They had just reached the study when they heard that.

Miles truly loved that woman. Years ago, the Vance family had forced him to choose between his position as heir and her. He'd chosen her without a moment's hesitation.

Three years had passed, and his resolve hadn't wavered. Amid her heartache, Molly felt an unexpected twinge of emotion.

Mrs. Vance's anger, barely contained, flared again. "Miles! If Molly's father hadn't saved your life back then, you wouldn't even be here. How can you say such things?"

"My survival had nothing to do with her father."

Mrs. Vance was so furious she started to cry, unable to fathom why her son refused to acknowledge this.

Molly didn't want him thinking she'd orchestrated this scene.

She gently embraced Mrs. Vance, murmuring something in her ear. The older woman's expression shifted, and she laughed.

Just like that, the tension dissolved.

Miles couldn't help glancing at Molly. She wore gray tailored trousers and a black knit sweater—minimalist and sharp. Paired with that striking, memorable face, the effect was dazzling.

Especially with that smile at the corner of her lips. Dazzling enough to be unforgettable.

His gaze darkened, and he looked away.

After they went downstairs, she said calmly that they shouldn't have married three years ago.

Miles studied her. Her tone was even, her eyes steady. She wasn't lying.

So she genuinely wanted a divorce?

Sensing his gaze, Molly met it without flinching—no longer blushing shyly as she once had.

Mrs. Vance clearly adored her, clasping her hands tightly. "After you divorce this foolish son of mine, just be my daughter instead. Your family's kindness—I haven't forgotten."

Mr. Vance agreed with the suggestion and asked what Molly wanted from the divorce settlement.

Molly hadn't expected things to go this way. Before she could find words for this awkward situation, her assistant called about an urgent matter at the company.

"Mom, Dad—there's an issue at the factory. I need to go handle it."

The factory?

"Isn't that out in the suburbs?" A two-hour drive, at least.

"Molly didn't bring her driver. You're her brother now—go with her." Mrs. Vance directed the last part at Miles.

He sat on the sofa, long legs stretched out in front of him. He didn't refuse, but everything about his posture radiated cold indifference—I'm not going.

They were getting divorced anyway. Molly didn't care about something this trivial.

"It's nothing major. I can handle it myself." She said goodbye to Mrs. Vance.

Mrs. Vance kicked her son's leg and leaned close to warn him: "Miles, keep pushing your luck and you can go live with that woman. Drop the Vance name entirely. Calling you her brother is already the biggest concession we're making."

Molly was putting on her coat in the foyer when Miles walked over, his jacket draped over his arm.

Once, this kind of compromise from him would have made her ecstatic.

Now, she just found it tiresome.

She didn't want his company, but she needed a driver. Without dwelling on it, she handed him the keys.

In the car, they didn't exchange a word—same as before.

Molly spent the entire two-hour drive on calls, dealing with work. She didn't stop once.

Miles glanced at her. A strand of hair had fallen against her cheek. From his angle, he could just make out the elegant slope of her nose, the vivid red of her lips.

When they arrived, Molly was about to get out when she remembered him. Covering the phone's mic, she said, "Thanks. And don't forget to get the brooch back—brother."

Miles's expression went cold. He let out a derisive scoff. She'd slipped into her role fast enough.

He stayed in the car, watching through the window as a crowd surrounded her.

He pulled out a cigarette, bent his head to light it, and sent Felix Henson his location—asking him to pick him up. He wasn't waiting for her.

Less than a minute later, Felix's voice call came through. "Bro, your wife becoming your sister—is that actually true?"

"Who told you?" Miles's voice was frigid.

"Your mom. She wants to throw Mol—I mean, your sister—a matchmaking party at the old estate this Saturday. Asked me to round up some decent-looking, reliable guys." A pause. "Bro, Molly's gorgeous. You two were never together together? Don't you think that's a waste?"

Miles ground his teeth. "And how would you know that?"

Felix didn't hold back. "Your mom again. She said, 'A wife that beautiful and he makes her his sister—is Miles an idiot?' The whole circle's talking. The going theory is you've got... performance issues."

Why else would a man keep a wife that stunning at arm's length?

Miles hung up and exhaled slowly.

