There were footsteps outside the door. I closed my eyes again and muttered the classic line that never fails in a transmigration scenario: "Water… water…"
That line is the undisputed top cliché of waking-up-in-a-novel situations.
I could tell from it whether whoever was coming was human or ghost, friend or foe.
No one answered.
I kept lying there like a corpse.
Still no one.
Fine. I’ll do it myself.
I swung my legs out of bed, found a finely crafted kettle, popped off the lid and chugged it all down.
Ah — that feel was everything.
Only after I’d quenched my thirst did it hit me: I’d probably transmigrated into a rich woman.
Look at this carved, vintage European bed, the floor-to-ceiling windows glowing in golden sunset, the ostentatious oil painting on the wall that screams expensive, the heavy, historically rich wooden door… and the little kid poking his head around that door watching me. I felt a sting of bitter tears.
That bitterness came from remembering the poor, helpless girl I used to be.
Tears traced my perfect face, down my swan-like neck, and soaked into my gorgeous silk robe.
Wait—something’s wrong here.
A kid?
Where did a kid come from?
It took all my effort to coax that hyper-alert little brat in from the doorway.
I asked, "Who are you?"
He lowered his eyes and said, "My name is… Charlie Dalton."
I was about to laugh and make fun of the ridiculous name—except it sounded faintly familiar. I thought and thought until a chill ran down my spine, a bad premonition rising in my chest.
I stepped closer and grabbed his hand, ignoring his slight surprise and resistance. My voice trembled as I asked, "Then… who am I?"
The kid stared at me with a strange look. After a long time, he slowly said, "You are… my mommy."
I hurriedly asked, "What’s my name?"
He said, "Claire Bennett."
I cried.
This time I really cried.
What an idiot I was.
I had thought just being a rich woman would be enough to make me happy. I never expected it would be a death sentence.
Claire Bennett was the top supporting female in the novel I remembered—The Unmatched Love: The CEO’s Childhood Sweetheart.
Her grandfather had been the hero’s grandfather’s driver and died rescuing him in an accident.
Her parents were also gone, so the old man took her into the Dalton family out of obligation.
That’s when seven-year-old Claire met nine-year-old Nathan Dalton.
From then on, everything she did was to be with him.
Claire was devoted. Claire was silent.
What seemed like the best fate became Claire Bennett’s disaster.
Nathan Dalton was brooding, tight-lipped, sharp and ruthless. She never could read him.
But the old patriarch wanted them together.
When Claire turned eighteen, she and the patriarch schemed together to trap Nathan, and that’s how Charlie was born.
Under the old man’s pressure, they registered the marriage and the child got a household record, but there was no wedding.
That same year Claire was accused of pushing the female lead into the water, almost killing her.
After that, the male and female leads left for France for four whole years.
During that time the patriarch died. Nathan’s parents kicked Claire and the child out. Luckily, Mr. Dalton Sr.’s will left her property and funds, so she could survive.
Years without Nathan’s love turned Claire violent, depressed, and an alcoholic. She often beat the child.
So Charlie matured far too early.
Of course, the novel ends with the hero and heroine happily together, while Claire repeatedly sabotages them and eventually pays the price—she and the child self-immolate to death.
I nearly fainted. Honestly, I thought I should faint for days.
I woke up again.
Life has to be faced. There will be setbacks ahead, but also my Givenchy, Chanel, Dior—and spicy crawfish.
I looked around the house and it felt eerie.
This huge place, just me and my son.
Yes. My son.
Because when you sit at home, the pot falls from the sky. This pot? Mine to wear.
This kid hasn’t had much parental affection, but I’ll make sure he gets the love money can buy—hehe.
I opened the original owner’s wardrobe. There weren’t many clothes, so I grabbed something decent and went out.
At a thousand-dollar-per-head buffet, I and Buddy sat eyeballing each other.
Me: ԅ(¯ㅂ¯ԅ) Buddy: (눈_눈)
I said, "If you don’t eat enough to make up for what I paid today, you are not the son of the Queen of Big Appetites."
Buddy: "……"
We left under the boss’s teary-eyed stare.
Buddy’s battle spirit was weak. I’d barely eaten one-eighth of my fill before he gave up. He went from waiting for me to finish to dragging me out to stop me, to pleading to leave immediately.
I made Buddy look bad. Oh, the painful realization.
After all, Buddy wasn’t three or four—he was five.
After lunch I planned to raid the mall.
Buddy bolted, claiming homework, fleeing like a refugee and leaving me waving in the air.
It was time to recognize my identity.
I was no longer the poor girl Claire Bennett; I was Claire Bennett, the rich woman.
Suddenly I became the golden goose to every sales clerk.
I listened politely to their flattery, though inside I was secretly thrilled.
So this is what being rich feels like.
That feeling lasted until I heard a voice: "Sister Claire, you’re here too!"
I thought it was some demon and took off my sunglasses—only to see a frail, pale beauty in a white dress approaching.
That face, that figure, that aura.
Uh-oh. It’s the female lead.
Drama followed the heroine like moths to a flame. I hurried to gather my shopping bag and leave but was stopped.
A man blocked my way.
He was perfectly put together in a black suit, hair immaculate, eyes deep and dark, high nose, gold-rimmed glasses, thin lips in a tight line, unreadable.
Honestly, I felt like dying.
Everyone should know who this big figure is without me saying it.
"Today Nathan and I were checking on a property nearby. We didn’t expect to run into you. It’s been six years, hasn’t it?" the man said.
Oh no—I’d just walked into the reunion scene between the supporting lady and the hero couple.
I stayed silent, but another voice cut in.
A girl in green said, "Claire Bennett, I can’t believe you have the nerve to stand in front of Hazel Morgan. You’re shameless."
So it was Hazel’s little flunky.
The flunky, seeing I didn’t respond, grew bolder. "Not only did you hurt Hazel, you drugged Mr. Dalton. Everyone in Riverton knows the infamous Claire Bennett, right?"
She sneered, nostrils flaring in contempt.
The flunky clearly hadn’t seen much of the world; her insults were old-fashioned. I thought I’d teach her a lesson.
I stepped forward, took her hand, and—right in front of her startled eyes—sweetly said, "qnmlgb, nmsl."
The air froze.
Hazel and the flunky gaped, and Nathan glanced at me like he’d noticed something odd.
The flunky burst into tears and ran to Nathan, wailing, "Mr. Dalton—"
"Shh. Don’t make a fuss."
The man placed a finger over his lips and the scene instantly quieted.
I thought to myself: truly, the dominance of a CEO shouldn’t be underestimated—until I looked up and met his eyes.
He held a cigarette that glowed and dimmed. The smoke curled up and blocked the gaze that was making me feel terrified, almost suffocating.
