Vernon's POV

But in the end, she said nothing.

I thought I had let go now that I was given a second chance in life. But standing here in this moment still felt like something had been ripped from my chest, so sharp and raw that it was hard to breathe.

I forced myself to stay composed and began unfastening my watch. The sound of the metal clasp echoed through the silent study, unnervingly loud.

“Vernon!” Mr. Andrews suddenly stood up. “There’s no need to go this far!”

“Mr. Andrews.” I cut him off gently and continued removing my watch. “Rules are rules.”

The suit, the tie, the watch, and the shoes. I took them all off, piece by piece, folding them neatly on the floor. Even my socks came off. I stood barefoot on the cold marble tiles.

At that moment, Calvert's face was smug, practically glowing with triumph. Zera, though, had turned pale.

When I started unbuttoning my shirt, she finally couldn’t take it anymore and looked away.

“That’s enough!” Mr. Andrews could no longer hold back. “Vernon, stop this!”

But I still calmly folded the shirt and placed it on top of the suit.

“From now on, I stand on my own,” I declared. “I'm Vernon Robson, and I’m no longer part of Andrews.”

Right after saying that, I left through the back door of the Andrews estate, pushing a rusty old folding bike. It was the only thing I owned. It was a birthday gift Zera gave me when I turned eight. It had just been sitting in the backyard storage shed ever since.

Outside, I hadn’t realized so many reporters had gathered. The moment I stepped out, they swarmed like vultures.

“Mr. Robson, how does it feel to be kicked out of the Andrews family?”

“Rumor has it they didn’t even let you keep your underwear. Is that true?”

The flashes were blinding, so I squinted against the light.

“Excuse me,” I said hoarsely, my voice rough and unfamiliar even to myself.

Then, the crowd burst into laughter. One female reporter even pointed her camera directly at my lower half.

Her face looked familiar. She was probably someone I’d seen at one of Calvert’s birthday parties.

I swung my leg over the bike and wobbled forward, weaving through the chaos. But the reporters chased after me like a beast following its prey.

It wasn’t until I turned into a quiet alley that I finally shook them.

But just as I exited the other side, a sleek black Maybach pulled up and blocked my path.

The window then rolled down, revealing a stunningly beautiful face.

“Mr. Robson,” she said, “I’m Madge Welch from the Welch Group. My grandfather would like to meet with you. Would that be alright?”

I froze in place.

Madge Wedge. The legendary heiress from the capital. The Welchs were an elite powerhouse with true heritage and influence.

In my previous life, I had spent ten years clawing my way up just to barely make contact with them. Now, they were seeking me out?

I straightened up and nodded seriously. “It would be an honor.”

Third Person's POV

The next day, back at the Andrews villa, Zera sat frozen, staring at her phone screen.

Then she crossed with a top trending topic.

[Zera Andrews's husband candidate, Vernon Roson, was stripped of status and thrown out naked, riding only a bike!]

[The moral decay of society! What a disgrace!]

[Word is, if it weren’t for Miss Andrews’s soft spot, he wouldn’t even have kept his underwear!]

[Yesterday’s high-and-mighty Mr. Robson is now worse off than a beggar. Tragic!]

[Nothing new. Even the dogs raised by the rich get treated like this!]

She clicked on the video without thinking, and the sight of his bare back on that old bike hit her like a punch to the chest. When the camera panned to that rusted frame, she froze.

“Zera, what are you watching?”

Calvert wrapped his arm around her from behind. He then caught a glimpse of the screen and immediately burst out laughing. “Haha! That’s gold. Totally worth calling in dozens of media outlets to film that!”

Third Person's POV

Zera froze. “So, it was you who called the reporters?”

“Of course,” Calvert said smugly, planting a kiss on her cheek. “Now the whole city knows what kind of trash Vernon really is. No one’s going to question your decision anymore.”

Zera forced a smile, but a strange sense of irritation stirred inside her. That old, beat-up bicycle kept flashing in her mind.

A few seconds passed, and she suddenly asked, “Calvert, do you know how to ride a bike now?”

Calvert scoffed. “Why would I bother? I’ve got cars with four wheels. Why risk falling on some rusty piece of junk? I’m not a fool like Vernon. You know I’ve always hated pain since I was a kid.”

Hearing that, something in Zera’s heart sank.

She reopened the video and watched it more closely, scanning every inch of Vernon’s body.

Calvert noticed how intently she was watching and got a little annoyed.

“He’s got no shame,” he muttered. “Riding a bike half-naked in front of all those people. Good thing we kicked him out. Otherwise, our family would get dragged through the mud.”

But despite those insults, Zera wasn’t listening to him as she was looking for something, but she couldn’t find it.

After a moment’s hesitation, she left Calvert behind and ran upstairs to Vernon’s now-empty bedroom.

She dug through the storage box, flipping through an old photo album filled with childhood pictures of the three of them.

Out of the whole thick book, there was only one photo of Vernon.

It was taken years ago, on a summer day at the beach in New York.

In the photo, she was holding Calvert’s hand, laughing happily on the shore.

Vernon stood in the background, off to the side, not smiling. He was holding her inflatable swim ring, like a forgotten servant who didn’t belong.

But what caught her eye was the bandage wrapped around his shoulder.

Seeing that, Zera’s body tensed. Then, like a crashing wave, a forgotten memory came flooding back.

That summer, she had snuck off to play on the back mountain and accidentally tumbled down a slope. Her body was scratched and bleeding, and everything had started to blur.

Just before she passed out, a boy picked her up and placed her on the back seat of his bicycle, pedaling like mad down the rough mountain path.

The road was so bumpy that the pain became unbearable. Instinctively, she bit down hard on the boy’s shoulder.

His skin tore open, and blood gushed out.

But he didn’t make a sound.

Instead, he comforted her softly, “Don’t be scared. We’re almost at the hospital.”

When she woke up, Calvert was the one standing beside her bed. The nurse told her she was incredibly lucky.

A boy had ridden a bicycle more than ten kilometers down the mountain, exhausting himself to the point of collapse in the hospital hallway.

Lying there in bed, she asked Calvert if he was the one who saved her.

He looked surprised just for a moment.

But he didn’t deny it.

Now Zera sat frozen, struggling to breathe.

It all made sense now.

All this time, she believed Calvert had saved her. That belief had fueled a special affection for him, which made her mourn him more deeply than she ever admitted.

But today, she finally realized how horribly wrong she’d been.