After sitting up and taking a moment, I swung my legs over the side of the bed and started looking around, feeling the soft carpet under my feet. Before I knew it I was standing in front of a mirror — and my chest!
It used to be like a kid’s dinner roll. How did it suddenly become a C cup?
I didn’t even have time to be secretly thrilled before I looked up and realized…this face didn’t look like mine either.
???
I froze, still trying to process it, when a scream sounded from outside. I bolted out and saw a woman in the hallway.
She was strikingly refined, kept her figure wonderfully, dripping in pearls and jewels — obviously a wealthy matron.
But I didn’t know her. Still, I had this inexplicable feeling of familiarity.
In a flash, something clicked in my head. I jumped up and the woman across from me looked equally stunned. We both blurted at the same time, “Hazel!”
“Rosie!”
The words had just left our mouths when we were stunned all over again.
Then we ran to each other and burst into tears.
By the time we calmed down, an hour had passed.
Hazel Bennett put on a serious face and asked me earnestly, “Rosie, you’ve seen the world. Do you know what’s going on?”
I didn’t answer.
Inside, I already had a vague guess.
A lifetime of reading novels told me this had to be a transmigration — but transmigration to where?
I paced the room until I found a diary with the owner’s name on it. I got excited and called to my mom, “Mom, I found it!”
The eyes in this body were a little nearsighted, so I had to lean in to read three neat characters — Claire Bennett.
I froze.
My mom came closer, glanced, and asked in confusion, “Rosie, why does it say your name here?”
I was puzzled when a terrible realization hit me — oh no.
I looked at her and said, “Mom, we’re screwed.”
She could tell from my expression something was wrong and smacked my arm, frantic, “What do you mean screwed? Say it!”
I sat there dumbfounded on the carpet and said, “We’ve been transported into a novel.”
“Huh? What—”
Her voice went hoarse with excitement. I quickly put a hand over her mouth. “Mom, don’t get excited!”
Then I used every scrap of knowledge I had to explain transmigration to her and went on, “This body I’m in is the female lead. Her name happens to be the same as mine, and you’re her mother.”
My mom smiled. “Oh? That’s good — the female lead! Eating well, living easy…”
I sighed and added, “Mom, it’s a supporting-character novel.”
She blinked, unsure.
The book’s title was The Side Character’s Comeback: CEO, Stay Away — the very novel I’d binged the night I stayed up.
It’s a supporting-character rebirth story. The scheming supporting character, Heather Collins, died jealous and resentful, then was reborn to take revenge.
The original female lead, Claire Bennett, is the legitimate eldest daughter of the Bennetts, betrothed since childhood to Ethan Mercer. But when Claire was nineteen, supposedly her father’s old flame arrived with an illegitimate daughter, Heather Collins, and chaos ensued.
Claire hadn’t really done anything wrong. Heather just felt robbed, and I remember disliking Heather while reading. Now—well, maybe it’s karma.
And it dragged my mom into the mess.
Guilty as charged.
Flipping through Claire’s diary, I realized these entries were from her nineteenth year. Doing the math, Heather and her mother should arrive tomorrow.
I wanted to cry.
I couldn’t even enjoy this body before the suffering began.
My mom, after the initial emotional roller coaster, had calmed down, gone to her room, and probably already showered. I hurried over to talk strategy.
But when I opened the door, she was lying on the bed watching a melodramatic rural idol show — Country Roses — totally relaxed.
I gasped. “Mom! What are you doing? We’re practically going to die!”
She paused the show, sighed, and said, “Sweetie, I thought it through. If this is a novel, our endings are written. If the Reaper says we die, what can we do? Let’s just enjoy life until the end — maybe by the time we go peacefully, things will reset and we’ll be back.”
I…had no words.
After a moment she and I ended up sitting on the bed, sharing potato chips and watching the show.
During a commercial I popped a chip in my mouth and said, “Mom, the supporting character and her mother come tomorrow.”
She looked at me with mild annoyance. “Finish chewing before you talk — you almost spit on me.”
Then she added, “Let them come. We can’t change fate. The more you fight it, the harder it pushes back. Don’t waste your energy.”
I had to admit — she had a point.
We ended up watching the show until past midnight.
Right before bed, my mom suddenly started crying.
I was surprised.
Hadn’t she come to terms with it?
Was she still scared?
I felt a pang and was about to comfort her when she blurted, "Why did Tony hit Cora? He loves her, doesn’t he? Men really can’t be trusted!"
Tony and Cora were characters in Country Roses.
I: "…"
The next morning, still half-asleep, I was rudely awakened by my mom’s booming voice.
"Rosie! Rosie!"
Knowing what would happen if I stayed in bed, I rubbed my eyes and went downstairs. There she was, apron on, and—wait—there were a bunch of people standing around. A bunch of people!
I snapped fully awake.
An older man at the front was probably the butler; he glanced at my mom, embarrassed. "Ma’am, you don’t need to do this—"
My mom cut him off. "What’s wrong with me making my daughter something to eat? Don’t fuss!"
Then she looked at me. "Rosie, come down and eat!"
Rosie… The people standing below instinctively glanced at me, then quickly looked away.
The room fell quiet.
Just then, a handsome middle-aged man came out. He carried himself with authority in a black suit and frowned at the scene. "What’s going on here?"
If I wasn’t mistaken, this had to be Claire Bennett’s father from the original book—the famously cold, ruthless man who loved no one: Gregory Bennett.
Hearing that name made it impossible for me to control my face.
Gregory looked at me and frowned. "What’s wrong with you?"
I forced my smile away.
In the novel, Gregory never liked his wife; compared to us, he only ever showed kindness to his first love. So we absolutely could not make any trouble in front of him.
Before I could warn my mom, she pointed the spatula at him and said, "Rosie, isn’t that Tony?"
I: "…"
Silence fell again.
Realizing she’d misspoken, my mom sidled up to me and whispered, "Rosie, he really does look a lot like Tony…"
I: "…"
Gregory must’ve been sufficiently annoyed. He took a deep breath. "Butler, cancel breakfast."
And with that, he left.
After he was gone I couldn’t help but laugh.
My mom didn’t laugh. She patted my head. "Eat!"
Wealthy people really lived nice lives.
My mom checked the money on her phone and smiled in satisfaction. "Now we can afford new outfits for the community dance group."
I: "…"
Strictly speaking, my mom used to be the leader of the community dance group back in our old neighborhood. As team captain she entered competitions and even won prizes. But here? Dancing at the plaza seemed out of place… then again, whatever will be, will be.
Right now, my mom and I, Heather and her mother, and Gregory Bennett were all staring each other down in the living room.
My mom leaned over and said, "Cora’s coming."
I couldn’t help laughing, but I caught Heather’s eyes—sharp and vicious. That murderous look sliced straight at me and I panicked, tugging on my mom’s sleeve.
She shot me a look and gritted her teeth. "Don’t pull me. I’m scared too!"
I: "…"
Poor, pitiful first love aside, Gregory’s expression was oddly contemplative. He lowered his head and asked, "How about we let them stay here?"
That scene was in the book too.
Of course the heroine and her mother refused, but still they moved in, and because of that the heroine later suffered Heather’s terrible revenge.
No point fighting what was already set.
So my mom and I raised our hands like we’d talked it over. "Yes, yes! Please, please! We’re family!"
Even though we were trying to be friendly, everyone in the room looked confused.
Heather and her mother wore expressions of suspicion and shock. Gregory, though, furrowed his brow—he looked displeased.
Had we messed up again?
My mom was kind of a legend. Well, that’s what Aunt Nora always said. I was too young back then to remember much.
Aunt Nora told me they both lost their parents young and grew up dependent on others. They both married young out of confusion. My mom married a man who ran a restaurant in the county—my biological father.
Before marriage he seemed okay, but he turned out to be abusive. When my mom had just given birth to me and was still in confinement, my dad beat her while drunk. She didn’t say a word or resist, but when her confinement period ended, she hit him over the head with a hammer and sent him to the hospital.
Domestic violence isn’t a once-and-done thing; it’s either zero times or countless. That said, some people only ever give one chance in a lifetime.
After a month in the hospital, they divorced. They say my dad didn’t even dare show his face at the divorce.
Then my mom left with me and raised me alone.
Life was hard from the start. I was ready to face whatever came with my mom, but I never expected one of those things to be waking up inside a novel.
No—this wasn’t hardship. It was a blessing.
I couldn’t help smiling.
My mom, who’d already started tidying, saw my slightly smug grin and snapped to attention. "What are you smiling about? Move that stool in!"
I sighed.
I knew that as long as my mom was around, even if I had Claire Bennett’s name, I’d never live like her.
Heather and her mother Cora were mostly moved in; they were probably still putting things away and hadn’t come looking to start trouble. Good.
After a day of chaotic bustle, it was almost time for dinner.
After Mom finished tidying up, she went downstairs with efficient hands and started cooking. I wanted to stop her, but I overheard her tell the butler, "From now on, you don’t need to enter my and Rosie’s room anymore. I’ll clean it myself, and I’ll be solely responsible for our three meals every day."
The butler froze.
He blinked his round eyes and glanced at me.
I had no choice but to glare back.
"Uh—pl-pl-people, isn’t that—?"
Mom pretended she didn’t hear and swung the spatula, already expertly cooking.
That night we ate Mom’s signature dish, her secret specialty: three-ingredient noodle stew.
By the time Tony got home, Mom had just finished. Like always, she hollered at me in her booming voice, "Rosie! Come down for dinner!"
I paused the drama I was watching and slowly made my way down, only to run into Heather and her mother in the hallway.
In the original story, the side heroine is haughty and cruel, and Claire—well, Claire was supposed to be a rich girl who was all bark and no bite. But now that I’m inside her, even the barking’s gone. I’ve turned into a complete blank.
So when Heather walked up, shot me a glare and let out a disdainful snort, I immediately took the hint and bent slightly, making a polite gesture. "After you."
Heather: "…"
But my deferential pose didn’t win her over; it made things worse. The usually cold, dismissive Heather looked almost enraged, shot me an even sharper glare, and swept away with heavy footsteps like she was scouring the floor with her shoes.
I was puzzled and hadn’t even figured out what I’d done wrong when Mom’s voice boomed up from downstairs again.
"Rosie! Get down here!"
When she used that tone, it was deadline time. I snapped back, took two steps at a time, and hurried down.
The atmosphere at the table was weird.
The dishes were clearly split into two camps.
On one side, Tony and Cora’s spread of delicacies. On the other: Mom’s three-ingredient noodle stew set in front of me.
I looked at their feast and swallowed.
Mom glanced at me with half-closed eyes and said, flat, "I’ll pickle some relish tomorrow, your favorite radish."
Silence fell over the table again.
Cora broke it. She plucked a piece of fish and gently placed it into Tony’s bowl, her voice sweet as honey. "Greg, eat more meat. You’re too thin."
Heather chimed in, "Yeah, Dad. No one used to take care of you, but you have Mom and me now."
She shot a casual look at me as she said it, another little snort through her nose.
Tony didn’t show much reaction—just a soft "hmm"—which only deepened my curiosity.
How do people make those perfectly sharp, scornful snorts? They seem dangerously effective. If I could master that, my aura would level up, right?
So I started practicing discreetly.
I got into it, really focused—until my nose tickled, I yawned loudly, and noodle broth shot out of my nose.
Me: "…"
Mom: "Suck it back in!"
Everyone else: "…"
You go through a lot of embarrassing moments in life. No matter what, you have to keep it together.
So I calmly let a tear roll down.
"Mom… I’m full…"
As people got up to leave, I thought I saw Tony holding in a smirk—maybe he wasn’t angry, maybe he was suppressing laughter. I couldn’t be sure.
Back in my room I acted like a hero. I blew my nose with relief and went back to the drama.
After a bit, Mom came in, bustling around and clanging things for a while before telling me from the doorway, "Don’t lie down right after eating. Go downstairs and get some activity."
I scrunched up on the bed and stared at the screen, assuming she was full of it.
It was early spring and still chilly mornings and evenings. I’m the kind of person who freezes in a draft; if I went out now, something supernatural would’ve had to happen.
In the end, she didn’t drag me out.
When I finished the entire show, an empty, indescribable feeling settled in.
Bored, I opened Claire’s WeChat.
Flipping through it, I realized the account was peak trust-fund kid—her Moments were all rich people stuff. I found a contact marked "Ethan" in her list.
You could guess with one toe: this was the male lead.
Right now the plot was probably just getting started. The side heroine must have hooked up with the male lead before coming to the Bennetts’—already grabbed his attention. In a few chapters, he would fall for the side heroine.
Thinking that, my hand hovered over the delete button for his contact. But deleting could change things, so I couldn’t risk it. I kept him and renamed his contact "Goofball."
I skimmed the heroine’s WeChat too. She rarely messaged anyone, but a sales associate from a Valencia counter had messaged: a limited-edition bag had arrived—only 25 worldwide.
Tempting.
I couldn’t help but want to see that legendary limited piece, to taste a bit of the rich life.
So the next morning after breakfast I dragged Mom out.
I mapped the bus route out of habit, but when we stepped outside, I noticed rich people all had personal drivers now.
The driver waiting by the door asked politely, "Ma’am, Miss, heading out? I can drive you."
Mom glanced at the car, then, in a cool, noble tone, asked the driver, "Do you have a plastic bag?"
Driver: "Huh?"
Mom: "…I get carsick."
After I reassured her a bunch of times that the luxury car’s suspension was rock-steady, she reluctantly climbed in.
The mall was only half an hour away, but Mom slept so soundly in the car she started snoring.
I felt a little awkward, but she’s my mom—couldn’t exactly look down on her—so I smoothed things over with the driver. “Snoring’s actually a good sign,” I said. “The louder it is, the quicker they go. Isn’t that great?”
The driver: “……”
When we reached our destination, I shook my mom awake. The driver waited in the car while we went into the mall. The moment she saw where we were, my mom froze. “Honey… this… isn’t this really expensive? What if we can’t afford it?”
She must still be half-asleep.
So I coached her gently: “Who are you right now?”
My mom gave me a baffled look. “I’m Hazel Bennett.”
I panicked. “I mean right now!”
My mom: “…Right now?”
“Like… that… cannon-fodder?”
That didn’t make any sense at all.
I lost patience and laid it out bluntly. “Right now, you’re the lady of Bennett Holdings. I’m your daughter—the bona fide rich daughter!”
Only then did my mom register what I meant.
The change in her was immediate.
She pulled sunglasses out of her bag, put them on like a proper doyenne and said in full rich-lady fashion, “Let’s go look.”
Okay!
So we strode in with all the confidence in the world.
The boutique where we’d been last night wasn’t in view, so we just wandered wherever felt right.
This being a top-tier city mall, everything inside was designer. My mom and I entered a women’s shop and the sales associates immediately hovered over us, all smiles.
“Hello, can I help you with anything?”
My mom said nothing, cultivating pure aristocratic disdain. Then she picked up a pink dress, held it up against me and asked the salesperson, “How much is this?”
The salesperson smiled brightly. “This is our brand’s newest limited edition, personally designed by Valencia—only fifteen pieces nationwide…”
Luxury brands always loved to mention how few pieces existed globally. Supposedly it triggers buyers.
That trick doesn’t work on poor people.
Never.
I have to admire luxury for never scamming the poor out of their money.
My mom got impatient listening to the spiel and cut her off. “I asked how much!”
A slightly older saleswoman stepped forward and said, “Two hundred eighty-seven thousand, ma’am.”
My mom frowned, considered, then bargained, “Firm price—twenty! If not twenty, then never mind!”
Me: “…”
Saleswoman: “…”
My mom’s bargaining skill is legendary — if she thought she was second-best at something, no one would dare claim first.
Old habits die hard, so she applied them perfectly to this situation.
I inwardly cursed myself for not thinking ahead and landing us in this mess.
If that clerk hadn’t possibly recognized us, we’d have been shown the exit long ago.
Sensing the situation, I grabbed my mom and bolted.
Outside, watching my mom’s baffled expression, I sighed. “Mom, you can’t haggle at luxury stores.”
She widened her eyes. “What? That expensive and you can’t haggle? That’s ripping people off!”
Me: “…”
“Alright, let’s go, Rosie—mom will get you a few later.”
Me: “…”
That ended our shopping trip.
As we walked home I silently vowed: never go shopping with my mom again. If I break that promise, call me a dog.
Then my mom went to the market, bought a boatload of stuff, and finally we got home. I was the emotionless grocery-carrying machine the whole time.
I had no energy left to explain myself to the driver’s surprised looks.
When we stepped inside, we ran right into Heather—dressed up and about to leave.
She looked at my mom and me as if we were garbage.
Luckily my mom was still fixated on her phone and scrolling bargain apps; otherwise we might’ve had a full-blown fight.
As for me, I figured being treated like trash was survivable so long as they didn’t try to ruin my life. Just then, a stranger’s voice called from behind.
“Heather.”
My mom looked up and met my eyes. Then we both turned—and nearly got blinded by the handsome man standing there.
Before I could figure out who he was, he seemed startled and said, “Claire Bennett?”
I froze.
Heather stepped forward and casually linked her arm through his, speaking softly, “Ethan, let’s go.”
Ethan?
That name sounded so familiar.
My brain short-circuited for a second before I realized—this was the male lead, Ethan Mercer!
In the original story, Ethan is the archetypal CEO alpha. Claire grew up with him and devoted herself to him, but he callously broke their engagement under the scheming influence of the rival female, betraying Claire. He played a part in the terrible fate that befell Claire and her mother.
Realizing that made me even more terrified.
Two walking disasters right here.
The situation was awkward.
At this point in the timeline, Ethan hadn’t fallen for Heather yet—he still had feelings for Claire. His face held hesitation as he awkwardly offered, “We have some things to… handle…”
Things?
A date?
Heather’s expression turned cold.
Her eyes sliced at me like knives. I shivered and hurried, “No problem, take your time. Don’t rush. I’ll head inside first—have a good one…”
I gave my mom a look and we went straight in without looking back.
Only after the two of them left did we finally breathe.
My mom asked anxiously, “That steel egg just now—he’s the male lead, right?”
“Steel egg”? My mom really came up with names.
I flopped onto the couch, grabbed an apple and bit into it. “Yes. Strictly speaking, the two of them are the main culprits who killed Claire and her mother.”
My mom’s hand shook and her phone slipped out of it and fell to the floor.
"What are we supposed to do then?
If nothing else works, we kneel and beg them!
Better than dying!"
Me: "…"
My fear was that even if we begged, they still might not spare us.
I sighed. "Let’s take it slow. The road will appear when the cart reaches the foot of the mountain."
Because we were both shaken up, Mom made chicken soup. After I finished two big bowls, Mr. Porter came home.