Since transmigrating, this was the first time I’d been genuinely scared.
The further from him the better. My reason told me to run.
My reason also told me: we’re broke.
When I returned home piled with shopping bags like a triumphant general and barged into Buddy’s room, I started rifling through his drawers.
"What are you doing?" he jumped up, eyes huge—a cute little dumpling.
"Trying on the new clothes I bought you."
"I—I can put them on myself!"
"…"
"Oh."
Sorry—I’d forgotten Buddy was five now. Not my baby to undress at will. My bad. Who knew a man’s reputation could be so delicate.
Buddy came out looking so sharp in his little suit—expressionless in a way that could only be described as exactly like his father. Naturally, I couldn’t resist. I puckered up and gave him a kiss on his soft cheek.
His eyes widened in surprise then fell. He said hoarsely, "Do you like it, Mommy?"
Wait—"Mommy"?
That felt weird.
But my mouth raced ahead of my brain and I calmly said, "Yes. Looks great."
Buddy smiled. His smile was so beautiful it made my own grin go uncontrollable.
Then he went reserved again. "You overspent today. If my math is right, our savings have only three thousand two hundred fifty dollars left."
He added, "Mommy."
My whole body jolted. My smile melted. My voice trembled, "Is… that true?"
"Mm."
He showed no expression.
Don’t ask why a five-year-old already understood finance or why he could keep that poker face—I’ll be brief: he’s the CEO’s son. CEO sons are geniuses.
I cried again. Maybe for my genius son, maybe for poverty. I was such a cowardly woman.
Hazel called and asked to meet at The Cornerstone Café.
I cried for joy. I could see a bright future.
I packed up fast and took a cab straight there.
When I walked in, Hazel sat by the window like a fragile white lotus.
Before she could speak I cut to the chase, "Give me seventy million and I’ll divorce Nathan."
Hazel froze. After a long beat she forced a smile, "Sister, what are you talking about?"
Maybe it was too much, so I quickly said, "Okay, okay—eighty percent off."
Her smile vanished. "I’m here with an invitation," she said, handing me a red, gold-embossed card.
I opened it. Oh—Nathan’s father’s birthday banquet.
I couldn’t care less about that. All I could see were dollar signs.
It’s there — in my heart, in my dreams, lodged deep in my mind.
The heroine stood up to leave. I panicked and followed her to the doorway, grabbing her arm. “Girl, what about thirty percent off? Thirty percent, please? If not, twenty, ten — anything, please!”
She kept looking forward, and with a wounded little voice she blurted, “Charlie.”
I froze.
I wanted to ask heaven one question: is its mother dead yet?
“Nathan.”
Someone called my name.
The voice was cold and sharp, but like opium — easy to drown in.
In Claire Bennett’s memory, it felt like the first time he’d ever said her name.
I clearly saw the heroine’s face go pale.
“Oh.”
I said.
He came over. Behind gold-rimmed glasses his eyes were deep and calm. He stared at me; there was nowhere to hide. He asked, “Who are you?”
Inside me a storm raged, but my face gave nothing away. I answered coolly, “I’m your grandpa!”
Ten days had passed since that ten-meter incident.
During that time I’d stayed in, kept my head down, only going out to pick up Buddy.
But today I had to go out — that blasted birthday banquet was happening.
I was driving Claire’s car.
It was my first time driving it; I didn’t even have a license.
Back when I was my original self, I’d flunked the driving test and the instructor sent me home in disgrace. After that I learned the power of words. I trained my mouth for three years and became unbeatable at trading insults — revenge for that day achieved.
I remember how bright the sun was, and how that once-proud man looked beaten when he watched me walk away into the light.
All because I’m a Scorpio.
I hold grudges, and revenge is my specialty.
I picked up Buddy in the little red car, planning to bum food and drinks off people, humming a local tune.
After a while Buddy looked at me with earnest eyes. “Mommy, please stop singing. I can’t take it.”
Me: “…”
I fell into despair.
Just when I’d gathered myself and dared to face the world again — I rear-ended someone.
I knew then: heaven’s mother was definitely dead.
I’d hit a green coupe. Together we made a spectacle on the street.
The owner got out, wearing green pants. Oh — he was Cole Greene himself.
Cole might be a hot-headed boy; he kicked my little red car, sunglasses on.
“Get out, you idiot. You hit my car — I’m going to beat you so you won’t stand up again.”
Time to show off my trash-talking skills.
But when I stepped out, Cole was stunned. He pointed at me. “You, you…!”
“You what? You little pompous stick of a human — mouth like that at your age, were you kissed by a pig as a baby? Is your head just for height? I’m curious: did you get educational training in the womb? Look at your dad’s coffin lid about to burst open — regret having you, you low-life!”
Cole was dumbstruck. After a long beat he took off his sunglasses. He looked familiar. He said, “You don’t remember me? It’s me.”
I peered, and—oh. It clicked. He’s the hero’s younger brother.
In the novel he always hated Nathan, loved to bully Claire. He worshipped his brother blindly and thought only the heroine deserved him.
I felt justified — my tirade hadn’t been wrong.
Cole lifted his chin. “Since you hit my car, pay for it.”
I looked at his green coupe — it wasn’t cheap. In a flash I made a decision: I’d be a deadbeat.
I jumped into the driver’s seat and sped off before Cole could react. I went so fast I couldn’t even hear him shouting behind us.
Buddy looked puzzled. “Why are we running?”
I said solemnly, “Brat, we’re broke.”
Buddy sighed like a little old soul.
Dalton estate.
When I walked into the hall hand-in-hand with Buddy, the noisy room dissolved into an awkward hush.
I was staring at the spread, thinking I would eat my fill, when Claire slipped an arm through mine.
“Hazel, finally you’re here. We’ve been waiting,” she said, steering me toward a woman of fortune. “Aunt Margaret hasn’t seen you in ages. You left without a word and we were so worried.”
A hundred glances swooped over us like arrows. Buddy’s face stayed calm; he gripped my hand.
I pulled my arm free and looked down at Claire — thank God I was a little taller; it helped with the aura.
“Shut up, you stupid thing.”
Silence.
The dowager snorted. “I didn’t expect Miss Bennett to come today, and with dead weight.” She put on a half-smile and murmured in my ear, “Just like six years ago.”
Then it hit me — this was a banquet set like the Feast of Lies.
Both this dowager and Claire planned to humiliate me however they could.
But who was I? I’d survived war after war of profanity duels. I was the phoenix of trash talk, forged by sheer stubbornness.
I fixed the dowager with a stare, the contempt dripping from her eyes so loud it could be heard, and tears sprang to my face. “Mom — aren’t you dead yet?”
