The remnants of the dress lay scattered on the gritty pavement. Nana shut her eyes, repeating to herself that there was no one to come to her aid. She knew the risks of venturing into such a tumultuous place, didn't she?

A black BMW glided to a stop beneath the streetlight. The driver turned his gaze toward the woman in distress among the crowd and, after a pause, turned back toward the rear seat and asked with quiet urgency, "Mr. Hamilton, what should we do?"

In the dimly lit back seat sat a man in his fifties, his neatly cut hair just beginning to turn gray. He opened his weary eyes briefly before shutting them again. "Bring her to me."

"Yes, sir," the driver replied, huffing in resignation as he made his way toward the rabble.

"Stop!" His voice sliced through the noise, leaving everyone startled. A blond man eyed him skeptically, believing his slender frame posed no threat. "Who do you think you are, butting into my business?" he snapped.

The driver remained calm, gesturing toward Nana in the crowd, and in a measured tone asked, "Could you let her go?"

The blond man paused, glancing back at Nana. He chuckled, assuming this was all a ridiculous joke. The driver, unwavering, stepped forward to guide Nana away, but the blond man stopped laughing and commanded his friends, "Bring that woman over here. Looks like she's in demand today."

Nana searched the driver's face for answers, but he wouldn't meet her gaze. She turned her focus to the car, nearly obscured in darkness. The figure inside made her heart burn with rage. Clenching her teeth, she shouted at the driver, "I don't need your help. Leave me alone!"

"Miss," he called, glancing back at the black car, "Mr. Hamilton wants to talk with you."

Talk? Nana scoffed, averting her gaze from the car. She draped her arm casually over the blond man's shoulder, leaning into him with a sweet, playful voice. "How about we go somewhere... quieter?"

"S-sure..." The blond man was captivated, his eyes roaming over her low-cut top, swallowing hard as he reached toward her neckline.

"How about ten thousand dollars?" The driver sighed, uncertain how else to manage the situation.

"What? Ten thousand..." The blond man echoed, pondering the offer, "Ten thousand dollars?"

"Yes, cash," the driver affirmed, believing there was nothing money couldn’t resolve.

"Ten thousand, huh?"

"Yes, ten thousand."

The blond man was stunned, his comrades huddling to estimate its worth. He tightened his grip on Nana's wrist and sneered, "You think ten grand fixes this? Do you even know who I am?"

Seems money had its boundaries. The driver hadn't anticipated such greed. "How much do you want, then?"

"Look at her. She's worth at least a hundred thousand. Out of respect, how about ninety-nine thousand nine hundred dollars? Then she's yours."

"Please, wait."

The driver felt a bit relieved, fearing the demand might be higher. He returned to the black car, relaying the situation to the man inside.

The blond man leaned in, watching the driver nod towards the car repeatedly, glancing occasionally his way. Worried the driver might backtrack, he threatened, "Not a dime less, or she's going to the club with me!"

Nana attempted to free herself from his grip, ready to escape while unnoticed. But he knew she was his golden goose and held firm. His piercing look made her retreat.

Once done reporting, the driver collected a dark bag from the car, took out bundles of hundred-dollar bills, counted them, and handed them over. "Can I take her now?" he asked.

The blond man was dazzled by the money. His interest in Nana evaporated as he eagerly gathered the cash, wrapping it in his worn shirt. "Alright, she's yours," he chuckled. "Let's party, guys—drinks on me!"

The crowd dispersed, leaving Nana relieved but silent as she turned to go. The driver blocked her path. "Miss, Mr. Hamilton is waiting."

"Whoever Mr. Hamilton is, that's your problem. Thanks for helping, but I’ll repay you."

No one noticed the deep sadness in her eyes, like a butterfly lost in the night.

"You don't need to repay. Just talk to him, okay?"

"I told you, I don't know him. Let me go, or I’ll call the police!" Nana was close to breaking down. Since his sudden arrival, her blood felt like it might burst from her veins, staining the street with bitter tears.

"Emmie, that’s enough!"

The commanding voice cut the tension. Nana and the driver turned to see the car door open. Mr. Hamilton emerged, with gray at his temples and years etched into his forehead. His expression was stern. Nana straightened, defiantly. "Who are you to lecture me?"

"I’m your father! Just look at yourself. Your mother would be devastated," Mr. Hamilton approached, seeing her disheveled state. He addressed the driver, "Find her something decent nearby."

The driver nodded, smiling at Nana. "I'll be back soon."

Nana met Mr. Hamilton’s gaze coldly. It was the first time he seemed concerned, and she didn’t buy it. "What's your true motive here?"

Mr. Hamilton eyed the nightclub sign disdainfully. "I want you to marry the eldest son of the Thomas family."

