Lola jabbed a finger at my nose and yelled, "Claire Bennett, I was only gone for a year and you seduced Ethan Ford away?! Are you even ashamed?"
I crossed my arms and lifted a brow at her. "What is shame? Can you eat it?"
She trembled with rage, tears springing to her eyes. "You really think you won? Do you believe Ethan still loves me? You’re just a stand-in and you don’t even know it!"
I hugged my arms tighter but smiled with contempt. "Whether he loves you or not I don’t know. All I know is Ethan is with me every night."
Tears streamed down Lola’s face as she pointed at me, voice shaking. "Claire, how can a shameless woman like you possibly have the same father as me?!"
I looked down and scoffed.
I didn’t understand it either—how we could share the same father.
But I still answered politely, "Maybe it’s because your mother, like mine, had no shame—wrecked a marriage and stole someone else’s husband. That’s why you’re a love child."
"You—"
Her face flushed bright. Like an angry cat, she slapped me.
I touched my cheek, arched a brow, then slapped her back hard.
She grew up in silk and satin; I’ve been through every kind of hardship. Our strength wasn’t comparable.
Lola’s face swelled crimson; tears fell like broken beads as she staggered back, terrified.
I pulled out my phone to call security and have her removed.
Instead, her eyes suddenly lit up. She covered her face and ran for the door, screaming, "Ethan, I’m so scared!"
My heart dropped. I turned and saw a tall shadow at the doorway, a chill radiating from him, expression cold as stone.
Ethan Ford had returned.
He pulled Lola into his arms and patted her back in a practiced, soothing way.
The gesture was unbearably gentle.
Lola smirked at me from his embrace.
My stomach turned cold.
From the way he moved, I knew this fight was already lost.
After all, I was only the stand-in Ethan and Lola chose when they broke up and she left the country—lucky for me, I happened to look like her.
And I had come on to him willingly.
A substitute can’t expect to replace the original.
Still, I couldn’t help feeling a sting of resentment. I smiled and stepped forward to take his briefcase. "Ethan, you’re back?"
He watched me quietly, his face unfamiliar and unfriendly.
Just last night we’d been intimate until dawn; in the morning I’d tied his tie and sent him out.
Now he held Lola, and I looked like an intruder.
Any little hope I had sank lower.
Lola sobbed in his arms, "Ethan, I regret going abroad. If I hadn’t gone, I would never have lost you…"
Ethan lowered his head and looked at her with nothing but tenderness, stroking her hair.
Every touch took another sliver of hope from me.
When Lola stopped sniffling, Ethan finally glanced up and, emotionless, asked her, not me, "Did Claire bully you?"
I bit my lip and said nothing.
Lola choked out, "Claire’s just short-tempered. I didn’t mean anything by it. I came over impulsively—Claire had every reason to be mad."
She sounded so pitiful.
I kept my eyes down, silent.
Ethan’s expression said everything.
No amount of arguing would help.
A substitute had no right to argue.
I knew I had lost—just as my mom had lost to her mom.
Completely.
Ethan narrowed his eyes and frowned, "Claire, from day one I taught you to know your place."
I bit my lip and gave a self-mocking smile, holding up my hands. "Mr. Ford, I’m adaptive—I’ll bow out. You two put on your show; I’m exiting."
He paused, silent.
I lowered my head, forced a smile, and said, "Mr. Ford, call me later. We’ll talk about the breakup."
I didn’t wait for an answer and strode out of the estate.
No matter how messy my emotions, my head was clear.
I knew it would be smarter now to quit cleanly. With Ethan’s temperament, he’d be generous with a breakup settlement.
I’m practical—if I lose a man, I won’t lose the money too.
As I stepped out, I heard him call behind me, "Claire."
My heart stumbled. I turned, stuffing down the last flicker of hope.
Lola looked up at Ethan, clinging to him like a fragile kitten, quietly choking on her sobs.
Ethan looked from me to Lola, lowered his eyes, and wiped Lola’s tears. "We’ll talk later."
I turned and walked away, accepting my loss.
That evening, Ethan brought the property deed, a gold card, and stock paperwork to me and said he was getting engaged to Lola. He wanted us to have no entanglements going forward.
I glanced at the stack in front of me. That paperwork meant a lifetime of security.
I nodded and smiled, shaping my mouth to match Lola’s expression well enough. "Alright, Mr. Ford. Thank you for taking care of me these past few years."
Ethan raised an eyebrow—surprised, as if he hadn’t expected my calm.
No crying, no begging; I accepted it so readily.
I pocketed his gifts and smiled more sincerely. "Thank you for everything. Don’t worry—I will disappear from your life and won’t cause trouble."
His brow tightened. "Claire, are you happy about this breakup?"
I lowered my head and corrected him with a smile. "Not that, Mr. Ford. I’m happy about the gift."
Dark anger filled his eyes.
A moment later he left.
I couldn’t understand what he was upset about.
His first love had returned; my role as the substitute was over. Isn’t my tact exactly what he’d want?
Besides, I had matched Lola’s looks, voice, style—nine out of ten—an impeccable stand-in. I deserved the money.