Felix took two hours to arrive. Miles had planned to nap in the car, but the constant flow of vehicles through the industrial park grated on his nerves.

Felix took one look at Miles's sour mood and thought for a long moment. "Bro, this thing with Molly's company—it's blown up. Everyone's waiting to watch her fail. Are we really just... leaving?"

Miles leaned back in the passenger seat, eyelids lifting lazily. "You're suggesting I help her?"

"Professionally, this is a Vance factory. Personally, Molly's your wi—sister. Shouldn't we step in?"

Things on Molly's end had reached a boiling point.

She delegated tasks one by one, then touched base with the client. When she spotted Miles, she was caught off guard for a moment.

Miles was handsome—his dark suit tailored perfectly to his tall frame—but the hard lines of his face and the cold edge in his gaze when he looked at her killed any thought of admiring the view.

Felix jogged over, looking pleased with himself. "Molly, my brother's here to help you out."

Miles, helping her?

If he'd really wanted to help, he would've come in with her when she got out of the car. The fact that he'd waited this long meant his mother must have chewed him out again.

She had no use for his reluctant charity. "I can handle this myself."

Her refusal made Miles's brow furrow deeply.

"This is company business. You don't get to throw a tantrum."

A tantrum?

In his eyes, she was either scheming or throwing tantrums—just some conniving woman who couldn't separate work from personal feelings, right?

Molly didn't bother explaining. She turned to leave.

Miles grabbed her wrist, displeasure written all over his face. "What kind of attitude is that?"

His grip hurt. She tried to pull free, but he only tightened his hold, his gaze cutting into her like a blade.

She let out a dry laugh. "Attitude? This is exactly how you've treated me for three years. I do it once, and Mr. Vance can't take it?"

Miles went still for a moment.

Molly wrenched her wrist from his grasp and shook it out—a red ring already forming on her skin—before walking into the office.

Miles's expression turned dark. He'd never imagined the wife who always hovered around him would bite back so sharply.

It left a sour knot in his chest.

Felix was equally stunned, scratching the bridge of his nose. "Is that really Molly?"

Before, the moment she heard Miles was back in the country, Molly would cook his favorite dishes herself and wait for him to come home.

When he didn't show, she'd come looking for Felix. "Felix, could you take the food to him?"

There had been eagerness in her eyes—and hope that her husband might finally see her.

But now...

"What do we do now?" Felix asked.

"This is a Vance subsidiary. There's a billion-dollar export contract on the line."

Right. So they were helping whether she liked it or not.

To keep the two of them from fighting while still getting things done, Felix stepped in as mediator.

"Molly, this is the perfect chance to spend time with him—let him really get to know you."

Molly finished replying to a work message before answering. "Save that chance for someone else."

Felix's jaw dropped. He leaned closer, pushing harder. "Walking away now would be such a waste. You haven't even slept with him yet, and he's gorgeous."

Molly nodded. "Gorgeous." Her best friend had described Miles the same way. He really was a beautiful man.

"Felix, let me ask you something. If you saw a perfect apple covered in someone else's saliva, would you still take a bite?"

Felix fell silent.

So... she was calling his brother dirty.

Before he could say anything else, Molly's assistant pushed through the door. "Ms. Harding, we've borrowed everyone we could. They've already started working."

"Good. I'll go check on them." She headed for the door, but the assistant added, "Everyone's saying Sibyl Edwards is here."

Molly's steps faltered. She turned back to Felix with a smile. "As long as he stays, I'll definitely seize this 'perfect chance.'"

Felix was speechless.

Why was Sibyl showing up now to stir things up?

At the office building entrance, Molly ran into Miles, who was about to leave.

"Something important came up. I'll have Felix stay and help you."

Molly gave him a tight smile. "Sure."

Felix grabbed Miles before he could walk off, shooting him a meaningful look. "Didn't you just say this is a Vance subsidiary with a billion-dollar contract on the line? Nothing's more urgent or important than this right now, right?"

She didn't wait for Miles's answer. She walked away, because she already knew what it would be.

Anything involving Sibyl was always important.

She, Molly Harding, would never be important—and would never be chosen.