"The Thomas family?" Nana sneered. Thomas Corp was the city’s business titan, with firms clamoring for ties. She knew of Martin Thomas’s two sons. The elder, Hunter Thomas, returned from abroad two years ago, steering the company with global strategies, gaining the board's support. Hunter was evidently heir apparent.

The younger son, Nana only knew by name—Finley Thomas, nothing more.

No wonder Hamilton wanted the alliance. But why her? Why not his treasured daughter?

"If you marry him, you won’t end up in places like this. Plus, your mother's medical bills are covered," Hamilton pressed, convinced she wouldn’t turn it down.

"Why not have Kairi marry Hunter Thomas?"

The Hamilton daughter was far superior. Nana voiced her confusion—surely Hamilton would save the best for Kairi.

Hearing her name, Hamilton’s face softened. "Kairi isn’t interested in Hunter. Marrying Thomas Corp's heir is a good opportunity for you, Emmie. Think it over."

Nana was her stage name at the dance club, but her real name was Emmie Stewart—a name with a touch of melancholic beauty, given to her by her mother, Fiona Stewart.

Fiona was a woman caught in a tragic love, hopelessly attached to a man who would never reciprocate. From a young age, Emmie understood she was the product of a reckless night between Fiona and Jack Hamilton. Fiona had cherished Emmie's birth, naively believing Jack would do the right thing and marry her.

But Fiona was mistaken. Jack barely remembered her; how could he promise a lifetime together? Besides, he was already set to marry the daughter of a wealthy business tycoon, who was pregnant. Meanwhile, Fiona faded into a forgotten memory.

Despite facing scorn from friends and family, Fiona chose to keep the baby, seeing Emmie as a unique gift from the man she loved. In Emmie's memories, Fiona adored romantic tales filled with passion and heartache. Living in her own world of feelings, she chose the name "Emmie" for her daughter.

A year ago, a car accident left Fiona in a tragic state. Doctors said even if she survived, she'd remain in a vegetative state. Fiona's life savings were depleted in just a month of medical expenses, leaving Emmie, freshly out of college, to carry the weight alone.

Watching her mother lie motionless, Emmie thought sadly that Fiona could finally live in her dreams, eternally with the man she loved. Emmie tried every possible way to raise the funds but couldn't gather enough for the medical bills quickly, forcing her to work at a dance club. She was no stranger to pole dancing, having learned it during college and even winning a competition, earning a thousand dollars. Nana was a temporary alias; only with that name could she relax and dance.

She glanced at the clock on the wall—it was late, yet sleep escaped her. Staring at a familiar number on her phone, her heart raced. Ignoring the time, Emmie finally called Liam. Hearing his tired voice, she wanted to hang up, but a sweet voice in the background asked, "Liam, who's on the phone?"

Liam's irritated voice followed, "Hello? Who's calling? It's the middle of the night!"

Emmie froze in disbelief; had Liam really forgotten her so quickly? Could someone who once showed genuine affection become so cold?

"It's me, Liam. Where are you?" Emmie tried to keep her voice steady, but to Liam, it sounded sharp. His sleepy eyes widened as he scrambled out of bed and rushed to the bathroom, clearing his throat before saying, "Emmie, I'm at home. Why are you up so late?"

"Home? But I heard a woman's voice."

"You must be mistaken. You know you're the only one I care about," Liam reassured her.

"If you love me, would you do anything for me?" Emmie raised her voice, bitterly laughing at how easily love could be professed.

Thinking Emmie was upset, Liam tried to soothe her, "Of course, whatever makes you happy, Emmie."

Anything? Emmie wanted to laugh at a man who could speak such grand words while being with another woman. How could she have been so blind?

"Go to hell! You're all liars!" Without giving Liam a chance to respond, Emmie tossed her phone aside, curling up and sobbing. From the still-connected phone, she could hear Liam's angry words: "Crazy woman, delusional, causing drama in the middle of the night. Damn, so frustrating!" This was the man Emmie had genuinely cared for. What had she done to deserve this?

As dawn broke, Emmie lay awake, staring at the ceiling, recalling Jack Hamilton's words from the previous night. When he mentioned that Kaitlin didn't like Finley, it sparked anger in her, leading her to declare she wouldn't marry Finley.

Jack seemed to read her thoughts, calmly saying, "Your boyfriend, Liam, tried to blackmail me for a hundred thousand dollars, saying he'd expose everything about us if I refused."

Jack's words hit Emmie hard, making her stagger. "How could he?" Her voice was flat, devoid of emotion.