So why, the moment Lola came back, did everything I did become wrong?
Holding my settlement, I watched him drive away in his sports car and quietly dismissed any lingering feelings. I smiled with a little contempt.
Men.
The day Ethan left, I went from stand-in to rich woman.
I took off my plain dress, erased my faint makeup, and tossed every girlish outfit in my closet.
They’d all been his purchases—Lola’s style, not mine.
I put on a scarlet mini, dyed my hair brown and waved it into vintage curls, and painted my lips a deep red.
This was me, Claire Bennett.
I bought a pile of clothes and shoes I actually liked, and came back to the estate in a buzz of retail happiness.
My life had been rough—I’d grown up tough, callous when I needed to be.
I might get infatuated sometimes, but I wouldn’t let myself drown in love. I couldn’t afford to.
Now I only wanted the good life—better than Lola’s.
I wanted my mother to have a better life than hers.
From the beginning, when I courted Ethan, I knew what I wanted: not the man himself, but his generous breakup fee.
Any occasional flutter in my chest? Consider it a temporary fever.
As I climbed out of the sports car to go inside, someone sprinted in front of me.
It was Lola, face cold. "How much did you make him pay you?"
I arched an eyebrow. "More than you can imagine. After all, good service is rewarded."
She sneered, "What’s good service worth? You’re nothing but a begging woman. You watch Ethan dote on me while you hide and cry."
Her words made me laugh. "Lola, do you really think I’m as hung up on him as you are?"
I stepped closer and said slowly, "From start to finish, I never loved him. I loved his money. You get the man; I get the money. Win-win. What do you think?"
I was lying blatantly, but I wouldn’t show weakness.
Lola fell quiet, staring behind me.
I felt a chill.
I turned—Ethan stood there, expression stone-cold.
How had I forgotten? Lola would always choose to provoke when Ethan was watching.
One wound wasn’t enough; she stabbed again.
She ran to Ethan in quick, delicate steps, acting fragile. "Ethan, why did you follow me? I just wanted to make up with Claire. Why aren’t you trusting me?"
Ethan wrapped his arms around her gently, but his eyes never left me. "Good job, Claire."
I bit my lip and forced a smile. "Thanks for the compliment, Mr. Ford. Would you like some tea?"
He snorted, "No. Gross."
Holding Lola, he walked away without looking back.
I watched his retreating shoulders and stood stunned, then turned and went home.
That night I moved my mother from the shabby old neighborhood into the estate.
Half my wish fulfilled, I went to bed feeling at ease.
The bed was huge and empty; no arms to warm me.
I had always been afraid of the dark, and many nights I only slept curled in Ethan’s embrace.
Now I felt the cold.
I wasn’t as forgetful as I told myself.
I fell asleep late.
The next morning I went to the study, let my fingers skim the desk, and sat lost in thought.
Many nights Ethan had worked here while I made him tea and kept him company.
I was a competent lover—doing what Lola would do and what she wouldn’t. I asked questions when he made decisions, and I memorized every investment move.
I could rattle off the names of start-ups he favored in my sleep.
Over the years I had copied his investment mindset and business instincts completely.
I was his best protégé.
I touched his teacup and made myself a cup, sat where he would, and mimicked his posture.
Ethan had been generous. The settlement he left me was enough to invest.
He’d introduced me to social circles and contacts I could use.
I finished my tea, washed up, put on a dress and heels, made several calls, and headed out.
I had played Lola’s substitute for a year, waiting for this day—the day I would climb higher.
From the day my mother and I left the Chen family, I had known being a wife wasn’t as safe as being an owner. A boss couldn’t be fired the way a wife could be cast aside.
When I first approached Ethan, I didn’t only want to be his lover. I wanted to be Ethan Ford.
For the next few days I worked nonstop, often forced into social functions. I never drank in front of Ethan before, but now I wore my sexiest dresses and sipped the strongest liquor while schmoozing with various CEOs.
When they found out Ethan Ford had dumped me, everyone froze for a beat, then glanced at my pale skin and patted my arm, my hand, my thigh with sympathetic faces.
I didn’t care. As long as I could break into this circle, I was willing to pay any price.
Self-respect is something you earn after you become strong.
Still, these people were decent enough—only subtle hints and dropping phone numbers; no outright violence.
Except that one night, when I ran into a creep who wouldn’t stop pouring me drinks and dragged me to another private room, groping me.
I felt weak, certain they’d drugged me. I bit my lower lip until it bled to keep myself conscious and fumbled to dial someone for help.
Minutes later the club owner and security burst in, pulled that old lecher off me, and helped me out of the room.
Half an hour after that, Ethan Ford appeared in front of me, icy and furious, staring down at the whiteness of my exposed skin.
When things were at their worst, the only number I could remember was his.
Seeing him there, I let out a breath and forced a smile before letting myself collapse into sleep.
When I woke again, I was lying in a hotel.
I heard Ethan’s voice from the bathroom: "Lola, go back to sleep. I’ll be back when I’m done."
It was a kind of tenderness I’d never heard from him.
It pinched me.
Back when we were lovers, I had wanted to be the only one in his eyes. I used to beg for promises, and the moment he frowned I’d wrap my arms around his neck and never mention it again.
