The next morning, Sydney woke naturally, her internal clock working as usual. She pulled open the curtains and found the world outside buried in white.

The forecast hadn't said a word about snow. Yet this wasn't some light dusting—it was a full-on storm. Even through the glass, she could feel the cold.

She changed into a knit dress and had just started washing up when loud noises echoed through the hallway. They were jarring. If she didn't know better, she might've thought a demolition crew had shown up.

"Nancy, what's going on—" Sydney twisted her hair into a loose knot and opened the door, stopping short mid-sentence.

It wasn't a crew. It looked like an invading army had torn through the place. The pristine house was in ruins. Throw pillows that belonged on the downstairs sofa sat by her door, stained with dark brown gunk. A porcelain vase had rolled across the floor and shattered.

The one-million-dollar oil painting in the hallway was ruined.

It was chaos.

Nancy trailed after Timothy, practically pleading, "Timmy, please, don't touch that. That's Ms. Wilson's favorite tea set."

She was too late. He smashed the tea set into pieces.

Timothy stuck out his tongue and huffed like a tiny tyrant. "Blehhh! I wanna play with it! Uncle Caleb said this is my home now. You're just a servant. Who are you to boss me around?"

Then he looked up and locked eyes with Sydney, who stood watching him in silence. His shoulders sank. That scary woman had frightened him so badly the day before that he'd had nightmares of Santa Claus and monsters chasing him.

He hated her and had to get rid of her. His mother once said that once this woman was gone, Caleb would belong only to them.

Sydney's expression stayed calm. "Go ahead. Play. Take your time."

Timothy blinked. "Really?"

He'd just broken her favorite things, and she wasn't angry?

Sydney leaned against the railing with a faint smile and glanced toward the first floor, where Penelope stood pretending not to hear a thing. "Sure. Just don't touch the ink painting in the guest lounge. That's my favorite."

She didn't know whether Penelope had coached him or if Timothy had come up with this mess on his own. Either way, it didn't matter. She wasn't exactly a saint herself. Someone had once taught her that if you're bullied, you hit back ten times harder.

Timothy's eyes lit up.

"Okay!" he shouted and ran off.

Nancy sighed. "Ms. Wilson, you and Mr. Hampton spoil that child too much."

"It's fine," Sydney said calmly. "Don't stop him. He's the Hampton family's only grandson. As long as he's happy, that's all that matters. And Penelope hasn't said a word, has she? We should respect her parenting. If anything goes wrong, neither of us can afford to take the blame."

Nancy nodded reluctantly. "You're too kind for your own good. That's why people think they can walk all over you."

Sydney kept smiling faintly but didn't comment on that. Instead, she asked, "Do we have any spare gift boxes?"

"What kind?"

"Doesn't matter. Just needs to fit something A4-sized."

"There should be some in the storage room," Nancy said. "I'll go check."

Once she had the box, Sydney returned to her room and locked the door. She placed the signed divorce agreement inside and tied the lid with a ribbon, adding a bow for flair.

A loud crash came from downstairs.

Sydney didn't flinch.

She tightened the bow and nodded slightly. 'Beautiful. Perfectly done.'

Moments later, someone pounded on the door.

Nancy's frantic voice called out, "Ms. Wilson, come down quickly! Timmy just ruined Mr. Benjamin's final painting!"

Sydney shot up, her expression dark. "The one in the guest lounge?"

Nancy nodded. "Yes."

She bolted for the stairs and twisted her ankle on the way down.

Timothy saw her and raised his chin smugly. His whole face said, "What are you gonna do about it?"

Sydney turned to Nancy. "Did you call the Hampton residence?"

"Not yet."

"Call them."

As soon as the words left her mouth, Timothy charged at her. "No! Bad lady, don't tattle!"

Sydney didn't see it coming. He hit her with more force than she expected, knocking her straight to the floor. Pain shot through her tailbone.

Penelope rushed over. "Syd, are you okay?"

Sighing, she said in a chiding tone, "Timothy's spoiled, I know. He doesn't know how to be gentle. But he's just a kid. Please don't be mad at him."