"Why not? Between love and money, what do you think most people would choose?" Jack sneered as he described how security escorted Liam out when he attempted extortion, warning of severe consequences if he tarnished Jack's reputation.

Emmie didn't respond, instead looking at Jack and asking, "What if I refuse to marry?"

"Then your mother’s medical care will stop," Jack replied coldly.

Furious, Emmie was horrified at Jack's cruelty in using her mother as leverage. "What did my mom ever do wrong? She only loved you more than anything, and you were always so heartless. Now you want to use me, the daughter you never wanted, to fulfill your demands?"

Jack ignored her, stepping into his car. His driver, Mr. Williams, handed Emmie a bag, gently advising, "Miss, maybe you should agree for now. I'll check on your mother this afternoon. The medical costs are enormous, more than you can handle alone."

Staring at the bag for a long time, Emmie suddenly jumped out of bed. Mr. Williams was right; her mother was the most important person to her. She could earn money, but gathering enough for medical expenses quickly was impossible. The hospital wouldn't wait for her to earn it slowly.

With that realization, she picked up her phone and called Jack. "I'll marry Finley, but only if my mother receives the best care."

After hanging up, Jack set down his pen, satisfied that everything was progressing as planned. Once Emmie married Finley, his alliance with Martin Thomas would be solidified; the Thomas family wouldn't stand by if the Hamiltons needed assistance.

Jack called Martin Thomas, asking if Finley had time to meet Emmie later, and Martin agreed readily. He understood Jack’s intentions and had his reasons for supporting the alliance.

In the sunlit Victorian-style veranda of the Thomas family home, a man in a white shirt lounged on a deck chair, his shirt open to reveal bronze-toned muscles beneath. His features were refined, exuding a mature aura.

This was Finley Thomas, the eldest son of the Thomas family. Upon receiving the call from his father, Martin, his heart raced. He had heard of Jack Hamilton's illegitimate daughter, never expecting that the woman he was to marry would be Emmie Stewart.

"Never thought you'd be Jack Hamilton's daughter."

He couldn't forget her defiant yet beautiful face, those proud eyes that seemed to have witnessed the world's cruelty, making her unforgettable after just one meeting.

"What are you daydreaming about?" A voice interrupted his thoughts.

In the shadow of the sliding doors stood what could only be described as a devilishly handsome figure—Finley’s younger brother, Martin Thomas's other son. His ink-black hair against pale skin, eyes glinting with unreadable emotions, and features so perfectly sculpted they seemed crafted by a master.

Finley Thomas glanced at his brother with a mix of disdain and curiosity as he got up to leave the room. When he reached his brother’s side, he paused, offering a cool, quiet reply, "Nothing much." A smirk played on Finley's lips. "Really?" His brother stepped in, ignoring the comment. Watching him walk away, Finley straightened, allowing a mischievous grin to spread across his face.

Descending the stairs, Finley noticed his father, Martin Thomas, and his brother talking animatedly in the living room. Occasionally, the name Emmie Stewart surfaced—a woman who had preoccupied the Thomas family for days.

"What are you and my brother talking about, Dad?" Finley asked, sinking casually into the sofa, smiling gently at Martin. "You both look so cheerful; it must be something good, right?"

"Finley, with your brother's wedding coming up, if you’re not busy, why not give him a hand?" Martin looked fondly at his two sons. Even though Finley was his illegitimate child, he had always been part of the family. Martin felt guilty about it, but seeing his two sons get along helped ease that guilt.

"Sorry, Dad, I've been swamped lately," Finley replied, shooting Martin a nervous look. "Brother, maybe I can help you first?" His brother flashed him a friendly smile and turned to Martin, saying, "It's okay, Dad, Finley has his own stuff to deal with. I can manage."

In just a few minutes, the expressions on the Thomas brothers' faces shifted noticeably. Martin, oblivious to any tension, stood up with a warm smile. "Alright, this afternoon you’re meeting Emmie—get yourself something nice to wear."

"Yes, Dad, I will," his brother replied.

Feeling tired, Martin headed upstairs to rest, leaving the two brothers alone in the living room. His brother seemed indifferent as he flipped through the newspaper, his thoughts wandering to Emmie Stewart, a springlike smile involuntarily tugging at his lips.

Finley lifted his cup, took a sip of coffee, and set it back down. "Brother, I'm really sorry I can't help," he said with a sarcastic laugh.

"I've already said it's fine," his brother replied. "Finley, you can go after your latest girlfriend."

No one really knew the escapades of Finley, the youngest Thomas, always surrounded by different beautiful women—a new one each day, never the same. Only his brother knew how their mother would retreat to her room to cry silently ever since Finley arrived, carrying resentment for this unexpected brother. He believed Finley felt the same. Someday, with enough evidence, he wouldn’t hesitate to push Finley out.