He looked at me with soup dribbling from my mouth, then at my mom—apron on, hair a mess, deliberately ignoring him—and finally couldn’t hold it in. "What do you think you’re doing?"
At his voice, Cora Porter barreled down the stairs at light speed and cooed in that syrupy tone, "Tired, right? What do you want to eat? I’ll have the cook make it."
Mr. Porter scowled and said nothing.
I started to panic.
But my mom acted totally unfazed and kept eating the meat in her bowl as if no one else existed.
I was still a kid. My skin wasn’t nearly as thick as hers.
So I said, "Dad, why don’t you have some too?"
At my words, his face softened a little, then he looked at my mom. "Yeah, go get me a bowl too."
Me: "…"
My mom pretended not to hear and stayed put.
The atmosphere grew more and more awkward. I couldn’t help but give her a few secret kicks under the table. After a few of them, she finally stood up, shot me an irritated glare, and went to the kitchen.
I was exhausted. Living in this house felt like walking a tightrope—you never knew the day you’d fall.
Once he got his favorite chicken soup, Mr. Porter visibly cheered up.
Cora’s face, however, was not so pretty.
Trying to be fair, I hesitated, then asked, "Do you want a bowl too?"
Cora glared and snapped, "No!"
Maybe I phrased it wrong, so I tried again. "Okay—two bowls?"
Cora: "…"
"Three bowls?"
Cora: "…"
Still no?
I frowned and muttered, "Can’t have any more. If there’s more, there really won’t be any left…"
This time Cora answered, but not kindly. "Are you crazy?"
She hissed at me and stormed back upstairs.
Maybe it was the soup—really good chicken soup can fix a lot—because Mr. Porter actually laughed. But the smile faded, and he asked me, "How are things going with Mr. Mercer lately?"
Ethan Mercer?
An idea popped into my head. What if I got Mr. Porter to cancel our engagement right away? Maybe then Cora would leave me alone.
I was thinking that when my mom made a sarcastic comment, "Who knows who was blind when they arranged this marriage—doing this to my daughter must bring damnation?"
Oh no. Was war about to start again?
I was about to sneak away when Mr. Porter looked up, speechless, at my mother and said, "Isn’t that the match you fought tooth and nail to get…?"
My mother: "…"
Nothing stings worse than shooting yourself in the foot. My mom was left speechless.
Mr. Porter then turned to me. "If you’re not satisfied, I can call it off."
I almost couldn’t hide my delighted smile and was about to say yes, but lightning-fast I thought of something—don’t CEOs usually get more interested in women who resist? If I voluntarily backed out now, what if his twisted curiosity was piqued and then I couldn’t get out of the engagement later? Disaster.
No. Absolutely not. CEOs are impossible.
I cleared my throat. "No need. I’ll handle it myself."
He grunted in agreement.
Back in my room, I fell into thought.
If I couldn’t directly call off the engagement, I had to make him do it.
How to push him into breaking it? After flipping through tons of scenarios in my head, I finally got it. Men like to be kept on edge; they don’t like women who act like the world only revolves around them.
Right. That’s it.
So my behavior earlier today was all wrong. I should act unreasonable—cry, make a scene, act like I’m about to hang myself—make him tired of me so the engagement dissolves faster.
Worried that I’d suddenly pique his interest again, I quickly posted a private "Friends Only" status that only he could see.
"Sometimes I pretend not to care. I smile outwardly while my heart’s being torn to pieces."
I paired it with a melodramatic emo image of myself crying.
No reply.
I wasn’t worried—this was only step one.
Being a freeloading kept-woman has its joys. Every day I ate, slept, and pestered Ethan Mercer with all kinds of lovey-dovey messages. I even changed my screen name to "Jade."
"Jade Mercer"—see how much I love him.
At first he was patient and kept saying he cared, but over time he grew perfunctory and rarely replied now.
I stared at a message stamped last Monday and smiled.
I’ve always been a muddle. Not that my brain’s broken—I’m just someone who doesn’t like digging too deep. I blame my mom—total genetic trait.
Take this transmigration business: other people might have freaked out or questioned their existence, but Mom and I were shocked for a second and then went back to eating and drinking, calm as could be, deciding to keep muddling through life.
We had questions, sure, but we never seriously wondered why it happened.
But today, after I posted that melodramatic private status and then walked to the window to pull back the heavy curtains, the first noon sunbeam warmed my face. It felt like God’s hand touching me, his favor upon me. Suddenly a thought popped into my head—one I’d never had before: Who am I?
Where did I come from?
And where am I going?
No—actually three questions.
My expression turned serious as I started to ponder why I had come here.
Such a deep philosophical question obviously wasn’t something I could unpack in a single sitting. So over the next few days I fully transformed into a hard‑nosed truth‑seeking philosopher, radiating that enlightened recluse vibe.
One day my mom called me to eat, and I suddenly had a burning question.
"Mom, why do people have to eat?"
Mom: "…"
I assumed my profound query had stunned her, so I got cocky and pressed on. "Mom, who am I? And who are you?"
This time she didn’t freeze—she slapped me so hard I nearly threw up my guts.
"I’m your mother, damn it!"
Me: "…"
Vulgar humans!
But a mere slap wouldn’t stop my pursuit of truth.
So another day at the dinner table I dove into deep thinking again.
"Why am I here?"
Without a word, Mom slapped me again. "Eat!"
At that moment Tony Porter’s dad happened to come out, so I turned to him. "Who are you? And who am I?"
Mr. Porter: "…"
I expected another beating, but to my surprise Mom didn’t hit me this time. She actually walked up to him and—shockingly—started a conversation, her voice fragile and worried.
"Maybe we should take the kid to the hospital sometime…"
Mr. Porter: "…"
Me: "…"
Since I really didn’t want Mom to drag me to a hospital for being "weird," I temporarily shelved my philosopher act and decided to be an ordinary, worldly human.
Day one of being a worldly human: petty! Mundane! Unambitious!
Day two: bored! Dull! Humanity’s gone downhill!
Day N: foodie! Food obsessed! Eating is top tier!
During that stretch, I watched Heather and the hero getting closer, while I kept stirring the pot on social media until he grew to hate me more and more. Finally, one day he couldn’t hold back and messaged me. I couldn’t help smiling after such a long time.
"Can you stop being so ridiculous?! There’s really nothing between us!"
A classic scumbag line.
I sent a crying emoji back, then replied, "If you really don’t want me, I’ll just die!"
He replied with a string of ellipses. No matter how much I provoked or disgusted him after that, he didn’t answer again.
That conversation left me oddly refreshed.
I planned to scroll more short videos, but I ended up falling asleep while doing it.
I don’t know how long I slept. Around five, a call woke me.
Groggy, I answered. A woman’s voice came through.
"What, Claire Bennett? If I don’t reach out first, are you done being my friend for life?"
That tone… smacked of trouble.
I snapped my eyes open.
The caller continued, "I’m back in town today. If you still call me a friend, meet me at the old spot tonight at eight. Sasha’s coming too. Come if you want."
Me: "…"
She hung up before I could answer. I stared at the contact note that had the character "Tong" and felt like something clicked.
In the original book, Claire had a childhood best friend, a rich girl named Zoe Parker, and the mutual friend Sasha—who was just mentioned on the call—rounded out the trio. The three of them grew up together and were very close.
But because in the original story Claire was a side character, Sophia and Sasha didn’t get much page time. I vaguely remembered their fates weren’t great because of Claire.
From Sophia’s tone just now, it sounded like they’d had a falling‑out. I wondered what could have happened.
While I was thinking, my phone buzzed. Sasha had messaged.
—Stinky sister, remember to come tonight, or… hmph!
Curiosity got the better of me. I dove into their chat logs and scrolled for an hour until a pattern emerged.
Turns out Sophia and the other friend had probably sensed Ethan Mercer’s bad side and persuaded Claire to break up with him. But Claire’s reaction had been too extreme—she’d said a lot of hurtful things.
So they’d been in a cold war for about half a year now.
I felt a twinge of sadness. Honestly, they’d been such good friends.
No matter what, I had to go tonight.
Plus, I was bored out of my mind.
The problem was: where exactly was this "old spot"?
Reluctantly, I dug through Claire’s diary and finally found the answer: an exclusive club.
"Emperor’s Court."
The name itself screamed prestige.
Prices were probably through the roof, but no matter—I have money now.
The meet was set for eight. If I went downstairs to eat and got ready, the timing would be perfect.
Mom was still doing the cooking tonight.
Ever since she moved in, she’d pretty much sidelined the cooks here. At first she only cooked for the two of us, but then, for some reason, Gregory Bennett started appearing at the table with military punctuality. Mom would roll her eyes at first, and eventually just accepted his presence.
Heather lived with the hero most of the time and rarely came home, so I hardly saw her. The only one who kept insisting on Mom’s cooking was Heather’s mother.
Cora Porter couldn’t stir up real trouble—she’d toss a snide comment at Mom now and then and glare at me. Mom and I mostly ignored it.
If things could stay peaceful like this forever, that would be nice.
I finished getting ready and told Mom I was heading out. She didn’t say much—just asked me to bring some stinky tofu back.
Me: "…"
At 7:40 I arrived at Emperor’s Court.
This place definitely belonged to the rich. One glance made my eyes nearly water.
I sucked in a breath and pretended I belonged there, walking in with all the confidence I could muster. The receptionist recognized me at once and led me to a private room.
I thought I’d arrived first, but when I opened the door, the two of them were already in the private room.
I froze. Before I could say anything, the woman inside—with permed hair and dripping with charm—said, “Well, you’re not as tacky as you used to be.”
Me: “……”
Next to her was a very solidly built man, his hair slicked back so shiny it practically gleamed. When he spoke, it hit different.
“Hmph! If we didn’t take the initiative to contact you, would we ever see you again in this life?”
This—this—this… It had to be Sasha.
Right. Sasha was a guy.
As the pampered little master of the Hayes family in Boston, Sasha had always been… different.
While other boys played with toy guns and ignored girls, Sasha was obsessed with dressing up Barbie dolls and naturally became best friends with Claire and Zoe.
And that’s how he earned the honorary nickname Sasha.
Two years ago he went abroad with Zoe; the plan had been for the three of us to go together, but Claire gave up and stayed for Ethan, which led to a huge blowup. They eventually made up, but the strain lingered.
That’s what led to the conflict six months ago.
Watching the two of them, thinking about how things had ended between them, I suddenly felt a pang of sadness.
So I straightened up and gave a formal bow.
“My friends! Thank you for coming!”
Zoe: “……”
Sasha: “……”
We talked for ages.
They were such fun—though I wasn’t the original Claire, I felt like I’d known them forever and loved trading tall tales with them.
After singing a few songs, Zoe looked at me and suddenly said, “We know about your family situation.”
My family situation?
I thought for a second, then realized she probably meant the incident with the supporting female character and her mom showing up at our place.
“Don’t overthink it. No matter what, after all these years with your dad, you’re still the most important person in his heart.”
Huh?
Wasn’t Sasha supposed to be the hot-headed older-brother type in the original? How did he suddenly get so soft?
“Don’t worry—if those two bitches cause trouble, if I, Zoe, don’t take them down, I’ll change my surname!” she declared.
…We’d underestimated things.
Sasha got serious too. “Zoe and I agreed: if you really like Ethan, we won’t oppose it anymore. As long as you’re happy.”
“Who said I like him?” I finally had a chance to speak.
“Before I was blind. Now my eyes are open—there’s no way someone like him is worthy of me!”
I thought they’d at least be shocked to hear that. Instead, both of them looked at me with pity.
“Look what he’s done to you…”
Me: “……”
Sasha looked on the verge of tears. I hurried to explain, “No! I mean…Claire hooked up with him. I’m planning to call off the engagement!”
They both blinked.
After a moment, Zoe asked, “Are you serious?”
I nodded like I meant it.
Only then did they believe me.
Once Ethan was no longer the obstacle, the mood between us totally changed. We drank and bragged and told jokes—what a raucous scene.
I must have had a little too much; everything blurred and Zoe’s head suddenly looked like two or three heads, and I heard her slur, “You’ve changed… but I love this version of you!”
I didn’t answer. I stood up to go to the bathroom.
“Wait…wait for me! I’m…going to pee!”
I staggered out, my head fuzzy, things swimming. After struggling like crazy I found the restroom, unzipped, and then realized this place felt wrong.
Why was the urinal on the wall?
Dazed, I glanced around and realized a man was standing next to me.
Even drunk, I could tell he was handsome.
He looked at me calmly. My gaze slid involuntarily downward—until I hit the awkward area—and I couldn’t help laughing.
“Carrot!”
I can’t remember exactly how I got home that night.
Later my mom told me Sasha hadn’t been completely wasted and had brought me back.
The hangover headache was brutal.
I’d drank before, but never like this. Was it because of this body?
I started to wonder.
Just then my mom brought in a bowl of soup and chattered, “Growing wings now, huh? Learned to drink alcohol already!”
I didn’t have the energy to be argumentative. I took the soup in silence.
Claire hadn’t come home for days—guess things with the male lead were going smoothly—and I figured I’d just wait for him to break the engagement.
My mom had made pork rib soup that day.
There were slices of radish in it and bits of shredded meat—absolutely delicious.
I drank and gave her a thumbs-up.
She glared at me for a beat, then seemed to remember something and said, “Rosie, your mother just joined a community dance group.”
Community dance…group?
I nearly spat out my soup.
This neighborhood was full of the well-to-do—who would be in a community dance troupe? Where did she sign up?
“They start official practice at four this afternoon. Manage your meals yourself—don’t embarrass me,” she said.
Me: “……”
Seeing her about to leave, I hurried, “Where is it? Far? Don’t let them scam you!”
Hazel tossed me a cold, elegant look and replied, “Why are you so nosy?”
Me: “……”
When I woke up in the afternoon, she really was gone.
I texted to ask when she’d be back—no answer. She was probably having a great time dancing.
I wasn’t very hungry that night, so I grabbed some snacks to get by. Then I saw Zoe post a link in our group chat for the three of us and tag Sasha and me, followed by a voice message.
“Come on—let’s play!”
I clicked it. It was a cheerful online card game.
Perfect. I actually like this game.
I must have played dozens of rounds before someone knocked on the door. That’s when I realized it was dark outside. Thinking it was my mom, I rubbed my eyes and opened the door—only to find Gregory Bennett standing there.
We stared at each other, the air thick with confusion and awkwardness.
After a moment he finally asked quietly, “Where’s your mom?”
Without thinking, I said, “She went to the community dance group.”
Gregory: “…”
Then a thought flashed through my head. Could he have been waiting to eat with her and hadn’t had dinner yet?
If that was the case, my mom was really in trouble—how dare she let a CEO go hungry!
Panicking about being kicked out, my survival instincts kicked in. “Dad, wait—hold on. I’ll call Mom right now.”
Gregory didn’t answer but he also didn’t leave. That had to mean he approved.
I hurriedly dialed my mom. The phone rang several times before she finally picked up.
“Hello?” she drawled.
I stole a glance at Gregory and told her, “Mom, Dad is asking for you.”
Without missing a beat she said, “Which dad? Your dad’s been dead for ages.”
!!!
What the hell? Has my mother lost her mind?
A chill ran up my spine. I didn’t dare look at Gregory’s face. Then, loud and clear through the speaker came a deep male voice.
“Hazel? Hazel! Are you ready? If you’re done, come over—we need to practice.”
“Oh! Coming!”
The call was cut off with my mom’s cheerful reply.
I felt like both my mom and I were doomed. Sure enough, Gregory’s voice, tight with teeth-gritted control, came through next.
“Where did she go?”
I stammered, “I…I don’t know…”
Seeing I genuinely looked clueless, Gregory pulled out his phone and made a call, using the most classic CEO line: “Three minutes. I want to know where she is.”
I: “…”
That night, the CEO-father personally hauled my mom back home. The living room filled with her shouting, with Cora Porter tossing in snide comments now and then. I listened until I fell asleep and never found out how they finally settled it.
The next day, though, everyone acted completely normal—as if nothing had happened. Mom cooked like usual, Gregory and I ate like usual, Cora was her usual passive-aggressive self, and Heather was conveniently absent.
That afternoon I planned to spend more time on my online card game, but then something unexpected happened.
Ethan Mercer suddenly asked to meet me at 2 p.m. at the XX Café.
My eyes lit up.
Finally! I’d been waiting for this!
I immediately told the three of them in our little group chat. The two jerks made me start a voice call so they could live-stream it.
Thrilling!
Always punctual, I was only half an hour late to the café.
Ethan looked displeased—like he wanted to snap at me but restrained himself. I plastered on a delighted smile. “Ethan!”
He hesitated, then said, “Claire…let’s call off the engagement.”
That direct? No buildup at all?
Maybe he thought my stunned silence was the shock of being hurt. There was guilt in his eyes. “It’s my fault. But I can’t help it—I’ve fallen for Heather. If you want compensation, I’ll make it up to you—just say what you want—”
“Compensation? What kind of compensation?” I cut him off. Ethan blinked, taken aback.
Crap. Too eager.
I rearranged my expression fast, went blank-eyed, softened my voice, and asked in a heartbreakingly tragic tone, “When did this happen?”
Ethan launched into a long spiel about how romantic he and Heather were, how perfect they were together, and that he’d always thought of me like a little sister and never loved me like that.
I didn’t care about any of that. Two words kept repeating in my head: compensation. If he was really going to compensate me, it’d better be money.
By 4:30 p.m. I was getting impatient. Ethan was a terrible talker. I cut him off. “If it makes you happy, I’ll let you go.”
Gross—Calm down, Rosie, don’t be dramatic.
Ethan’s eyes softened a fraction. He looked at me, then quickly looked away. “I’ll handle everything. Don’t worry.”
I couldn’t cry on cue, but the mood didn’t feel dramatic enough. Before he left I stood up and, in my best melodramatic fashion, declared, “I wish you happiness. No matter how far you go, if you ever look back, I’ll always be right here.”
My cheeseball line actually seemed to move him.
I was basking in my little victory when a sudden, unmistakable sound came from my phone: “Pfft—”
I: “…”
Who the hell had the gall to laugh out loud?!
I was furious—and Ethan had heard it too. His eyes dropped to my phone.
Oh no.
Panicking, I blurted, “Sorry, I was too upset and—uh—I couldn’t hold it in and I farted.”
Ethan: “…”
All the sympathy flew out of his face, replaced by pure disgust.
Well, at least I survived that awkward moment.
As soon as Ethan left, the other two burst into hysterical laughter over the call.
I pretended to be mad. “Who sabotaged me?”