Sydney gripped her side and stared at the ink painting—now torn through the center. She let out a low, cold peal of laughter. "So letting a child destroy someone else's property is part of your parenting philosophy too?"

Tears welled in Penelope's eyes. "I just looked away for one moment! Do you really have to blame me for everything?"

"One moment?" Sydney swept her gaze across the destruction. "Look at all this damage, and it's not even noon. So tell me, exactly when were you watching him?"

Penelope's tone changed the second they were alone. "Sydney! Why do you have to be so unforgiving? You're seriously going to call the old house over a stupid painting? You think Grandma's going to take your side over mine?"

"Correction," Sydney said coolly. "That 'stupid painting' was Grandpa’s final work before he died."

As the words settled in the air, a black sedan pulled into the courtyard.

The Hampton family had arrived—fast.

Penelope's face stiffened instantly. She saw the familiar car pull up, and panic surged in her chest. Her delicate eyes flared as she glared at Sydney. "You did this on purpose, didn't you? You planned it!"

Sydney's eyes shimmered with false hurt. "Penelope, what are you talking about? I was upstairs just now, preparing a gift for Cal. Why blame me?"

At that moment, the Hampton family's butler, George Baker, entered and found chaos. His gaze swept the wrecked villa before settling on Penelope. "Ms. Penelope, Madam Hampton asked me to deliver a message. Since your parenting has clearly failed, she will have to discipline you."

Penelope's lips parted. "What?"

George gestured politely. "Please kneel in the courtyard. Three hours."

"George—" Sydney began, but he stopped her with a gentle smile.

"Ms. Sydney, no need to plead on her behalf," he said. "You've endured enough with the funeral. Please take care of your health."

Sydney had wanted to ask if Dorothy had recovered enough to discuss the divorce at a better time. In the Hampton household, no matter how much power Caleb held at the company, Dorothy always controlled family matters.

Despite her reluctance, Penelope knelt in the freezing snow.

'Serves her right,' Sydney thought, not sparing her a second glance as she headed upstairs.

Nancy hesitated. "Ms. Wilson, what about the painting?"

"No worries. Someone will pick it up soon. It will be returned after restoration."

Sydney kept it simple. Of course, she wouldn't reveal that the painting hanging in the house was a fake. The real one was already at a friend's gallery, untouched and perfectly preserved.

Benjamin Hampton's greatest wish had been for his art to be seen by many. Hiding it at home would have been a waste.

"Evil woman!" Timothy screamed just as Sydney reached the stairs. "I called Uncle Caleb! When he gets home, you're dead!"

"Then I'll be waiting."

"He's going to divorce you! Then you'll be a used-up old hag nobody wants!" Timothy shrieked.

Sydney chuckled. "He won't listen to you."

Caleb and Penelope still needed her as a smokescreen.

The moment they divorced, a man living under the same roof as his late brother's wife? Penelope's reputation would be ruined beyond repair. Caleb would never allow that.

...

Caleb returned quickly. Penelope had knelt less than twenty minutes before he appeared.

He stepped out of the car in a long black cashmere coat, tall and composed, radiating quiet authority. He rushed to Penelope, scooped her into his arms, and hurried her inside. He gently set her on the sofa and began applying medicine to her red, frozen knees. His concern was barely concealed in his eyes.

"You're an idiot. If they tell you to kneel, you actually kneel?" he said.

"Grandma gave the order. What choice did I have?" Penelope clutched his sleeve, eyes red and voice trembling. "Cal, can you please divorce her? She's terrifying."

Caleb frowned. "You mean Sydney?"

"Yes." Penelope bit her lip. "You know why Timmy destroyed Grandpa's painting? She egged him on."

"Mommy's right!" Timothy burst out, still tearful. "Uncle Caleb, Aunt Sydney said the monster that eats arms lives inside that painting!"

"No way," Caleb interrupted, ruffling Timmy's hair gently. "Timmy, maybe you misheard. Aunt Sydney has the kindest heart in the family. She told you she wasn't mad anymore, remember? She wouldn't scare you again. Besides… Grandpa adored her. She'd never mess with his painting."

