"Household registration transfer and lastname change, correct?"

"Yes."

"What name would you like to change to?"

"Lennox… Brittany Lennox."

From this moment on, she severed every last tie to Weston.

Even if she vanished without a word, he had no right to ask why.

Five days stretched on like an eternity, each second heavier, more suffocating than the past eighteen years combined.

Theresa made no effort to hide her malice, her every move laced with smug cruelty. Yet no matter what Brittany said, Weston only ever saw one truth: she was the troublemaker.

Then, on the fourth morning, Theresa suddenly beamed with delight, bringing "good news."

"Weston, I told my adoptive parents about our wedding. They want to return to the country to see us."

"Really?"

Weston’s response was gentle, indulgent. He smiled and reached out, wiping a trace of oil from the corner of Theresa’s lips.

"I won’t let them down."

Theresa had powerful, influential adoptive parents. Brittany had known all along that Weston valued that power more than anything.

And she… she had nothing.

Lowering her gaze, Brittany faded into the background, playing the part of air.

Over the past few days, the villa had been flooded with wedding deliveries, delicate boxes of wedding confections, fresh bouquets filling the air with their fragrance, and even invitations personally penned by Weston.

Joy filled every corner of the house. Yet none of it belonged to Brittany.

"Brittany? Brittany, are you even listening?"

"Huh?"

Snapped from her thoughts, Brittany turned, meeting Theresa’s amused gaze and Weston’s displeased frown.

"Theresa called you so many times. Didn’t you hear her?" Weston’s voice was cold. "I thought sending you to St. Darius Psychiatric Hospital would at least teach you some basic manners."

Brittany’s fingers curled slightly, but before she could answer, Theresa had already slid her arm through Weston’s, her voice dripping with laughter.

"Why so impatient? Brittany’s probably not used to seeing you so affectionate with someone else. She’s just a little jealous, aren’t you, Brittany?"

Brittany silently picked up a napkin, dabbing at the corner of her mouth. When she lifted her gaze again, her expression was flawless.

"I was just lost in thought. What is it, sister-in-law?"

Theresa let out a soft, delighted laugh, covering her lips as if suppressing a secret.

"Brittany has grown up. Your brother and I were thinking of taking you to tomorrow’s charity auction. I once showed your picture to the young master of Blackwood International, and he’s been dying to meet you."

A crisp "clack" echoed through the room.

Brittany’s spoon and fork had slipped from her fingers, hitting the floor with a sharp finality.

Russell Quinn.

Blackwood International’s young master is a name synonymous with scandal. A man known for indulgence, with a reputation that reeked of excess and recklessness.

Brittany froze, searching Weston’s eyes, hoping, praying, to find even a hint of amusement, a sign that this was some cruel joke.

But he had already looked away. Indifferent. Detached.

"Brother… do you want me to marry for an alliance?"

Of course, he did.

Her feelings disgusted him, a thorn lodged in his throat. He wanted her gone, far away, out of sight, out of mind. Even if it meant throwing her into the arms of a man she had never met.

After all, the family had raised her. It was only right for her to repay them.

Weston’s expression remained unreadable, but for a fleeting moment, his gaze softened.

"Your brother is settling down. You should have a home of your own, too. Besides, this is just an introduction. If you don’t like him, we can take our time choosing."

Brittany understood.

This wasn’t about her happiness. He just wanted her gone.

"Alright," she said, voice light, indifferent. "Since my brother chose him, there’s no harm in meeting him."

Setting down her utensils, she rose from the table. "I’m full. You two enjoy your meal."

And just like that, she left the dining room.

Obedient. Sensible. Without protest.

Gone was the temper, the resistance. Even when reprimanded, she had no complaints.

She had finally learned her place.

For ten years, she had been his most cherished treasure. No matter how indifferent he seemed, the ache buried in his heart ran deeper than he’d ever admit.

When Weston caught the redness in Brittany’s eyes, frustration surged through him.

He wanted to reach out, to say something, anything. Still, before he could move, Theresa clutched his sleeve, shaking her head in silent warning.

But the hurt in Brittany’s expression was like a dagger twisting in his chest. This time, Weston didn’t let Theresa stop him.

He followed Brittany upstairs, only to be met with a locked attic door.

Just as he raised his hand to knock, he froze.

Her voice carried through the wooden barrier, soft, trembling, raw.

She had loved him in secret for years. The only person she had ever given her heart to.

Yet, time and time again, he had been the one to hurt her the most.

Lying on her bed, curled up in quiet anguish, she flipped through her diary, pages filled with memories of him. Of them. Every fleeting moment, every small kindness, every stolen glance.

A love was unspoken. A wound never healed.

And now, all he could do was stand on the other side of the door.

Tear stains, unnoticed and forgotten, bled into the ink, smudging the words she once held so dearly.

She was hurt. And then, she laughed.

A quiet, breathless sound, as if the weight of it all had finally crushed her.

“Don’t worry, brother. I won’t cling to you anymore. I won’t like you anymore.”

Her whispered vow slipped past the door, landing straight in Weston’s ears like a dagger.

He should have felt relieved.

This was what he had wanted, to make her let go.

For as long as he could remember, she had been the most precious thing in his life. His little sister. His responsibility. But the moment she confessed she loved him, something inside him recoiled.

It was wrong. Impossible. Unthinkable.

She was eight years younger than him. How could he ever see her that way?

He refused to lead her down a path she could never take. And more than anything—he simply didn’t love her like that.

But now, standing outside her door, listening to the raw, broken pieces of her heart spill into the silence, he felt no relief at all.

It would pass.

She would grow up.

One day, she would understand that everything he had done was for her own good.