On the other end, Maya admitted immediately. Zoe Parker even ribbed me, “Wow! I really underestimated you, Claire! Hahahahaha—”
Maya: “Hahahahahaha—”
I: “…”
I hung up without expression. They were impossible—total dogs.
Ethan was taken care of. I stood up and let out a long breath of relief.
It was already five in the afternoon. If I went home, I had no idea whether there’d be dinner—after all, last night I hadn’t been sure if Dad Bennett could talk Mom into letting me stay.
I’d been in this world a long time and, weirdly, I’d never had spicy hot pot noodles once. Suddenly I craved it.
I pulled up my phone to check nearby spots and saw there were a bunch. I picked one at random and decided to go.
It wasn’t far, and I was too lazy to hail a car, so I walked.
This was the busiest district in Boston, right by a famous shopping plaza. I’d be passing it anyway, so I planned to stroll through. I put on my headphones and comforted myself with “Queen of My Own,” which got me full-on emotional.
Who does a woman live her life for?
Whose for are her tears shed?
Shout it loud to the world: I am the queen!
I was almost tearing up when I saw someone.
Okay, maybe “someone” was an understatement. Maybe a hot guy.
No—let’s be real—maybe an absolutely breathtaking man.
He’d just stepped out of a company building. Probably some senior exec. His driver was dutifully opening the car door for him. Tall, lean, an air of cold indifference—just standing there, he was a scene.
Too bad my nearsightedness made his face a blur.
Shouldn’t be a mystery man, right…? I squared my shoulders and, before I could stop myself, dashed forward to get a better look. Finally his face came into focus—
My brain exploded. Literally exploded.
He was about to get into the car and I barely thought—I barreled in front of him.
“Hey, handsome!
Let me buy you spicy hot pot and a beer.”
I struck what I thought was my most irresistible look.
Up close I saw his eyes were a rare gray, with hints of blue. When he looked at me, the air seemed to chill.
He looked at me, parted his lips slightly, and said softly, “It’s you.”
What do you mean it’s me?
I blinked at him, batting my lashes and giving a sycophantic smile. “Don’t be so formal—just call me Rosie.”
The driver: “……”
I’ll admit it—my last life spanned twenty-one years in which I’d never even held a man’s hand, let alone been with a gorgeous guy. So now, wearing the little-miss-rich-girl title, meeting a face-stealing supermodel made me bolder than most.
Yet this guy acted like he was blind—completely unmoved by my beauty. He said flatly, “Move.”
Ugh. Not even a WeChat? Move where.
I rolled up my sleeves, ready to go at it again, but the driver—who’d been standing like set dressing—suddenly reached out and shoved me aside without mercy. I opened my mouth to curse, but when I looked back the car had already sped off.
Wow.
Just like that, he left without taking a single cloud with him.
Missing that kind of guy put me in a foul mood. I didn’t even want to eat—I just went home.
As expected, my mom wasn’t there and Dad Bennett hadn’t shown up either. It was just me and Cora, staring each other down.
Cora: “What are you looking at?
Look again and I’ll dig your eyeballs out.”
I’d noticed this woman really had two faces.
When Dad Bennett wasn’t around she turned into a rabid dog, barking and carrying on.
Normally I tried to avoid her, but my mood was already bad, so I snapped back without expression, “Look at your mother.”
Cora’s features warped instantly.
I braced for her to lunge forward and rip my hair out, fully ready to defend myself—only to see her eyes brim fast with tears and her voice slip into a pitiful whine, “Rosie, how can you say that about me!”
Her reaction left me dumbfounded.
Then Dad Bennett’s voice came from the doorway and everything clicked into place.
Oh great, so Dad’s home.
“What’s going on?”
He frowned, looking like he’d just walked in—shoes still on.
I explained and pointed at Cora. “She said if I kept staring she’d gouge my eyes out.”
Dad Bennett: “……”
Cora: “……”
Cora fumbled for a rebuttal, but just then my mom came in humming a tune. She stopped, took in the scene, and asked, “What’s all this?”
Before I could answer, Dad Bennett said, “Nothing.”
Since Mom had come home early tonight, we actually ate her cooking. Both Dad and I were happily satisfied.
After dinner, while Mom was doing the dishes, I told Dad, “Dad, if Ethan Mercer comes by to break off the engagement in the next couple days, don’t ask questions—just agree.”
“Break off the engagement?!” Dad’s expression went dark.
He probably assumed I’d been dumped.
So I hurried to clarify, “Don’t worry about it—just say yes!”
Dad Bennett gave me a strange look.
After hesitating, he suddenly asked, “Have you fallen for someone else?”
This old man knew a lot, apparently.
I smiled and thought of the gorgeous guy I’d seen today.
He clearly wasn’t ordinary. Same business district—maybe Dad would know him. I went with it, “Yeah—today I fell in love at first sight!
The moment I saw him I decided I have to be with him forever!”
Dad Bennett: “……”
“I don’t have his contact info. He looks like he’s in business too—very tall, crazy handsome, and his eyes were gray-blue! Dad, do you know him?”
Dad thought for a long moment, then blinked. “You said his eyes were gray-blue?”
I nodded.
He studied me for a long time and finally said, “I don’t know him.”
I: “……”
Then he added, “If you don’t like that Mercer kid, fine. I’ll find someone suitable for you—stop daydreaming about impossible things.”
Huh?
That last line sounded…off. Why did it make my skin prickle?
I wanted to ask more, but my mom came out carrying a tray of fruit. She set it on the table, grabbed an apple, bit into it with a crisp crunch, and said, "Rosie, tomorrow you better wash all those clothes piled on the couch in your room!
If you don’t, you’ll be in trouble!"
I scrunched my shoulders and stayed quiet. My dad, never one to keep his mouth shut, piped up, "Don’t we have help at home?"
My mom fired back, "Earn your own keep, you know?"
That shut him up, but after a moment he said, "Rosie—what kind of name is that?
Maybe stop calling her that. If word gets out it sounds bad…"
My mom wouldn’t back down. "She’s my daughter. I’ll call her whatever I want. What about you? You’re still Tony Porter—ha ha ha…"
I couldn’t help it; I snorted and laughed. My dad got angry and left. "Unreasonable!"
After he left I felt a little embarrassed, so I tried to smooth things over. "Mom, I think Greg’s dad treats us pretty well. Maybe you could be nicer to him from now on…"
My mom shot me a dagger look. "Mind your own business.
Go clean that pigsty of yours!
Is that even livable?!"
Me: "…"
"Unreasonable!"
I tossed that back at her and ran off in a huff.
Back in my room I played cards—big two—with Sienna and Sasha, and then remembered the whole handsome-guy thing. I asked them about it, but they’d just gotten back to the country too and knew even less than I did, so that was that.
The next night, Ethan Mercer and Heather Collins came to the house.
I knew exactly why they were here.
I was thrilled.
With Mom not around, it was just Dad and me. Ethan chattered on about everything under the sun for a bit, then finally brought up breaking off the engagement with me.
I feared Dad might frown at them standing there hand in hand, so I secretly kicked him. He glanced at me and sighed.
"Fine."
Ethan looked stunned; Heather froze.
Guess no one expected it would go so smoothly.
I kept my head down, playing the quiet, heartbroken girl. Then, as soon as Ethan ended his engagement to me, he started trying to propose to Heather.
Talk about shameless.
Seamless transition, too.
I wondered if my dad could take it.
But Ethan was smart—he had a plan. "Uncle, everyone already thinks the Mercer and Bennett families are joined by marriage, so I’ll just announce that I was actually engaged to Heather back then. That way, it won’t affect… Claire."
Nice.
I couldn’t help wanting to clap.
Dad glanced at me. I gave him every hopeful look I had, trying to telegraph my approval, and he understood. "Mm, fine."
It was settled.
With that big matter handled, a huge weight lifted off my chest.
At least here I wouldn’t be the one standing in the way of the supporting girl’s path, nor would I have to die on the hill defending that meaningless so-called love like in the original book.
Everything looked perfect, except for one small problem: Ethan’s promised compensation to me.
It was nagging at me, so that night I messaged him: "Ethan, do you remember the compensation you promised me by the lake at Daming?’
A little while later he replied. I got excited and opened the message—just a string of ellipses.
…Then my phone dinged again with a different alert. I thought it was junk, but it was from my bank.
Holy crap!
I counted the zeros three times and literally jumped in place.
As expected of the male lead—generous and decisive!
That night I had washed up early; a pimple was on my forehead, so I was ready for bed. But after I thought everything was set, someone knocked on the door.
I opened it to see Gregory Bennett’s father standing there, face thunderous. "Call your mother," he said.
Mom still wasn’t back?!
I fumbled for my phone. "Why don’t you call her, Dad?"
At that, Gregory’s dad grew angrier, his voice through his teeth. "She blocked me!"
Me: "…"
I called and called. No answer for a long time. I hung up and tried again, and finally heard my mom’s voice.
"Hello?!"
I asked, "Why aren’t you back yet?"
Mom: "Just finished dancing, in the car—I’ll be there soon!"
Hearing that, Gregory’s dad left. I made a mental note to warn Mom—if she ever upset a CEO, both of us could be out on our ears.
I slept early that night and didn’t know whether they fought more, but the next morning Gregory’s dad seemed in a great mood.
Curious, I asked, "Did you make up?"
Dad raised an eyebrow. "What?"
Me: "So why are you so happy?"
Dad: "Your mother took me off her blacklist."
Me: "…"
Huh?
Something felt off.
After breakfast he daintily wiped his mouth and said, "The day after tomorrow, come with me to the Minders’. There’s a banquet."
I thought he was talking to Mom and stayed silent. Then she suddenly said, "Stop spacing out! Answer me!"
Wait—was she talking to me?
I opened my mouth to reply when Dad said, "Both of you are coming."
Me and Mom: "…"
Cora wasn’t having it. "What about me?!"
Dad was merciless. "In what capacity would you go?"
Cora stomped off, complaining.
I couldn’t help saying, "Dad, you really are something."
He didn’t comment.
True to his name—bossy CEO Gregory Bennett, indeed.
I had a dream.
It was long and convoluted, but I heard a voice clearly say, "Host, host?"
Host?
Who are you talking to?
I was puzzled, and the voice sounded irritable. "Stop staring. I’m talking to you!"
Me: "…"
When I seemed to understand, the voice introduced itself. "I’m the system. You’re the host for this mission.
As the host, you need to complete several tasks."
I paused. "Who are you even talking to?"
The system got more agitated. "I’m serious!
Can you at least listen carefully!"
Me: "…"
He only kept talking after I went quiet. "Inside this huge space there are countless man-made world-planes. Because humans created them, a lot of things don’t make sense. Your job is to fix those illogical bits, make them reasonable."
Oh, I already knew that.
What he meant was that every book or finished work is its own world. Some worlds run fine, but if an author has warped values, their world won’t be right either. Like that one author I used to follow—Katherine—who not only had messed-up morals but always delayed updates!
It was infuriating!
Authors like that should be dragged into their own books and die a thousand deaths!
At that moment a lightbulb went off in my head and something clicked—no wonder I randomly woke up inside a book!
Turns out heaven sent me to mete out justice!
I’m not cannon fodder!
For a second I was brimming with confidence.
But another question popped up.
"Then why did you bring my mom here?!"
The system fell silent in a weird way. After a moment it replied, "…Actually, your mom was selected. You got brought along by accident…"
Me: "…"
"But since the original host only cared about the community dance group, I temporarily set the target on you, youngster. Hope you don’t mess it up."
Me: "…"
My heart filled with pure jealousy.
Of all people—me, Claire Bennett—young and pretty, losing out to some middle-aged woman who only loves square dancing!
Too bad I couldn’t freak out then. Even if this thing sounded intoxicating, it was still a dream, so logic wasn’t guaranteed.
I asked, "You say you’re a system. I’ve read system stories—seen both physical and virtual ones—but never one that reaches through dreams!"
The system gritted its teeth. "I’m upper management now. I just assign tasks online."
"Upper management?"
"Yep."
It sounded pretty pleased with itself. "Back in the day I finished a huge mission, saved the Overseer, and even cozyed up to his wife. That lady’s a few bricks short of a load, but she’s useful. So I got promoted.
Lately I’ve been swamped, so I came back for a bit. Getting guidance from someone like me? You should feel honored."
Me: "…"
"After all this talk, how will you prove it’s real?"
Thinking of the scene in Journey to the West where the old king dreams to the monk from Journey to the West, I figured I could ask for proof too. "Okay then. Leave something by my pillow tomorrow morning and I’ll believe you."
The system squinted. "Leave what?"
Without hesitation I said, "A black card. It must have ten million on it!"
The system: "…"
Then the dream ended abruptly.
I opened my eyes in the morning with the dream still vivid—completely different from ordinary dreams. I turned to look at my pillow out of habit. There really was something there—an old five-in-a-row game set.
Me: "…"
Not what I asked for, but enough proof.
I lollygagged for a bit until Hazel Bennett called me and I got out of bed. Downstairs breakfast was already set; Hazel and Gregory Bennett were eating.
Cora wasn’t there—probably heartbroken after last night.
Thinking about that ridiculous system’s words made my blood boil. I snapped, "Don’t think I’ll forgive you just because you hand me food!"
Dad glanced at me, puzzled. "What did you say?"
I ignored him and shot a sidelong look at my mom. She was calmly eating as if nothing was wrong.
That made me angrier. I sneered, "I don’t even want to explain. Some people know what they’ve done to themselves!"
Dad looked even more confused, but Mom stayed composed. I couldn’t help it—I laid it out: "The person I’m talking about—her name has the word ‘flower’ in it, wearing a gray knit sweater, black pants, a red apron, hair pinned up…"
Dad’s expression slowly turned strange.
Then Mom stood up, untied her apron, wiped her mouth with exaggerated calm, and gripped the spatula sitting on the counter.
I sensed danger. Sure enough, she barreled toward me. "You think you’re cheeky, huh? Three days without a beating and the roof falls in!"
Luckily I’ve developed quick reflexes over the years. I jumped up in a flash and dove behind Dad. "Da—da—Dad! Help! Aah!"
Dad rose to the occasion, feigning sternness. "What are you doing this early?"
Hazel didn’t say a word. She just smiled faintly, and then—decisively—dragged my dad in and they both started beating me.
Butler (Mr. Hayes): "…"
That family showdown left both of us physically and mentally crushed. We looked at each other; everything was said without words.
I was still angry that night. Mom called me down for dinner and I refused to come.
Starving myself hurt me, but I had to make my stance clear!
Sure enough, not long after I heard her stomping up the stairs. She burst into my room, shoved the door open, and glared at me. "You coming down or not?!"
…Okay, I admit I was scared.
Reluctantly I went downstairs. Dad was bizarrely obedient today; I was annoyed he caved so easily to Hazel, but there was nothing I could do. I kept up a stubborn face and ate only the plain white rice in my bowl. It was dry and hard to swallow, but I didn’t show it.
Mom singled me out. "Claire Bennett."
I knew that meant warning.
So outwardly I looked resentful, but inwardly I was secretly delighted as I reached for my favorite—sweet-and-sour pork.
Hah. Woman, look who’s being begged to eat now.
The next afternoon I was napping when Mom yanked me up.
"Get up! Tony Porter called three times! If you don’t go now, the two of us are done for!"
Only then did it hit me—I’d completely forgotten Dad had said we were going to a banquet that day.
The driver hit the gas and in no time we were pulled up in front of a very upscale place. Before I could register anything, a few women whisked me away. After a long, annoying sequence of whitening treatments, makeup, and wardrobe changes, they finally let me out.
Stepping back outside, I saw a radiant socialite.
I blinked hard. Wait—that’s my mom?!
I was so shocked by how different she looked I couldn’t help giving her a thumbs-up. “Mom, you look gorgeous!”
She glanced at me and nodded. “Mm. Not bad for a bit of fixing up.”
When Tony came to pick us up, he stared at her for a long time. Mom squirmed. “What are you looking at? Is there a sign on my face?”
He hurriedly looked away. “Nothing.”
Tonight’s venue was the Mings’ place.
I’d asked Siobhan and Raina before, but they clammed up about the Mings—said the family was mysterious and warned me not to offend them. As if I’d go offending them on purpose. Still, if Siobhan and Raina showed up tonight, at least I’d have company.
The car drove on for ages before slowing. Ahead there was a grand, classically styled gate. We rolled through and onto a red carpet that seemed to go on forever, flanked by impossibly manicured gardens and some strange, exotic plants.
We drove for what felt like forever before I could make out rooftops. Holy crap—our house is big, but this place made ours look tiny.
When we finally stopped in front of a castle-like mansion, I wasn’t sure if I was awake or dreaming.
Stepping out onto a lawn the size of a soccer field, my mom muttered, “This would be perfect for the community dance group.”
Tony and I: “…”
A butler-looking man soon invited us inside. The main hall was already crowded.
Big crowds make me awkward, so I whispered to Mom, “What are we even here for?”
Mom: “I don’t know. Tony said there’d be good food, so I came.”
Me: “…”
My dad leaned over and whispered, “It’s the Ming family patriarch’s seventieth birthday.”
Ah. That explains it.
People in the room turned to look at us. A few of Dad’s business associates came over to greet him. Dad, all polished and proper, looped an arm around Mom’s waist and smiled. Mom, meanwhile, kept fidgeting.
Then Dad gave Mom a little smack on the butt.
Me: “…”
Left to my own devices, I wasn’t bored—so I slunk over to grab some cake. A few women kept eyeing me, but I didn’t care; I didn’t know any of them.
After scanning the crowd for a bit and not spotting those two idiots, I sent them a message in the group chat.
“Are you two here at the Ming patriarch’s banquet?”
Siobhan replied instantly: “No way. I’m terrified of the Ming family. They say the Ming heir is some kind of fierce, terrifying guy. I’m not going to meet him!”
Raina popped a nod emoji.
I rolled my eyes—he’s a person like anyone else, what’s there to be scared of? I shut off my phone and decided to walk outside.
This place was ridiculously impressive. The more I looked, the more I realized this family wasn’t ordinary. Every decorative piece screamed expensive.
I pulled out my phone to take a few photos to rub in Siobhan and Raina’s faces. While stepping backward to get the right angle, I bumped into something. I thought it was a wall. I turned—and it was a person.
It was dark and I’m nearsighted, but I recognized him in one glance. Not only was he a person—I recognized that handsome guy from the other day.
What insane luck!
I jumped up, throwing myself at him. “Ahhh! I found you again!!!”
The handsome guy’s face went stone. Between clenched teeth he forced out two words: “Let go.”
Let go? As if! Remembering how heartbroken I’d been last time we nearly crossed paths, I gripped him tighter. “Don’t you remember me? I’m Rosie! Ever since that day you left so suddenly, I’ve had lovesickness—can’t eat, can’t sleep. All I think about is your face!”