The dowager probably didn’t expect that line. She tried to speak, but breathless and flushed, she only pointed and stammered, “You, you—”
Claire hurriedly helped the dowager to a room.
So there I was, amid a crowd of awestruck faces, holding Buddy’s hand and attacking the buffet like a starved woman.
I glanced around the ornate hall and spotted Nathan on the second floor, glass in hand, watching me calmly.
I remembered the earlier scene. I knew I was done for.
I’d truly offended him.
Remembering the novel’s Nathan — petty to revenge and ruthless to those who crossed him — I envisioned Hades waving at me.
I shoved a huge mouthful of food in, held Buddy’s hand, and mumbled, “Your mom might actually be dying.”
Buddy glanced at me with mild distaste, then looked up to the second floor. After a beat he said, “No, she won’t.”
Where was that wave of billionaire dominance coming from???
Later, when I spotted Cole in the garden, I learned the meaning of “enemies meet on narrow paths.”
“Maybe you should leave first?” I tried, but Cole sneered.
We stood face-to-face on a narrow garden path where only one of us could step back. See? Narrow path for enemies.
Since I’d been the one who rear-ended him earlier, I decided to be magnanimous and yield.
Oh, how reasonable I was.
I kept a poised smile and began to retreat. Cole’s expression shifted from mockery to alarm until I ran into a man’s chest and stepped on his foot.
Cole’s voice trembled. “Big brother.”
I was just a pitiable little creature.
The man was silent; the pressure in the air grew thick.
I counted, planning to dash away. At the count of three a hand braced my waist.
The man behind me spoke — but not to me. “You should go back.”
Cole went meek as a quail. “Okay.”
I was secretly terrified, though it didn’t show. “Can you let go?”
I thought once he let go I’d run.
Instead he asked, offhand, “How do you know him?”
Huh? Who—?
He added, “Ryan.”
Oh — that was Cole. Why was he asking that?
I didn’t dare dodge for my life. I confessed, “I hit his car today. He wanted me to pay. I had no money, so I ran.”
Such a tragic tale. Such a pitiable beauty.
I silently hoped the billionaire would pity me and hand over millions. A black card would do, too.
A smile tugged at my lips.
“Then pay. And replace the shoe you stepped on.”
He let go. I turned, watching him dab his hands with a white handkerchief, all elegance. I glanced at the scuffed shoe and tears streamed down my face.
“Ethan!!!” I lunged and hugged his waist, burying my head in his shoulder, plotting to pull on his heartstrings.
I wailed, “I’ve got no old folks, but I’ve got a little one, and I need to eat — I eat three bowls at a time! I’m really out of money, boohoo!”
He stiffened and didn’t move.
Maybe I hadn’t made a strong enough pitch, so I continued, “You can ignore me, but Buddy is your own blood. Could you really watch him starve?”
He rubbed his temple. “Hazel.”
“Hmm?”
“Get up.”
I didn’t push my luck. I climbed off his shoulder and saw a mysterious wet patch on his sleeve. In the book, he had severe cleanliness issues. I might be courting death again.
He tossed me a handkerchief and, ignoring my ruined clothes, said quietly, “You really cried? Pathetic. Aren’t you usually loud and fierce when insulting others?”
Oscar for Best Actress, please.
Before I could retort, Buddy poked his head out. “Mom, let’s go home. I haven’t finished my homework.”
Ethan, look at what I’ve raised — a model kid! I felt an inexplicable pride and took Buddy’s hand to leave.
“Wait,” Ethan said. “Don’t drive. Let Liam drive you home.”
Liam Rhodes was Ethan’s assistant.
I blinked. “Oh, okay.”
I mulled it over. Ethan so far seemed to be the least hostile person toward me. No — nearly no hostility at all, because he simply didn’t care.
Thinking of his power and methods, and sensing he wasn’t fond of Claire, I resolved I needed to be on good terms with him.
Relationships need contact.
So I flashed a perfect smile at Liam in the driver’s seat. “Liam, can I have your boss’s number?”
Liam returned the perfect smile. “Ma’am, one moment.”
Ma’am my butt, I thought.
Liam dialed. “Sir, ma’am says she wants your number.”
That assistant had skills. Whatever was said, my phone buzzed with a new message: here it is.
What is it? Who is it? Of course — Ethan.
How did Ethan know my number? Whatever. Having contact was what mattered.
I added Ethan Black on WeChat again using his number. His display name was just his name, his profile picture a solid black background, and not a single Moments post.
Very high-class. Totally his style.
I messaged him a greeting: Hello, boss! ～(￣▽￣～)~ and sent a panda-head giggling sticker.
Ethan replied one minute later: Mm.
I sent: Buddy and I are home.
Ethan: Mm.
That was the end of conversation for the day.
Buddy scooted up and said solemnly, "Mommy, you actually fell in love with that man."
I couldn’t be bothered to explain. "He’s your dad."
Buddy: "That man is definitely not a good person."
Me: "He’s your dad."
Buddy: "He’ll never be good to us!"
Me: "He’s your dad."
Buddy: "…"
I kept texting Ethan every day.
Day one:
"A gentle breeze blows away sorrow, flowing water carries off pain, the sun and moon bring joy and happiness, my blessings are in the air.
May our friendship last forever, greetings always in my heart, wishing you enduring happiness."
I thought he might like it, so I added a "blooming prosperity" sticker.
No reply.
Day two:
"A night of spring wind arrives, New Year’s branches bloom.
They bloom not to compete for spring, but to bring blessings.
Snow falls quietly, blessings come softly.
May joy circle you, luck accompany you, and happiness embrace you."
Still no reply.
Day three:
"From the bottom of my heart I say: Happy birthday!
All your hard work has sprinkled your hair with frost and filled your brow with lines. You’ve worked hard—today give yourself a break!
Let yourself rest."
This time Ethan did reply!
But it was just a question mark.
I looked and realized—oh no—I’d copy-pasted the wrong message.
I felt so stupid, really.
My attempts to bond with Ethan were not going well.
Our relationship was like fish and water: I’d die without him, but he’d be fine without me.
Clearly, sending daily messages to strengthen a bond was useless.
No wonder so many simp guys end up with nothing.
For money and for survival, I had to admit I’d sadly joined their ranks.
During those gloomy days I suddenly noticed a large bruise on Buddy’s leg.
Rage surged through me. When I asked, I learned that because his dad didn’t care and his mom didn’t love him, Buddy wore shabby clothes every day and got bullied and isolated by classmates. Even teachers were snobby and often punished students; especially this female teacher—she found excuses to make Buddy stand outside and miss class.
Even though things were better for Buddy after I came into his life, classmates still habitually picked on him, and because I hadn’t given him enough security, he was afraid to tell me, thinking I’d find him troublesome and abandon him.
