Melissa Jones, the so-called 'fake' heiress, lost her memory trying to save me. Her memory was stuck at the time she was 18, back when our lives had not yet been set right.

Everyone told me to be the bigger person. In the new family portrait, I was the only one missing. My biological mother tried to comfort me, "Shirley, be reasonable. It's just a photo. We will make it up to you later."

I applied for the vice president position year after year, only to be rejected five times in a row. Then, when Melissa said she wanted to learn the business, my brother, Maverick Jones, approved it immediately.

Afterward, he turned to me and said, "You should give way to Melissa. You're the reason she lost her memory. I'm helping you make up for it."

When I went into labor and needed my husband, Charles Smith, to sign the consent for a C-section, he was one floor above me, accompanying Melissa to a follow-up appointment.

I called him seven times. He declined every call. In the end, my seven-month-old baby suffocated.

Even in a wheelchair, I went to demand an explanation. However, outside the hospital room, I heard Melissa crying.

"Back then, you all agreed I should pretend to have amnesia. I'll never randomly decline calls for Charles again. I just want to stay by your side for three more months."

There was a moment of silence. Then, Charles and the others agreed.

At that moment, I was not angry. I just felt something inside me turn completely empty. I turned around and accepted my adoptive parents' request to return to Nebula City. This time, I would give these people what they wanted.

Charles Smith's phone rang. It was the special ringtone he had set just for Melissa Jones. He picked up instantly, a bright smile tugging at his lips.

"Melissa, just cooperate with the checkup, okay? I'll be right back to keep you company."

When it came to my calls for help, he had declined them again and again. The life-and-death struggle in the delivery room had already drained me of any strength to argue or cry. All I felt then was numb.

Charles turned to me and said, "I'll have the housekeeper come over to take care of you. I only asked Melissa for half an hour off, using work as an excuse."

To visit me, his wife who had just lost our child, he still needed to ask Melissa for permission. His attitude cut into my heart like shards of glass. I could not even find the words to comfort myself anymore.

When his hand brushed against my pale face, he seemed to hesitate. He sat back down beside me and spoke softly, "I'll wait until you fall asleep before I go. I picked your favorite strawberries. You can eat them when you wake up."

His phone rang again. After answering, he looked distracted.

While he wavered, I said first, "If you're busy, you should just go."

Charles let out a breath of relief. "Shirley, you're always so understanding. I'll come back and take care of you once I'm done."

Before I could respond, he was already hurrying out the door.

I looked around the empty hospital room. The only thing that stood out was that basket of bright red strawberries.

A laugh slipped out of me, sudden and out of place, and the tears I had been holding back finally fell, pulling at the stitches that had just been sewn. The pain hit so hard that I curled up on the bed.

After seven years with Charles, he had forgotten that I was allergic to strawberries, and as for the promise he made to come back, no one came, not even once, not until half a month later, when I was discharged.

Meanwhile, Melissa's social media had been set to special notifications on my phone, and she updated almost every day, every post filled with photos of her traveling with Charles.

During the six months she lost her memory, I had to rely on her posts just to know where Charles was.

I casually tapped 'Unfollow'.

This time, I did not call to question him. I calmly finished the payment and discharge procedures.

Instead, it was Charles' grandfather, Nevin Smith, who asked me to come back to the old house for dinner. I also had a document I had left with him a long time ago. Hence, I stopped to buy a gift first.

While the clerk was wrapping it, I picked up a bottle of perfume, then put it back down. I repeated the action three times.

Charles was allergic to perfume, and if he ever caught even a hint of it on me, he would make me shower at least three times. Sometimes, he even used a scent detector on me.

The clerk smiled and told me, "Miss, this is the last bottle left in the country."

I was about to wave it off and say no. However, through the curtain, I overheard two women chatting.

"You went with Charles to celebrate his birthday the day before yesterday. What did you get him?"

"Cologne."

"Wait, what? Isn't he allergic to perfume and cologne? We don't even dare to wear any when we hang out with him."

The other woman sounded surprised. "Really? But every year, I give him a cologne I make myself."

Her friend urged her, "Melissa, hurry up and text him and ask!"

The reply came almost instantly. Melissa smiled, glowing with happiness. "He said he takes allergy medicine in advance every time he sees me."

The mirror on the display shelf reflected a smile on my face that looked worse than crying.

It turned out Charles was capable of compromise. Just not for me.

I pointed at the bottle of perfume. "Please wrap this one up too."

The cab could only take me as far as the security gate. From there, it was still another mile up to the villa at the top of the hill.