I sighed. When he finished the call, he came over.
He tossed me a dress—a full-length gown with the tags still on. God knows where he got it that same night.
It covered me from neck to ankle in pure white.
"Claire, look at you," he said.
He looked down at the red cocktail dress clinging to my thighs and sneered, "Degrading yourself."
My smile froze.
He tilted his chin. "So you love money that much? My money wasn’t enough for you? You had to go out and sleep with clients?"
I dropped my eyes, pulled on shoes, and stood in front of him. I forced a brittle grin that wasn’t a smile. "Mr. Ford, you’re right. I am lowly. Otherwise why would I willingly be someone’s substitute?"
"What did you say?"
A flash of steel crossed his eyes.
For the first time I lifted my head and didn’t greet him with a smile. "Mr. Ford, even if I’m lowly, you slept with me for a year. Even if I’m lowly, I didn’t cheat on an old flame. Even if I’m lowly, I’m a legitimate daughter—I didn’t steal someone else’s father."
His face hardened further.
I ground my teeth and let out a bitter laugh. "Mr. Ford, you’ve never been poor. You probably don’t know what it’s like to always be terrified there won’t be enough money. You live like nothing matters. If you really cared about me, go ask your beloved why she was born, why she ruined me—why I went from being a young lady to a penniless nobody, why she stole my man and then told me that being unloved is what makes you the ‘other woman’?"
For a second his face softened.
Maybe he’d never seen me cry and was shocked.
I wiped my own tears and was surprised at myself.
I thought I only wanted to climb higher. I thought after all those years of suffering I’d stripped away ordinary feelings—that sadness, joy, love, jealousy were distant things.
But I hadn’t realized how much resentment and injustice lived inside me.
I shoved him away and staggered out, hailed a cab home, and cried all the way.
I had once been a pampered little princess.
Then I was reduced to a stand-in for a man’s illegitimate child, a toy violated at will.
Why should I accept it?
I refused to.
After that night, Ethan never contacted me again.
But the investments we’d discussed went through smoothly; several good companies reached out to me.
At events, no one tried to grope me anymore—everyone was polite.
Maybe Ethan had made a call on my behalf.
I accepted every kindness. Poor people learn to make use of anything.
If a resource could help me climb, even if it came from a former sugar daddy, I’d gladly take it.
Things suddenly went well. With breathing room, I enrolled in an MBA program to study and expand my network.
I registered a company and slowly started hiring.
Buying flowers myself beats begging for them.
I was studious, quick-witted, resilient, good with people. Gradually I carved out a place. Some of the industry’s cocktail events began to invite me.
Like this time: a big shot’s birthday. His son was my MBA classmate and we’d been invited.
When I arrived I saw my father there too.
It made sense—he’d become a reasonably successful businessman in this city. Everyone knew his fame and wealth, but no one knew he’d started with my grandfather’s help, then squandered the inheritance and brought his mistress and their illegitimate daughter into our home, kicking my mother and me out.
The Billionaire Loved Her First
He refused to acknowledge me simply because after my mother divorced him I took my mother's last name.
To him I was a traitor for that.
After that, my mother and I went through terrible times: paying twenty-dollar electricity bills, walking through dangerous outskirts at night to save a few taxi dollars.
Now I stood not far away, watching him doting on Lola between him and Ethan—petting and proud—and I felt a sudden urge to laugh.
Life is absurd sometimes.
The romances people praise aren't about fidelity; it's about whoever ends up on top.
Not very fair.
I was about to move away when Lola spotted me and called out in her high, bright voice, "Claire!"
I couldn't pretend I hadn't heard. She ran up and looped her arm through mine. "Why didn't you say hi to Daddy? Families shouldn't hold grudges overnight—are you still mad?"
Before I could answer, she dragged me over to my father.
He snorted and looked at me with contempt. "You're wearing that here—trying to seduce Ethan again?"
I put on a flirtatious smile and glanced at Ethan. "Do you think so?"
Ethan looked me up and down in my tight dress, quiet and unreadable.
My father scolded, "Where did you learn these vixen tricks? From your mother?"
I raised an eyebrow. "No, from your current wife—she used the same tricks to kick me out. I had to learn them."
Lola blushed. "Claire, how can you insult elders? And Mom and Dad married for love!"
I couldn't help myself. "Married for love? More like a one-night stand."
"Claire!"
"Smack!"
Ethan's warning voice and the resounding slap happened at once.
My father hit me hard. My ear rang.
People turned to look. Across from me a tall man held his wine glass and watched with amused interest.
His look prickled me.
I hate anyone seeing me humiliated.
All my efforts were to climb to the top—to erase the shame of being abandoned by my father, to reclaim my dignity.
But despite everything, I was still hit and treated like a spectacle.
"Shen—" I started, using his family name as a flare, "who the hell do you think you are to hit me?"
I clutched my ear, shoved him hard. "I'm your father!"
He raised his hand again, furious.
Before he could strike, Ethan grabbed his wrist.
Ethan's face was expressionless as he looked at my father. My father slowly dropped his hand.