I spanked him hard and snapped, "If I hadn’t found out, you were just going to take it, right? If you can’t even trust Mommy, who can you trust? Don’t you feel how much I love you?"
Buddy cried, then between sobs he laughed.
He said, "Mommy, from now on I’ll tell you everything."
That little bastard made my eyes sting.
Buddy’s midterm scores came back.
Perfect scores—200 out of 200.
As a first grader he needed a parent-teacher meeting, and I’d been waiting for this day for so long.
Buddy and I had been pinching pennies recently, and we were truly out of money.
At that critical moment, I thought of Ethan.
As usual I messaged him: Good morning.
Then I added: I’m out of money.
My phone vibrated twice. I squealed—this was the first reply from Ethan in days. He said: Mm.
Mm, mm mm mm, you big-headed ghost.
Then my phone vibrated again. It was a message from First National Bank.
I counted the zeros twice and finally confirmed: I was legitimately a rich woman now!
Ethan came through!!!
The parent-teacher meeting was at 2:30. It was noon. I took Buddy and the little cash I had and went to the buffet I’d been craving. The owner practically scowled when he saw us again.
Luckily I had a mission today, so I didn’t overeat.
The owner breathed a sigh of relief and welcomed us back.
After lunch Buddy went to school to do homework and I went shopping.
I saw a professional stylist, got a new hairstyle, put on precise makeup, and picked a quietly luxurious white pant suit.
Then I carefully drove the little red car straight to Buddy’s school.
Buddy’s school was a regular public elementary.
I deliberately arrived fashionably late, found his classroom, knocked, and then walked right in.
The teacher on the dais inspected my outfit and plastered on a smile. "Who are you?"
I said, "I’m Charlie Dalton’s mom."
Her smile froze.
I spotted Buddy in a corner and went to sit down. He stood beside me; other students stood with their parents, so I didn’t pay it more mind.
After the meeting I went to the office to find that teacher.
I was grave, and I didn’t beat around the bush. "You’re the one always bullying my Charlie, aren’t you?"
She looked flustered and snapped, "He asks for it."
She sneered at me, "Don’t think I’m scared of you just because you’re here. You’re nothing but the mistress the old man keeps—what right do you have to educate me?"
Confirmation. That was her. I wasn’t in pants to argue.
I set my bag down. Amid the teachers’ shocked cries, I slapped her hard.
I jumped on her, beat both her cheeks until they flushed and swelled, then kicked several times at the exact spot where she’d hit Buddy’s calf. I stepped on her throat and said softly, "Listen carefully. Our Charlie is the son of the Dalton Family Patriarch. I am legitimately Nathan Dalton’s wife. Scum like you have no right to insult us."
The Billionaire's Wife Was Not Behaving
She was left utterly defenseless and no one in the office dared pull me off.
Until the police arrived.
I was taken in.
The young officer who took my statement was kind of cute, so I cheerfully cooperated.
"Officer, please let me go. I didn’t commit a crime," I said.
He looked serious. "If you didn’t commit a crime, why are you here?"
I answered matter-of-factly, "I just fought. If you lose you go to the hospital, if you win you go to jail—that’s the way of the street."
"I’m here because I won."
He was speechless.
"You beat her so badly she’s almost disfigured. A rib is broken. Jail’s one thing, but there will be compensation."
I asked in a trembling voice, "Monetary compensation?"
"Of course."
"Can’t it be emotional compensation? I can apologize or something."
I thought about my newly warmed little bank balance and felt a pang of regret.
"No."
"Fine. I won’t pay. Lock me up. They feed you in there, give you a haircut and clothes—that’s too good to pass up."
The officer was at a loss for words.
Just as I was about to be temporarily detained, an older man in uniform burst in, breathless. "Which woman did you arrest for public disturbance today?"
The officer pointed at me, bewildered.
The older man grabbed my hand. "Mrs. Dalton, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know my men would be so impulsive—how did this happen?"
Before I could process it, a low voice said, "Don’t touch her."
The older man flinched and let go.
I turned and saw Ethan and Buddy standing at the door. Something clicked. Ethan said, "Claire Bennett, come home."
I walked over in a daze and Buddy leapt into my arms.
For a moment it felt like some ridiculous, cozy mirage.
As we left, I overheard Assistant Liam telling the older man, "Director, about today's incident…"
We reached Ethan’s car.
Ethan glanced at Buddy. "You get in first."
Buddy obediently climbed into the passenger seat and gave me a sympathetic look.
Ethan took out the same white handkerchief as the last time and took my hand, carefully wiping it.
I was startled, unsure what he was doing. Was it because that old man had touched my hand? Well, okay—so domineering CEO.
My brain raced with ridiculous thoughts. When Ethan finished, he asked, "What are you thinking?"
My mouth outran my brain. "I was thinking if your handkerchief is mass-produced."
Ethan: "…"
In the car, Assistant Liam drove. Buddy was in the front, Ethan and I in the back. The atmosphere was heavy. I decided to break the silence and aimed at this walking icicle beside me.
"Ethan, how did you know I’d been arrested?"
Ethan didn’t look at me. He said flatly, "Charlie Dalton."
Charlie Dalton?
What the—???
Seeing me blink, Buddy couldn’t help but sneer and explain, "I went to find Daddy to save you."
Then he added, "If it weren’t for Daddy you’d be done."
Sweet kid—going around calling him Daddy like that makes it easy to suspect the recent things he said trashing his father were counterfeit.
Buddy gave me a look: when under someone’s roof, you must lower your head.
Mommy, you have to endure.
Me: -_-||
The car stopped and I realized this wasn’t my house.
I asked Ethan where we were. He didn’t answer and walked inside.
Assistant Liam smiled, "This is the Riviera Court. From today on, Madam and the young master will live here."
Before we could react, he added, "We’ve moved your things and the young master’s things here. His room is ready. As for your old villa, it’s been sold."
Hearing my beautiful house sold without my consent set me off—the fury made me miss an even more important detail.
"That was my house! How could you sell it without my permission? Is there no law left? Bring your CEO out here—I need to argue!"
Assistant Liam stayed pleasant. "Madam, that belonged to Mr. Black. The deed is in his name."
Oh, what a delightful misunderstanding.
I stayed silent, afraid I’d burst into tears.
I couldn’t believe Buddy’s words had come true. Under someone else’s roof, you have to bend.
Buddy signaled again with his eyes: Mommy, endure.
I looked at him and felt tears of suffering fall.
Now I finally understood what I’d been missing.
"Where’s my room?" I asked Liam.
He said, "Madam and Mr. Black share a room."
What?
Did I mishear, or did he misspeak?
