After giving birth and returning to my home country, I was devastated to find that my family’s company had gone under, and my parents had both jumped from a building to their deaths.

Alexander's voice was ice-cold as he said, “If you hadn’t had a kid with some loser, your family’s company, the Louis Group, wouldn’t have failed, your parents wouldn’t have died, and I would’ve married you.”

Now, I was a celebrity mired in scandals, with the media hounding me to show my son’s face.

One day, a Bentley pulled up on the street, and Alexander rolled down the window to watch the chaos unfold.

When he saw how much my son looked like him, he realized the truth and was consumed with regret, so much so that he almost fell to his knees. “I’m the real jerk here, aren’t I?”

——

News of me shopping with my son leaked, and suddenly the media was all around me, like an army of cameras trying to capture a glimpse of my son’s face. They were desperate to find some new, juicy scandal in my old news.

They speculated that my son’s father might be some famous director, producer, or actor I’d worked with, but they never considered Alexander, the richest man in Summerville.

Back when the Louis Group was still up and running, it was a fierce rival of the Watson family. Later, when I entered the entertainment industry, I found myself competing with the new star Alexander was backing.

I went up to the Bentley parked discreetly and knocked on the window, pleading, “Alexander, just help me this one time, for old times’ sake.”

He wasn’t usually one to get involved, but today, he seemed to be sticking around.

The window slid down, and Alexander, dressed in a black suit that melted into the car’s shadow, revealed only his sharp, piercing eyes. They seemed to cut through everything.

His fingers drummed on the window edge as he spoke coldly, “I’m dying to see what kind of kid you had with that loser.”

“Alexander, you’ll regret this,” I said with a desperate smile, watching as the car drove off, my fingers clenched in a tight grip.

As soon as Alexander left, the media surged forward, snapping photos of my son’s face.

With a single “click,” the crowd fell silent.

The photo showed a face strikingly similar to Alexander’s.

The once-stern Bentley seemed to slink back in shame after seeing the photo like a child caught misbehaving.

When Alexander stepped out of the car, his suit rumpled and disheveled, he stared at me and my son with eyes full of regret and guilt. “Moll... am I... the father of your child?”

His voice trembled, and he looked at me with the fearful eyes of a dog afraid of being abandoned, waiting for my answer.

I pulled my son close, speaking firmly, “You’re definitely the man you mentioned, but my son is mine alone. I won’t acknowledge you as his father.”

A year ago, after vanishing for three years, I returned to my home country with my son, Paul. Once a high-society princess, I suddenly found myself as a bankrupt and destitute woman.

The night before my parents took their lives, they gave me some money and kept everything from me. Their only piece of advice was to never show weakness towards Alexander, even though he was Paul’s biological father.

After managing my parents’ funeral, I still couldn’t fully understand their warning until Alexander showed up uninvited.

At the funeral, he wore an unusually flashy suit, completely out of character for him. He sat on the sofa, his long legs crossed, tapping a hard object rhythmically with his fingers, showing his dwindling patience.

When I mentioned Paul, his tapping stopped. Clearly irritated, he looked at me with a smirk. “If you hadn’t had a child with that loser, the Louis Group wouldn’t have gone under, your parents wouldn’t have died, and I would’ve married you.”

His words squashed any intention I had of revealing Paul’s real father. So, did Alexander have a hand in my parents’ deaths?

“Mr. Watson, everything has consequences. People have to face the fallout of their actions,” I responded.

I dismissed him, hoping we wouldn’t cross paths again before I managed to rebuild my life. Alexander left quietly, his dark eyes hiding emotions I couldn’t quite read.

The next time we met, he was in the spotlight as Summerville’s richest man, backing his new star, Bella, on the set. Bella’s claim to fame was her resemblance to me.

I’d been acting since childhood, moving from web dramas to the big screen. Bella, labeled by the media as my “successor,” hadn’t become a sensation, but her resemblance to me earned her a supporting role in the show I was working on.

Before starting, everyone signed confidentiality agreements to keep the show a secret. Bella, however, breached the agreement, leaking scenes and twisting my image in videos, spreading stories that I was past my prime and that Bella had outshined me.