Lola looked between Ethan and me and tugged on his sleeve. "Ethan, let go of Daddy—you're so strong. Daddy's old; he can't handle it."
Despite my ringing ear, I couldn't help but smile at her.
Ethan grabbed my arm and hauled me toward the restroom.
I was bewildered as he dragged me past the tall man with the amused smile, who even greeted me: "Hey."
I had no time to answer. My steps were unsteady.
At the restroom doorway Ethan finally let go and touched my cheek. "Does it hurt?"
I blinked back tears and tried to keep them in.
He stared at the winged liner at the corners of my eyes and his gaze darkened. He said softly, "You started it—insulting Lola's mother. That was wrong. Go back and apologize to her. I'll drive you home."
I snapped my eyes open. Was I hearing things?
"Ethan Ford, are you out of your mind?"
I was furious. I jerked away. "Why should I apologize? Who are you to tell me to? You're nothing to me—a former benefactor. Don't act like you're important."
Ethan narrowed his eyes. "Claire, what did you say?"
"I said you're just my ex benefactor. We've settled our accounts. Who are you to make me apologize? You know nothing—don't pretend to be the peacemaker."
I was unusually hot-tempered that day.
Ethan asked me to apologize to Lola. The nerve.
For a moment I'd allowed myself to imagine he might still have a sliver of feeling for me.
Now I realized how foolish I was. People clutching unrealistic hopes always end up humiliating themselves.
Ethan gripped my wrist so hard cold sweat ran down my side.
There was danger in his eyes. I knew he was actually angry.
His face stayed calm but his gaze was deep. "Claire, do you only obey a benefactor?"
I was stubbornly silent.
He leaned in, lowering his head until our noses nearly touched. "Name your price."
"???" I thought I'd misheard.
"Say it again," I demanded.
He spoke slowly. "Name your price. I'll take you back."
I couldn't help laughing at how ridiculous that sounded. "So you want me to be your side-piece? A platonic mistress? I don't have the patience for that—I only give myself, I don't do company."
Ethan's look darkened further. He pinched my shoulder, about to say something, when a cold, mocking voice cut in from behind us: "Ethan, your little girlfriend's looking for you."
Both Ethan and I turned to see the tall man who'd been sneering before. He winked at me. "Hey."
I noticed he and Ethan Ford shared a type—sharp-boned, striking features.
He reached out his hand to me. "Hello, Ryan Ford."
6
I knew who Ryan Ford was.
Ethan's uncle, the Ford family's late-born son, powerful and capable. Rumor had it Ethan's parents were wary of him—that when it came to the inheritance, there'd be blood in the water.
Ethan was always compared to him—only five years apart, both outstanding.
Ethan watched Ryan warily, wordlessly positioning me behind him like a shield.
Ryan smiled again. "You want this girl to take another slap from her father?"
Ethan froze, then mouthed to me in a low voice, "Go home. Wait for my call."
Hesitating, he raised his voice: "Stay away from strangers."
Then he hurried toward the main hall.
I saw, out of the corner of my eye, Lola rush toward him, tearful, throwing herself into his arms, crying and telling him something.
My heart felt like it had dropped through a trapdoor.
Ryan leaned against the wall, half-amused, sizing me up.
I swallowed my anger and said, "What are you looking at?"
"Watching to see when you'll cry."
He glanced at his watch. "How long can you hold it?"
I forced my tears back. "If you have time like that, go to neurology—how long until a stroke?"
Ryan gave a quiet laugh.
He reached for my hand. "Let's be friends."
I knew I should be gracious—Ryan Ford was someone worth courting.
But I had no patience for it then.
I shook my head and turned to leave.
At the corner I glanced back. Ryan was still standing there, eyes fixed on me, an odd spark of excitement in them… After the party, things started to go wrong.
The partnership we'd agreed on fell through; the company's operations ran into trouble.
I knew something was off. When I asked around privately, I learned it was my father's doing.
The people who'd spared Ethan face chose my dad between my ex and my prospective father-in-law. Of course they sided with my dad.
I gritted my teeth and tried everything, but my dad had far wider connections—and I didn't have time to build my own power base.
I was running in circles, making a fool of myself.
Some people, whether out of kindness or not, suggested I find a new sugar daddy.
"They say you're pretty and charming—someone will take you. You'll bounce back in no time," they said.
I didn't want that. I kept looking for a way on my own.
Until one day someone invited me to a dinner and said a benefactor would be introduced.
I had no other options—I went.
When I entered the private room, the head seat was taken by a man—sharp-boned, handsome, a little like Ethan. He smiled more, with squinty, warm eyes, and he was studying me.
He nodded. "We meet again."
I bit my lip, forcing a smile, and sat across from him. "Mr. Ford."
"Call me Ryan."
He raised his glass. "Let's be friends."
I took a deep breath and nodded. "Okay, Ryan."
7 The dinner ended with Ryan very drunk.
On the way out he wanted me to support him.
I heard people giggling behind us: "Claire's got herself a backer; she's going to turn things around."
"She hooked up with Ethan's uncle this time. The Ford family drama's coming." "As always, a beauty brings trouble."
I pretended not to hear, telling myself only those at the top ever get to silence the noise.
