.

That made Gretchen’s face flush.

“It takes a hundred days to heal a broken bone. And I heard that you were in a car accident, so you should stay in bed and recover. What if this fall makes your injury worse?”

His voice was deep and magnetic.

Gretchen looked up and realized that the young man looked just like Bernard—sharp brows, blue eyes, striking features—but he carried himself with more maturity and warmth.

“Can you still walk?” he asked.

Gritting her teeth, Gretchen tried to take a step forward, but pain shot through her leg. She stumbled and fell right into his warm arms.

The next thing she knew, he scooped her up effortlessly.

“Don’t push yourself,” he said quietly.

At that moment, everyone’s attention was on Gretchen. No one noticed Bernard standing in the background, his face stormy, fists clenched tight.

Inside, Terrence set Gretchen down on a couch and knelt to check her injuries.

“Does it hurt?” he asked.

When his fingers brushed her skin, she flinched.

“Stay still,” he said firmly, and then he gestured to someone nearby. “Do you have a first aid kit? Bring it here please.”

The receptionist hurried off and returned with a disinfectant, cotton swabs, and bandages.

Terrence disinfected Gretchen’s wound quietly, his focus steady while Gretchen obediently stayed still.

Her mind drifted to the car accident. That day, her leg had been pinned tight by the car door. Desperation to save Bernard had pushed her to grit her teeth and yank her leg free. But the pain had been excruciating.

Compared to that, her new wound was nothing.

“I’m fine. It’s just a scratch,” she said, trying to ease Terrence’s serious expression. She didn’t want to trouble him any more than she already had.

“Even small wounds can get infected. Haven’t you heard of people dying from tetanus because they didn't get diagnosed and treated in time?” he said, his tone calm but firm. “So just stay still. I’ll take care of it quickly.”

Gretchen’s gaze drifted across the room, and her eyes met and locked with Bernard’s.

His stare was cold, filled with disdain and mockery.