It was my third year with Timothy Jones when he had fallen for someone else and wanted to end things.

At his birthday party, he embraced a petite and cute woman, telling his friends, "It's better to go for the sweet, innocent ones."

Someone asked, "What about Olivia?"

"Olivia? We've been fooling around for three years. Sure, she's fun, but sometimes you need a change of pace, right?"

The "Olivia" he casually dismissed was me. And his new girlfriend? None other than my dad's illegitimate daughter, Willow Lambert.

It was fine. I decided it was time for me to change things up, too.

I was not invited to Timothy Jones' birthday party. My messages went unanswered, so I had to scour the guest list and contact mutual friends to find the address.

When I arrived, the private room was buzzing with energy. Timothy was on the leather couch, locked in a passionate embrace with someone else. The woman was lying on his chest, slightly blushed. Looking closer, I realized it was Willow Lambert, my father's illegitimate daughter.

"Should we tell Olivia?"

"Can't you read the room? Tim has clearly moved on."

…

As the few men whispered by the door, I walked in. The lively room fell into an uncomfortable silence.

I smiled and said, "Go on. Why did you stop? Did I interrupt you?"

All eyes turned to me as I continued, "Tim, we've known each other for 20 years, and you didn't even invite me to your birthday party?"

I moved closer, effortlessly popped open a bottle, and poured myself a drink. As I locked eyes with him, I saw a look of irritation flicker across his face.

"Olivia, can't you act like a lady for once?" Timothy snapped.

Before I could retort, Willow whimpered with teary eyes, "Tim, please don't fight because of me. It's all my fault. I shouldn't have…"

She looked so pitiful, like a wounded little bunny begging for sympathy. I could not stand the sight of her and slapped her hard across the face without thinking twice.

"At least you're self-aware. Your mom seduced my dad, and now you're after my boyfriend? Does being a homewrecker run in your family?"

"Olivia, that's enough!" Timothy shoved me away and pulled Willow into a protective embrace. If I had not known better, I would have thought it was a scene from some tragic love story.

Then, Timothy turned to me and stated coldly, "Olivia, since you've seen everything, let's get it over with. We're done. I'm bored of this relationship."

I laughed bitterly. "What's this? I'm not 'womanly' enough for you, but some blushing little kiss is what gets you going? When we were making out in the car last night, you said you wanted to marry me. Why didn't you say you're tired of this relationship then? Tim, you're nothing but a monster!"

Before he could respond, the door opened, and a handsome young guy walked in with more drinks. I seized the opportunity and pulled him toward me, crushing my lips on his. His lips tasted faintly of citrus, and the room fell silent except for the pounding of my heart.

When I finally pulled away, the guy looked stunned. I turned back to Timothy, who was glaring at me. "Perfect timing. I'm tired of you too. We're through, you trash."

As lousy as my father was, I was grateful he had at least given me a stubborn streak. It helped me regain some ground in the private room, even if it meant pretending everything was fine.

When I left the room, it finally hit me that a three-year relationship was over.

"Wow, you've got a pretty firm grip," the young guy said, his soft voice snapping me back to reality.

I realized I had dragged him halfway down the hallway. I quickly let go and apologized, preparing to leave, but he grabbed my arm. However, he held onto me.

"You can't just kiss a guy like that and leave. You owe me now."

Suddenly, the autumn air felt much hotter than it should have. His stare was so intense, it felt like he was undressing me with his eyes. I could not help but wonder if he was planning to use this incident to leech off me.

I was wearing designer clothes, so it would not have been surprising if he had figured out I came from money. Unfortunately for him, I was definitely not in the habit of keeping men, and the action in the private room was just so that I was not on the losing end.

The thought of such a handsome man after my money only heightened my disgust with men. I fished a few hundred-dollar bills out of my purse and handed them to him, but the confusion on his face seemed to imply that the money was not enough.

"It's just a kiss. Don't push it," I commented, reaching for more cash.

However, the guy stopped me and said, "I don't want your money. How about we settle this another way?"

I ended up spending the night with this stranger, and he was my first intimate encounter besides Timothy. The memory of last night burned vividly in my mind—his firm arms, smooth muscles, and the way he moved like an insatiable beast, keeping me up until late.

"Say my name," he had murmured in the dark. "It's Ian."