Ryan chuckled near my head. "How long can you hold it this time?"
I inhaled. "As long as you want me to."
He glanced at his watch. "Half an hour."
He opened the car door. I got in.
I was almost giving up on myself.
After all, I was the mistress's daughter in everyone's eyes—born unlucky compared to Lola—but I still wanted more for myself.
Greed deserves its punishment, it seems.
Ryan and I sat in the back; he propped his hand under his chin, squinting at me with the faintest smile.
I stared straight ahead, letting him take me wherever.
After ten minutes he suddenly said, "Hold on twenty more minutes."
I looked at him. He stared out the window.
Another ten minutes later: "Ten more minutes."
Outside the night was thick; dim streetlights threw shadows across trees.
That's when I realized we were on the highway, heading to the outskirts.
A chill ran through me—horror movie scenes flashed in my head. Ryan, still smiling quietly, hardly spoke. That only made it worse.
"Where are you taking me?" I scooted back.
He checked his watch. "A few minutes."
My scalp pricked. I slipped my phone out to call the police.
He laughed and reached behind me for the phone. "Why not wait a few minutes? Filing a false report will get you in trouble with the police, you know."
My face froze with fear.
I didn't want to die.
I hadn't had my moment yet—I hadn't clawed my way back or taken revenge.
Time stretched; each second was torture.
I almost begged. "I'll do anything. Please don't hurt me. I still have things I need to do."
Ryan laughed loudly, then signaled the driver to stop.
He got out first and waved me over.
I didn't want to leave the car, but the driver urged me: "Mr. Ford wouldn't do anything to you. He'd never risk his fortune over you—do you really think so?"
Half-believing and with no other choice, I stepped out.
Ryan pointed at a dark stretch of water in front of us. "No need to hold it anymore."
Looking around, I realized we'd somehow arrived at the Ford family estate.
The old Ford estate sat in the suburbs, an old-money neighborhood with 24-hour security patrols.
I exhaled—and then the shock gave way to waves of humiliation and fear.
I couldn't hold it—"Wah!"—the cry ripped out of me.
I sobbed until I couldn't breathe, snot and tears streaming. Tears are dangerous: if you don't stop them at the first trickle, they'll flood out all the pain you've ever kept inside.
I bawled on the ground, looking a wreck, swearing and cursing.
I was furious—why me? What had I done wrong? Why did my father reject me? Why had Ethan left? Why couldn't I hold on to anything?
I wailed until I couldn't anymore.
Ryan waited quietly beside me, and when I could cry no more he helped me up and wiped my face with tissues.
I hiccuped through my tears, but a strange emptiness lifted—like being relieved of a heavy pressure I'd carried forever.
I looked at him, puzzled. "Why?"
A corner of Ryan's mouth lifted. "Wanted to see how stubborn you are."
I thought he was crazy, but I didn't say so.
I changed the subject. "This place is…quiet."
He looked at the lake and nodded after a moment. "Perfect for crying."
8 That's how, absurdly, I started being connected to Ryan Ford.
Even more absurd—the rumor mill declared him my benefactor, and the story spread convincingly.
The benefit was immediate: my career picked up again. I used the brief steadiness to accelerate.
I told myself one day I'd last until nobody could hold me back anymore.
And I wouldn't need a man's name to stand at the top and smile.
But rumors have downsides.
The downside was Ethan took it seriously.
He pounded on my door one night, plastered with alcohol, demanding, "Are you sleeping with Ryan Ford?!"
I frowned, but I let him in. I made him a hangover soup, covered him with a blanket, and let him rest.
I used to take care of him like that.
Doing the same now felt like a lifetime ago.
He stared at me, then beckoned me over. I carried the soup and bent down. Ethan leaned in, murmuring, "What spell did you put on me? Why can't I forget you?"
Something in my chest broke. I reminded him, "You have Lola."
It was like a slap—he drew his hand away from my chest, shut his eyes, and said nothing until morning.
At sunrise I watched Ethan, puzzled; I didn't know why he'd spent the night, but the house had been his gift, so I let him stay.
At seven he got up to leave, washing his face and asking, "Is it true between you and Ryan?"
I leaned against the bathroom door and let my gaze linger over him, but I told him nothing. Why should I, when he dotes on Lola and I, an expendable stand-in, must report my life after we broke up?
He left without the answer, face cold. Before he walked out he glanced back: "Ryan Ford is a fox. You can't outplay him."
He hesitated. "Think about my suggestion that day."
I smiled him out. "Goodbye, Mr. Ford."
The door slammed.
I stood with my head bowed for a long time, then squared my shoulders and went out to fight.
9 Ryan had been seeing me a lot lately—at work, at events—always with me by his side.
The gossip painted me as his favorite, maybe even the future mistress of the Fords—if he won the inheritance.
Even my father called. I didn't pick up; he was brazen enough to call my mother's phone. He hadn't reached out to us in over ten years.
I blocked his number and felt a rush of relief like nothing I'd felt before.
But I couldn't let myself believe the rumors.
Ryan hadn't even touched me.
Sometimes I wondered if he was grooming me as an heir.
