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.

Kairi Hamilton led Emmie Stewart to the guest room on the first floor to help her prepare for the evening. After changing into a Victorian-style dress, Emmie sat at the vanity while Kairi expertly applied a light touch of makeup, understanding the importance of Emmie's appearance and catering to Finley Thomas's refined taste.

"With this look, you'll easily catch Finley Thomas's eye," Kairi admired her own work with a satisfied nod.

The word "charm" struck Emmie's heart. She had no comeback for Kairi's comment, aware that Kairi's father intended for her to captivate Finley to further his own secretive plans.

As Emmie walked out, she lifted her dress slightly and glanced back at Kairi, who was now lounging on the bed, her phone in hand, a mischievous smile playing on her lips. "Emmie's off to meet Dad. What's your secret plan you won't reveal to me? I've helped you out, so how do you plan to thank me? Haha, I always knew you were the best."

At the Hilton Hotel, Kairi's father offered Emmie a few words of encouragement regarding her interaction with Finley Thomas. Emmie, however, remained composed, her face giving no indication of whether his advice resonated or if her thoughts drifted elsewhere.

The door swung open, and two men walked in. Kairi’s father quickly donned a welcoming smile and stood to greet them. Emmie recognized Martin Thomas and his son, Finley. She took a deep breath and regarded them carefully.

Martin Thomas embodied the spirit of a successful businessman, his hair neatly parted, and he seemed a bit younger than Kairi’s father. Finley, despite his youthful appearance, radiated a mature allure, in line with how the media portrayed him as the ideal bachelor.

After introductions, Martin turned his smile toward Emmie, who stood with an elegant poise that matched his expectations for a future daughter-in-law, easing his initial concerns.

"This must be Emmie?"

"Yes, Mr. Thomas, this is my daughter, Emmie," Kairi’s father said, glancing at Emmie with an unspoken understanding meant only for her. She extended her hand with a gentle smile, "Hello, Mr. Thomas."

"Emmie, you are truly stunning. Kairi, why haven't you brought her to events before?" Martin commented, his background research ensuring no surprises upon meeting her.

"Emmie lived with her mother until recently. She's been through much hardship, but I intend to make up for it," Kairi’s father explained smoothly, his warm expression concealing ulterior motives.

Emmie's brow furrowed slightly. She hadn’t expected him to use her past challenges as a bargaining chip with Martin. It was somewhat amusing.

"I'm Finley Thomas."

Seated opposite her, Finley watched Emmie with a steady gaze, a touch of sadness in his eyes, yet his smile radiated warmth. His lips curled as if lost in pleasant thoughts.

"Hello," Emmie replied softly, focusing on her plate and cutting her meal with deliberate care, her eyes avoiding his.

"If you don't look at me, how will we get along?" Finley set down his fork, his gentle eyes fixed on her, puzzled by her lack of recognition.

At his comment, Emmie met his gaze. "Is this better?" she asked, feeling a vague familiarity with his face, as if it were a distant memory.

Sensing the need for privacy, Kairi’s father and Martin left the room, mentioning other matters that required their attention. Alone, Finley closed the door, laughing softly, "Your personality hasn't changed at all!"

"What?" Emmie was confused. Had they met before?

He playfully flicked her forehead and smiled, reminiscing, "You really don’t remember me?"

"Have we met?" she asked, genuinely puzzled.

"At your school’s sports field…" Finley prompted, hoping to jog her memory.

School sports field? Emmie searched her memory until an image emerged: a boy had once cornered her there, asking her to be his girlfriend, and had impulsively kissed her, later taking her to a hotel under the guise of a date.

Could it be… Could Finley be that boy?

"You’re that…"

"So you’ve remembered. Yes, that was me." Finley leaned in, planting a soft kiss on her lips. "I never thought you'd become my wife," he smiled.

"You… I never imagined…" Emmie downed her glass of wine, avoiding Finley's gaze.

Finley refilled her glass, raising his own in a toast, "To old acquaintances meeting again."

"Yes, cheers," Emmie mused inwardly. Old acquaintances? Could that be true when she hadn't even recalled his name?