I could vaguely hear him grinding his teeth, but I pushed on with heart-on-sleeve drama. “Baby, you did this to me—I don’t care, you have to take responsibility!”
His voice took on a colder edge. “Baby?”
I nodded like it was obvious. “Yep. You’re Rosie’s baby!”
Just then a terrified, shaky voice sounded near my ear. “M-Master?”
I turned—oh, that was the butler who’d brought us in. Master? Who was he talking to?
I followed his gaze: he was staring at the man in my arms. My brain did a double take. Could this be the Ming heir Siobhan warned me about?
But—this gorgeous guy? Scary? Please. I’m not about to believe Siobhan’s melodrama.
The handsome guy looked down at me and said flatly, “You can let go now.”
I flashed him a cheeky grin. “Give me your contact and I’ll let you go.”
He froze.
We were at an awkward standstill when the butler said, “Master, the elder wants to see you.”
He glanced at me before he followed the butler’s cue.
I sighed. Since he had somewhere to be, I wouldn’t make a scene. I released him. “Fine, go. But I’ll get your contact eventually!”
The handsome guy snorted coldly, didn’t even glance my way, took a long stride, and left.
After he walked off, I grabbed the nearest staffer and asked, “What’s your young master’s name?”
The man hesitated. I didn’t say another word—I pulled out a hundred-dollar bill. He still wouldn’t tell me. My wallet protested, but I handed over another one. He still refused.
This was ridiculous.
“You won’t take an offered drink? Then you’ll have to take a penalty drink.
You don’t want the money—are you trying to get beaten up?!”
Maybe my glare looked deadly, because he finally took the cash and said, “The young master’s surname is Ming. His given name is a single character: Heng.
Wang—no, sorry—Ming Heng.”
It took me a moment, but I managed to piece the character together.
Ming Heng.
Nice name.
The man looked terrified. “How would I know that…?”
Fine. I could only ask in our little three-person chat: “Anyone have the Ming family young master’s WeChat?”
Sophie popped up immediately. “You’re not seriously going to add him, are you?”
I sent a sticker and replied, “Not only am I adding him—I’m going to chase him!”
Sophie: “…”
I told them both to dig around their social circles. Maybe someone would turn up something useful. Then I looked up and saw Ethan Mercer and Heather Collins walking in from the entrance.
Well, would you look at that—Heather had stuck to Ethan like glue and followed him to the Mings.
As usual, poor Cora.
I sighed with sympathy.
Heather was publicly claiming to be Ethan’s fiancée. Word was she had a real knack for business—helped Ethan make a ton of money and had even started her own cosmetics company.
I had to admit, she was impressive. Classic strong-female lead—no wonder I felt inferior.
As long as she didn’t make trouble for me, though, I didn’t care to compete.
The system had told me why I’d been brought here, but not exactly what to do. It had to be connected to Heather somehow. For now, I’d take it one step at a time.
After lingering outside for a while I went back in. Inside the room smelled of perfume and cologne; people mingled with drinks in hand. Among them I spotted Hazel Bennett looking awkward.
I waved at her from across the room. She looked miserable.
Then I turned and saw today’s birthday honored guest—Old Mr. Ming.
My first impression: this old man was not ordinary.
His eyes were sharp and wise; he radiated a powerful presence. Ming Heng stood beside him, calm and composed, somehow part of that aura—cool and untouchable.
What is that high-and-mighty vibe supposed to be?!
Heather and Ethan presented the old man with piles of gifts. I didn’t bother trying to follow the chatter; I simply sat on a nearby chair and ate a petit four.
That cake was actually incredible.
The cream was sweet but not cloying, the fruit tasted fresh—definitely a master’s hand.
I’m nothing but a heartless eating machine.
While I was chewing, I caught Heather’s not-so-casual look in my direction. My stomach dropped.
Sure enough, she spoke next: “Mr. Ming, last night my sister Claire said she wanted to bring you a special gift. She hopes you’ll give her the chance.”
???
What the hell?
The whole room turned to look at me at once.
When did I ever say I was bringing a gift?!
I ground my teeth, furious at that venomous woman for trying so hard to mess with me. Seeing her smug face made me want to make her disappear from the world.
Ever since I transmigrated here, I’d avoided confronting her—letting her have her way and keeping to my little life. Apparently that had been a mistake.
In the original story, the focus was on the Collins family and Ethan’s drama; there was no Ming family plotline, and none of this would’ve happened.
Now what was I supposed to do?
Was I supposed to gift Old Mr. Ming thirty million?
Low emotional IQ: “Happy birthday, sir!”
High emotional IQ: Ahem—I’m Claire Bennett. On this special day I’d like to gift you thirty million: may you be rich in happiness, rich in health, rich in joy.
Wouldn’t that get me tossed out as a fool?!
At that nerve-wracking moment I felt a cool gaze on me. I looked up—my darling Ming Heng was staring.
Suddenly I snapped awake: I couldn’t humiliate myself in front of my treasure.
Right then my mom called out, “Rosie, come here!”
“Rosie?”
Old Mr. Ming looked intrigued and chuckled. “Rosie? Who’s that?”
Although my mom was a total housewife at home, she could handle herself in situations like this.
She stepped forward and said confidently, “Mr. Ming, Rosie is my daughter Claire Bennett’s childhood nickname.”
Honestly, I was mortified. Everyone’s eyes felt like a thousand knives.
Old Mr. Ming seemed delighted. He waved me over. “Come here, Rosie girl.”
Rosie girl? Really.
I grumbled silently but obediently walked over.
He had such a kindly face I almost believed he wouldn’t be mad even if I peed on his shoes.
“Have you eaten your fill, little one?” he asked.
I couldn’t keep a straight face, so I lied with deadpan bravado: “I haven’t eaten at all.”
At that, Ming Heng—who hadn’t looked my way the whole time—gave me a disgusted look. Before I could register it, Old Mr. Ming burst into laughter. “Ha! You’re quite the character, aren’t you?”
I was utterly baffled, then felt a sharp slap land on the back of my head.
No need to look to know whose hand it was—the force, the feel—definitely my mom.
I was annoyed, and Mom scolded me: “What are you saying? Always lying, huh? Cake crumbs all around your mouth and you say you didn’t eat? Your mouth hasn’t stopped moving!”
…That was pretty embarrassing.
I stole a glance at the old man—he was still smiling at me. I looked at the cool Ming Heng again, then back at the old man, and something suddenly clicked in my head.
If I could get this old man on my side, wouldn’t Miss Mingheng be nothing more than a fish in a barrel?
In an instant a brilliant smile plastered across my face. I turned to the old man with all the sincerity I could muster and said, “Even though this is our first time meeting, you seem so kind. Here—Rosie wishes you health and happiness always!”
Turns out that trick worked.
The old man’s expression softened; he nodded at me. “Thank you, Rosie girl!”
After that bit of joking around, no one brought up birthday presents anymore. I glanced at Heather—her eyes burned with resentment and unwillingness—and Ethan looked at me as if he had thoughts bubbling up. I gave both of them a discreet middle finger behind my napkin.
I thought I’d been sneaky enough no one would notice, but then I looked up and met Gregory’s eyes.
A little awkward—except he seemed to be staring at me. Could it be… he likes me?!
Ugh, gross!
I coyly threw him a flirtatious wink, but he completely ignored it.
Fine. I’ll get used to it.
The old man agreed without fuss.
We were in a hurry to leave, so I planned to add him on WeChat later. In the car I stole a glance at my mom and blurted out the truth, “You like that Ming heir, don’t you?”
Not embarrassed at all, I fired back in excitement, “Mom, what do you think of him?”
Mom answered frankly, “Looks? One in a million. Ability? Definitely exceptional. Body? Model-level.”
I lit up with hope—then she followed with, “But he definitely wouldn’t go for you.”
Me: “…”
Dad shot me a look and suddenly said, “When you asked me if I knew him that night, I thought you had no chance. So I said I didn’t know him.”
Me: “…”
For a second I felt like the tragic heroine of a melodrama.
Even if my parents don’t approve of this relationship right now, I’m not losing confidence.
Everything—for love!
That night I added the old man on WeChat.
His display name was “Go With Fate,” and his Moments were full of Buddhist posts—looks like he’s devout.
I even downloaded a bunch of elderly-style stickers and sent him a greeting. He replied with a voice message straightaway.
“Rosie girl, come visit when you have time.”
Of course I’ll go!
That’s the way to meet my Mingheng baby!
Even though I wanted his WeChat immediately, one mustn’t rush. I restrained myself and sent a smiling sticker.
Then I noticed Claire Bennett’s WeChat hadn’t added Gregory Bennett yet, so I went to Dad’s room to add him.
Dad handed me his QR code like it was nothing. I scanned it and saw his nickname was—“Lonely Wolf.”
Um… After sending the friend request I gave him a thumbs-up, “So badass!”
Dad: “…”
That night I created a group chat called “Loving Family,” just the three of us in it.
My prickly mom—Hazel—was first to fire off a message: “Are you crazy?”
“Lonely Wolf”: “…”
Rosie: “…”
Since adding the old man on WeChat, I began a full-time campaign of buttering him up.
Good morning messages every morning. “Have you eaten?” at noon. “Busy?” at night.
He was in such a good mood he never minded. He always replied happily.
Everything was moving smoothly. Now it was just a matter of timing before I got the handsome guy’s WeChat.
But before that happened, I noticed something weird.
My mom hadn’t been going to the community dance group lately.
That didn’t make sense. With her personality, not going to dance would be worse than death. So why was she staying home obediently?
That afternoon I slumped on the couch playing games when Mom came over. I asked casually, “Why haven’t you been dancing lately?”
She sighed suddenly, looking sad. “The troupe disbanded.”
“That fast?”
I felt something off. Mom frowned. “The leader said a lot of people didn’t want to dance anymore, so they broke it up. The last time I went, everything was fine. Just a few days later it was like this. It surprised me too.”
“There aren’t many dancers around here anyway. I can’t find a new group, so I’ve just been staying home.”
Just then Gregory came home from work. He saw us and asked, “What are you two talking about?”
I said, “The dance troupe—Mom said it disbanded for no reason.”
A flicker of unease crossed Dad’s face.
But in that instant something clicked for me.
No way that rotten old man did this, did he?!
My look must have given me away because Dad shot me a warning glance. I swallowed the rest of it—and my suspicion was confirmed.
Men can be so vicious.
Seeing my mom looking put-upon, I felt sorry for being such a fool and sighed, “Mom, I’m hungry.”
She didn’t hesitate and went to the kitchen.
Sitting on the couch, I grew more and more determined. If I didn’t take this chance to squeeze him for hush money, I’d be doing my mom a disservice. I messaged Dad across from me.
“Straight to the point—pay me off.”
Dad calmly replied, “How much?”
I tapped a string of numbers into my phone. He didn’t hesitate. “Deal!”
Moments later the money slid into my account.
I almost teared up with excitement.
In my past life I’d never have dreamed making money could be this easy!
Feeling unusually sentimental, I was lost in thought when my mom’s voice came from the kitchen.
“You two just sit there waiting?! Get over here and help!”
I ignored her, but Dad put his phone down fast and went into the kitchen.
At dinner, Heather actually, for once, came back.
I was in the middle of devouring food, oil dripping from my mouth, completely blissful. Seeing her suddenly made me jump.
She looked down at me from her high horse, all mockery on her face, then put on that practiced air of warm generosity and said to Mr. Bennett, “Dad, Ethan said he and his parents will come by tomorrow to discuss the engagement date. I hope you’ll make some time.”
Mr. Bennett nodded. At the table, Cora dabbed at her eyes, “Ethan, this child didn’t grow up with you. She’s suffered so much. Now she’s finally getting married—we as parents must give her the best wedding!”
She glanced at me with that calculated look.
My mom took a bite of radish pickle and suddenly said, “Why don’t you hold a wedding for her and get one for yourself too? You already had the baby without a wedding—it’s so shabby. If you two get married together, that would be national news.”
Cora exploded, “Who are you talking about?!”
My mom just chuckled and didn’t answer.
Seeing my mom ignore her, she turned on the crocodile tears and looked to Mr. Bennett, “Ethan! Do you hear what she’s saying?”
As the innocent bystander, I was shaking all over, biting my lip to keep from laughing—only to let out a ridiculous noise that sounded oddly like a fart.
Heather, the diva heroine, couldn’t stand for her mother to be insulted. She snapped, all venom and sarcasm: “Of course—like mother, like daughter!”
My mom, calm as ever, said, “Backfired!”
I nearly choked laughing. I thought I might die laughing right there at the table.
At that moment Mr. Bennett slammed his chopsticks down, his face hard as stone. I couldn’t read his expression, but he said, “If you don’t want to eat, you can leave!”
The room fell instantly quiet.
Heather swept out, Cora went upstairs crying, and my mom kept eating like nothing had happened. I buried my head in my bowl and couldn’t help the muffled chuckles.
Then Mr. Bennett said coolly, “You aren’t done, are you?”
My mom snorted, “You started it. Why blame the kid? Look at other families—who’s like ours? It’s ridiculous!”
Mr. Bennett: “……”
My mom, who never went to the community dance group, looked bored out of her mind.
Either she yells at me or yells at him—I still couldn’t figure out why the mighty CEO let her get away with it. Was he just too lazy to bother arguing with a woman?
That night I called Zoe and complained. She laughed so hard she said she could barely breathe, then told me, “Your mom is the best, hahahaha…”
I thought she was a real piece of work, so I quietly changed her contact name to “Dog Zoe.”
Sure enough, Ethan Mercer showed up the next day.
Just him—no parents in tow.
I remembered the original book where Ethan’s family refused to accept Heather because of her being an illegitimate child, only later giving in after she proved her worth and the original Claire kept making foolish mistakes that made Heather look impressive by comparison. So it made sense that his family wouldn’t show up now.
Ethan looked awkward. Heather did too—she didn’t look happy.
“My parents had something come up unexpectedly and can’t visit today. Please, Uncle, don’t take offense,” Ethan said.
Mr. Bennett waved magnanimously and cut to the chase without pretense.
Feeling uninterested in their ritual, I went back to my room.
After days of schmoozing Mr. Bennett, I planned to ask for Mingheng’s WeChat that night. I didn’t know if I’d succeed and felt nervous.
I fell asleep in that fretful state.
When I woke, Ethan and the others were gone. My father and mother weren’t home—just me in the house.
Peace.
I relaxed and fumbled over the wording for a long time before finally messaging Mr. Bennett.
“Grandpa, could you give me Mingheng’s WeChat?”
Yes—I’d shamelessly started calling Mr. Bennett “Grandpa” after all our frequent chats.
No reply. I showered and came back—still nothing. My stomach turned.
Then the WeChat notification pinged. It was him.
“Rosie girl, I told that kid to add you.”
Grandpa in peak form—he actually told him to add me!
Then he added, “Girl, Mingheng’s a block of wood. He’s never been chatty with girls. If you can handle him, tell me what you want and Grandpa’ll get it for you!”
Huh?
“Actually, I liked you the first time I saw you! And Butler Hayes told me the same! I couldn’t very well badger you face-to-face, so I waited to see how you’d act. Sure enough, I was right!”
…Was I being outplayed?
Before I could react, he asked, “Did that bastard add you?”
I looked and answered honestly, “No.”
“Wait! I’ll go find him!”
Then Grandpa disappeared from chat.
Sure enough, a moment later I got a friend request: Mingheng has requested to add you.
My heart was racing. I screenshot it as a keepsake, accepted, and messaged at once, “Baby!!!”
No reply.
I tried again, “I miss you so much!!!”
Still nothing.
Undeterred, I kept pouring out my longing—yet all night he didn’t reply.
I checked his Moments. His profile picture was plain, his name was just his name, and his Moments were empty. I wondered—does this guy even use WeChat?
But Grandpa had vouched for him, and Mingheng was always like this. If he were flashy, that would have been the surprise.
By bedtime, he still hadn’t responded.
Worried my flirting technique was flawed, I rushed to our group and asked our most experienced sister, Sasha.
“Everyone! I added Mingheng’s WeChat—give me a flirting guide! Urgent!”
Two of them popped up, both sending question marks.
Afterward, Sasha said, "Were you tricked by someone?"
I sighed and told them the whole story. The two of them were silent for a long moment, then one of them finally went, "Sick!"
A little while later, I got a compilation my friends had scavenged from all corners—the "symi" playbook.
I was speechless.
"Why is it called the symi playbook?"
Sasha curled a sour smile. "Just enjoy it quietly. Others would kill to get you that kind of attention."
Me: "…"
Heh. As if it was him who wanted attention!
Really, you have to guard against thieves, fires, and… your girlfriends!
Especially male best friends!!!
The next morning I opened my eyes, reached for my phone, sent "good morning" to Ming, then my daily required flirty line.
"I’m nine, you’re three—you’re still you."
Lately I’d been following that playbook, launching full-scale adoration operations, with only minimal results. But I reminded myself: when destiny hands you a big task, it first sharpens your spirit and labors your body. I wasn’t afraid of storms or being ignored. I swore I would be a qualified symi.
Today the three of us had plans to go out—not exactly for fun. We had a mission.
Zoe Parker had a blind date.
Of course her mom arranged it—daughter isn’t getting any younger and had never dated. Moms worry. Normal.
Unlike my mom, who only knows community dance classes.
Sasha and I couldn’t miss this kind of spectacle. We planned to play passersby and observe discreetly. We were bored anyway.
The date was at a well-known Western restaurant.
After we met up we took a cab. Sasha was dressed up in a very androgynous, glamorous way today. When we got out, the driver looked at him and said, "Thirty bucks, miss."
Me: "…"
Zoe Parker: "…"
Once we were off, I noticed Sasha quietly wiping her eyes. I panicked, thinking something serious had happened. Instead she choked out, "He called me ‘miss’!"
Huh?
Was she… upset?
Before I could ask, she continued, voice a little hysterical, "Sounded much better than ‘ma’am’!
Wah wah—"
Me: "…"
Well, who doesn’t have a girlish heart?
As the star of today’s show, Zoe Parker’s expression was visibly terrible.
I glanced at her and couldn’t help saying, "Are you here to go on a date or to commit murder?"
Zoe Parker snapped, "If I weren’t afraid my mom would beat me up, I wouldn’t show up even dead!"
Me: "…"
Inside the restaurant, Sasha and I hid at a nearby table to observe. The blind date guy hadn’t shown up yet. I checked my watch—five minutes left. Maybe we were early; he couldn’t be late, could he?
Reality slapped me hard—he wasn’t just late, he was a full half hour late.
Just as we were about to flip the table and leave, he finally strolled in.
