The door to the presidential suite at the Plaza Hotel was suddenly pushed open and crashed into the inner wall, the sound of gunfire tearing through the silence of the room.

Julian Carlisle stood at the doorway, his tall figure silhouetted in the hallway lights. He was already wearing his tailcoat shirt, his collar unbuttoned, but the chill he radiated was like a winter storm, not the groom on the eve of the wedding. He held a copy of the New York Post, folding it up to reveal the front page.

He strode through the room and slammed the newspaper onto the antique dressing table—Chloe Sanders was doing her makeup there. The headline was big and crude: "Julian and his true love's final dance." "Under the headline was a blurry photo of him and his ex-partner Ava Kensington being intimate on a yacht months earlier.

Chloe's makeup artist froze, the brush hanging in midair. Her assistant and makeup artist exchanged a glance, both wide-eyed and panicked.

Chloe did not back down. She looked into her own eyes in the mirror, then raised a hand and silently and clearly signaled them to leave. The two ladies hurriedly ran out of the room, gently closed the door, and left the bride and groom in a suffocating silence.

Julian closed in behind her, his shadow devouring her reflection. His voice was low, a dangerous roar that shook the floor.

"That's what you want, isn't it? See your name replace hers? ”

Chloe ignored him. Her hands are as steady as a rock, picking up an eyebrow pencil and using short, precise strokes to fill in the sparse areas of her eyebrows. This deliberate and bland move is a clear rejection of his carefully orchestrated drama—it is tantamount to adding fuel to the fire.

His control collapsed. He grabbed her wrist, his fingers digging deep into her slender bones, forcing her to put down her eyebrow pencil and turn around on the stool to face him. The smell of expensive cologne and anger filled the cramped space between them.

"Answer me." "Trapping me with children from the start—was that your plan?" ”

A sharp pain spread up her arm, but her expression remained cold and indifferent. She stared directly into his angry blue eyes—eyes that would be inherited by their children.

"Julian, the plan is to fulfill an agreement."

She reached for the Hermès Kelly bag beside her with her free hand. Her movements were composed and graceful, sharply contrasting with the rough grip on her other arm. She took out a folded document, flicked her wrist, and pressed it against his chest.

The paper unfolded slightly. The title is printed in a prominent company font, clear and unmistakable: "Gene Health and Offspring Agreement on the Carlisle Family Hereditary Neurodegenerative Disease."

Julian's pupils contracted. This is the deepest and most strictly guarded secret of the Carlisle dynasty—the genetic curse that haunts their bloodline, and the real reason he stands here.

Chloe pulled her wrist back from his loosened grip, a faint red mark already appearing on her skin. Her voice was cold and sharp, like a scalpel.

"My genetic markers are not just compatible—they are a form of healing. That's my value. Pregnancy is proof of this value. ”

Her words stripped away all the disguises of romance and choice, revealing the essence of the marriage: a business deal based on eugenics. Naked truth is even more humiliating than any tabloid headline.

The anger faded from Julian's face, replaced by deeper, more bitter resentment. He searches for cracks in her armor, trying to regain control.

"You could have faked it. All of them. ”

A faint snort without a hint of laughter escaped from the corner of her lips.

"The tests are supervised by your family's own medical team at the Mayo Clinic. Your father, Arthur, has a complete report. ”

The family patriarch—the one Julian could not defy — was the general. He staggered back a step, losing all fighting spirit, leaning against the floor-to-ceiling window overlooking Central Park. He pulled a cigarette from a silver pack and lit it; the smoke briefly covered his handsome yet ruthless face. He was trapped, and he knew—for the family's future, this wedding had to take place.

Chloe stood up and walked toward him. She smoothed the collar of his shirt, her fingers brushing his neck—a gesture filled with shocking wifely intimacy. His body stiffened from her touch, radiating an air of rejection.

She leaned in close to him, her lips pressed against his ear. Her voice was a whisper, yet carried the weight of a guillotine.

"There's one more thing. I know exactly what happened to Ava Kensington in Europe. ”

Julian's muscles tensed up. He stubbed out his cigarette in a nearby ashtray, a dangerous glint flashing in his eyes. She had just touched the last bit of his pain.

He grabbed her shoulder, gripping her so tightly it hurt.

"What did you say?"

She didn't avoid his gaze.

"I said, I know your mother, Eleanor, was involved. And I know why Ava has to disappear. ”

This was the doubt he had harbored for years—a terrible question he had never dared to prove—now being spoken out loud by the woman he despised most in the world.

Chloe delivers the final blow.