As the evening wore on, the wine disappeared quickly. Emmie felt a slight dizziness and, squinting at Finley, began to laugh softly, her vision blurring. Concerned, Finley asked, "Emmie, are you feeling okay?"

"I'm fine, just a bit light-headed," she brushed off his worry. Why fret over a little inebriation? She requested more wine, determined to continue the toast. Alcohol truly dulled the nerves, she thought, as everything seemed trivial now.

"More? I think you've had enough. Let me help you lie down," Finley said, moving his chair closer to assist her as they left the room, arranging a guest room through the hotel staff. He laid Emmie carefully on the bed and pulled up a chair, observing her as she slept.

Her long lashes were slightly damp, a solitary tear glistening on her cheek. Finley hesitated, then wiped it away, his hand lingering on her smooth skin. Drawn to her, he leaned in, tasting her lips, the flavor intertwined with the wine.

Sensing movement, Emmie opened her eyes swiftly. Startled by his proximity, she pushed Finley away and sat up. Spotting the door, she seized the moment and escaped, even as his apology followed, "I'm sorry, Emmie."

A bit tipsy from so little wine, she chastised herself inwardly. What if she hadn’t woken up? She would have truly been swept away by Finley. Who ends up in bed with someone upon their first encounter?

Run! Emmie quickened her pace as Finley followed, apologizing. She turned sharply, opening an arbitrary door to hide, shutting it behind her.

Finally catching her breath, she was face to face with a man clad only in a towel, surprise etched on his face. She was momentarily speechless.

"Who are you?" he asked, stepping closer. Just then, a knock sounded at the door, causing Emmie to glance between it and the man, wordlessly asking for assistance. He reached out, pulling her onto the wide bed, covering them both with the sheets. Stifling a scream, he muffled her with his hand. When the door creaked open, he released her and turned to smirk at the newcomer, "What brings you here? Got caught in the act, did you?"

What was happening? The man's words were baffling—what did he mean by catching someone red-handed? Emmie Stewart didn't need to think twice to realize that the person who had entered wasn’t anyone else.

Emmie was certain that Finley Thomas was standing right across from the bed, his gaze feeling as though it pierced through the covers to her very soul. “Please, just make him leave quickly.”

Emmie’s face was practically contorted with embarrassment; if Finley saw her current state, she might wish the ground would swallow her up. The man seemed indifferent to Emmie's silent plea for rescue and instead settled himself atop her stomach, pulling the blanket down a bit. In desperation, Emmie placed a pillow over her face, silently praying that Finley’s eyes would stop functioning.

Finley, who had seen many unusual scenes, looked at the two people on the bed without a hint of expression, fully aware of the suggestive nature of the situation. However, the man before him was someone he utterly despised. Relaxing his shoulders, he turned to leave without uttering a word.

“You’re just going to walk away?” Emmie was momentarily stunned. What did this mean? Was the man not planning to help her? Peeking out from under the pillow, she saw a magnified handsome face, so striking it nearly took her breath away. She could hear her heart pounding. She didn’t yet realize that if a mirror were held over her head, she'd see how flushed her cheeks were.

“What are you doing?” Emmie whispered, hoping the man would have a little mercy and let her escape this awkward encounter.

“What do you think I’m doing?” The man's voice was loud enough to wake the dead, and Emmie felt a surge of panic—was he trying to get her into trouble?

“Please, make him leave?” At this point, all she could do was endure. If she upset this man and he left her exposed to Finley, she’d really be in a fix. First, Martin Thomas wouldn’t let her hear the end of it, and secondly, if word got out, she'd be too humiliated to face anyone.

“Name your price!” The man’s words came out through gritted teeth, and Emmie saw a glimmer of hope. With a faint smile, she replied in a low tone, "I’ll do whatever you want, as long as it doesn't involve physical harm."

“Deal!”

The handsome face moved away, and the man jumped off the bed. As his feet hit the ground, he pulled the blanket back up, allowing Emmie to breathe a sigh of relief beneath it.

“What, you think I'm going to stick around as an observer?”