In his office I was there to assist, like learning business from a teacher; he'd quiz me from time to time.
When we attended events, he'd introduce me as his little protégé. Amid the clinking glasses he'd teach me negotiation and strategy.
Ethan called Ryan a fox—and he was right.
But what the fox had planned, I couldn't read.
I only knew I was growing fast. Compared to the secret little lessons I'd stolen with Ethan, I was improving by leaps and bounds.
With Ryan's mentorship and protection, I was progressing by the day.
Our relationship even reached the ears of the Ford patriarch. The old man demanded to see me—the siren who'd seduced his nephew and now his brother.
He hadn't even met Lola.
With things blown up to that scale, maybe Ryan actually had feelings for me—had even shown them in front of the old man?
But the next moment, Ryan dashed that hope.
He buried himself in paperwork, not looking up, and told the patriarch's assistant, "No need to meet."
I sat there, trying to hide my awkwardness with a smile, while the assistant shot me a look heavy with disdain.
I pretended not to notice.
When the assistant left, Ryan continued grading documents, head down.
But I felt this furious blaze inside me.
I couldn't say why.
Not even when Ethan and Lola made up did I feel this angry.
I knew it made no sense, but he was the first person in years who hadn't wanted anything from me, who hadn't looked down on me, who had shown me respect.
He'd fattened my courage, and I let my expression fall right then.
Ryan finished reviewing documents, lifted his coffee, and caught sight of my face. He paused, a handsome curl at the corner of his mouth: "You mad?"
I forced a fake smile. "No."
"Then are your lips just itchy?"
He watched me with interest.
I unclenched my teeth, let my lower lip go, and lowered my head without answering.
Ryan got up and came over—it's the first time he's done something almost intimate.
He ruffled the top of my head, his cool voice threaded with amusement: "What I meant was, you don't need to see him. Not that he doesn't need to see you."
His tone was detached enough that you couldn't tell the "he" he referred to was his own father.
I was a little surprised and looked up at him.
For the first time I noticed how deep his eyes were—hard to read.
After I rejected Mr. Ford's assistant, the Ford matron also sent someone to summon me, ordering me to go meet her.
Ryan sneered and said the same thing: "No need."
I thought it strange but didn't dare ask more.
A few days later, Ethan told me the reason.
He blocked me at the front door with a cold face. "Claire, why did you choose Ryan?"
I spread my hands. "Then why did you choose Lola?"
Ethan's grip on my arm tightened.
After a beat he sneered, "You keep saying you look down on Lola as an illegitimate daughter, yet you pick an illegitimate son for yourself?"
He added, "Because of you, Ryan pissed off both the old man and the matron. The old man has declared—the Ford family inheritance does not include illegitimate children."
I froze.
Ethan grabbed my shoulders. "Claire, if he loses the inheritance, he can't give you anything."
Anger flared. I wrenched and couldn't break free, but I shot him a glare: "And what can you give me? The title of mistress? Another illegitimate child in the future? Are all of you Fords into that?"
Ethan blinked, looking confused and annoyed. "Do you think I want that?! Why did you hide who you really are this whole year? Why did you wait until after we broke up to tell me you knew how to cast spells?!"
I almost laughed with anger.
First love and love marks—men will always be baffled by them.
Somehow I found the strength to shove him.
I had no time to argue; I just wanted to go to Ryan.
Ethan stood stunned for a moment.
He watched me in silence, then finally, in a low voice: "I'm regretting it. Isn't that enough?"
I didn't bother to listen. I pulled out my phone and dialed Ryan.
He said, "If you want to come back, I can change my mind."
I waved him off. "Mr. Ford, you should get back to work. The Ford empire's huge—keeps you busy for a while."
Ethan's voice cooled, with a faint, almost imperceptible tremor: "Claire, this is your last chance. I can get rid of Lola…"
"Lingkun."
I cut him off.
When we first split, he used to say this to me every night in my dreams.
Why didn't he say it sooner? Why wait until after Ryan showed up?
I thought I'd never forget Ethan, but then Ryan appeared.
Only by being with him did I realize how addictive it is to be respected and valued.
Having more power and stability felt so much safer than being pretty.
Now I could only think of telling Ryan, if he'd have me, I'd stay—with him through richness or poverty.
You've got to plant good seeds to harvest good fruit.
My eyes burned. I took a deep breath to force the words out: "I'm going to see Ryan. You should go."
Pain flashed across Ethan's eyes. "I'm getting engaged. If you come back, I can swap brides."
He reached for me again. I slipped away. "The old man won't like a woman who flits between uncle and nephew. Aren't you worried he'll take your inheritance away again if you get engaged to me?"
Ethan's hand froze.
I smiled at him where I stood. "Forget it. Such a huge inheritance—too good to give up. I think Lola and you suit each other."
Ethan, usually decisive, hesitated—my only glimpse of his indecision. He even asked me to wait, to let him establish himself in the Fords first.
I gave a bitter smile and watched him go, defeated.
You reap what you sow.
Ethan got in the car and, after a dust kick-up, vanished from view.
For a second, I felt empty.
But only for a second.
I hurried to call Ryan.