A car sped past me, and I recognized the license plate instantly. The window rolled down just a little. Melissa was sitting in the passenger seat of my husband's car.

Charles did not even see me.

By the time I reached the front yard, I was soaked through. Charles was standing outside, handling a work call. When his eyes met mine, he said into the phone, "Have the proposal ready and send it to me tomorrow."

Then, he turned, took off his suit jacket, and moved to drape it over my shoulders. "Why didn't you bring an umbrella?"

His tone grew sharper. "Shirley, you're not a three-year-old. Melissa came to visit Grandpa today. You should head back first."

Wherever Melissa appeared, I had to disappear—like I was something that belonged in the shadows, never meant to be seen.

As soon as Charles stepped closer, his brows knitted together. "Are you wearing perfume?"

However, Melissa and I had just been in the same store. Of course, we would carry the same scent. He could tolerate Melissa sitting right beside him, yet the moment I got close, he looked at me with disgust.

His rules only existed for me. When it came to her, there were always exceptions.

The drizzle kept falling, thin and endless. Under the dim streetlights, it looked like countless tiny needles. When they hit my skin, all I felt was a steady, stinging pain.

I knew every one of Charles' coat pockets carried allergy medicine. He always said it was just to be prepared. In truth, it was preparation for seeing Melissa.

Out of habit, I reached into his pocket, took out the pills, and handed them to him. "Just take the medicine."

If he could change his rules for someone else, why couldn't he do the same for me?

Charles looked down at me from above. "Shirley, don't make things difficult for me." His tone was calm, like he was speaking to a client.

My hand, frozen in midair, slowly lowered. Along with it, all the feelings and courage I had given him over the years quietly pulled back too.

As I walked past him, I left him with a promise. "Don't worry. I won't reveal anything about our relationship."

"I'm here to see Grandpa. I'll only stay for half an hour."

Charles froze for a moment, clearly unaccustomed to that version of me. I had never been that obedient before.

In the past, it would take him several rounds of coaxing before I would give in. Sometimes, he even had to write me daily apologies just to get me to come home.

At the dinner table, Melissa was animatedly sharing stories about her childhood with Charles. Even her usually serious brother, Maverick Jones, watched her with a warm smile.

I remembered when I had first returned to the Jones family. I had tried to share my own stories at the table, just like this. All I got in return was an icy reminder, "Mind your manners at the table."

It turned out the problem was not what I said. It was that they had never wanted to hear me in the first place.

When Maverick saw me, he tensed immediately.

Catching his reaction, Melissa asked with a hint of mischief, "Do you know my brother?"

Before he could deny it, I smiled and said, "No."

I said it so calmly, so naturally, as if we were truly strangers.

For the past six months, Maverick had repeatedly warned me. In front of Melissa, we had no sibling relationship.

Now that I was doing exactly that, he should have been satisfied. Yet, the phone in his hand suddenly slipped and fell to the floor. Someone called his name a few times, but he did not respond. He looked completely distracted.

"Hey, what's wrong with you?"

Maverick forced himself to stay composed. "Nothing. Just thinking about work."

Melissa had one hand looped through each of them, but her gaze landed on me. "Oh right, I'm going to Nebula City next week for a perfume competition. You all have to come cheer me on."

They all agreed without hesitation.

The family doctor was upstairs giving Nevin a checkup.

Even though Maverick and the others had arrived earlier, they could only wait quietly.

However, the butler, Lance Cobb, came straight to me. "Mr. Smith is waiting for you in the study."

I handed him the gift. "Got it. Thank you, Mr. Cobb."

The back of my hand was bruised, and it was spreading. They were the marks from days of IV treatments.

Charles' chest rose and fell noticeably.

As I stepped onto the stairs, I heard Melissa's dissatisfied voice behind me. "She seems important. Charles, do you know her?"

Charles kept his eyes on me, watching for any reaction. "Why would I know her?"

I had lost count of how many times he had denied our relationship in front of others.

I did not turn back. I had already expected his answer.

Nevin had set up the chessboard and was waiting for me. I sat down across from him and moved a piece forward. "Grandpa, I'm here to pick up the agreement."

There was a signed divorce agreement with him. All it needed was my final signature, and it would take effect immediately. I would even receive seventy percent of the assets under Charles' name.

Back then, he had prepared it as proof of his love, as a promise to protect me.

Something I once did not care about had then become the only thing keeping me afloat.

Nevin paused slightly, his hand hovering over a chess piece. "Have you thought it through?"

"Yes.

"I'll be returning to Nebula City next week."

He nodded. "I heard they're holding a big perfume design competition there. If you like, go have some fun.