She was grateful she hadn't let Felix's talk of "the perfect chance" get her hopes up. Otherwise, how badly would her face be stinging right now?

Miles didn't get home until well past midnight.

In one corner of the living room, the suitcase he'd brought back yesterday sat untouched, exactly where he'd left it.

He thought of Molly.

For the past three years, he'd been living abroad. Every time he returned, she would greet him with that eager, ingratiating smile. His suitcase was heavy—heavy enough to make her slender frame tilt to one side—yet she'd still haul it upstairs, huffing with effort the whole way.

The way she used to look at him, all shy adoration. Nothing like this time.

He glanced at his phone. Multiple missed calls, most from Felix. None from her.

He called Felix back.

It took a while before the line connected. "Miles, I'm still working."

"Working with Molly?" Miles was skeptical. The factory situation was urgent, but hardly complicated.

"Yeah. Still at the Industrial Park."

Miles frowned. "It's taking this long to handle something that minor? What exactly is Molly doing over there?"

Felix felt a pang of indignation on Molly's behalf. "This wasn't what we thought—some simple mistake by the packaging supplier that could be fixed with a reprint or a new vendor. This was deliberate sabotage, designed to make sure the first shipment couldn't go out. If it weren't for Molly, we'd have been completely screwed."

Harbor City had a traditional preserved fruit specialty with a fixed annual export quota of two billion dollars to Japan and Korea. This year, one billion of that had been entrusted to a trading company under the Vances.

Today was supposed to be the first shipment. But the packaging materials for a hundred thousand units failed to meet standards. The designer had vanished. The manufacturer claimed ignorance. No other company had enough stock to replace or supplement on short notice.

When Miles arrived at the Industrial Park, Felix practically threw himself at him. "Miles, can you even imagine? Every single person in this entire complex has been working overtime, hand-labeling a hundred thousand packages. I've never suffered like this in my entire life!"

Miles pressed his lips into a thin line. He searched for a while before he finally spotted Molly near the entrance of the Sterile Workshop, peeling off her cleanroom suit.

Under the harsh fluorescent lights that made the space bright as noon, the glow fell across her face. Even from a distance, he could see her clearly.

Her bone structure was striking. Porcelain skin without a trace of makeup. The predawn chill cut deep, and she'd wrapped herself in a drab gray cashmere blanket, yet she still looked stunning—effortlessly, devastatingly beautiful.

Molly was finishing up a conversation with the current general manager. The man was in his forties, a full head taller than her, yet he listened to her with obvious deference.

"Miles, Molly didn't get where she is just because of your parents' help, you know?"

Felix was reminding him: when it came to Molly, Miles didn't just lack understanding—he was deeply prejudiced.

When Molly walked past Miles, she acted as though she hadn't seen him.

It wasn't deliberate coldness. She simply hadn't slept in over twenty-four hours, and by now, she was running on fumes.

"About today—I misjudged the situation. I'm sorry." His voice was quiet.

Molly hadn't expected an apology from Miles. She paused, tilting her head to look at him.

"Felix told me everything. If it weren't for you, the company would've been in serious trouble."

Printing the missing product labels, then applying them by hand—the solution was crude, but it was the only option available.

She had stayed calm under pressure, made quick decisions. She was sharp, capable, someone who solved problems.

For the first time, Molly saw something in his eyes that looked like genuine appreciation. Not that familiar icy disdain.

Her nose stung.

Three years. This was the first time he'd ever looked at her without hostility—and it had to be now, when she'd already decided on divorce.

She dropped her gaze. "Just doing my job. Can't exactly collect a paycheck for nothing."

After that, neither of them spoke.

Miles watched the night wind lift strands of her hair. She tucked her pale, slender neck deeper into the blanket for warmth. "I don't know you well," he said, "but my parents genuinely care about you. That says a lot about who you are. But there's someone else in my heart. I made her a promise—that I'd marry her—and I won't go back on my word. From now on, if you ever run into trouble, I'll have your back. As your brother."

He stood in the path of the wind. Carried on the cold night air was the faint trace of that woman's perfume.

A fine, piercing ache spread through Molly's chest. Tears welled in her eyes.

"I hope you two are happy together," she managed, her voice catching.