After the call connected, there was a long ring. I was frantic. Eventually he picked up but said nothing.
"Where are you? I'm coming for you!"
Silence, then softly: "Look toward the west drive."
Puzzled, I looked west as he told me.
A tall figure leaned against a Chinese toon tree by the drive, smiling with his eyes creased.
My heart leapt. I hurried over, inspecting him like a guilty kid: "When did you get here? Why didn't you say anything?"
I'd been tussling with Ethan—who knew how much he saw?—and felt uneasy.
Ryan's smile deepened. "Just arrived. Suddenly wanted a drink today, so I came to find you."
Relief flooded me, then concern: "Are you okay? I just heard—"
"You heard I'm an illegitimate son, huh?"
Ryan looped an arm around my shoulders and guided me toward his car, blunt and steady in a way that left me finger-twisting for speech.
He drove us toward the outskirts.
The road felt oddly familiar—like the way to the Ford family estate.
Nervous, I asked, "Are you taking me to go tear them apart?"
Ryan blinked, then burst out laughing.
He pulled the car over, scooped me into his arms without asking, and kissed my forehead loudly. "Are you out of your mind?"
I forgave his contradictory behavior—kissing then scolding—because his emotions were raw right now.
He helped me out. We were at the lake where he'd forced me to cry the other day.
I was confused. "I'm not making myself cry today."
Ryan didn't answer me. He stared at the pond as if it held the past: "When I felt I couldn't go on as a kid, I'd come here and wail. Nobody laughed, nobody looked down, nobody tattled."
This was the first time I'd seen no humor in his eyes—only an old, inappropriate-for-his-age desolation.
He kept looking at the water. "My mom fought the Ford matron for years, never got the rightful position, and she went insane. Ended up in a hospital. I started fending for myself at eight in the Ford house."
A needle prickled in my chest. I didn't know how to comfort him; I just took his cold hand and gave him my warmth.
He took my hand back. "The Fords all have mistresses, all have illegitimate kids. Ethan even has two illegitimate half-sisters."
That was new to me.
I heard the sorrow in his voice and leaned closer, trying to be the warmth he needed. "That's unfair."
Ryan pulled me into his arms. "As a kid I blamed the matron for ruining my mom. Later I realized—my hatred should have been aimed elsewhere."
He looked toward the Ford estate in the distance. "There are other people I should hate."
I nodded. I understood. That was why I'd never targeted Lola—I knew who I really resented.
Ryan sat with me on the grass. "So I've had this dream. I want to stop the Fords from creating one crazy woman after another."
Something in that sounded off. He smiled, but the smile was too cold.
"What do you mean?"
I tensed, half-joking that maybe he needed a law book.
He smiled and met my eyes: "But this path I've walked alone. I was lonely—until I saw you at that party. When you were holding back tears, pretending you were fine, it reminded me of myself. I thought: finally, someone to walk with me."
I looked at him. His petal-shaped eyes weren't full of amusement; the corners were reddened and fragile—and somehow more intoxicating.
Ethan accused me of casting spells, but right then it felt like Ryan was the one casting them. With those eyes, whatever he said sounded right.
He bent and kissed me—soft but certain—until I couldn't breathe.
After a long moment he whispered in my ear, "Claire, I've been alone too long."
We officially became a couple.
People whispered that I had taken in a Ford castoff, that I was crazy, but I was happy.
A lover who fit me healed my wounds. Holding each other warmed everything.
Months later, Ethan got engaged and officially became the Ford heir.
Ryan and I went to the engagement party together.
The Ford elders looked at me with disgust and wouldn't speak.
My dad watched the scene and didn't even scold me—pretended he didn't know me.
Ryan and I were sequestered in a corner like a contagious pair; people quickened their pace past us.
Human warmth can be icy.
Worried Ryan might be hurt, I tugged him to leave.
He only patted my hand with a smile: "I need to watch you give up completely."
I laughed at that.
My heart was full of him—I didn't care about past illusions anymore. I only had him.
Ethan was all swagger, clinking glasses with guests. Lola was small and sweet, leaning on him, bliss painted on her face.
When they turned and saw us, I waved and mouthed, "Be happy."
Ethan's glass slipped and shattered on the floor.
I saw him step forward, then Lola quietly pull him back.
I shook my head, amused by an old friend's loss of composure.
An old friend with neither love nor hatred left—yet inexplicably tearful looking at me.
I nudged Ryan. "Can we go?"
He grinned, then kissed me deeply—territorial and intense.
He looped his arm around my shoulders, waved at Ethan, and we left.
I couldn't help but laugh at Ryan acting childish, when usually he's so calculating and poised.
He told me seriously: "Before a battle, you have to settle the troops' hearts."
"I don't want you to still be thinking about someone else."
I rolled my eyes, but my heart felt sweet.
Being treasured like that—it felt so good.
After the engagement banquet, Ethan Ford officially took over all of the Ford family's wealth and power.
The family inheritance battle ended in Ryan Ford's crushing defeat.
People said Ryan had been dazzled by me, that he had originally had better odds than Ethan.
When I heard the gossip, I just smiled. I didn't have time to get angry.