"Oh, thanks for not telling Dad; otherwise, I'd be in a bind," Finley chuckled, raising a ravioli to eye level, biting it delicately and savoring it slowly. "Obedient" was the last word anyone would use to describe him. His sharp, chiseled features felt like a cold winter wind, making his brother feel as if countless ice shards were piercing him.

"A child born from a woman who clings to every man in sight—I’m not interested!"

"You!" Even Finley's usually composed demeanor faltered at this. He sprang up, grabbing his brother’s shirt collar, anger etched on his face. "Say that again!"

His brother folded the newspaper, disdainfully pushed Finley away, and retreated to his room, slamming the door shut.

Alone in the living room, Finley’s fingers tightened around the coffee cup, his knuckles white with the pressure. Unable to quell the fury inside, the cup shattered, breaking with a sharp crack.

"Emmie, huh?"

Finley straightened, raising an eyebrow as he casually called for Mrs. Jenkins to clean up the mess, giving her an apologetic smile, claiming it was accidental.

Cobblestone Lane was a winding maze of rundown buildings and chaos—the epitome of noise and disorder. Its residents were mostly low-income workers, with a smattering of elderly and children among them.

A black sedan pulled up at No. 606 Cobblestone Lane, drawing curious kids who clustered around it. Neighbors were surprised to see such a car parked there, as the mother-daughter pair living at this address were generally reclusive.

Gossip-loving middle-aged women and lonely elders relished a good story. As two people entered No. 606, packing the car with meager possessions, the neighborhood buzzed with speculation.

"Isn't this Emmie's place? Heard her mom was in the hospital. Who are they?"

"What do you know? I heard Emmie's mom was quite the character. Maybe Emmie's some rich family's kid going back home now that her mom’s in a coma."

"Who knows? Maybe Emmie snagged herself a wealthy man and is off to a mansion."

"I always thought Emmie was special; with her looks, she wasn't going to stay in this rundown alley forever. Finding a rich guy’s easy for a young woman—until prettier ones come along, then men forget them."

Everyone chimed in, imaginations soaring. As Emmie would say, if these people wrote books, they’d be best-sellers.

Leaving behind the home she'd known for twenty-five years filled Emmie Stewart with deep regret. Every item in her room was precious. Who knew when she'd return after moving into the Hamilton family home? She didn't bring much, aware her stay would be brief. Mr. Johnson urged her to hurry, seeing her linger over her memories. He courteously reminded her, "Miss, we should go."

"Alright." Emmie locked the door, skipping farewells to the neighbors before getting into the car. Her days of scrambling for a meal were over, and she was supposed to be happy. Her mother’s medical expenses were now manageable, and survival wasn’t a concern. But regardless of how she tried to convince herself, she couldn’t find a reason to smile.

Emmie followed Mr. Johnson into the opulent Millray Estate. This was her second visit to the grand residence. In the expansive living room—extending over a thousand square feet—sat three people she recognized.

"You took your sweet time. Such a country bumpkin."

A woman in a red Victorian-style dress glanced arrogantly at Emmie, her smoky eye makeup reminiscent of a panda, the national treasure.

Ignoring Kairi Hamilton's remarks, Emmie addressed Mr. Hamilton in a composed manner, "Where's my room?"

"So rude, acting like we’re invisible?" Su Ling, beside Mr. Hamilton, gave Emmie a disdainful glance, though she maintained a smile, showing her presumably polished manners.

Seeing her sparked intense anger within Emmie, a desire to destroy everything—including the house. "You might think so, but I didn’t say it. Can I go to my room now?"

"You… Husband?" Su Ling frowned, seeking support from her husband. Kairi stood up, approached Emmie, and slapped her across the face, stars dancing before her eyes.

"How dare you speak to my mom like that? Apologize!"

Unfazed by Kairi, Emmie lifted her head, fists clenched with determination. Before she could retaliate, Mr. Hamilton descended the stairs, softly saying, "We’re all family. Let’s not fight."

Kairi, feeling justified, knew her father favored her, smiling smugly. "Sure, Dad, I’ll be a good sister."

Tears welled up in Emmie's eyes again. She forced them back, refusing to cry in front of them. Her mind went back to when she first visited Millray Estate, when her mother came seeking help for her school fees. She would never forget how Kairi had dragged her to try on clothes, only to tear them to pieces. When Mr. Hamilton returned, Kairi pretended innocence, claiming Emmie had worn her clothes without asking. Mr. Hamilton, not listening to Emmie, slapped her twice, then kicked her and her mother out like they were trash. Her tuition only got paid when her mother mortgaged their home to keep her in school.