"In the end, the Smith family owes you."

When the butler handed me the divorce papers, my pieces on the board were already trapped with no way out.

I let out a small laugh. "Grandpa, I lost."

Not just this game. I had lost my marriage to Charles completely.

When I pushed open the door, I saw Charles standing right outside the study.

For a moment, I froze.

For a moment, I thought Charles had overheard the part about the divorce. However, the first thing he said was, "Shirley, you're dropping out of the Nebula City Perfume Competition."

It was not a discussion. It was an order.

"There's no need for you to enter just to get our attention. Melissa wants to apply to Brighton & Co. in the second half of the year. If she wins first place, she'll get in directly."

Brighton & Co. was the most authoritative perfume company in the country.

"Winning that title won't do anything for you. However, for Melissa, it's different."

Whenever Melissa wanted something, she never even had to ask. Charles would fight to get it for her. He always expected me to step back.

However, the reason I was going to Nebula City… was to go home.

I pulled my arm free from his grip. "That's not why I—"

He did not even let me finish a sentence. "You're still holding a grudge over that child who didn't make it, and now you're taking it out on Melissa. Don't forget, she ended up like this because she saved you back then. Maybe the child's death is just the price you had to pay."

I went very still.

When I first got pregnant, he had wanted to tell the whole world. I did not even have strong morning sickness in the early stages. Instead, Charles was the one constantly nauseous with worry.

His mother had died during childbirth. He told me he would never let something like that happen to me.

However, the pain I went through, and the death of our child… All of it had been caused by him. If he had not let Melissa ignore those seven calls that day, the baby would not have suffocated inside me.

It almost took my life with it.

When he saw the redness in my eyes, Charles finally seemed to realize what he had just said. He opened his mouth, trying to take it back.

However, from downstairs came a louder interruption. It was the sound of Melissa being escorted out by the butler.

"Ms. Jones, this way please."

Lance usually only followed Nevin's orders.

Charles' expression changed instantly. The disgust on his face was impossible to hide. "So you really came to complain to Grandpa!"

He shoved past me and headed downstairs.

I stood there, dazed, watching him rush off to help someone else without a second thought.

Back when I first came to the capital for college, I had not reunited with the Jones family yet. I had applied to join the student council for two extra credits, and they had put me on the spot, demanding I perform something in front of everyone.

Charles, who had been in graduate school at the time, stood in front of me. With a smile, he eased the situation. "Don't scare the freshman."

Later, I found out the beverage shop where I worked part-time belonged to his friend, Samuel Carter.

After that, we started crossing paths more often. Samuel was the first to notice how I felt, and he warned me gently, "Charles' fiancée has been studying abroad all this time."

He was telling me not to walk down a path that would lead nowhere. He was right. Charles and I had always been worlds apart.

Now, even though we stood in the same place, we were further apart than ever.

By the time I went downstairs, only Maverick was still there. One look at me and he could tell something was wrong. "Did you and Charles fight?"

For a second, I thought he was concerned. I was about to say no. Then, his next words shattered that illusion.

"We're family, Shirley. You should know how to behave. Melissa didn't do anything, and you've been giving her attitude all night. The Jones family spent so much money hiring top etiquette tutors for you. It wasn't so you could come back here and stir up trouble.

"She got into a car accident and lost her memory trying to save you. Can't you just give in a little?"

Every word sounded like a lecture, laced with barely hidden contempt.

Even though I knew Maverick had never liked me and even though I knew better than to expect anything from him, it still hurt to hear it said out loud.

They were used to looking at me like I did not belong. If Melissa was ever upset, it had to be my fault.

I was too tired to argue anymore. Instead, I asked something else, "Do you know when Charles' birthday is?"

Maverick let out a mocking laugh. "Seven years of marriage and you don't even know your husband's birthday? It was the day before yesterday."

My clenched fist slowly loosened.

It was true.

However, for the past seven years, we had always celebrated it on November 20. That was tomorrow.

I chose to be honest. "I'm going to Nebula City because I want to go home."

Maverick looked annoyed. "Now, you're trying to use that to threaten us? Shirley, if you give up the perfume competition, I'll make sure you pass the job selection directly."

I had been in the company for five years. Every time there was a promotion opportunity, I failed. Even supervisors from other departments had spoken up for me.

Whenever I asked for feedback, Maverick would just tell me to figure it out myself. All these years… he had been holding me back for Melissa's sake.

I pushed the door open. An icy breeze rushed in. It swept away the last bit of affection I still had for him as a brother.

"Do whatever you want."

What he did not know was that before coming here, I had already submitted my resignation.