What do you mean "in the same room as Mr. Dalton"???
He ignored my shock and sighed, "After all these years, he's never been this close to anyone."
Yeah, right.
I couldn't let this go. I needed to take it to Ethan Black.
Buddy tugged at me. "Mommy, small sacrifices prevent big disasters!"
I said, "If I keep holding back, you'll see your mother dead."
Outside the study I peered around. Buddy was crouched in the shadows watching my moves.
Finally—an opening. The butler came in with tea for Ethan.
I took the tray, but the butler protested, "Madam, Sir doesn't like to be disturbed while working."
Then he tried to soften it. "I'm just worried about causing trouble for you."
As if a little trouble would stop me. I insisted, and he couldn't refuse forever. He handed the tea over.
I knocked and went in.
The study matched the rest of the house—cold, minimal, severe.
Just like Nathan.
Right now Ethan wore gold-rimmed glasses and stared at his screen.
When he noticed me, he lifted his glasses and rubbed his brow. "Come here."
For some reason, with his lenses off and those eyes on me, I got nervous.
I set the cup down by his side, about to speak, when he suddenly yanked me and I tumbled into his arms.
He held me close and asked, "What's the matter?"
I panicked and tried to pull away, but he tightened his grip until I couldn't move.
My heart—my little wild thing—started thumping out of control, thrilled.
I scolded it mentally: behave, you have zero decorum!
Once I calmed a bit I said, "I can't share a room with you."
He tilted his head. "We can."
I was about to celebrate when he added, "But then you won't have any allowance."
Pfft. Trying to buy me with pocket money.
I tossed my chin up. "How much are you offering?"
He stared at me, then dug into a drawer and pulled out a black card.
"Unlimited," he said.
My performance was over. Time to exit stage left.
Too much drama will kill you.
I started living as a kept woman at the Dalton estate.
Buddy transferred to Riverton Preparatory, chauffeured to and from school every day.
One morning, half-asleep, I heard Ethan's voice: "Get up."
I rolled over and went back to sleep. I wasn't getting out of bed just because Ethan asked.
After all, I'd gotten used to being his human pillow at night.
A few days earlier I had made a life-changing choice—money vs. dignity—I chose money.
Luckily Ethan had kept it strictly pillow-related and hadn't done anything Buddy-inappropriate.
After breakfast I lounged on the sofa, basking in wealthy-woman bliss. The butler packed Buddy's bag and was about to take him to school; Ethan had already left for work. I suddenly remembered a famous influencer chicken-wing stand outside Buddy's new school and asked Buddy to bring me some back.
Buddy looked at me, sighed as if I were hopeless, and set off.
That night Ethan hadn't come home. I happily chewed through the twenty wings Buddy knew I liked. This kind of life can make you forget everything.
Late at night I thought I heard a whisper by my ear: You're incorrigible. I wouldn't even call if I was coming back.
I muttered that it was annoying and the voice didn't come again.
The next day Buddy went to school and I called, "Wings! And that milk tea shop—I want red bean milk tea."
Buddy glanced at the butler and sighed; the butler looked like he wanted to say something but didn't.
After days of my nagging, at dinner Buddy seized a moment with Ethan present to complain about me.
"Mommy makes me buy snacks every day. I spent an hour in line and didn't finish homework!"
I cursed that little brat inwardly and glanced at Ethan. He sipped his soup calmly and said, "Then don't do the homework."
Buddy burst into tears.
He wailed, "No one in this family loves me!"
Then he ran to his room.
I worried I'd really hurt his little heart, but Ethan said, "He's faking."
"But… he didn't eat…" I protested.
Ethan: "He ate a whole steak," then, "See? He finished it before he left."
A dad is always a dad.
I looked at the clean plate and thought Buddy was getting wise—kids know you have to be full to sulk properly.
My blissful life—cut short even before Buddy finished tattling—ended over one simple discovery.
One day I realized I'd gotten fat.
Feeling the ring of fat around my waist, I suddenly understood a lot of things.
No wonder Ethan kept touching my belly lately.
I shed melodramatic "I ate too much" tears and decided to change.
So I texted him: I'm getting a job!
Ethan replied instantly: Out of money?
Me: No, I want to lose weight!
He didn't answer. A bit later my phone buzzed with a message from First National Bank—then Ethan texted: Eat well. Don't lose weight.
Me: Okay! (～￣▽￣)→))*￣▽￣*)o Money beats fat every time.
He'd been so good to me I decided to return the favor and tell him I cared. I texted: I'll bring you lunch today!
He replied after a long while: Mm.
To be fair, I'm used to that.
I took the meal the butler packed and drove my little red car to Ethan's company.
Impressive place.
Just as I was about to go in, I heard a not-so-friendly voice.
"This is some kind of place? Every Tom, Dick, and Harry wanders in?"
That tone—signature arrogance. I turned and, of course, there was Mia Carter, with Claire Bennett at her side.
This street isn't exactly narrow—how did all my enemies end up here?
I said, "This is Mr. Dalton's turf. Who are you to bark at his door?"
Claire went pale; Mia glared like she wanted blood.
I laughed. "Keep glaring and I'll gouge out your eyeballs. You only look at people through your nose anyway—those things are useless."
Mia lunged. I felt a fight coming, set the meal down gently, and before she hit me I slapped her.
"Behave yourself. If you keep snapping like that I'll send you to the slaughterhouse."
Maybe my face was scary enough—Mia backed down.
I stepped toward Claire. She trembled like a leaf in the wind; fragile, pitiful—enough to make a lot of people feel protective.
Too bad I'm not one of them.
"Relax, little snow white," I told her. "I wouldn't dare touch you. Remember when you fell into the lake because of a leaf? If I touched you you'd probably croak on the spot."
I bent close and whispered, "You know how you fell—don't play dumb. If you and your little lackey keep harassing me, I won't hesitate to ruin you myself."
Claire's tears fell—her sobbing was more melodramatic than a romance novel heroine.
I didn't bother with her and stepped into the private elevator.
When I reached Ethan's office there was another enemy inside—Cole Greene, in his red pants.
If I'd checked the almanac I'd have known it was an unlucky day to go out.
I offered Ethan the food like a dutiful housewife. "It's all your favorites. Eat while it's hot."
He stared at me—so intently my skin prickled—then said, "Mm."
Cole ground his teeth. Angry, and with no filter, he blurted, "Don't act so virtuous. In every way you lose to Hazel Morgan."
Ethan looked up at Cole and the room went cold.
Cole immediately looked frightened and clenched his fists.
I had to correct something crucial. "That's not true."
I got serious. Cole stared back, puzzled.
"At least when it comes to me eating three bowls of rice every meal, Hazel can't beat me," I said earnestly.