So why did it feel like he had just lost something he could never get back?

The charity gala was a spectacle of wealth and prestige, shimmering under the glow of crystal chandeliers. For Brittany, it was her first time stepping into a world so grand, where every smile hid a secret, and every handshake sealed a deal.

Weston’s company had only recently secured its place among the elite. A few years ago, they wouldn’t have even made the guest list. Now, he was an honored figure among them.

The red carpet gleamed beneath the dazzling lights. Weston stood tall in a tailored black suit, his presence commanding, his sharp features unreadable. Beside him, Theresa, draped in a striking red gown, looked every bit the perfect match.

Like a bride beside her groom.

Brittany trailed behind them, her gaze fixed on Weston’s back, committing it to memory, one of the last chances she’d have to do so.

A reporter’s voice cut through the hum of conversation. “Mr. Beverleigh, we’ve heard wonderful news about you and Miss Walker. When’s the wedding?”

Weston’s reply was steady. “We’re already making preparations.”

Theresa smiled, lifting her hand to display the diamond ring on her finger. The crowd erupted in cheers, cameras flashing like a sky full of stars.

“Miss Walker, you left a high-paying career as a psychologist to pursue songwriting, and your music has touched so many. Everyone’s curious: what’s the story behind your romance?”

For the first time that evening, Weston’s movements faltered.

Almost instinctively, his gaze swept through the sea of elegantly dressed guests, searching for Brittany.

But she was gone.

"Mr. Beverleigh? Mr. Beverleigh?"

The reporter’s repeated calls snapped him back to the present.

He exhaled lightly, forcing a small smile. "It's nothing special. For Theresa and me, it was love at first sight."

For the first time in a long while, the man known for his cold indifference softened. A rare warmth flickered in his gaze as he looked at Theresa, his expression almost tender.

"That song belongs to the past now. Because I love her, I would never let her endure a one-sided love alone. From now on, I’ll be the one taking the lead. I will make sure Theresa becomes the happiest woman in the world."

Screams erupted one after another. Theresa stood frozen, her eyes rimmed with red.

She murmured, "Weston..."

"I heard that the renowned overseas American multinational investor, Mr. Lennox, and his wife will also be attending your wedding..."

Behind a stone pillar outside the auction hall, Brittany stood motionless.

From that moment on, everything else faded into silence.

Her thoughts stalled at Weston’s words.

If he loved her, he would never have let her suffer through a one-sided crush.

He had erased her love. Denied the song he had once written.

Brittany curled her lips into a smirk, too drained to even cry.

During those endless days in the psychiatric hospital…

She had shed enough tears.

Supporting herself on her knees, she bent over, trying to steady her breath. Just as she pushed herself up, a bright, crisp voice suddenly rang above her head.

"So you're... Brittany?"

The face before her struck a chord of familiarity as if she had seen it somewhere before.

A high nose bridge, sharp brows, deep-set eyes, his features were undeniably striking. Yet, the dark circles beneath them hinted at excess, as if indulgence had long replaced rest.

At that moment, those piercing eyes narrowed slightly, scanning Brittany the way one might evaluate a new acquisition.

"I am Brittany. May I ask who you are?"

The man blinked, snapping out of his initial surprise. His expression turned oddly amused.

"You don’t recognize me?" He let out a low chuckle. "I'm Russell Quinn. Strange… Theresa said you were making a scene, insisting on marrying me."

Theresa. Russell.

Brittany let out a bitter laugh.

"You must be mistaken. I don’t even know you. Why would I insist on marrying you?"

Suppressing the discomfort coursing through her, she turned to leave.

But before she could step, a firm grip closed around her wrist. Without warning, she was yanked forcefully into a secluded corner.

A strange scent clung to the air, dulling her senses. Just as Brittany parted her lips to call for help, a firm hand gripped her chin, tilting her face upward.

Russell's gaze swept over her, slow and assessing, before his lips curled into a satisfied smirk.

"Drop the act. Your brother already made a deal with my mother. Once Theresa and your brother are married, you’ll be marrying me. At first, I figured any woman desperate enough to chase after me would be an unbearable nuisance. Still, looking at you now… you’re not half bad. Still, let’s get one thing straight: our marriage is nothing more than a business transaction. Don’t even think about meddling with the women I bring home."

His indifferent tone sent a tremor of rage through Brittany.

Even in the suffocating days at St. Darius Psychiatric Hospital, she had never endured such humiliation.

The family she came from valued intellect and refinement. Her parents had raised her on classical literature and etiquette, instilling grace in her every step. When she grew older, Weston shielded her from the world, crafting an isolated paradise where every person she met, from high school to university, was personally vetted by him.

Now, she stood before a man who treated her like a bargaining chip, his words dripping with contempt.

"Have some respect. Since we clearly despise each other, there’s no reason for us to speak any further."

Brittany gritted her teeth, forcing the words out as a wave of dizziness crashed over her. Something was wrong. The air felt thick and cloying, seeping into her lungs like a silent toxin.

She struggled, but her limbs felt weak, utterly powerless against his grip.

"Oh, don’t tell me you think you’re too good for me?" His lips twisted into a smirk. "Everyone knows you spent time in a psychiatric hospital. And let’s not forget, you’re not even Weston’s real sister. Just an orphan. Who else would take you? Be a good girl after we’re married, and I’ll ensure you don’t starve."

His breath, thick with the scent of alcohol and arrogance, fanned against her forehead, sending a shudder of revulsion through her.

"I know you like Weston. But let me give you some free advice: you have no idea who’s backing Theresa. Forget you. Even Weston wouldn’t dare cross them. Keep pushing, and you might just find yourself right back in that psychiatric hospital."