That last remark was aimed squarely at Penelope.

She stared at him, stunned.

"You're saying Timmy and I made it up to frame her?" Her voice cracked. "Caleb! You've changed!"

The accusation sparked something in him, but when he met her disappointed gaze, he swallowed his anger. "Penny, I haven't changed. I've always been this way."

Penelope held his gaze. "Then tell me, can you swear on it? Swear you've never had the slightest feeling for Sydney? That you've never touched her, not even once?"

Caleb had always believed in honesty with her. But now, faced with the question, the words caught in his throat. "I haven't touched her."

He owed Sydney an apology.

"I haven't touched her." Sydney heard those words just as she came downstairs, one hand supporting her lower back, the other holding the gift box. He spoke without hesitation or a hint of guilt.

She smiled bitterly and stepped forward. "Cal, Madam Sterling asked if you're free for the Sterling family banquet tomorrow night."

Eloise Doakes, also known as Madam Sterling, had been an old friend of Sydney's parents. After their accident, she had taken Sydney in. To outsiders, Sydney was already half a Sterling. Even after marrying into the Hampton family, the business ties between the two families remained strong.

Hearing her, Caleb, perhaps still feeling guilty, agreed immediately. "Sure. I'll come pick you up tomorrow night. We'll go together."

"Okay." Sydney glanced at the box in her hands, then at the mother and son beside him. She said nothing more and turned to leave.

Tiffany had won a major case today and wanted to take Sydney shopping. But when she learned Sydney had injured her foot, they changed plans to dinner instead.

"Syd," Caleb called out suddenly, almost reflexively. "What's in the box?"

Sydney turned back, wiggling the gift in her hand. "A present."

"A present? Whose birthday?"

"It was for our third wedding anniversary. I was going to give it to you."

"Syd, I'm sorry…"

She met his gaze with her usual clear, serene look and handed him the box. "It's fine. You've been busy. Totally understandable to forget."

She smiled sweetly. "Anyway, your birthday's in a couple of weeks. You can consider this an early gift. Happy birthday in advance, Cal."

'And happy divorce to me,' she added silently.

When Caleb took the gift box from her, he felt something brush his chest. It was quick and light but sharp enough to catch his breath. It did not exactly hurt, yet it made breathing slightly more difficult.

The bow on the box had been tied with painstaking care. It showed how much effort she had invested and how long she had planned this gift. Meanwhile, he was a complete bastard, harboring selfish, shameful thoughts.

Before Caleb could speak, Sydney had already moved to the entryway. She slipped on a beige wool coat and wrapped a scarf around her neck, her delicate oval face mostly hidden. Only her dark, clear eyes remained visible.

Then she left, but her stride seemed off.

Caleb was about to ask what was wrong when Penelope gasped beside him. "Ahh! That hurts…"

He immediately focused on her and helped her sit down. "Are your knees still that bad? Let me take you to the hospital."

"I don't want to go." She bit her lip and glanced at the box in his hands, muttering, "And you say you're not falling for her? You treat her gift like some priceless treasure."

Caleb frowned. "Penny, I already owe her so much."

Tears slipped down her cheeks. "And what about me, Cal? What am I supposed to be to you? Are you just going to let her keep bullying me and Timmy?"

"I already said Syd's not like that," he said.

"Enough!" Penelope's voice cracked. "Can't you hear yourself? Every word you say defends her!"

She stood, crying in dramatic sobs, and dragged Timothy upstairs.

Caleb sat stunned for a moment before slowly exhaling. He wasn't even sure what he was thinking anymore. He simply could not stand anyone speaking ill of Sydney.

…

Snow fell steadily for two days.

Sydney spent the morning seeing patients at the clinic. In the afternoon, she covered a session with overseas doctors who had come to learn from her senior, who was unexpectedly absent.

By 5:00 p.m., she was back home, changing and applying light makeup. She needed little. Her bright eyes and perfect teeth made her stand out even with minimal effort.