Shiny hair, a little soft around the middle, not very tall, a slight beer belly, a face full of confident self-regard—the attitude screamed: I’m a big shot.
For a moment the three of us were speechless. The man sat down, lit up with pride, crossed his legs and said arrogantly, "Just signed a billion-dollar contract—sorry I’m late."
Zoe Parker said nothing.
He eyed her for a bit and said, "You’re average-looking, but the body is decent. Could work. I don’t know if you can cook or do laundry—oh, and you need to be attentive. I’m very busy. I expect you to run the household well."
Zoe Parker: "…"
"Also, I have to go now. Give me your WeChat and my assistant will follow up."
Very CEO.
He pulled out his phone, but Zoe Parker didn’t move. The man sneered, "What? You’re… not satisfied with me?"
Zoe Parker: "Yeah, you’re not only ugly, you’re greasy. Your cooking oil probably comes straight from a pipeline—I’m trying not to vomit up last night’s food, so get lost, Texas oil rig!"
The man froze.
I guess he never expected someone to be so unmoved by his charms.
Zoe Parker shot us a look and got up to leave. Sasha and I fought back laughter as we slipped out too.
Once outside I exploded in laughter.
"Hahaha I can’t believe people like that actually exist…"
Sasha laughed too. "Hahaha he’s probably totally stunned…"
In the middle of laughing I thought of my Ming baby.
Keeping up my symi streak, I sent him a message: "Baby, I saw a total nightmare on a blind date today—compared to him I think I love you even more."
No reply.
I pressed on: "Even if you ignore me, my love won’t change one bit. Have you ever been loved this passionately? Your heart must be pounding!"
"Baby, you’re my silly dog!"
I had just turned off my phone when it buzzed.
I assumed it was my mom. But when I opened it, it was Ming.
Under the string of messages that had never, ever been replied to before, a bright reply popped up: "Shut up! Streaming right now!"
Me: "…"
#On the social-death moments we survived# This time it had sort of backfired, but overall the result was good—at least Ming replied to me. For me that was historic progress: from now on he would never ignore me again!
So I decided to muster up courage and go to Ming Corp to find Ming.
When I told this grand plan to the two of them, Zoe Parker asked earnestly, "Should we wait outside for you?"
I was touched that she could be so considerate—and about to get emotional—when Sasha calmly added, "We’ll wait to collect your corpse!"
They exchanged a look and burst out laughing. I was left stunned in the wind, speechless.
Even though they didn’t believe in me, I still went. On the way I bought a little Ultraman toy.
They say guys believe in light—they believe in Ultraman.
So Ming would like it, right?
Mercer Enterprises was, without a doubt, an extremely, exceptionally, ridiculously impressive company. Of course it looked the part.
Standing at the entrance, remembering the first time the baby and I met, I couldn’t help but sigh: so fate really can be written from the start.
Having read every kind of romance, I knew the usual trope—female lead shows up at the hero’s company, the receptionist looks her up and down and blocks her, and then the CEO swoops down to slap the receptionist silly. But in reality, how could Ethan possibly come down to fetch me? So right away I started scheming: how could I slip in without anyone noticing?
After watching for a while, I realized there was basically no way for one living woman to sneak in alone. Still, I wasn’t willing to give up. In the end I decided to gamble.
I texted Ethan: “Baby, I’m here to see you, downstairs at the office. Can you come get me?”
No reply for a long time.
Maybe he was busy and hadn’t checked his phone, so I went to the front desk and asked the receptionist to call the CEO’s office.
She was nothing like the cold front-desk bitches in the novels—she was sweet and eager, just a moment’s hesitation before she made the call.
The line connected quickly. The person on the other end asked who I was. I hurriedly told the receptionist, “Rosie! I’m Rosie!”
Suddenly the line went silent, then it clicked off.
I thought it was over. But pretty soon someone came down—an unfamiliar face.
He smiled at me. “Ms. Bennett, I’m Mr. Mercer’s assistant. You can call me Alec. Mr. Mercer asked me to escort you up.”
That was the voice from the phone.
I practically bounced into the elevator with him and we were up on the top floor in no time.
“Alec will show you in, Ms. Bennett,” he said.
I pushed the door open and finally saw my darling, the one I’d been thinking about day and night.
Tears almost welled up. I ran toward him, “Ba—by—”
Ethan didn’t even lift his eyes. One hand held a file; the other floated up and gently pressed against my forehead. He said, as if joking, “Stand still.”
Realizing I couldn’t charm my way past him, I obediently stood there and stared.
“What do you want?”
I fumbled in my bag and finally pulled out the Ultraman toy I’d bought in advance.
“Baby! For you!”
Ethan’s expression hardened. After a moment he rubbed his brow and asked, “I get it. Anything else?”
Seizing the moment, I slipped my arm around his and smiled at him, “Baby, the fact that you’re willing to see me—doesn’t that mean you’ve started to fall for me?”
Ethan snorted, “You really have a wild imagination.”
I pouted, genuinely hurt, “Then what color do you like for a toad? I’ll dye it myself…”
Ethan: “…”
“My grandpa told me you don’t talk to girls much. Am I your first?”
Ethan: “…”
“So does this count as successfully getting your attention?”
Ethan: “…”
There was a knock at the door—Alec again, sounding like something urgent had come up.
I’m reasonable; I wouldn’t interfere with Ethan’s work. Reluctantly I let him go, staring at his flawless face. A frantic idea struck me.
I glanced at the distance from the door, mapped the quickest exit route in my head, rose on my toes and planted a quick kiss on his cheek.
“Baby! I’m off!”
I bolted, not daring to look back at his expression as I fled like the wind.
My heart pounded like a drum all the way home.
I had, by my own daring, stolen Ethan’s innocence! I felt ridiculously proud—my mood soared. When I stepped through the door, I found Cora in the living room and my father sipping tea. Mom wasn’t home.
I was about to ask where she’d gone when I heard heavy breathing from the hallway.
“So tired!”
I turned and saw her—she’d bought a ridiculous amount of groceries, probably back from the market.
“Why so much?”
I started carrying in a few bags to the kitchen, but just as I reached the doorway a shriek erupted from behind me: “Aaaaaaaah—”
I spun around. Cora stood there, wide-eyed, pointing at the bag in my mother’s hands. “Ahhh! That’s my limited-edition designer bag! I just got it yesterday!”
My mother blinked and shook the bag, “Huh?”
Me: “…”
Dad: “…”
Ever since that close encounter with Ethan Mercer, my confidence had shot through the roof, and my flirt game had exploded.
“Good morning, baby. Today’s another day I love you.”
“All the world is bitter; only you taste like durian.”
“I wake up across glass thinking of you, I eat lunch through chopsticks thinking of you, I sleep in darkness thinking of you—my specialty is thinking of you all day.”
“Clear water lives in the heart of ice, breeze lives in the heart of clouds, the stars live in the heart of the long night, and you live in my heart. Though mountains and rivers separate us, yearning has no distance. Can you feel it? My heart is always with you! I miss you!”
Of course none of these messages got a reply.
I was frustrated—men are such a mystery. If only I could know what he was really thinking.
Sigh.
Stretching, I found life starting to feel painfully dull.
I wasn’t exactly aimless—after all, I’d been chosen by the system and had tasks—but I didn’t have any real, important work. Besides, Heather hardly ever paid me any attention.
In the original story, because Ethan planned to call off his engagement with Claire and choose Heather instead, Claire got furious. Instead of giving up, she clung on jealously and constantly set traps for Heather. Heather was no pushover—she fought back—and Claire, outmatched, ultimately suffered for it.
Knowing the plot, I’d handed the leading man over to Heather early on and avoided picking fights with her. Lately Heather’s career was on the rise; she probably didn’t have time to bother me anyway, which is why I’d been so bored and listless.
Watching my mom bustling around the living room doing who-knows-what, I couldn’t help but think life really is as lonely as snow.
The weather was getting hotter—must be nearly summer—and I felt like a soggy dog. Two bottles of ice-cold cola down and I still had zero energy, slumped on the couch scrolling my phone.
There were a lot of handsome guys in the videos—too many to count—but what did it matter? None of them could compete with my Mingheng baby.
My mom, without any concern for appearances, was sprawled out nearby, limbs everywhere. Her phone volume was blasting. I found it annoying but didn’t dare say anything, so I glanced at her screen and saw a few huge, blatant words: The Sorrows of Women—Who Understands?
The background showed a woman holding flowers and crying. The music was unbearably tragic.
Me: “…”
Then she pulled up a string of cheesy, tacky videos and even dragged me into watching them. She laughed so hard she was practically falling over. I could only offer an awkward, “Ha ha ha.”
Today I was still a heartless machine beauty.
Annoyed by her noise and unable to concentrate on videos, I turned my phone off and started messing with a beauty app instead, on an impulse to take a few selfies.
My mom watched me puckering, glaring, and making peace signs, looked at me with utter contempt and snapped, “Move that monkey butt of yours further away!”
Me: “…”
I finally picked a few shots I liked, did some light retouching, and showed them to her. “Ha! Look at your daughter—am I not a total stunner?!”
My mom’s eyes went wide. “Ew—who is that?”
Me: “…”
“No way that’s you!”
Me: “…”
Maybe that’s what they mean by editing someone so much their own mom won’t recognize them.
After finishing, I posted one of the photos to my feed with the caption: “Gorgeous girl heading out—watch your boyfriends!”
Within minutes the likes started pouring in.
Most of them were from Claire Bennett’s social circle—people I didn’t really know. I replied politely to comments and didn’t go beyond small talk.
After I ate half an orange and opened my phone again, I found a comment from Gregory Bennett.
He’d written, “Where’s your mom?”
Me: “Right next to me.”
Gregory: “Oh.”
Me: “…”
A little later I opened WeChat again and saw Mingheng still hadn’t liked or commented. I felt a little deflated—then a message popped up.
It was from Mingheng!
I opened it, practically shaking. He wrote very simply, “Who are you going to see?”
Me: “???”
And then he didn’t reply again.
I was completely baffled. Why would he ask that out of nowhere?
Before I could figure it out, my mom’s situation escalated.
Zoe Parker’s mother had invited my mom out—along with Sasha’s mom. In the original novel those three were close friends, always shopping and playing mahjong together. Since my mom had transmigrated and was trying to avoid blowing her cover, she hadn’t been keeping in touch. When they occasionally reached out, she declined, saying she wasn’t feeling well. Plus, everyone already knew about our family drama, so they assumed she was upset and left her alone.
But you can’t run forever. Suddenly Hazel Bennett snapped out of character and stood up loudly: “I’m going today! I don’t believe I can’t handle this!”
I silently gave her a thumbs-up in support. She spent a long time getting ready and left in full force. I called for her to pick me a bowl of rice noodles on the way, but she either didn’t hear or pretended not to—she left like a queen.
That left the house empty—just me.
I planned to go upstairs for a quiet nap, then wake up and scroll for the rest of the day. But just as I lay down, I got a message from Mr. Ming: “Rosie girl, come to my house for dinner tonight?”
Say what? Of course I was coming.
My smile shot up uncontrollably. After replying to him, I jumped up and got ready.
I did my makeup, put on my favorite youthful dress, grabbed a bag—took me an hour in total—and at four in the afternoon I arrived at the Ming residence.
Even on my second visit, the Ming place felt enormous.
When I got there, Mr. Ming was amusing a bird I couldn’t identify—probably rare and expensive. I shamelessly went in for a little coziness and called, “Grandpa.”
He turned and, seeing me, his eyes crinkled in a smile. “Rosie! You came!”
I walked closer to peer at the bird, still not sure what to make of it. Mr. Ming asked, “How are things with Mingheng lately?”
At the mention of that I felt lurch, a little defeated.
I sighed.
He frowned. “Hm? Is something wrong?”
I thought hard, hemmed and hawed for a while, then blurted out, “Um, Grandpa—are you sure Mingheng likes girls?”
Mr. Ming froze.
He stood there stunned for a long beat, then muttered, “…I’m not sure…”
Oh no.
All my hopes sank. Mr. Ming, however, said calmly, “Don’t worry, Rosie. I’ll observe him a bit.”
Me: “…”
This was a real headache. In the end we agreed to let the question rest for now.
Mr. Ming suggested we go chant some sutras. The thought of those tongue-twisting verses gave me a headache. At the last moment I remembered one thing—the five-in-a-row game the system had given me.
When it handed me the game I hadn’t paid much attention. Later I’d tossed it into the bag I take everywhere. I reached into my bag and, sure enough, there it was.
Suddenly energized, I said, “Grandpa, let’s play a game.”
Mr. Ming’s eyes lit up. “Okay—what shall we play?”
I slowly pulled the five-in-a-row set out of my bag.
His face brightened. “What’s that?”
I knew from early on that this world had no five-in-a-row game—and lots of other things were different from the life I remembered—so I took my time explaining this novelty in my hands to Granddad, went over the rules, smoothed the board, placed the pieces, and we started our official face-off.
Honestly, the set the system gave me was top-notch. The board was real leather—felt like sheepskin, though I couldn’t be sure—and the pieces were white and black jade. It looked very elegant.
At first, Granddad wasn’t practiced and kept losing. I was smug. "Maybe I’m just better?"
He scowled. "You little brat, another round!"
Rounds blurred together. Then, without me realizing how it happened, the whole game flipped. I went from occasionally winning to losing every game.
Granddad beamed. "Ha! The old hand still beats the new tricks!"
Ugh!
I was so not having it. I was about to demand a rematch when a car pulled up. Granddad’s hand froze mid-move. "That rascal’s here."
Sure enough, when I turned, I saw Ethan stepping out with that effortless, graceful air.
Tall and poised, he stood there. I couldn’t read his face from that angle, but my heart did a little flip. All the irritation and awkwardness evaporated. I sprang up and ran to him. "Baby—"
Then, like I’d done it a thousand times, I hung onto him.
Ethan: "…"
Granddad: "…"
To be honest, Ethan always smelled amazing—cool and clean in a way I couldn’t put into words, but I loved it.
I clung to him, and he murmured with that cool tone, "Get down."
Impulse is a momentary thing. Once I sobered up, I straightened and glanced at the old man. He was calmly sipping his tea as if nothing had happened.
Ethan came inside like he owned the place. The kitchen had food ready. Granddad ushered us to the table. Once we sat, I looked up and realized how stunning the decor was.
This wasn’t the hall we’d been in before—probably the main house. It was slightly smaller, but the style was the same: Scandinavian minimalism, cool and understated.
Even so, I could tell at a glance the knickknacks were worth a lot.
Granddad was in a great mood, smiling from ear to ear. "Rosie, help yourself. Eat until you’re full!"
I nodded at him and stole a quick look at Ethan. He was his usual unreadable self, so I relaxed and expertly snagged a big drumstick.
The food was delicious, but I’d always preferred my mom’s cooking. After polishing off the drumstick, I bragged, "Grandpa, next time you and… Ethan should come to my house and try my mom’s three-delicacy noodles. They’re unbeatable!"
Granddad perked up. "I’d love to try that!"
The meal went smoothly—well, except Ethan stayed stone-faced and spoke almost nothing.
By now I’m used to it. After we’d nearly finished eating, a scene from TV popped into my head—the trope where the supporting heroine slips off her shoes, goes barefoot, and rubs the male lead’s leg to seduce him.
Bright idea. I kicked off my shoes. Thank goodness my feet don’t stink; otherwise, that would’ve been mortifying.
But reality is rarely as generous as fantasy. Even with my leg fully extended, I couldn’t reach Ethan.
Me: "…"
It had to be the table. Yes. Definitely not my short legs.
I wasn’t willing to admit defeat. I scooted my chair closer and leaned down, giving it everything I had. Still couldn’t reach.
While I was straining, I heard Granddad’s puzzled voice. "Rosie, what’s wrong?"
Me: "…"
I quickly sat properly. Ethan glanced at me, as if he’d seen straight through the whole thing, then stood up and said calmly, "I’m full."
Before leaving, he shot me a look that was somehow loaded with meaning.
My attempt at flirtation had been an absolute disaster.
I felt a little deflated. Even playing five-in-a-row with Granddad couldn’t lift my mood. Late in the day, my father’s call came through.
"Where’s your mom?"
I was already bummed and snapped back, "How would I know? I’m not with her! Why are you only asking about Mom? Am I not your daughter?"
Silence from him. After a moment: "Oh. Where are you, then?"
You could hear how perfunctory that was.
"If you don’t say, I’m hanging up."
He cut me off before I could answer.
Me: "…"
So that’s it—I was just a total tool to them all.
Mood: turned dark.
A little later I got ready to leave. Granddad, ever perceptive, caught how I kept glancing at Ethan and ordered, "Ethan, take Rosie home."
Yes! Yes! Yes!
I was doing an internal victory dance, though I put on a demure face. "No trouble, Grandpa. I can go home myself…"
Ethan rose and looked at me with those gray-blue eyes. A sliver of mischief crossed them. "Fine. Then go home by yourself."
What? Say that again? Who talks like that?
I was stunned. Granddad frowned and planted his flag. "What, getting cocky now? You won’t even listen to an old man?"
Ethan hadn’t even answered when Granddad shifted into the most pitiful, wounded act—something between fake frailty and melodrama. "It’s true. When you’re old, people resent you. It’s okay. It’s my fate. Sigh…"
Ethan: "…"
I couldn’t help but admire Granddad’s Oscar-worthy performance. Seizing my chance, I fanned the flames. "Don’t worry, Grandpa. You still have me! If he doesn’t want you, I do!"
The old man looked touched. "Rosie really is the best!"
Mingheng: "…"
In the end, our little duet performance was a clear success, and I even got exactly what I wanted—Mingheng’s passenger seat.
In the car I felt refreshed. I stealthily took a photo of him driving and sent it to the group chat.
No one replied—probably eating—so I put my phone away and, seizing this rare two-person moment, asked, "Baby, do you feel even a little flutter for me?"
Mingheng gave me a sidelong glance and said nothing.
Suddenly I felt this hopeless crush didn’t need to go on anymore.
I sighed and decided to be blunt.
"All this time, no matter how you treated me, I’ve kept liking you."
"But today, I’m really tired."
Mingheng stopped the car. I stared at the red light ahead and felt a wave of sadness. "Your world has only ever given me red lights."
Mingheng: "…"
"We’re adults. I have my dignity. I don’t want to be your simp anymore. Let’s part on good terms. From now on, you walk your narrow bridge, and I’ll hold it up from below—just don’t fall off, it would hurt so much wahhh…"
Mingheng: "…"
The light turned green. Mingheng started the car, looked at me helplessly, and ruffled my hair, muttering to himself, "I don’t know what she thinks about all day…"
Wahhh.