Silence.
I don't know what Ethan told Cole that day, but later, when the three of us ran into him, Cole politely called me 'sister-in-law.'
I shivered.
Buddy was picked up and kissed by Cole several times; Buddy shivered too. Cole scratched his head and awkwardly said, "Sis, sorry. I misunderstood you before. If it weren't for my brother… I would've been in the dark."
Did he know about that earlier thing? How would Ethan know?
Before I could ask, a sweet potato vendor distracted me. I bought a huge bag and invited Cole over to roast them at my place. Cole's eyes lit up—this rich kid clearly hadn't tried that before.
The three of us roasted sweet potatoes in Ethan's garden.
The butler protested, "Madam, those are rare, expensive plants Sir bought. If anything happens—"
Buddy urged us not to, but faced with my and Cole's pressure he had to join in.
We roasted for two hours until the potatoes were charred—and we started a fire in the garden.
The butler wailed, "Oh my God, what will we do?…" like his child had died.
The three of us stood soot-streaked, staring at one another.
Just then Ethan's car arrived.
We exchanged a look and made a split-second decision.
He stepped out and, taking in our battle-scarred faces, rubbed his brow. "What happened?"
Cole and I both said in unison, "It was Charlie's fault!"
Buddy stared at us in disbelief and declared dramatically, "I never thought you people were like this! It seems Charlie is destined to die here!"
Nice line—Buddy's been bingeing martial-arts dramas.
Ethan closed his eyes, then came over, took my hand, and—much to everyone's astonishment—led me to the restroom.
He bent, dampened a towel, and carefully wiped my face, then washed my hands.
Like he was treating a child.
This man is the most powerful, capable person there is.
He has severe cleanliness OCD, yet he held my filthy hand and even washed my face.
My heart—again—started racing wildly.
Dammit.
If I stayed by his side any longer, I might—no, scratch that, I had already run.
That night, Ethan was in his study. I crawled into bed early, desperate to sleep because there was no way I could explain why I’d bolted.
Some things only get worse the more you try to explain.
Unfortunately, I hadn’t fallen asleep when he came in.
I heard him approach, felt the blanket lifted, then he pulled me into his arms and kissed me.
What the—???
My heart thundered. I heard a soft chuckle in my ear.
I couldn’t keep up the act any longer; I shot him a furious glare. “Ethan, this is wrong.”
Ethan: “You’re my wife.”
Me: “…”
Oh. Well then, he certainly had the paperwork to prove it.
I was defeated.
The next day, Cole told me the heroine was in the hospital.
I thought for a second and said, “Could it be from that fight I had with her? But I only used my words—didn’t even touch her.”
Cole snorted. “She just wants my brother’s attention. Seeing how he’s been nice to you recently, she’s trying to set you up like before.”
“Just like back then.”
I patted Cole like I was proud—still not stupid.
Then I plucked a grape, opened my match-three game, and played casually.
The moment Cole saw me playing, he jumped up, excited: “Sis-in-law, what level are you on?”
“Level 679.”
Cole laughed out loud three times. “I’m on 1,258!”
I felt deeply insulted. Before I transmigrated, I’d once taken that game past two thousand levels—top among friends.
This was a new install in this world, and some novice like Cole had already passed me!
I added him as a friend and vowed to overtake him. He swore he’d never be beaten by me.
We stared at each other, the air thick with competitive intent.
Then Buddy came along.
I saw the familiar can of milk in his hands and dropped the game in excitement. “Is that… Wangzai milk?”
I never thought I’d see it after transmigrating—used to be my favorite.
Buddy glanced at me, then at the can. “Mommy, this is Wangzi milk.”
I looked closely. Sure enough—an obvious knockoff had made its way into this world.
“It’s a famous brand,” Cole said.
Huh?
I sampled it skeptically. It was actually tasty.
Fine, call it Wangzi. If it tastes good, who cares.
I lay in the hospital like a butterfly with clipped wings, thin and fragile.
I hadn’t expected fate to be this cruel—last night I’d undergone surgery.
Part of my body was gone now, gone forever.
Seeing the heroine in the same hospital gown, coughing every few steps—rumor had it I’d put her in this state—made my whole body ache.
She and Ethan stood at my bedside, quietly watching. I couldn’t resist a show.
“Fine, you can have my appendix, but you can’t take my kidney—no way!!”
Yep. Turns out I had appendicitis.
Heroine: “…”
Ethan sighed, walked over, lowered the bed back, helped me lie down, and said, “Stop talking nonsense. Rest. The doctor said you can’t eat recklessly anymore.”
The heroine’s eyes went dark. She forced a smile at me. “My ward is next door. I heard my sister had surgery, so I came to visit.”
As if anyone couldn’t see she’d come to see Ethan.
Hmph.
Whatever—just don’t take my kidney.
But then my life descended into real torture.
Five days after being forced to give up takoyaki, spicy wings, chicken cutlets, spicy crawfish, and even spicy strips, I finally protested.
“I want snacks and junk food!”
Ethan flipped through a book beside me. “No.”
Before I could argue, he glanced at me lightly.
My protest utterly failed.
I grit my teeth. Who did he think he was, sitting there fussing over me?
That afternoon Cole, in purple pants, brought Buddy to see me. I stared at the milk in Buddy’s hand, tears streaming. “Move aside! My son brought Wangzi milk to see me!”
Buddy looked at Ethan and only handed it over when Ethan nodded.
I hugged Buddy and smothered him with kisses, finishing my drama. “Son, I love you!”
Cole rolled his eyes at my grossness.
I decided to check on the heroine next door—after all, she’d seen me.
I regretted it the moment I stepped in. The room was crowded.
A Dalton aunt, that sycophant woman, Cole and Ethan trailing behind me.
The heroine wailed in bed. The moment Ethan showed up, she shouted, “Charlie!”
Turns out I was just a third wheel.
I was about to slip out when she called, “Sister!”
I turned, deadpan. “Stay where you are. Don’t move. I’ll go buy you some oranges.”
Ethan ruffled my hair like petting a dog. “Go where? You look like that—where would you go?”
Under everyone’s surprised gazes, I obediently stayed.
The sycophant didn’t dare insult me this time and glared.
I rolled my eyes, not worth the bother.
But the aunt aimed for me.
“I don’t get out much. Today I learned your tricks,” she said.
I played the salty-card.
She kept stoking the fire. “You’ve always looked like a beggar. Raising you was like feeding a white-eyed wolf. You don’t repay us—no, you sink your teeth in and ruin Hazel. Are you happy now?!”
The heroine sniffled on cue.
I whispered to Ethan, “I want to insult your mom.”
He said, “That’s not my mom.”
I blinked. Cole added, “Really not our mom.”