But I was only twenty-six, just three years older than Bella. Besides, this show wasn’t about beauty; my role had nothing to do with being glamorous.

Alexander showed up just as I was warning Bella with the director about her breach of the agreement. Bella, however, had gone live, crying that the director and I were trying to kick her out of the show.

“Mollie, you’re not that impressive,” Alexander said, visiting as an investor but staying out of production matters. He looked me over with a shake of his head and turned to Bella, speaking softly to the director, “Bella is the better actress.”

With just a few words, he had me removed from the show.

“Mollie, tell me who that loser is, and I’ll let you go,” he cornered me privately, gripping my wrist. His eyes held a rare softness as he whispered, “Forget that loser and discard the child you had with him. I won’t hold your mistakes against you, okay?”

I laughed bitterly at his audacity. What gave him the right to make such demands?

My family and his had been enemies for generations, and countless barriers separated us. If not for a moment of weakness on my part, we would never have been involved.

I wrenched his hand away and sneered, “That ‘loser’ is dead, and I’ll never forget him. Not until I’ve avenged my parents.”

“Fine, Mollie. Let’s see how long you and that child last!” His brief softness vanished, replaced by cold menace. He pinched my chin and threatened me with fierce eyes.

Overnight, my reputation shifted from a serious actress to a “washed-up star.” No matter how hard I worked or how many awards I won, the media always focused on my scandalous headlines.

All of this was Alexander’s doing.

Now, he finally figured out who the “loser” was—himself. After Paul’s identity was revealed, I had no fear. I gathered Paul in my arms, pushed through the crowd, and headed home.

Using his connections, Alexander bought the house I was renting, had the property management open the door, and chased me down.

“Moll, how could Paul be my son?” He knelt in front of me and Paul, desperation clear in his voice.

Alexander glanced around the room before his eyes landed back on me. “Where’s Paul?”

One small blessing in these past few days was that Linda had just returned to the country today. As soon as she landed, she came over to help me take Paul away.

Ignoring Alexander’s broad shoulders and narrow waist, I focused on the candelabrum behind him. A square box, surrounded by smoke from the burning incense, was set in the middle of it—completely out of place with the sleek, modern decor.

“What do you think of that box?” I asked calmly, as Alexander followed my gaze.

He blinked and then squinted at the box. “The design is thoughtful enough, but the material.”

“Moll, if you want, I can immediately arrange to find the best urn and cemetery for your parents,” he said, holding my hand and trying to sound sincere.

At that moment, I could see why he would shamelessly pursue me. Maybe he had forgotten our long-standing feud.

I let out a cold laugh, speaking each word with intent. “Alexander, that’s an urn I made myself. And thank you for making me realize there’s no urn better than this one.”

When my parents took their own lives, they left me enough money to handle their affairs. Despite knowing the funds were sufficient, Alexander reported the money to the authorities, leading to it being frozen for investigation and leaving me briefly in financial trouble.

At the time, I had just enough to cover the cremation but was short on funds for the urn and burial. After spending a night with nothing but a plastic box, I reluctantly turned to Alexander for help.

I could endure any hardship myself, but I couldn’t let my parents suffer. They had done so much for me in their lives.

When my parents discovered that Paul was Alexander’s child, they reluctantly accepted him, the son of their family’s longtime enemy. They even considered reconciling and arranging a marriage between our families. Our families had been bitter rivals for generations, with many lives lost in our conflicts.

My parents went against our ancestors’ wishes to help me. They were so concerned for me that they wanted to give Alexander one final test by keeping Paul’s identity a secret.

The day Alexander was invited to our home, I listened from the shadows. My parents first asked Alexander about his feelings for me. After he expressed his affection, they inquired about the possibility of me marrying him with Paul. Alexander’s response, without hesitation, deeply moved my parents.

They let their guard down and eagerly pursued cooperation with Alexander, not realizing it was a trap set to take over the Louis family.

Back then, I was naive enough to think he was the same Alex I knew. So when I went to ask for his help, I had put aside all unrealistic hopes.