Tears almost came. "Babe! When you just touched my head, does that mean you finally admit I’m your simp?! Babe! I’m so happy!"
Mingheng: "…"
When we got out, I lingered at the doorway, planning a dramatic TV-style goodbye to my baby. Before I could even open my mouth, he did a drift and vanished like a shot, leaving me staring at his taillights and a face full of exhaust.
Me: "…"
Oh well. At least I got promoted from probation simp to full-time simp, I comforted myself.
Back inside, I found Mom had returned. The sofa was piled with shopping bags. She lit up when she saw me. "Mom and my friends went shopping today. I bought you a few things—try them on later!"
I set down my bag and casually asked, "So? How are Zoe and Sasha’s mom?"
Mom nodded, satisfied. "I thought those rich ladies would be hard to get along with, but they were easy. We hit it off. We should go more often!"
Seeing her so happy made me glad too. It’s lonely being solo; friends really help.
I took a sip of water and flopped on the couch, casually rifling through the clothes Mom had bought. Then I froze when I saw a sweatshirt.
"What is this?"
I picked it up. Mom, tidying the kitchen, glanced over. "Oh, that? I bought it at the market. The seller said it’s a brand name and it’s on clearance—only nineteen bucks!"
"Good deal, right?!"
I said nothing and stared at the logo printed on the shirt: abidas. I fell into thought.
At that moment, Dad appeared out of nowhere like a ghost. He said quietly, "Is there one for me?"
Mom, completely confident, said, "No."
Dad: "…"
Later, after my shower, I noticed Sasha had replied in the group: "You Photoshopped it, right?"
Blinding jealousy!
I didn’t bother explaining—let him think what he wanted.
Then Zoe sent several photos in black stockings and texted, "Cute?"
She might be rough-tongued, but her figure is killer. Any guy except Sasha would get fired up seeing those.
I sent a great sticker. Then Sasha sent a voice message. I opened it and heard him in such a faux-delicate tone: "I really envy you who can wear black stockings. I can’t. My dad said if I wear them he won’t recognize me as his son."
Me: "…"
Zoe: "…"
Before bed I, as usual, sent Baby Mingheng a goodnight and, as usual, got no reply. But tonight, with my newly elevated status, my temper flared, so I typed, "Why the stuck-up face? You think you’re so pretty? Ridiculous! I think you’re great too—I’ll keep simping for you tomorrow, baby."
No reply, of course.
But I wasn’t worried this time—there’s a new show called Country Roses (TV show) that Zoe recommended. I watched a few episodes and got hooked, especially on the four heroines—their cuteness, energy, and vitality hit me hard. What "Candy Not Sweet"? It’s super sweet!
It distracted me completely—Mingheng vanished from my head and all I could think about were those four sisters. Zoe and I even joined the fan club, ready to fight for them on the front lines.
Mom, now with friends, goes shopping and plays mahjong more often and seems much happier. Still, she hasn’t given up the community dance group and keeps nagging, "When will a new dance troupe form?"
Me: "Stop wishing."
Lately I noticed Mom watching that melodrama where someone rescues their mother—she always cries with red eyes. That night she sang while cooking; I distinctly heard her sing the show’s theme: "From heaven descended three saintly mothers, gave birth to Charlie and Tony…"
I blinked. "Gave birth to what?"
Mom looked puzzled. "Iron Pillar!"
Me: "…"
Old habits die hard.
Summer was sticky and hot.
I wore oversized shorts and a tank top Mom must’ve bought somewhere, sipped juice, and sprawled on the couch like a salted fish.
Lately I’ve been busy—mostly with fangirling.
Idols make me happy.
After all the hustle recently, Zoe and I had finally worked our way up to being minor leaders in the fan circle. Watching Tangguo grow up bit by bit made my heart swell with pride.
My mom hasn’t been home much lately—she’s out with her girlfriends a lot. No idea what they get up to.
But that’s fine. As long as she doesn’t bother me, I don’t care.
So most of the time, it’s just me and… Cora at home.
It’s kind of annoying, honestly.
Heather pops back occasionally, but I rarely see her. With her and Ethan’s engagement banquet coming up, she’s probably slammed with preparations.
I wondered whether rich people’s engagements were like the banquets back in my old village—do they have a big feast? If they do, I’ll end up at a kids’ table.
That afternoon, unlucky me—I’d just come downstairs when Heather walked in. I was going to pretend not to notice, but she called out, “Claire Bennett.”
Nobody’s called me that in ages.
Me: “Hm?”
She had this mocking smile, tone dripping with disdain. “Are you actually stupid, or are you faking it?”
Wow!
First time anyone assumed my stupidity was on purpose!
If Mom heard that, she’d try to prove I’m naturally clueless forever.
I looked at her, oddly touched. She’d basically complimented my intelligence—if I didn’t admit it, I’d be ungrateful.
So I hurried to nod. “Yes, yes! I’m faking it! I can’t believe you noticed!”
Heather: “…”
That night Mom came home and bought me a few outfits she thought were a bargain, then forced me to try them on. I wanted to refuse but didn’t dare, so I put them on.
Then, from somewhere nearby, Dad—Gregory—suddenly piped up, “What about me?”
???
Mom shot back, “What?”
He put his head down, looking a little wounded. “You always buy things for her, but never for me.”
Seeing the CEO act like that could melt anyone’s heart, right? But Mom’s not normal—she just said coldly, “Tell the lady upstairs to buy you something.”
Dad: “…”
Yep, that’s always his weak spot.
Honestly, over all this time I hadn’t thought Dad was that attached to his first love. He’s been pretty good to us. I figured maybe the changes we brought in when we transmigrated set off a chain reaction.
Things have to change, right? Otherwise what—sit and wait to die?
After trying on the clothes, I put on one of the hoodies Mom liked and only then noticed a string of voice messages from Zoe. I was too lazy to listen, so I called her. She picked up almost instantly and before I could speak, she asked, “Is your mom with you?”
I said no. She was quiet a beat, then said, “My mom bought me a bunch of flea-market clothes.”
Me: “…”
“I think you might’ve gotten some too.”
Me: “…”
“…and so did Sasha.”
Me: “…”
I hung up and couldn’t calm down. I thought this transmigration would lift her from the countryside into the upper crust, but instead she’d singlehandedly dragged the whole lady’s club down a notch.
No wonder she’d mesmerized Gregory Bennett.
Thursday night, the variety show updates at ten, and I was all set on the bed waiting for it to drop—then I got a message.
It was from Mingheng Baby.
He’d sent: “Heh.”
I was confused. I checked our last chat—it’d been over twenty days. Suddenly I felt guilty.
I’d neglected Mingheng Baby because I was fangirling!
As a simp, I forgot my life’s mission—how could I?
Before I could reply, another message popped up: “Is this how you say you like me?”
Why did that feel like being caught cheating?
I blurted out a lame excuse. “Been a little busy…”
Mingheng: “Heh.”
Me: “…”
He added, “Busy chasing idols, huh.”
How did he know? Is he stalking me? Novel CEOs stalk their heroines in the stories—ick, but also, weirdly, exciting. “How did you know?!”
“You post it on Moments every day.”
Me: “…”
Facepalm.
I wrung my hands trying to craft a reply, then he sent, “Ignoring me now? Fine.”
Was his account hacked?
It felt off. No time to overthink—I switched to full apology mode. “My fault, baby, I’m sorry. Won’t happen again! Sorry! Muah!”
No reply.
I checked the time—past ten. The show had updated. I watched it, and only after I was about to sleep did he text back: “Mm.”
“What’s muah?”
No way—he didn’t even know?
I explained, “It means kissy-kissy.”
Then I slept.
The house got busy. Heather’s engagement banquet was coming.
I asked Dad whether we’d host a full banquet, and he shot me a look—I finally realized that the rich don’t do things like our old village.
Zoe said here it’s usually just both sets of parents having a meal together and that counts as engagement. But Heather thought that wasn’t grand enough—no ceremony—so she wanted to make it big.
So they planned to hold it at our place.
Why not at Ethan’s house? Probably because his parents hadn’t accepted her yet.
None of this was my business; my job was to eat and enjoy myself.
The engagement was set for the evening of June twentieth.
Early that morning Heather and her mom started arranging everything. The household staff were buzzing around. When I woke and saw the lavish, grand lobby, I was shocked.
It was really over the top.
Among all the spectacle, Mom stuck out like a breath of fresh air.
She tied on an apron and cooked at a steady pace. She glanced at me and said, “Get down and eat.”
So there we were—totally out of sync with the pomp—sitting down to noodles with pickled radish and soybean sauce in the middle of all that splendor.
I always want to sleep after I eat, and the living room was unbearably noisy. I didn’t want to keep getting shot dirty looks from Heather and her daughter, so I told Mom we should go shopping.
She agreed right away this time.
Once we were out, I asked, “Where’s Dad? It’s his niece’s engagement today—why isn’t he here? He actually went to work?”
Mom waved it off, “Who knows.”
True enough—what could we do?
We wandered around until afternoon, and that’s when I got a call from Dad.
Dad: “Where are you two?”
Me: “Out.”
There was a pause, then Gregory said, “Come back. The banquet’s about to start.”
I didn’t get why he wanted Mom and me there. It’d be awkward with Heather’s family around, but then Sasha called. “Zoe and I are coming tonight—get ready!”
Ugh. Fine. We went.
By the time we got home, Heather and Cora were already all dolled up—literally dazzling.
Compared to them, Mom and I looked like we’d been dragged through the mall and back. Gregory glanced over, closed his eyes, and said, “…go get yourself ready.”
Of course!
If we had to go, we weren’t going to be upstaged. Mom and I might not be required to attend, but since we were, we needed to bring the proper matriarch-and-heir energy.
I dug through my closet and pulled out my priciest strapless gold mermaid gown, did heavier makeup than usual, and spent time curling my hair so it sat over my shoulders.
I smiled at my reflection, satisfied, and was about to help Mom in her room when she came in.
I was shocked.
I had no idea Mom could glam up like that.
She wore an elegant dress that mixed Eastern and Western styles—tasteful, not OTT—also mainly gold. Her makeup was flawless. She’d loosely pinned her hair up and stuck a jade hairpin in it.
She looked me over and said, “Not bad.”
I fawned, “Mom, you’re incredible! Look at us—we’re totally in sync. Mother-daughter goals!”
Mom: “I figured you’d wear that.”
Me, surprised: “No way!”
She sniffed, “You only have a handful of outfits and I’m the one who picks them for you. I could guess with my toes.”
Yep—mother knows best.
After we finished, we went downstairs. Some guests had already arrived. Dad was greeting them, and when he saw Mom, his gaze didn’t leave her.
Heather and her daughter stared at us with pure, naked hatred.
I didn’t care—I still had to pick up Sasha and Zoe.
At the curb a car pulled up. I assumed it was Zoe, but the car felt oddly familiar. Before I could look closely the driver opened the rear door and out stepped—Mason Whitaker.
I nearly squealed, “Mason!”
He gave me a look, frowned briefly, then instantly relaxed like nothing had happened.
He said, “I’m not your Mason.”
???
Honestly, I was totally stunned. Not just because Mason showed up unexpectedly, but because he said he wasn’t mine!
How could he say that?
It cut me—thinking of how I’d pined over him, and realizing maybe I’d been the clown all along.
I shut my eyes and asked him, feeling hurt, “Why?”
He sneered, “You tell me.”
The confident way he said it made me doubt myself. Had I done something to make him mad?
I thought for a minute and then it hit me—I hadn’t reached out to him in ages. The last time I’d dropped contact was because of some stupid candy not being sweet enough; he’d texted first, I’d soothed things over, then I’d gone and forgotten again.
Am I even worthy of being his devoted fan? If there weren’t so many people around I would’ve slapped myself.
Mason, seeing I might be remembering, snorted and walked past me into the house. I lunged, grabbed his sleeve. “Mason! I was wrong! Please don’t ignore me!”
We came in like that—me clutching his arm, my whole world centered on Mason—completely oblivious to the sudden hush in the hall. Every eye fell on him…and on us.
Something felt off, but Mason stayed cool as ever.
Dad hurried over, gave me a look, and quietly peeled my hand off Mason’s sleeve. Very politely he said, “My apologies, Mr. Whitaker. This girl doesn’t know proper etiquette. If she’s offended you, please forgive her.”
Wait—Mason’s been part of my life for so long, why is Dad so careful around him? And offended? He’s my Mason—why would anyone be offended?
Mason smiled politely and nodded, a faint curve at his lips, “No problem, Mr. Bennett. No offense taken.”
Dad smiled back. Mom pulled me to the side. “You really have guts.”
I blinked, “What do you mean?”
She sighed and pointed toward Mason, who had already been surrounded by a cluster of business magnates, “Are you blind? Can’t you see?”
Looking properly, I admitted it—Mason was definitely the handsomest one in that group. “Of course—my Mason is the hottest CEO in the room.”
Mom was speechless. She finally lost it and smacked the back of my head. “I’ve asked around—you need to be careful with the Whitakers. They’re not ordinary people. Don’t do anything stupid.”
I knew that. I’m just his devoted admirer—what harm could I possibly cause?
I nodded and Mom relaxed. A nearby society matron came over to chat, and I slipped away to go fetch Sasha and Zoe.
Near the door I got this weird feeling like someone was watching me. When I turned, Mason was staring at me.
He stood among the crowd, silent, a glass of red wine in his hand, watching me with meaning in his eyes.
I didn’t know what he meant, so I reflexively gave him what I thought was a sultry wink—and then left.
I texted those two, but no one answered, so I had to stand there and wait. To my surprise, Heather actually walked over.
She lifted her chin, proud and contemptuous, eyes full of disdain. "You sure have connections—getting cozy with the Mings."
I stared at her calmly. It was odd. "Weren’t you the one who gave me the chance?"
I remembered the old Mr. Ming’s birthday banquet—how she set me up, accused me of preparing gifts. If it hadn’t been for my mom’s shout distracting everyone, who knew how that would have ended.
Heather’s expression flickered—briefly ashen—then she forced a cold smile. "I’m curious to see what’ll happen to you once you’re tied to that family."
What fate, I didn't know. I was just curious. "Hey—do you always look down your nose at people?"
Before Heather could answer, a familiar voice came from behind. "Hahahahaha—die laughing! If you're not using those eyes, donate them to someone who needs them. Such a waste!"
I turned and saw Zoe and Sasha.
At that moment I almost cried.
Finding your people—this feeling was glorious.
After Zoe spoke, Sasha started in with that snide tone, "Oh? Who's this lady? How have I never seen her before?"
That line was so damn cutting.
No wonder—the three of us really were the villain trio from the original book.
Heather twisted with anger, but I didn't bother her. "Let's go. Eat something good."
The banquet's chef was a celebrity Heather had flown in from abroad—desserts were especially divine.
Zoe took a big bite. "Mmm! Delicious! Honestly, Heather's amazing—skill, schemes, connections—you can't compete. If you can't handle it, you should run now. We'll help you."
Her words hit a nerve.
Even though the system had told me I was here to balance the world and wasn't exactly cannon fodder, what if I couldn't beat Heather and got ruined?
I sighed.
Sasha snapped selfies for ages, then opened a retouch app and said while editing, "You should find a man to marry, get yourself protected."
Casually?
Are you kidding me?
I, Claire Bennett, will never marry anyone but my Ming Heng baby!
I instinctively scanned the crowd for him, but didn't see him. Sasha spotted the magnolias blooming outside and squealed, "Wow! So pretty. Let's take pictures?"
We had nothing better to do, and I'd gone to the trouble of dressing up. It would be a shame not to.
I shoved a small cake into my mouth and went out with them.
We took turns photographing each other—group shots, all the poses—and the more we shot, the more into it we got.
These gorgeous photos would be perfect for Moments later. I was too lazy to retouch, planning to freeload off Sasha's edits. Zoe was thinking the same. Sasha preened and brought her camera close, then kissed my cheek while taking a selfie.
I'd seen that behavior before—nothing new. The three of us, with zero dignity, crowded together arguing over filters, when suddenly the light in front of us went dark—a shadow fell across us. We looked up and found Ming Heng.
I brightened. "Ming Heng baby!"
He ignored me this time, his gaze heavy on Sasha. Sasha stepped back a beat under his stare. Then he spoke, low and controlled, "Delete the photo."
He paused, then added, "The one you just took."
???
Sasha's hands trembled as she fished out her phone. "O-okay, I'll delete it right now!"
She executed the motions like water flowing, and Ming Heng finally gave a satisfied hum. He glanced at me like it was nothing and turned to leave.
After a moment, Zoe broke the silence. "Was that…the legendary Mr. Ming?"
Me: "I guess so…"
Sasha started to whimper, "Scared me to death, sob sob…"
Zoe and I: "…"
At today's engagement banquet, only Ethan Mercer from the Mercer family had shown—no one else from his side came. I thought, if that's the case there's no reason to put on such a big show. Anyone could see they didn't like our family. It was humiliating.
Rather than watch that mess, I should go find my Ming Heng baby.
I slipped up beside him and looped my arm through his. On tiptoe, I whispered in his ear, "Baby, you're obviously the most handsome CEO."
Ming Heng's face was expressionless. "I told you I'm not your baby."
Ouch.
Still mad, huh.
I pulled him outside. The garden was mostly empty, and I flipped into coaxing mode. "Baby! I'm really sorry! I messed up! Please don't be like this!"
Ming Heng: "Don't."
It wasn't over.
Panicking, I spoke without thinking, "If you keep acting like this, I'll go find someone else to be my baby!"
His voice dropped, fierce. "You dare."
Me: "…"
After a beat he turned his head away—his expression hidden—and said, "If you want to, go ahead. I don't care."
Me: "…"
Seeing Ming Heng sulking like that, my heart melted. I hated myself for being so petty—how could I not cherish such a gorgeous man?
I clung to him. "Baby! Baby! I'm sorry! Forgive me? I'll never do it again!"
He still didn't speak.
Too anxious, I steeled myself, closed my eyes, and clumsily kissed him.
It was my first kiss.
After the initial impulse, I was awkward and unsure, just pressed to his lips, eyes wide. A flicker of amusement crossed Ming Heng's face. One of his hands went possessively around my waist, conquering ground step by step, breaking down my defenses.
My brain felt like it was setting off fireworks—breathless, no coherent thought, just the heat on my lips. I don't know how long passed before he let go. He stepped back in that deliberately calm way, as if nothing at all had happened.
"Hmm. You've already crossed the line with me. You need to take responsibility."
Wait, what???
Something about that felt…off.
Was it just my imagination?
Even if it felt weird in a way I couldn't name, it was obvious I'd gotten the better of things.
That realization made me giddy. I hurriedly replied, "Mm-hmm! I'll be responsible for you!"