That made things easier.
At this point I had to speak justice.
I turned to the heroine. “Don’t act innocent. Six years ago when I pushed you—don’t you know that better than anyone? Stop pretending to be pure. If you mess with me again, do you believe I won’t make sure not just your mom but your whole family pays?”
The aunt and sycophant stared at the heroine, stunned.
After a long while the aunt stammered, “Hazel, this…”
The heroine truly started crying then, not a word.
I kept going. “And you, madam aunt—”
She bristled, haughtily: “How dare—”
I didn’t give her time. I darted forward and slapped her twice so fast she was left breathless.
Then I grabbed a handful of her hair and said softly, “I don’t like dogs that bite. From now on, if you see me, go out of your way to avoid me. I can’t promise next time I won’t gouge your eyes out or break your legs.”
The sycophant shrank back, pretending to be a quail.
The heroine lay on the bed, terror in her eyes.
I smiled—this time it wasn’t an act.
I patted her cheek and pointed at Ethan. “Look. The man standing over there is mine—Hazel Bennett’s. If you so much as think of him, I’ll pluck every hair from your body so you’ll never be a woman again.”
I walked toward Ethan. He glanced at my hand and said, annoyed, “Your hands are red. Don’t use them. Let others handle it.”
Classic Ethan—supportive.
As he left, he issued a deathly warning. “Anyone who bothers Hazel Bennett again must be prepared to face consequences. I hope that’s clear.”
The room went as quiet as a morgue.
I curled the corner of my mouth. This damn sweetness was starting to get to me.
Day by day I grew closer to Ethan.
I had the odd sense he was falling for Hazel Bennett.
But I always knew: Hazel Bennett was Hazel Bennett. I was me—just a ghost occupying Hazel’s body.
Once I asked him bluntly if he liked the heroine. He calmly said, “No.”
“Then why did you go to France with her?”
“She followed me. I didn’t want to deal with it.”
That was so Ethan.
I asked again, “What if one day I disappear?”
He paused mid-task, gripped my wrist hard, and said each word like a vow, “Don’t even think about it.”
There’s a thing I hadn’t said: I liked him. Not because I was Hazel—because of him.
Thinking about my hopeless love made me ache. I blurted, “Nathan, I’m not really Hazel Bennett.”
He fell silent.
After a long moment he said hoarsely, “I know.”
I wasn’t surprised—ever since he’d asked who I was before, it felt like he suspected.
“Do you like me or Hazel?” I asked.
He stared into my eyes. “I only like the Hazel Bennett that’s here now.”
My heart flipped—like overturning a jar of honey, all sweetness pouring out.
He asked, “What’s your name?”
I answered, “Actually… I’m still Hazel Bennett.”
Ethan smiled.
I rarely saw him smile, but when he did it made me melt for a long time.
So when he kissed me later, I was still dazed.
Once everything was out in the open, I felt lighter.
My daily routine became beating Cole at match-three and waiting for Buddy’s Wangzi milk.
Ethan watched me drink it and asked, “Are you trying to give me more sons?”
Sons?
Ha. Men, dream on.
That night I found out Ethan was serious.
The next morning I told Buddy I wouldn’t drink Wangzi milk anymore—not ever.
Buddy peered at me with all-knowing eyes that made me squirm.
He narrowed his eyes and whispered, “Constipated, Mommy?”
Me: “…”
Constipated, my foot.
You can’t scold your real son—everything bounces back onto you.
I should’ve said: constipated? Ask your father.
Today Cole and I planned to hit the newly opened mall.
Cole, who already owned orange, red, yellow, green, blue and purple pants, was missing a yellow pair.
What a flamboyant man.
After shopping, I was going to treat Cole to our usual buffet—last time I ate light so the owner was excited to see me.
But today, Cole and I disappointed him.
I never expected Cole to be a stomach rival.
Neither of us would back down, and the owner cried as we kept eating.
By the time we waddled out rubbing our bellies, the owner was practically doubled over in tears.
I feel like buffet meals only mean anything when I go with Cole, and Cole feels the same — so suddenly, the wind carried one more kindred spirit.
We were walking off the meal when we turned into an alley and saw a group of middle-school–aged boys and girls picking on a scrawny girl.
Her face was bruised and swollen; a girl was clawing at her school uniform while a yellow-haired kid filmed them.
Monsters.
I glanced at Cole and sent him a look: I’ll take the girls, you handle the boys.
He nodded hard.
He stepped forward first and shouted, “Let her go!”
Of all people, he stole my line.
The kids sneered, “Who are you guys?”
Cole didn’t answer at first, so I said righteously, “We’re the successors of socialism.”
They all blinked, confused, until the yellow-haired kid shouted and they surged forward.
29 I charged in.
With Cole, and those brats.
And the same handsome cop was there. The moment he saw me, a vein popped at his temple. “What is it this time?”
I stood my ground. “Officer, I didn’t break the law — I was saving someone.” I pointed at the group and spat, “Those little animals — what they did wasn’t human!”
He cut me off. “Alright, alright.”
Then he motioned toward the door.
I looked and, oh no — Ethan Black had arrived.
The walk home was tense.
I mouthed to Cole, what do we do? He looked utterly defeated.
This is bad.
Ethan was really pissed.
Once we were home, Ethan sent Cole back to his room, then brought me straight to the bedroom.
He opened a first-aid kit and cleaned my wounds.
Nothing serious — just bruises.
He worked quietly and precisely. Watching him, my conscience prickled.
Should I apologize?
So I kissed his cheek.
He froze, then, after a long pause, deadpan: “If you hurt yourself again, I’ll lock you in the bedroom so you can’t go anywhere.”
I shivered, but I knew that warning had passed for now and breathed a sigh of relief.
When Ethan’s expression softened a bit, I hurriedly buttered him up. “I bought you some clothes today. You have such a great figure — they’ll look amazing on you. There was a sale: buy one, get one, so I got matching sets for both of us.”
I dug for my shopping bag. Later, Ethan stared silently at a white tee with a cartoon character on it.
I triumphantly pulled out my matching shirt. For some reason, the corner of his mouth lifted.
Ugh, this man is infuriatingly charming.
Small scene two: Me: “Like, like, like!” Buddy: “Mom, here we go again…” Ethan: (calmly sipping tea, death-staring) “Give her a like, okay?”
30 The next morning Ethan in the white tee and lounge pants got eyeballed nonstop.
He completely upstaged my matching outfit.
I didn’t mind. He looked ridiculously good in casual wear.
Cole wasn’t around that morning. And he didn’t show the next few days, either.
I texted: Cole, where did you go? Why haven’t you come find me?
After a long time, he replied with a crying emoji and: “Ask your man and you’ll know.”