"So you have two choices. Marry me, and we face it together—your secret will remain safe. Or, you can walk out the door and watch the Carlisle Empire deal with two scandals at once: the gene time bomb and the disappearance of your beloved Ava. ”

His breathing grew heavy, making a rough sound in the silent room. He stared at this calm, beautiful, and malicious woman, feeling completely powerless for the first time in his life.

Finally, his hand fell from her shoulder. He spoke through gritted teeth, every word filled with hatred.

"See you at the altar."

He turned and left, slamming the door shut. The crystal chandelier above trembled, and the prism cast a chaotic rainbow onto the wall.

Chloe stared at the door for a long time. Then, the steel-like control she had maintained finally collapsed. Her knees buckled, and she collapsed beside the dressing table. Her hands trembled so fiercely that she had to clutch the edge tightly to stay upright.

"Who allowed you to touch my stuff?"

This sentence carried whiskey's ambiguity, yet carried a sharp threat, shattering the silence of the Carlisle Manor library. Chloe looked up from the leather-bound book in her hand. Between her fingers was a faded photograph found in a book—young Julian smiling, arms around Ava Kensington. On the back of the photo, his familiar scribbled handwriting: 'All of me.'

Julian returned home early, already thoroughly drunk. He snatched the photo from her hand, his gaze icy and piercing.

"Your mother asked me to organize your old documents." Chloe's voice was steady. She didn't want him to see how thin and cold the air in the room had become when his presence had made it. "I found this in a book."

"My mother." He sneered; that name sounded like poison to him. "You and my mother...... You all want her to disappear. ”

This accusation came so close to a dangerous truth that it struck her composure. She decided to give him a dose of reality.

"Your mother is protecting you. Ava blackmails her with information about genetic defects. ”

That sentence hit him like a heavy blow. He stared at her, and the drunken haze temporarily faded, replaced by disbelief.

"Eleanor paid her to leave." Chloe continued, her voice merciless. "Pay her to marry a bankrupt European duke to keep our family's secrets. Julian, that was a deal, not a tragedy. ”

He couldn't accept it. Ava, as the image of tragically lost love, is the foundation of his resentment and the reason for his cruel actions. Hearing that she was just another deal was unbearable for him.

"Lies!" He roared, his voice echoing high above the ceiling. "You lie just to look better!"

He lunged forward and grabbed her shoulder. The whisky is so intense it can be suffocating. He shook her, his face twisted with desperate anger.

"You just want to make her a nuisance!"

Chloe was months pregnant and felt dizzy. A dull, warning pain throbbed in her lower abdomen. She tried to push him away, her voice hoarse for the first time.

"Julian, stop...... Kid......"

"Child?" He let out a laugh, a voice full of hatred, chilling to the bone. "Are you talking about the price of this marriage?"

His words twisted in her heart like blades. In his struggle, his anger reached its peak. With one last fierce shove, he shook her off.

Chloe staggered backward, her heel tripping into thin air. The library leads to the main hall by only three short steps. Her body tilted, losing her balance. As she fell, time seemed to slow down—her head hit the cold, hard marble floor, making a nauseating muffled thud.

A wave of burning pain tore her apart. She felt a warm, moist liquid welling up between her legs—a terrifying sensation that obscured everything else. She curled up on the floor, panting, her gaze fixed on Julian.

He stood at the top of the small staircase. The anger fueled by alcohol faded from his face, but instead of regret, it was a cold, chilling disgust.

He did not approach her. He did not call for help. He simply looked down at her, then delivered the final, fatal blow.

"Maybe that's for the best. This child simply shouldn't exist. ”

Her vision blurred with tears and pain. Before the darkness consumed her, the last thing she saw was his figure turning and leaving.

——

Five years later.

Chloe Sanders stands in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows of the top office of the Carlisle Enterprise Building, overlooking the kingdom of Manhattan below.

She wore a perfectly tailored Armani suit, her hair styled back into a neat yet elegant bun. Her makeup is impeccable, and her gaze is sharp. The helpless, broken woman on the marble floor had vanished. That woman was already dead.

There was a gentle knock at the door. Her assistant Elizabeth walked in, holding a tablet.

"Ms. Sanders, all the media reports about Mr. Carlisle's latest partner, Jessica Morgan, are here."

Chloe took the tablet. The screen was filled with photos of her husband on a yacht—his arms possessively wrapped around a young, beautiful socialite. They were laughing heartily. Chloe's expression showed no change at all. Over the past five years, those women have changed face after face like a revolving lantern, each a pale imitation of Ava Kensington.

She skimmed through the photos with a professional, detached attitude.

"Keep an eye out." She handed the tablet back, her voice calm and steady. "I don't want it to affect the third-quarter earnings call."

Elizabeth nodded and left. Chloe's gaze once again drifted out the window to the city. In an instant, a shadow of pain swept across her face.