As she came downstairs, she sensed something was off. Since arriving, the house had been eerily quiet. That mother-son duo was unusually well-behaved.

Just as she finished pulling on her tall boots, Penelope asked her with a venomous smile, "Sydney, who do you think he'll choose? Me or you?"

"Penelope, what are you talking about? I don't quite follow." Sydney paused, then smiled. "Oh? So you're not trying to spin some scandalous 'widowed sister-in-law seduces little brother-in-law' drama in the Hampton family?"

Penelope's fury boiled over. "Sydney!"

Sydney calmly draped her cashmere cape over her shoulders and smiled faintly. "No time to argue. Cal's already waiting for me."

Penelope followed her gaze to the black car parked in the driveway through the floor-to-ceiling windows. The sight nearly made her spit blood.

When she agreed to let Caleb marry this "sweet and pliable" girl, she had assumed that Sydney would be easy to control. Who would have guessed she was a rabbit with fangs?

Sydney slid into the car and turned to Caleb. "Hope I didn't keep you waiting."

"No, I just got here." He reached over to squeeze her hand, then noticed the pale, flawless skin visible beneath her skirt. Her legs were exposed to the cold, and he frowned. "Why are you dressed so lightly?"

She smiled. "The car and the house are both heated."

She always urged patients to dress warmly, but when it came to herself, she did not care.

Caleb sighed. "If you catch a cold or get a fever, don't expect me to take care of you."

"I'll take medicine," she said.

Colds were easy. One dose of herbs and she would mostly be fine. Over the past three years, she had relied on herself. She had long stopped expecting him to care for her—or anyone else.

Caleb did not know why her indifference unsettled him so much. "You talk like I'm some heartless husband who doesn't care about you."

She paused. "You didn't open the gift I gave you yesterday?"

"Not yet." Caleb looked out the window. "It's a birthday gift, right? I figured I'd wait."

"Sure."

'That works. More time for me to get ready,' she thought.

They had little to say, so the ride passed in silence.

Caleb glanced at her. She sat quietly, staring out at the stream of traffic. Her entire demeanor was peaceful, gentle, innocent, composed. He could not understand why Penelope hated her so much.

He was about to speak when his phone rang.

"Mr. Hampton, Ms. Monroe is at a blind date." The other party's voice was calm, not loud, but clear enough for Sydney to hear.

The air in the car tightened instantly. Caleb was fuming but kept it controlled. He rarely lost his temper.

"Send me the location." His tone turned icy.

After hanging up, he turned to Sydney with a composed expression but an unmistakably firm voice. "Syd, something urgent came up. I can't go to the family banquet with you."

'Something urgent?' Sydney did not even want to ask.

Why bother? Digging would only humiliate her more.

"I understand." She lowered her gaze slightly. "Jack, could you pull over up ahead?"

The car slowed to a stop. Caleb did not move, seeming to appreciate the life he had now.

Sydney looked at him. "Cal, go on. We can't park here too long."

He looked stunned for a second, but she remained calm and graceful. He could find no excuse to stay. "Alright."

He got out silently.

…

The Sterling family's monthly banquet was unlike other social events. Only five people attended, including Caleb.

The atmosphere was quiet. Unnervingly so, as if it were more funeral than celebration.

When Sydney arrived, the butler, Jason Reyes, led her straight to the dining hall.

"Ms. Wilson, Madam Sterling has been waiting all day. She's been asking about you since this morning," Jason said.

"Okay." Sydney nodded gently but nervously clenched her fingers at her sides.

Inside the dining hall, Eloise sat at the head of the table. To her left, her eldest and second daughters sat in order.

Sydney stepped in and greeted them politely, "Grandma. Aunt Fiona. Aunt Miranda."

She followed the Sterling family's generational terms. The two aunts responded with lukewarm nods but glanced past her.

When Eloise noticed Sydney was alone, her brows furrowed deeply. "Where is Caleb?"

"Something urgent came up, and he had to attend to it," Sydney said.

"Out! Go kneel!" Suddenly, a harsh yell echoed, and a teacup flew at her.