Then: “Can’t chat, I’m drowning in work.”
Uh-oh. Classic punishment for fighting the day before — Ethan must be making Cole miserable.
I have a backdoor. He doesn’t.
Heh heh.
I opened a match-three game and watched my gap with Cole disappear onscreen. Perfect time to surge ahead.
I exhausted myself gaming until I quietly set the phone down and stared into space.
So bored.
I needed something to do.
I grabbed the newspaper that had been delivered at lunch, curious why Ethan read it like a drama every day.
It turned out pretty addictive. My eyes snagged on a headline: “Dalton Family Patriarch and Lin Family Heiress Marriage — Can It Build a New Business Empire?”
The photo showed Ethan’s car. Two people in the car were locked in an intimate pose — like a couple in love.
I scoffed. What a joke.
I called Ethan. No answer.
I messaged him. No reply.
I couldn’t sit still. I hopped a cab straight to his company.
Reporters clogged the entrance. I saw Liam Rhodes, the assistant, smiling at the center and saying, “Yes, the CEO is considering marriage.”
I stood outside, ready to rip that assistant’s face off.
After a bit, Ethan appeared and the crowd erupted. “Mr. Dalton, are Liam’s statements your intent?”
Ethan was still impossibly handsome, sunlight sculpting his features. He answered flatly, “Yes.”
I felt like a tragic side character in a bad novel.
I didn’t go home. I picked up Buddy from school and said, “We have to run, okay, baby?”
He nodded without a second thought.
We bought a plain pink suitcase, cashed out money at different banks and hid the bills inside. Then we bought two sets of cheap market clothes and changed, dumping the original outfits in a trash can.
I was running. Because I’d realized — I’m a side character.
The heroine is fragile. If Ethan ever wanted her heart, lungs, liver, kidneys — whatever — I’d be toast.
Nathan… never mind. I didn’t want to think of him.
Buddy and I boarded a long-distance bus with shabby looks. No flashy wealth — don’t attract thieves, or worse.
I tossed my phone SIM out the window during the ride. Things would pass, right?
31 We took a few rides and ended up in some nameless small town.
I rented a plain room and bought essentials with Buddy.
Buddy sighed dramatically: “Men are reliable as pigs climbing trees.”
I ruffled my son’s hair. “Stop talking. Carry the snack bag home.”
He grumbled but obeyed.
I hummed as we shuffled along. Country life was pleasant.
Our room was on the second floor and had a balcony. I munched snacks on the balcony, watching the fields while Buddy studied.
I planned to teach him. Buddy begged, “Mom! Have mercy. Don’t torture the country’s flowers!”
We finally made a peaceful deal: I’d eat snacks, binge dramas, sleep, repeat; Buddy would sweep, mop, make the bed, clean, and self-study.
Buddy regularly muttered, “I misjudged you. You’re a cruel woman!”
I soothed him: “This is all to toughen you up. It’s for your own good.”
He scoffed and ignored me.
I was deep into Seasons of Temptation, staying up till 4 a.m. three nights straight. My crying woke Buddy one night. He saw me sobbing and asked, “Mom? Are you sad about Dad?”
I couldn’t speak. I pointed helplessly at my phone playing the show.
I clutched him and wailed, “The heroine… she’s so… so tragic!”
Buddy stayed silent for a beat, then mercilessly peeled my hand away, turned his back, and went to sleep.
Tsk — another man who doesn’t trust women born.
32 We lived quietly like that.
One afternoon, snacking and gazing at the view, I noticed several black cars parked below.
I wondered who was visiting, then squinted — an odd sense of familiarity.
Footsteps on the stairs, loud and hurried, then the landlord’s voice: “Right here!”
I clamped my hand over Buddy’s mouth while he was memorizing lines. He looked terrified. I shushed him and shoved him into the closet, then dove under the bed.
They opened the door.
My heart pounded. I clenched my fists until I heard a cool, familiar voice: “Come out.”
That voice — infuriatingly familiar.
I decided to hold my ground. Then Buddy’s voice: “…Mom, come out.”
…Fine.
I crawled out from under the bed, dusted myself off, and stared at the man in front of me.
He was the person from my memory and different at the same time. His hair was messy, bloodshot eyes, his clothes no longer immaculate.
But his gaze was the same.
He didn’t speak. He just stared, unblinking, making it impossible for me to hold his eyes.
I had to do something dumb to break the tension. “Please don’t look for me anymore, sir. I really don’t know how to cure erectile dysfunction,” I said.
Everyone: “……”
He didn’t care. He stepped forward and pulled me into a tight embrace.
I heard him whisper, “My Hazel, my… Hazel.”
33 I returned to the Dalton estate.
After cooling off on the road, Ethan had become normal again.
He sat on the living room sofa while Buddy and I stood before him.
Time to settle accounts.
For some reason, I was nervous.
Buddy looked uneasy too. I shot him a reassuring look and grabbed his hand, standing up straight. “I’ll say this once: you can hit my son, fine. You can’t hit me. Do what you want.”
Buddy looked at me in disbelief and pain.
I’ve always known: betraying your allies at the critical moment is how you survive.
Ethan rubbed his forehead tiredly. “Charlie, go back to your room.”
Buddy obeyed.
It was just Ethan and me left in the quiet room.
After a long pause I cleared my throat and pleaded sincerely, “Please let me go. I just want to be a harmless nobody.”
Ethan looked at me, voice hoarse: “Why did you leave?”
I was a little annoyed and let out a snort. "You're getting married — shouldn't I be the one to hurry off? I'm being so self-aware already; aren't you satisfied?"
Ethan stood up. He towered over me, his height pressing down like a wall. The depth in his eyes reflected off his glasses and landed squarely on me. I refused to back down and stared him down hard.
After a long moment, he sighed. "If you leave, who will I marry?"
What?
"That news was fake. The photos were shot for perspective.
Very few people knew about my marriage to Claire before. I thought I could use this chance to have a proper wedding — with you."
"The person Luo told me about at the company entrance that day… was you."
I was speechless.
That was the longest he'd ever spoken. The amount of information hit me so hard I couldn't find my bearings for a while.
Seeing me frozen, Ethan assumed I didn't believe him. He took a ring from nowhere, grabbed my hand, and slipped it onto my ring finger.
Me: "…"
So I had misunderstood him.
I felt awkward and blurted, "This ring is actually pretty."
He said earnestly, "Not as pretty as you."
Ugh. Did this damned man have honey smeared all over his words?
My smile slipped out before I could stop it. "Am I still not your little— never mind. I won't ask."
I ducked my head and stole a glance at him.
Ethan smiled, brilliant and blinding, and his answer landed with a kiss as dazzling as his grin.
"Always, my… princess."