I worked overtime day and night; who had time to care about rumors?
Ryan was the same—after losing the Ford assets, he became even busier.
It wasn't until the night he took me to the lake for the second time that I learned he had another company outside the family business.
It wasn't flashy, but it was strong—built using Ford family resources.
By now it had the power to swallow the Fords back up.
Ryan had spent years inside the Ford family and knew every weak spot in their empire. That company was the Ford family's nemesis.
My company, with his help, was also growing fast.
He told me he couldn't give me the title of the woman who ruled the Fords, and he couldn't hand me the public applause and envy that comes with it.
What he could give me was the ability to get power, money, flowers, and applause on my own.
He said to a little wolf, feeding her meat is nowhere near as useful as teaching her to hunt and helping her claim a patch of prairie.
I agreed.
When everything you own is earned by your own skill, you stop living in fear of losing it. You stop walking on eggshells.
You don't stand in front of a mirror a thousand times trying to practice being someone else.
You don't fear someone leaving you—whether it's your father or your lover.
What Ryan gave me was the best gift and promise I could imagine.
Two years passed in a blur.
In those two years we didn't see any of the Fords.
Until today, when the Ford matriarch died.
Her illnesses had built up in her chest; she finally couldn't hold on.
Ryan and I went back to pay our respects.
Ethan was there too.
He looked hollowed out and gave me a long, heavy look.
I could tell he was exhausted—body and soul.
The Ford patriarch's illegitimate son raised overseas had returned to the country.
Word was the old man favored him.
Even after the patriarch's shadow still hung over the family, he forcibly allocated a share of the Ford empire to that son.
For years the matriarch had tried to keep Ryan out, even driving Ryan's mother to madness—but she couldn't stop the quietly patient foreign-born fourth child. In a fit of anger she let go.
Ethan's illegitimate half-sister saw that example and went to the press to loudly drum up her own story, determined to grab her piece of the pie.
Ethan was under immense pressure.
That pressure probably fell on Lola, too.
I saw Lola for the first time looking gaunt, the sweetness gone.
She marched up to me and fixed me with a stare: "What drug did you give Ethan?"
I blinked. "Are you crazy?"
She ground her teeth, fatigue shadowing her face: "Two years, Ethan made me wear red dresses, high heels, big curly hair—made me copy everything you did. Even at night… he would call your name!"
I blinked, then blinked again.
Only then did I notice Lola's makeup, hair, and clothes—she'd copied me down to the last detail.
It was ridiculous and somehow tragic, and I couldn't make myself laugh.
Fortunes turn; now Lola had become my stand-in.
I should have felt smug, but all I felt was annoyed.
I looked up at Ryan. "Let's go. I'm tired."
He glanced one last time at the matriarch's portrait, took my hand, and said, "Let's go."
We turned to leave.
Behind me, Lola cursed me, her voice sharp and unhinged.
I hesitated for a moment, but I didn't turn back.
After the funeral, the Ford family chaos continued.
But soon they lost the appetite for scandal.
Several of the family's pillar businesses were sabotaged; market share collapsed.
Old black-market stories came out: the patriarch and his sons had run illegal businesses—tax evasion, monopolistic abuses. Investigations started. The Ford family, as a whole, could no longer walk away intact—only Ethan might.
Stocks plunged, shareholders sold, banks called in loans, and the Ford cash flow snapped like a brittle twig.
Overnight, the dynasty crumbled. The Fords fell from glory to ruin. There would be no more mistresses, illegitimate children, or whispered scandals—because there would be no Ford empire left.
Ethan lost everything in an instant—everyone who had once surrounded him now avoided him.
I arranged to send him a card, returning every cent of the breakup money he once gave me.
He wasn't the man he used to be, and I wasn't the same woman I had been.
I didn't need anyone's alimony to survive anymore.
Ethan sent the card back with a quiet thank-you through a messenger.
I knew a dying camel is still bigger than a horse—his life wouldn't be impoverished—and I knew he had the talent to climb back up someday. So I took the card back and didn't mention it again.
Lola—who had once been inseparable from Ethan—divorced him the moment the Fords fell.
Even with her quick move, she couldn't save the Chen family business.
My father's company, his life's pride—dependent on the Ford empire—was exposed within weeks for a series of scandals. It couldn't survive and declared bankruptcy.
The night my father's company collapsed, the moon was beautiful.
Ryan and I stood at the window, glasses raised, watching the moonlight.
He pointed out the window with theatrical exaggeration, his finger lifted like it wanted to touch the sky. "The moon's so bright."
Under the moonlight, the ring on his hand threw back a quiet silver glow.
He made me laugh. I mimicked his flourish, lifting my ring finger toward the moon. "Yeah, it makes my ring shine so bright."
He reached for my hand. Our fingers laced together—two wedding bands resting against each other.
We didn't speak.
After a long silence he said with a soft smile, "Mrs. Ford, thank you for making me not feel alone anymore."
I leaned into his arms and quietly replied, "Thank you, too."
Thank you for giving me my own strength, so I no longer fear being abandoned by anyone—not even you.
The moon was beautiful, the embrace warm. I felt peace. That was enough.
(The End)