After the fall, she woke up alone in the hospital ward. Julian never appeared. The doctor gave her devastating news—and then, a miracle happened. She was pregnant with twins. She lost one. But another, a fighter, survived.

This is a secret she guarded with her life. A secret Julian Carlisle would never know.

Chloe hosted the quarterly marketing meeting for the group's flagship luxury hotel brand, "Carlyle Crown." The meeting room was filled with the aroma of expensive coffee and tense ambition.

The marketing manager—a young man eager to show off—clicked on the last slide of his presentation. A large glossy photo of Jessica Morgan appeared on the screen.

“…… Therefore, we recommend hiring Jessica Morgan as a brand ambassador. Her social media influence among young audiences is undeniable. ”

The room suddenly fell into an awkward silence. Everyone's gaze nervously glanced at Chloe, then quickly looked away. That unspoken reality—they proposed hiring the CEO's mistress to represent the family brand—filled the air.

Chloe's face was expressionless. She tapped the gleaming rosewood table lightly with a perfectly trimmed finger. The rhythmic tapping was the only sound that broke the tense atmosphere. When she spoke, her voice was completely professional, without any personal emotion.

"How does her engagement rate on Instagram compare to the actual conversion rate of her sponsored posts? I need solid data, not the popularity of gossip tabloids. ”

The manager stammered through the notes—he didn't have the data.

Chloe calmly pronounced the verdict.

"This brand represents heritage and understated luxury. Ms. Morgan's public image...... Changeable. Find me someone with taste, not just someone who generates clicks. ”

This decision was absolute, backed by irrefutable business logic. No one could refute it. She skillfully used the impersonal language of corporate strategy to defuse a personal threat.

After the meeting, Elizabeth walked into her office.

"Mr. Carlisle's office called. His assistant said he already knew your decision and ...... No objections. ”

A faint, imperceptible emotion—not victory, but a weary cynicism—flashed across Chloe's eyes. Julian certainly didn't object. He never cared about those women themselves—they were mere tools, tools he used to protest a marriage he could not escape.

Meanwhile, in the CEO's office, Julian hung up the phone. His assistant stood to the side.

"Ms. Sanders handled it perfectly. She showed no personal emotion. ”

Julian gazed out the window, his expression elusive. He had anticipated an argument, a trivial behind-the-scenes struggle. Instead, she acted as if Jessica Morgan were a complete stranger, a mere entry on the budget sheet. This thorough, professional indifference was more disturbing than any argument. It made him feel ...... irrelevant. A strange, unfamiliar irritation stinged his skin.

That night, Chloe didn't drive the Bentley back to the cold, expansive Carlisle estate. Instead, she got into an unremarkable Lexus, drove through city traffic, and arrived at a secure apartment building guarded by guards in the Upper East Side. This apartment was registered under her maiden name, a premarital property Julian had never bothered to inquire about—her safe haven.

She unlocked the door with her fingerprint, and the click of the lock cylinder sounded especially pleasant. When she took off her high heels at the door, she felt the "armor" of the day begin to melt. The fatigue deep in her bones vanished the moment she heard a small, piercing sound.

"Mommy!"

A four-year-old girl with jet-black hair and stunning blue eyes ran out of the living room and threw herself into Chloe's arms. Chloe knelt down, hugged her daughter tightly, and buried her face in her hair. This was Sophie—her armor, her weakness, her whole world.

"Sophie is very well-behaved today." Nanny Maria called out from the kitchen doorway. "We finished her painting."

Chloe took Sophie's small hand and walked into the living room, then her heart suddenly sank.

On the coffee table, a copy of American Weekly was spread out. The cover featured a full-page photo of Julian and Jessica Morgan at a yacht party.

Maria's face turned pale. "Sorry, Ms. Sanders, this was given to the wrong person. I was about to throw it away......"

But it was too late. Chloe's gaze fell on her daughter. Sophie's pinky finger was pointing at the man in the photo. She looked up at Chloe—those blue eyes, identical to Julian's, wide open with innocent curiosity.

"Mommy." Her voice was clear as a bell. "Is that ...... Daddy? ”

This question hit Chloe like a heavy blow, draining the air from her lungs. She knelt down, gently stroking her daughter's hair, her mind racing for an answer that was neither a lie nor a destructive truth.

Sophie pointed to the woman clinging tightly to Julian's arm.

"Who is she? Why does she want to hold Daddy?" ”

A cold hard mass formed in Chloe's throat. How could she explain this filthy, ugly truth to this perfect, innocent child? In her daughter's eyes, she saw a simple and pure longing for her father—a new wave of cold and thorough hatred toward Julian surged toward her.