Ethan—my little Ethan—curved his lips without anyone noticing and ruffled my hair. "Good girl."
Ahhhh I'm dead!
So flirtatious.
My reserves of dignity were nearly depleted, but thankfully he had to leave early for something, so I didn't end up splattering blood from my nose in public and embarrassing myself.
Reluctantly watching him go, I started back. On the way I ran into—of all people—Ethan Mercer.
He had his hands in his pockets, and yeah, as the male lead he was certainly handsome. But of course, not even a fraction of my Ethan's perfection.
I didn't feel like talking; I tried to walk around him. Unexpectedly, he spoke—and clearly to me.
"So soon and you already have someone new?"
Huh???
What is he talking about?
I stopped and watched him saunter over, a cold smile tugging at one corner of his mouth. "I said I always wondered why you broke off the engagement so easily. Turns out you already had someone lined up."
Wow!
That backhanded jab—impressive.
He'd said himself that he broke things off because he liked Heather, and I only met my Ethan after that. Now he was turning it around like I was the one who wronged him.
Before I was hesitant to provoke him. Not anymore.
I smiled. "You're really something—hypocrite and liar all in one."
Ethan Mercer's eyes narrowed. His expression turned dangerous. "What did you say?"
Oh, so he wants me to repeat it?
Generously, I did. "I said—aren't you the worst?"
He stared at me in disbelief, like he must've misheard. I couldn't be bothered to humor him, so I added, "Don't bother me again. If you see me, walk the other way, got it? Or if I get serious, even your ancestors won't be enough to save you. You bastard."
Saying it felt delicious. My aura was on full blast. I strutted back into the main hall and saw most guests were already gone.
I checked my phone. Maya texted to say she and Zoe Parker left earlier.
Overall mood tonight: pretty great. Just wished my feet didn't hurt from these heels.
I stretched, went upstairs, took a shower, changed into comfy pajamas, and had barely flopped onto the bed when my phone rang.
Dad.
Calling now—what's up? Mom missing again?
I picked up quickly. "Dad, what's going on?"
He was silent for a moment, then said, "Come to the living room."
Why did that feel so ominous?
I hurried down and found him alone on the sofa, sipping tea.
"Is Mom out again?"
He shook his head. "No. Your mom's asleep."
Then why call me down?
I have always known I'm basically Dad's convenient instrument for talking to Mom, so confusion swarmed me.
"Is something wrong?"
He hesitated, then asked, "I just wanted to know… how far have you and Mr. Bennett gotten?"
That question hit me out of the blue.
"Uh… why are you asking that?"
Is Dad worried I'll be left heartbroken by Ethan? Well, parents worry. I understand. So I told the truth: "Nothing special. Ethan's mine now."
Dad's hand trembled and almost tipped his tea.
"…Are you serious?"
He still didn't believe me.
"Of course I'm serious! With my charm, isn't that normal?"
Dad looked stunned. "So you really… chased him down and got him?"
Suddenly my vanity flared. I lifted my chin and nodded proudly.
Thinking that was the end, I started up to bed. At the staircase he called out, "Wait!"
"Yes?"
He fidgeted, lips moving before finally getting the words out. "How… did you chase him?"
Huh?
"Um… I don't mean anything weird—just curious…"
I was speechless.
After a little coaxing, I actually got my father—the mighty Gregory Bennett—to spill, "It's because your mother… you know… she's been distant with me lately, so…"
So he wanted to see if he could win her back by trying to charm someone? Using me as a role model?
Should I help him? Of course!
If even Gregory Bennett, head of Bennett Holdings, was sincere about this, how could his daughter refuse?
I grabbed his hand and said earnestly, "Dad, leave it to me."
He looked doubtful but believed me. He crossed his legs and his CEO aura snapped into place. Then, casually, "If you succeed, I'll reward you with a small villa."
Ahhhhhhh!
I almost leaped out of my skin. Rich people just hand out houses like nothing.
My ambition soared. I swore to myself I would get that villa.
Right away I sent him the desperate-romance playbook I'd been studying every day recently.
"This is the prep work—works for chasing either sex. Dad, read this first. I'll make you a personalized guide after."
He opened the document and frowned after a few lines. "Are you sure… this will work?"
I pounded my chest and guaranteed, "Absolutely. I used this to get Ethan! It's foolproof!"
Dad hesitated, then reluctantly agreed. "Fine."
Back in my room I noticed Ethan had already sent me several messages. I hadn't replied, and a bad feeling rolled over me.
Sure enough, the last one read: "Hmph. So you stop valuing things once you get them, huh?"
Me: "…"
Clearing up misunderstandings early—so I fired off an explanation right away. No reply. I couldn't tell if he'd seen it, so I called.
It rang and rang before a lazy, sexy voice answered, "Mm?"
Mm?
Mm?
So flirtatious—what the heck?
My heart lurched. I wanted to drop everything and go handle him this instant.
Not the time, though. Priorities. "Baby! My dad called and we talked forever. I didn't see your messages. I didn't do it on purpose…"
Ethan gave a cool, unimpressed "hm," then added, "Why are you telling me this? It's none of my business."
Me: "…"
Did I just find myself begging an ancestor for forgiveness?
I explained and explained—flattery, apologies, every sweet line I had—until Ethan finally relented. "Then come to my office tomorrow and I'll forgive you."
At that point, of course I agreed. "Okay, okay, I'll definitely come!"
He hung up satisfied. I finally exhaled.
Next morning after breakfast I got ready and took a taxi to Ethan's company.
On the way my mom called, asking where I'd gone. I told her and she just said quietly, "…Good luck."
I wondered if Mom had gotten up hours ago and whether Gregory had actually read that message last night, or if he'd sent another of his "good morning" groveling texts.
So I probed, "Mom, did Dad contact you today?"
She sounded nonchalant. "No. Why would he?"
What the heck?
Had he not read it?
I hung up and called Dad immediately.
When he picked up I asked, "Dad, you didn't send Mom today's 'good-morning sweetheart' message, did you?"
He hemmed and hawed for a long beat before admitting, "I… I felt kind of embarrassed…"
Me: "…"
"Dad, if you keep this up, Mom will end up leaving with those park grandpas who can spin around doing fitness routines! Get a clue!"
Without that little villa, I was sunk.
Dad fell silent, then finally asked in a spooky voice, "Who are you talking about? Two minutes—give me the info."
When he realized I was joking he breathed out and asked for one more day to prepare.
Fair enough. CEOs like their pride. I agreed.
When I arrived at Ethan's office I expected to call and have his assistant pick me up like last time. Instead, the lobby assistant was already there waiting.
He saw me and gave a professional smile. "Ms. Bennett, Mr. Mercer asked me to wait for you here."
Huh?
I never told anyone when I'd arrive. Had Ethan had this assistant wait all morning just for me?
"Have you been waiting long?" I asked.
"Yes," he said with a smile. "I’ve been here since the start of the day."
I felt oddly touched.
I had promised to come last night but hadn’t specified a time. He didn't pester me—he just waited.
When the elevator reached the top floor I strode toward his office. Excited, I barged in without even knocking.
He was there. I launched myself at him like a cannonball. "Ethan—"
I pressed against him, about to shamelessly kiss him, when I glimpsed a few middle-aged men standing by the door.
Awkwardness slammed into me.
Ethan stayed calm and looped an arm around my waist. "Mm, you all can leave now."
The men: "…"
I've always been someone extraordinary.
At least in terms of how thick my skin is.
Otherwise, how could I have chased down Ethan in the first place?
Still, this was embarrassing.
"Why didn't you warn me?" I asked, stiffly turning to face him.
Ethan, ever unflappable, set me down on the desk and tucked a stray lock of hair behind my ear. "Warn you about what?"
Wow. Not only unbothered—he didn't care at all.
I finally met my match.
His office was huge. I'd been here before but never really paid attention; today I noticed an inner room, probably a lounge. Of course—this is a CEO's life.
I squinted. "Did you miss me?"
Ethan's mouth tipped in a smirk. "Wasn't it you who couldn't stop thinking about me and came to find me?"
Me: "…"
Kind of true, but something felt off.
I sighed. "Okay, fine. I missed you."
He ruffled my hair with satisfaction. "Good girl."
While Ethan worked I got bored and curled up on the couch to play cards alone. I meant to invite Zoe but she said she was off to a blind date; Jenna's also busy—she's apparently been chatting with a guy online and they're about to meet in person.
So it was just me and the couch.
To avoid disturbing Ethan, I muted my game. Around ten he said he had a meeting; I thought I'd take that chance to leave. I stood up, but then he said, "I hope you'll still be here when I get back."
That one line closed every escape route.
He said "hope," which sounded almost pleading, but knowing him, if I left he'd have to spend days coaxing me back.
Men.
I could only flop awkwardly on the couch, sprawled out while I organized dating research for Dad and waited for him to get back.
They say a good beginning is half the battle. For a boss like my father who's attempting to woo someone for the first time, the prep work matters even more.
After scrolling through countless posts and testimonials, I picked out several books: Three Simple Lines to Win Her Over; How a Man Makes the One Who Loves Him Stay Devoted; Men Are Fire, Women Are Water; Remember This One Sentence and She’ll Fall for You Instantly… I also gathered some high-emotional-IQ chat guides tailored for a one-track mind like his.
Examples included: Thirty Million Applied to Love Life; Have You Ever Praised Your Woman?; Remember Women’s Three Favorites: Eat, Dress, Use… After carefully reading, I planned to combine the methods into one easy-to-follow script for him.
Honestly, I’d never worked this seriously on anything before.
Right now, though, it was all for that little cottage.
But before putting any of it into action, there was one important thing—I had to check Dad’s intentions.
After all, Cora was still part of the equation.
In the moment I’d been dazzled by his promised benefits and agreed without thinking. Now I wanted to make sure. If he intended to keep this weird family arrangement permanently, no way would I let my mom—no, I wouldn’t accept it either. Once my cannon-fodder crisis was over, I’d drag Mom and leave.
So I needed to ask him straight.
While Ethan Mercer—baby Ethan—was out, I called Dad.
No answer.
He was probably busy, so I sent a WeChat laying out my thoughts.
About five minutes later he replied: “Just take care of your own stuff; don’t worry about the rest.”
Those words let me breathe. Looks like he had a plan.
Good.
Since I hadn’t brought my laptop I was stuck doing everything awkwardly on my phone. I didn’t dare touch Ethan’s computer—what if I accidentally deleted something important?
Still, a little inconvenience wouldn’t stop me. I was on fire.
When Ethan came back, I was leafing through a book titled How to Woo the Handsome Younger Man.
He has great eyesight; I reflexively tried to hide my phone, but he’d already seen.
His expression cooled. “Who are you trying to chase?”
Oh no.
I had no idea how my brain had switched channels from organizing Dad’s stuff to this. And I’d been caught red-handed.
Panicking, I tacked on a lie: “Well… I want you to be devoted to me!”
He looked unconvinced, so I kept blowing smoke: “This book is about handsome young men. Of everyone I’ve met, who else could possibly deserve that title besides you?”
Ethan’s face softened. He turned his head and, looking wounded, said, “Fine. If you want someone else, then go ahead. I don’t care.”
!!!
Who could see that gorgeous face acting so injured and not ache for him?!
I wanted to slap myself, then jump off a building.
I had made my Ethan upset!
I’m not even human!
I lunged to grab his hand but he dodged. Flustered, I toppled onto him on the couch and babbled apologies. “Sorry, sorry! I would never look for someone else! You’re the only one in my heart!”
Ethan kept his eyes down, not looking at me.
I became more desperate. Seeing the beautiful man beneath me, bright-lipped and helpless, a wild heat surged through me.
So I tugged at my collar and declared, a little bossy, “Then I’ll prove it with actions.”
And without giving him a chance to refuse, I planted a kiss.
Maybe my technique needed work—I missed his mouth and kissed his chin. Embarrassed, I tried again, but when I looked up, his eyes were deep, dark pools.
My heart skipped.
I thought he laughed, because he lifted my chin gently and bit me.
“Even now,” he said, “we’re even.”
Ahhhh!
That little devil!
I wanted to take him right then and there.
I’d lost my senses, ready to rip his shirt off and shamelessly touch him, when my stomach betrayed me with a loud growl.
“…”
Ethan’s eyes curved into a smile. “Let’s eat.”
I tried to protest, but another growl came.
“…”
God, kill me now.
In the end, I gave in. People are iron, food is steel—skip one meal and you’re miserable.
When Ethan asked what I wanted to eat, I felt defeated and mumbled, “Anything.”
He didn’t argue and took me to a quiet restaurant. The staff clearly knew him and led us to a tasteful private room.
Seeing the menu revived me. I ordered a few favorites and then started jabbering away at Ethan.
“Baby, when can we—sleep together?”
He paused mid-sip, then answered evenly, “Dream on.”
I: “…”
I tried one more appeal, but he said, “I know you. If you get me, you won’t cherish me.”
I: “…”
So in his eyes I was that kind of terrible person.
“No way! Baby, don’t believe those toxic lines online that say women stop loving a man once they have his body. That won’t be me—I swear. If I ever did that, may I be a pauper for this life and the next!”
Ethan sipped his tea, calm and unbothered by my vows.
After I nearly wore myself out arguing, he finally said slowly, “Show me.”
I: “…”
Well, that was at least some hope.
I finally breathed out and could eat in peace.
At that moment, I finally understood what people meant by "from now on the king won’t attend court anymore." That kind of beauty—so hard to resist.
I wanted to sleep with him.
Really wanted to sleep with him.
Desperately wanted to sleep with him.
After dinner I wanted to go home.
Ethan had a lot on his plate too, so he didn’t press it—he just told Assistant Tian to drive me home.
On the way I got a call from Zoe, and she was ranting. "Guess who my blind date was today?"
I asked, curious. Zoe sighed. "It was that notorious playboy, the second son of the Cole family—Lincoln Cole."
I’d heard of him; he was in the same social circle.
"How did he end up with you?"
Normally Zoe’s mom wouldn’t set her up with someone like that. Zoe said, "Who knows? My mom probably doesn't realize. He’s really good at putting on a show; to adults he looks respectable."
"What did he do?"
"He came with a woman—definitely a runway model—sat right across from me. They were all over each other. It was so gross I nearly threw up."
That was outrageous. "And you? Did you do anything?"
Zoe sighed again. "I told him off and left."
Told him off?
I probed, "What did you say?"
Zoe sounded perfectly righteous. "I told him to go to hell."
Me: "…"
Of course it was her.
When I got to my doorstep I hung up, thanked Assistant Tian, and went inside—only to run into Cora, who was about to head out.
She jumped when she saw me, panic all over her face. Before I could say anything, she bolted.
Me: "…"
Was she running to meet the reaper?
Honestly, even though I’d passed along all my best schemes to my dad over the years, I never imagined he’d use them so expertly—and with such flair.
Facing my mom’s suspicious, slightly scared look, I honestly didn’t know how to explain.
"Um… Mom, I think… Dad might be… into you…"
The words froze her face.
I felt a bad vibe. Sure enough, she sneered next: "A toad wanting swan meat."
Me: "…"
Thinking about Gregory’s looks and status, I was skeptical. "Mom… who are you calling a toad?"
She rolled her eyes. "Who else? Tony Porter, of course!"
…Okay.
Then I watched my mom pull up her messages and send one under a string of unread replies: "Get lost."
Such a clean, single-word dismissal—very Hazel Bennett.
But that probably killed my little villa plan.
Almost instantly, my dad replied. My mom’s face turned even darker when she read it. I grabbed her phone out of curiosity. On the screen were a few big, bold words: "Baby, you really haven’t forgotten me, have you? I knew it!"
Me: "…"
I vaguely remembered those lines—they were classic examples from the dossiers I’d skimmed. So Dad just copy-pasted them verbatim?
Wow.
I watched my mom stomp out, phone in hand, furious. I could only light a candle for my dad in my head.
Hallelujah.
It’d been gray and gloomy for days and I’d been cooped up at home, eating and doing nothing, which made me stir-crazy.
I woke from an afternoon nap to clear skies and an overwhelming craving for hot pot.
I hadn’t had it in ages. Just the thought of spicy red oil made my mouth water, so I called Sasha.
"Hot pot? You in?"
Sasha replied without hesitation: "Let’s go."
Then I invited Zoe, and we agreed to meet at Four Seasons Hot Pot at four.
Four Seasons was a popular spot in Bailey City: rich, fragrant broths, fresh ingredients, and a quiet, slightly traditional Chinese decor.
I got there first and grabbed a window seat, ordering a split hot pot—Sasha doesn’t eat spicy, otherwise we'd have gone full red oil.
They arrived soon after.
We hadn’t hung out in a while, so once we sat down there was no shortage of things to say.
Zoe took a sip of iced juice, slammed her cup down, and started complaining. "Didn't I tell you about that weirdo? I told him off that day and left. The next day my mom and I ran into him again. He put on this whole charming act and even treated us to dinner!"
Wow.
"And then?"
I asked.
Zoe sighed. "Then, in front of my mom, he asked to add me on WeChat. What was I supposed to do? I added him. He's been trying to take me out every day, and I've been saying no. Honestly, if I wasn’t worried he’d tattle to my mom, I’d have blocked him already!"
Me: "…"
I’d actually looked into Lincoln Cole a bit. Handsome, charismatic, well-connected—clearly capable. He had an older brother who was an artist and didn’t care about business, so Lincoln Cole, despite being young, handled most of the family affairs.
Other than being a bit of a ladies’ man, he seemed flawless.
Sasha teased, "He’s gorgeous—you’re passing him up?"
Zoe waved her hand without thinking. "Fine—take him! If you can solve this mess for me, I’ll cover your perfume for life!"
…There was something almost magical about hot pot.
The weird thing about this place was that the moment you stepped inside, no matter how stressed you were, you’d forget it all — your burdens somehow felt lighter.
So we didn’t bother talking once the food arrived.
The specialty of the place was the beef.
It had a great chew, no gamey flavor, not greasy — we all loved it.
After the first plate hit the pot, the three of us attacked it like we'd starved, and in no time it was gone.
We had to order two more plates.
I took a breath, wiped sweat from my forehead and the tip of my nose, planning to slow down, when Hazel suddenly put her chopsticks down and said sadly, “I’m never meeting anyone in person again.”
Huh?
Zoe and I exchanged a look and instantly knew something was up.
Hazel shook her head. “The last matchmaking meet-up almost killed me.”
“Was he ugly? One of those catfish online?”
Hazel looked at me helplessly, eyes full of sorrow. “No. He was too young — like middle school young. Online he acted like this domineering little alpha, but in reality he was just a dramatic teenager. After we had milk tea, he insisted on paying and asked the staff if he could pay with QQ.”