I was barely conscious, lost in exhaustion, and when I hesitated, he would drive into me with more force until I finally moaned out his name, and only then did he relent.

Leaning down, he whispered, "Forget him."

It had all happened so fast that I barely had time to process the breakup, let alone feel sad about it. Staring at the messy sheets and scattered clothes, I realized the reckless thing I had done.

Just then, Ian Baker's slender hand pulled me into his arms. Unlike last night's wild passion, this time, he seemed more like a gentle puppy—obedient and affectionate.

"Since we've slept together, I'm yours now," he said softly. "From now on, there can only be one person in your life—me. And as for Timothy, you can forget about him. He's just my cousin, and it won't affect anything."

My hands froze as I was getting dressed.

"What did you just say?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper. "Cousin? Timothy Jones is your cousin?"

I never imagined I would sleep with someone four years younger than me, let alone my ex-boyfriend's cousin. It finally clicked why Timothy had given that look last night.

My best friend, Candice Fields, asked in disbelief, "Are you telling me you slept with Timothy's cousin? Isn't he supposedly studying abroad?"

I rubbed my temples, feeling a headache coming on. "I had no idea Ian was his cousin. He was helping with the drinks, and I thought he was a waiter. I even tried to pay him…"

Candice's eyes widened. "What kind of waiter wears Ocean Blue? That jacket cost 120,000 dollars!"

My phone buzzed on the table, lighting up with messages—some from Timothy, some from Ian. I was overwhelmed, and my head was spinning.

"What if I just run away now?" I asked desperately.

"The Bakers only have one son, right? And I've heard they're super strict. Olivia, how do you think they'd react if they found out a 'bad girl' like you slept with their precious boy?"

I shuddered at the thought, fear creeping in. However, something did not add up. Ian had not seemed like someone raised in a strict household last night. I wondered if it was the years of repression that had led to his aggressive behavior in bed.

I glanced at my phone's glowing screen and saw a message.

[Livie, are you really just going to pretend nothing happened between us? If you keep ignoring me, I'll tell Tim.]

I felt like I was losing my mind. If I had known Ian's connection to Timothy, I would never have gotten into bed with him.

Candice grinned and handed me her phone. "You and Tim sure are something. He's after your stepsister, and you're with his cousin."

It was Timothy's latest social media post—two hands intertwined, the silver ring I had given him replaced by matching couple bands. The caption read, [Lucky to have found you.]

Willow would probably be my lifelong rival. My parents' marriage had been purely for business. Two years in, Mom discovered Dad was having an affair with Willow's mother. Not only that, but they also happened to have a daughter one year younger than me.

Mom had a fierce, competitive streak. Determined to win back Dad and show up Willow's mother, she pushed me relentlessly to get top grades and excel in every extracurricular activity imaginable.

Stories like these were common in upper-class circles, but unlike others, Mom took her life. She could not bear knowing the man she shared a bed with was also sharing one with someone else, so she jumped off a building.

I was only eight years old at the time, naive as any kid my age would be. I did not cry at her funeral. Instead, I was actually relieved I would not have to go to any more after-school classes.

However, all those people who gossiped about us behind closed doors suddenly started crying and hugging me.

"Poor Olivia," they said. "Your mom loved you so much."

Loved me? If she loved me, why did she leave me? Why did she abandon me, leaving me all on my own?

I did not shed a single tear, and they called me heartless for it. That was when Timothy appeared in my life.

Hands stuffed in his pockets, he stood in front of me and mocked them, "What a bunch of phonies. You'd think it was their mom who died."

Rude, arrogant, shameless—those were the words people used to describe Timothy. If my life was like a machine repeating the same routine, then Timothy was the unnoticed screw that could come loose whenever it wanted.

He extended his hand to me with a grin. "You've got guts. I like that."

My heart skipped a beat, and his seemingly simple action reignited my will to live.

Later that night, Dad summoned me home for a family dinner. The moment I walked in, an ashtray flew past my head.

"You're getting out of control! How dare you slap Willow in public!"

I was not quick enough to dodge, and a cut opened on my cheek, filling my nose with the metallic scent of blood.

I touched my stinging face and forced a smile. "So, does that mean it's fine to hit her at home?"

"You ungrateful brat, is this how your mom raised you?"

"Dad, have you forgotten? Mom has been dead for years."

I took a seat at the far end of the table, my face expressionless. Dad was trembling with rage, while Willow hurriedly patted his back.