That was Finley’s voice. Emmie screamed internally—yes, yes, please leave, I beg you!

“You’ve ruined my day, how do you plan to make it up to me?” Emmie remained hidden under the blanket, hearing the man bargaining with Finley, growing increasingly anxious—what was this guy's angle?

“I’ll cover all your expenses here, will that do?” Finley’s voice sounded irritated. After all, he was concerned Emmie might misunderstand him. Yet, someone had to disrupt his plans.

“Such a trivial amount, what does it mean to you? Using that to compensate me seems beneath you, doesn’t it?” The man emphasized the word “beneath,” letting his gaze flick to the raised portion of the bed, his lips curling into a smug smile.

Finley retrieved a sleek black wallet from his pocket, tossed a gold card onto the bed, and said, “This should be enough!” Without a backward glance at the man, he exited the room, slamming the door behind him.

Emmie, hidden under the blanket, jumped at the loud noise, curling up in fear and closing her eyes to compose herself. She was petrified—Finley had a temper that shouldn’t be casually tested. She needed to be more cautious in the future.

“Did you fall asleep or something?” The voice sounded eerily close to Emmie’s ear, jolting her into sitting upright. Glaring at the face with the playful grin, she muttered, “Thanks!”

With his arms crossed and leaning against the wall, the man replied with dissatisfaction, “Is that how you thank your rescuer? I think he hasn’t gone far yet; maybe I should call him back…”

“No, no, that was wrong of me, please don’t bring him back!” Emmie interrupted, quickly apologizing with exaggerated gratitude, “Thank you so much!”

“Forget it, I’ll be the bigger person. What’s your name?”

His demeanor and expression conjured up the word “punchable” in Emmie’s mind. Frowning slightly, she replied, “Emmie Stewart.”

The man gazed at her for a good two seconds and then kindly poured her a comforting cup of coffee. “My name is Finley Thomas.”

Emmie was bewildered by his sudden change in attitude, but when she heard those last three words, she choked, sputtering her drink onto Finley. The liquid trickled down his bare skin to his towel.

Finley shot her a murderous glare and dashed to the bathroom. She heard the water running and knew he wouldn’t be out anytime soon. She quickly tidied her clothes, brushed her unruly hair, touched up her makeup, and, when the sound of running water continued uninterrupted from the bathroom, tip-toed to the door. Once outside, she strutted out of the hotel with a composed, dignified air.

Back in her room at the Hamilton house, she finally relaxed her taut nerves. Today had been dreadful. Trying to avoid Finley, she had unwittingly ended up in his room. If anyone found out, Martin would surely have her head!

The thought sent a shiver down her spine. Finley wouldn’t tell Martin, would he? If so, she was truly doomed. Then again, what would Finley gain from telling Martin? Surely he wasn’t that petty!

Finley emerged from the bathroom and, seeing no sign of Emmie, pressed his lips together in frustration. “Spit water at me, will you? You’ve got nowhere to hide!”

As Emmie was drifting off to sleep, her door swung open forcefully, and there stood Kairi Hamilton, looking down at her. “How can you still have the nerve to nap? What a useless slug!”

Emmie slowly sat up, meeting Kairi’s gaze coldly. “You’d think the lady of the house would be refined. But it turns out you’re nothing more than a sheltered flower, a frog in a well. Don’t you know slugs can be sold?”

Kairi’s eyes narrowed, like daggers piercing into Emmie. “Calling me sheltered? Just like a pauper to only see the money!”

“Exactly. So, it’s best if you don’t come into a pauper’s room!” Emmie pointed to the door, her voice icy. “You don’t need me to show you out, do you?”

“Do you think I wanted to come see you? If Dad hadn’t asked me to call you to the study, I wouldn’t have bothered stepping in here.” Kairi turned to leave, offering a parting shot, “The necklace I’m wearing? Dad picked it just for me. He said it suits me perfectly!” With that, she left, closing the door behind her with satisfaction.

Emmie clenched her fists, biting her lip, reminding herself not to get angry. Kairi was just trying to provoke her for amusement. But those taunts were like pebbles thrown into a river, quickly washed away by the current.