"Dad, don't be angry. I'm sure she didn't mean it…"

"I don't care if she meant it or not! As long as I'm the head of this family, she won't get away with this behavior! Apologize to Willow, now!"

The table was covered with dishes, half of them seafood—Willow's favorite. However, I was allergic to seafood.

"Why should I apologize? She's the one who seduced Tim. Besides, you know the Jones family only acknowledges me as the legitimate daughter of the Lambert family, right?"

The color drained from Dad's face. Even if Timothy liked Willow, she was still the daughter of a mistress. In the upper-class society, reputation was everything. The Jones family would never allow their son to marry someone with such a scandalous background. So, despite not having a place in this family, I was still the only heiress of the Lambert family.

Just then, a knock at the door interrupted the tense silence. The housekeeper opened it to reveal Timothy, looking casual and effortlessly handsome.

Willow's eyes lit up. "Tim!" she exclaimed, practically throwing herself at him. She even had the nerve to shoot me a triumphant look.

I was about to leave when Timothy grabbed my arm. "Actually, I'm here to see you."

Everyone knew the Jones family was keen on setting me up with Timothy. His parents had watched me grow up, practically considering me as family. As for Timothy himself...

I took a sip of my coffee, trying to steady my nerves.

"Did you enjoy yourself that night?" he asked, catching me off guard.

I had expected a lecture or a warning, not this. The events of that night flashed vividly in my mind, causing my hand to tremble slightly as I set down my cup.

"What's it to you?" I retorted.

Timothy chuckled. "What, afraid I'll expose that you only kissed Ian to make me jealous? Don't worry. I don't care about such trivial matters."

He leaned back on the couch, exuding an air of superiority. It reminded me of our time together—how he always liked to be in control.

Timothy had a strong appetite for pleasure and never ran out of ways to keep things interesting. His favorite part was watching me surrender to him, losing myself in the moment.

He would say, "The way you look at me, Olivia… it's like I own you, and I like that."

There was passion in those words, an intensity that I could not deny. Yet, deep down, I was not that kind of girl. I had been a good girl for years, always following the rules, and I did not know how to handle someone as unpredictable as Timothy.

I would watch silently as he smoked and drank, feeling like a tag-along kid at an adult party. Then, one day, someone asked him what kind of girl he liked.

With a cigarette dangling from his lips, he smirked and said, "Big chest, nice bottom, and most importantly, wild."

So, I started learning how to be the woman he described. I had a good figure and a pretty face. All I needed was a little more boldness, confidence, and openness. When I finally had him wrapped around my finger, we were already naked in bed, and that one night turned into three years.

"Timothy."

He rested his head on his hand, staring at me as if waiting for an explanation.

But I simply stated, "I won't chase after you anymore."

We have had our share of breakups over the years. He favored the silent treatment, while I craved security. When angry, he would leave me alone to figure out what I had done. Once I came to my senses, I would crawl back to make amends.

I used to think we really did love each other. Despite his wild ways, Timothy had never crossed any lines—drinking, telling dirty jokes, and that was it.

Yet, of all people, he chose to fool around with Willow. He knew she was the one who had torn my family apart and how much I hated her.

If it had been anyone else, I might have been able to keep lying to myself. Nonetheless, I saw everything clearly.

"Olivia, there's a limit to your dramatic antics."

I felt my patience wearing thin. "Aren't you with her now? You have a girlfriend. I may be a lot of things, but I won't be the other woman. You know how much I despise cheaters."

Timothy's expression finally changed. He sat up straight, his tone softening. "Willow's actually really sweet and obedient, kind of like how you used to be. I know you're just jealous, Olivia. Sure, I'm dating her, but you're still the one I'll marry."

I laughed—really laughed until my sides ached. The girl he thought was sweet and obedient was the same one who had once convinced Dad to lock me in a dark room for a whole day without food. The same one who put nails in my shoes on purpose.

I had really been the obedient one; Willow was just good at pretending.

However, it did not matter anymore. If he was happy, so be it. One cannot be too greedy in life. Having it all was a luxury reserved for fairytales. I had been living for his approval for three years. It was time for me to taste freedom.

"Timothy, I slept with him. He's actually pretty good. A little better than you, in fact."

With every word I spoke, I saw the veins in his neck bulge a little more.