My mouth nearly sprayed my drink.
Zoe burst out laughing until she had tears in her eyes. Hazel regretted, “I should’ve realized when he asked to meet at the arcade. Who an adult meets at an arcade? I let him trick me into about ten game tokens.”
I laughed so hard I thought I’d die; my stomach hurt. Hazel, seeing we weren’t sympathetic but mocking instead, got mad. “Can you two have a little empathy?”
Me: “…”
Hahahahahaha.
It took a long time for us to calm down.
Hazel said sadly, “I might never find love in my life.”
I was going to comfort her when my phone rang.
It was Ethan.
Oh no.
I hadn’t been out much lately, barely seen him, and I’d been bingeing dramas so I’d hardly texted.
He was definitely going to be mad.
Zoe saw my expression and was about to ask, but I shushed them both and answered.
“Hi, baby.”
Ethan didn’t speak. After a long pause he gave a flat “hm.”
Strike first, I thought, and quickly concocted an excuse. “I haven’t been feeling well, so I’ve been home. It’s been raining all day — so annoying.”
He asked, “Really? Are you home now?”
I gave a pitiful “mm-hmm.”
I thought I heard a small laugh, then suddenly he asked, “Is the hot pot good?”
!!!
What the hell?!
How does he know?!
No, he must be guessing!
I kept my cool and pretended ignorance. “What hot pot? I don’t know…”
Ethan cut me off softly. “I’m behind you.”
Behind… I twisted my neck and saw someone standing there… someone whose presence seemed wrong for the noisy hot-pot restaurant — elegant, composed, impossible to miss.
He’d been facing away. Now he slowly turned, and of course, it was Ethan.
He stood, took a long stride, and walked toward me.
“Come with me.”
Was there any room to resist?
Nope.
I gave my friends a pleading look. The two of them crossed themselves over their chests in unison.
Me: “…”
It was already dark; the streetlights were on.
I walked behind Ethan, unable to help myself. “Baby, how did you know I was there?”
He stopped, suddenly buried his face in my neck, then lifted his head and said, “Don’t go there anymore. Smells like hot pot.”
Don’t go?
Are you kidding me?
Hot pot is non-negotiable, but in this situation I didn’t have the luxury of saying no, so I nodded along.
“Okay, I won’t go.”
Ethan only relaxed when the car started. Then, out of nowhere: “You have time to eat hot pot but not to find me, huh.”
Here it comes.
Interrogation time.
How was I supposed to weasel out of this?!
A dozen excuses flashed through my mind and were dismissed. The only thing that might work was admitting fault and apologizing.
So I switched to beg mode. “Baby, I’m sorry. You know me — when I get into something I forget everything else!”
Ethan ignored me.
Sigh.
At the crucial moment, I remembered a tactic — retreat to advance.
I put on my best wounded look. “It’s always me reaching out. Why don’t you ever find me? Love should be mutual. I’m always the one running to you. I get tired too!”
Thank the internet, thank all the emotional captions I’d saved from content accounts — they gave me lines to spout in a crisis.
“You don’t even like me, do you?!”
The words barely left my mouth before the brakes squealed. The car pulled over.
Ethan turned his head to look at me. I felt nervous.
Had I gone too far?
As I hesitated, Ethan raised his hand and gently brushed his fingers across my cheek.
“You make a point.”
What?!
He doesn’t actually not like me, does he?
Relief flooded me. But then his gaze grew heavy — deep, endless.
He sounded a little regretful. “I should tie you to me.”
My face: “…”
“You’d be able to see me all the time.”
“Wouldn’t that make you not so tired anymore?” he added.
Me: “…”
Me: $&%#$¥～$%*@% As the old saying goes, distance tests a horse’s strength; time reveals a person’s heart. I’ve never questioned our ancestors’ wisdom — see? It’s proven true today.
Before this, I would have sworn up and down that sweet, soft little Ethan would never say something so dark and clingy.
And yet he said it with that dead-serious expression.
I almost burst out laughing.
Is that all?
Trying to scare me?
Do I look like a three-year-old?!
I wasn’t taking it seriously at first. I wanted to laugh, but his earnest face made me feel a little sheepish, so I held it in.
Give the guy some face.
So I said, “How about… we go back first?”
Ethan gave me a meaningful look, then acted like nothing had happened, started the car, his face calm and determined.
After a moment I couldn’t help asking, “How did you know I was there?”
Ethan didn’t even look at me. One hand on the wheel, he said casually, “That’s my assistant’s shop.”
Assistant… could it be Assistant Tian?
Oh, hell.
So that little bastard actually snitched!
I wanted to scold him rotten, but then something felt off.
“If they can run such a fancy shop, why are they your assistant?”
I couldn’t believe it.
Ethan glanced at me like it was obvious. “Hm? Fancy?”
Me: “…”
“The Tian family has been backing the Mercer family for years, always have,” he explained.
Me: “…”
I’d been so naive.
Turns out my Ethan is a big deal.
No wonder Zoe Parker and Janet were so scared of him, and Gregory Bennett didn’t dare slack off around him. Wherever Ethan goes, he becomes the center of attention. Even Heather—clever as she is—doesn’t dare mess with him.
The Mercer family’s foundation is that strong.
Mind blown.
Curious, I asked, “Babe, what exactly does your family do?”
Ethan replied lightly, “Business.”
Huh?
My family’s in business too — why aren’t we this impressive?
Maybe his business is just way bigger.
Whatever. It’s not my problem. All I need is to know Ethan’s powerful. If Heather ever tries to ruin me, I’ve got a protector.
This big limb? Gotta cling tight!
I tested him, “Babe, am I important to you?”
He smiled slightly at the corner of his mouth. “Depends on how you act.”
Depends on my behavior?
My chest sank. “Suppose I behave perfectly, but someone tries to kill me, maim me, then run me over — would you protect me?”
I couldn’t help the sigh. In the original story, Claire’s ending was exactly that tragic. I hoped history wouldn’t repeat.
Ethan frowned. “Why bring that up?”
“Just answer!” I urged.
Maybe I pushed him too hard — he gave a short, cold laugh and looked straight ahead, his voice dropping, “I’d like to see who’s got the gall to try.”
That was, without a doubt, the safest I’d felt since waking up in this novel.
I was so excited I rushed forward, cupped his face, and bit his cheek. Ethan looked mildly disgusted but said nothing.
“Babe, hearing you say that assures me. From now on I won’t worry about anything — do whatever you want, but you must be my steady shield!”
We drove through the Mercer gate. Ethan’s mouth curved slightly; he gave a soft “hmm.”
I was moved.
Very moved.
Extremely moved.
But moved or not, I still needed to ask, “So why did you bring me to your house?”
Ethan parked. A quick-footed staffer opened the car door; when I stepped out I saw Old Mister Mercer in the living room.
“Rosie,” he called with a smile and waved. I didn’t know why, but I waved back.
Ethan led me in. The old man looked at us and chuckled to the butler, “Look at these two — such a perfect match! My eye never fails me!”
The butler chimed in, “Yes, yes, Young Master and Miss Rosie really are made for each other.”
Me: “…”
Couldn’t he say Miss Bennett instead?
It sounded awkward.
The old man guided me to a seat and kindly said, “This rascal hasn’t told you why he brought you here, has he?”
Huh?
I shook my head. Was there really something important?
He shot Ethan a look, then explained, “Today’s this boy’s birthday. He never celebrates, but this time he insisted on inviting you—”
“Enough, let’s eat,” Ethan cut him off, a little uncomfortable. Watching them, I suddenly felt guilty.
I’d been awful.
Not only did I ghost Ethan, I didn’t even know his birthday. Earlier I’d been carefree eating hotpot with those two, almost forgetting about him. I wasn’t human!
I needed to make it right. I leaned in close to Ethan. “Babe, I’m sorry. I really messed up. Tonight we’ll celebrate your birthday together — I’ll make you the happiest kid in the world!”
Maybe because Old Mister Mercer was there, Ethan’s ears flushed pink. After a moment he said, “I know.”
Crisis averted.
I breathed out and saw the old man giving me a thumbs-up from across the room.
Well, that made it official.
I felt proud of myself.
It wasn’t too late. The kitchen had prepared a lavish dinner. I was glad I hadn’t eaten too much at hotpot — being called away saved my appetite. Otherwise I wouldn’t have been able to enjoy all this food.
Only the three of us sat at the table.
Because it was Ethan’s birthday, I made an extra effort to tend to him. As Old Mister Mercer recounted Ethan’s childhood stories, I listened raptly, finding him cuter and cuter. I wanted to kiss him right then, but there were people around, so I held back.
Sorry, Baby Mingheng—I'd tried to change the subject a few times, but Grandpa and I kept getting caught. In the end, he just gave up.
The atmosphere was warm and cozy, but I still noticed something off.
From Baby Mingheng's childhood through his teen years and into adulthood, Grandpa never once mentioned his parents.
Not a single time.
It was strange, but I knew you couldn't blurt something like that out. So I shoved the question down and pretended not to notice.
After dinner came the birthday cake. Since this was Baby Mingheng's first birthday we celebrated together, I was taking it very seriously—no shortcuts in ceremony.
When I saw the birthday hat, I froze.
It looked like gold—ornate, finely carved, delicate. Pearls and diamonds were set into it. It was ridiculously beautiful.
Kinda like a king's crown.
I asked the butler nervously, "This can't be real, can it?"
The butler smiled politely. "It is, ma'am."
"…"
Okay. Rich people's world is beyond my imagination.
Baby Mingheng resisted a little when I put the hat on him, but he couldn't win. He ended up wearing it.
He hardly ever looked like that. I snapped a few photos. Grandpa beamed, "He was like this as a kid!"
Baby Mingheng: "…"
Then it was time to make a wish and blow the candles.
His cake was two-tiered.
Small, but impeccably crafted—very appetizing.
I lit the candles and turned on the camera to record. He stared blankly and said, "Can we just eat it?"
Grandpa and I answered together: "No!"
I added, gleefully, "You have to blow the candles, and you have to make a wish before you blow."
Baby Mingheng: "…"
And then, almost immediately, the candles were out.
Me: "…"
"Did you make a wish?"
He looked at me and curved his mouth slightly. "I did."
…How do you prove a thing like that?
I hadn't even started singing "Happy Birthday."
To make up for it, I smeared a dollop of whipped cream on his cheek.
"Hahahahahaha!"
For a second his expression went blank—apparently he didn't know you could do that. He looked so oddly stunned I wanted to bite him.
"Are you happy today, Baby?"
He wiped the cream off, glanced at me with no real emotion and said, "Happy."
Me: "…"
By the time everything was over it was past nine.
Time to go, or I'd get scolded.
I said goodbye to Grandpa. "Grandpa, I'll go home now. I'll come see you another day."
Grandpa hadn't replied when Baby Mingheng, lounging on the sofa with his legs crossed, lifted an eyelid and asked coolly, "Where are you going?"
"Huh?"
I blinked. "Home, of course."
He snorted. "No need. I told your dad you won't be going back tonight."
???
He told him?
No wonder Mom hadn't called to nag; normally if I weren't home by eight there'd be hell to pay.
Grandpa also said, "Rosie, stay the night. I'm old—not like you young people. I'm going up to bed."
After he said that he got up and headed upstairs. The butler left too. The huge living room was suddenly just Baby Mingheng and me.
Stay the night… I couldn't help daydreaming… Did that mean sleeping next to him?
Sleeping in his bed, breathing his scent… ahhh, so embarrassing!
"Let's go."
Huh?
That direct?
I wasn't ready!
Baby Mingheng got up and walked upstairs. My heart hammered—part excited, part nervous—as I hurried after him.
On the third floor he opened a bedroom door.
"You sleep here tonight. Tomorrow you go out with me."
Whether we went out didn't matter. The important question was—"Where are you sleeping?"
He motioned to the room next to it.
"Here."
???
Wow. I was so wrong.
I thought staying at the Bennetts meant I could finally sleep beside the boy I daydreamed about, could flirt and maybe grope him a little. But when I saw the room, I realized I had been dreaming too big.
Tears slid down my swan-like neck, past my delicate collarbone and that showy king-level diamond necklace I was wearing today, finally landing on my C-cup chest.
"You're that cruel, Baby?"
The typically goofy, sweet, innocent Baby Mingheng had no sympathy today. He sneered, "Dream on."
Hmph.
I had misread everything.
I slammed the door in a huff and flopped on my bed, staring at the ceiling until my anger grew. Then I jumped up and jogged toward Baby Mingheng's room.
His door wasn't shut. I knocked a few times—no answer.
With my temper, why wait? I barged in.
The first thing that hit me was the minimalist black, white, and gray decor everywhere.
No excess, clean and decisive—just like him.
Very ascetic.
I walked around and heard water running from the bathroom.
Oh—he was showering.
My inner wolf boiled; I wanted to rush in and feast my eyes. But reason stopped me.
Stay calm. You'd scare him.
I took a deep breath, sat on the bed, pulled out my phone, and waited for him to come out.
In our little group chat, Zoe and Sasha had been talking—hundreds of messages I couldn't be bothered to scroll through—so I sent a question mark to say I was back.
Silence fell.
Confused, I got pinged by Sasha, who @'d me: "You're still alive?"
???
Zoe added, with sneering tone, "We were planning who sits where at tomorrow's banquet."
Me: "…"
No fucks given.
I was tired to my bones, but the sound of the bathroom door opening snapped me up. I looked up and froze: Baby Mingheng—no, Ethan—stepped out, hair still wet, half-naked.
A god has emerged from the bath!
I pressed a hand to my nose like I might start bleeding. He saw me and showed zero surprise. He didn’t comment—just grabbed a towel and casually dried his hair.
No doubt about it.
He’s totally seducing me.
I gave a wicked smile and drifted toward him. “I admit your cold-shoulder little act worked. It totally lured me in.”
Ethan glanced at me and ignored the rest.
Oh, pardon me.
I narrowed my eyes. “Heh. Men always say one thing and mean another. Don’t bother pretending—your eyes give you away.”
Ethan: “…”
“Wanting me is natural. Don’t hold back. Don’t care about what anyone thinks. Come on!”
Ethan: “…”
“If you even look at me, I’d drop an entire ocean for you.
Come on—crash into my life!”
Ethan: “…”
“Beauty, be mine. You have no choice.”
He paused what he was doing and was silent for a beat. “The door’s over there.”
Me: “…”
The more indifferent he acted, the more I wanted him.
I rolled up my sleeves like I was going to war. “Hmph! Today I will absolutely get you!”
With that I lunged at him, grinning like a maniac.
Ethan stayed perfectly calm.
Just before I tackled him, he gently put a hand against my forehead. “Don’t be dramatic.”
Dramatic? He thinks I’m playing?
Buddy, you underestimate me.
Dead serious, I declared, “I’m not playing. Today I’m definitely sleeping with you!”
Ethan frowned, then lowered his head with a little hurt look. “You don’t even plan to marry me. If you get me now and leave me later, I won’t have any way out.”
Whenever he said that, my heart melted every time.
My thoughts fogged out, common sense blown to the wind. All I saw was his dangerous, beautiful face. I yelled before I could stop myself, “Marry me! Marry me! I’ll only ever marry you! I swear!”
Ethan hesitated. “Really?”
“Yes! Really!”
I nodded so fast my head hurt, wanting to prove my sincerity then and there.
Ethan stroked my hair and smiled faintly. “Mm, that’s what you said.”
I pushed, desperate: “So can I sleep with you now?”
Ethan: “We’ll see after we get engaged.”
What?
We have to wait?
I deflated—but then, before I even processed it, he drew me in. His lips landed on mine, warm and sudden.
I was dizzy, and Ethan wrapped his arms around my waist like he’d done it a hundred times. We were so close I thought I felt something…no, just my imagination.
I panicked a little and tried to steady myself. The kiss deepened and took over my brain; I went blank again—until his hand at my waist slowly shifted. I shot up, eyes wide.
Something like a smile crossed Ethan’s face as he let go. Then he lightly nudged my nose and murmured, voice husky, “You were going to tackle me. Can’t handle it now?”
I didn’t know why, but my heart was pounding and I couldn’t form a word. He suddenly pulled me into his arms. Pressed against his chest, I could hear his strong heartbeat.
He sighed. “When will you understand?”
What is he talking about?
I drifted further into a haze. Then his voice, barely audible, cut through: “I can’t wait.”
I thought I’d imagined it.
Only when I stumbled, face flaming, legs weak as I floated back to my room did it hit me: was I just…reverse-teased?
Thinking about how different Ethan had been from usual made my ears burn.
Ahhh! No more thinking—sleep!
But I couldn’t fall asleep.
The next morning I padded downstairs with a wicked set of dark circles under my eyes. Grandpa spotted me and laughed. “Rosie, what did you get up to last night?”
I thought of how Ethan’s behavior had left me sleepless and annoyed, so I pointed at Ethan, who sat leisurely sipping coffee, and complained, “It was Ethan! He made me not sleep a wink!”
The living room went weirdly silent.
Grandpa and Butler (Mr. Hayes) exchanged a look and said nothing.
Only then did I realize how that sounded.
Before I could—Ethan calmly set down his cup. “Alright. Eat something and we’ll head out.”
I blinked. “Where?”
Ethan: “I’m going on a business trip to S City. You’re coming.”
In my experience, business trip = company-paid vacation. I nodded at once. “Okay!”
…I woke up from my daydream the moment the plane touched down.
I’d caught a little sleep and felt much more alive. Ethan led me out of the airport and someone was already waiting to pick us up. We climbed into a car and headed to a ridiculously luxurious hotel.
I assumed we’d check in, but Ethan bypassed the front desk and rode the elevator straight to the top floor. “You a regular here?” I asked.
Ethan, calm as ever: “This belongs to the Mings.”
Oh. Got it.
Stepping out, I realized my imagination wasn’t the only thing poverty-limited—so was my courage. I’d never seen a room like this.
Plush carpet, a huge balcony, even a private gym and a swimming pool.
I gaped. “How much is a night here?”
Ethan shrugged off his jacket. “This one’s mine.”
…oh boy.
I gave him a thumbs-up. “You’ve perfected the rich guy act. I’m impressed.”
Baby Mingheng ruffled my hair again and pinched my cheek. "What are you thinking about in that head of yours?"
After doing a full inspection of the room and getting all the photos and edits done, I happily posted on Moments.
Caption: "Financial independence feels amazing!"
Comments came in fast.
Zoe: Yeah, sure.
Sasha: Prop your pillow up when you sleep tonight.
Lonely Wolf: Don’t come home lately. If you’re not here, your mom’s attention is on me.
???
Rosie replied to Lonely Wolf: Aren’t you afraid my mom will see?
Lonely Wolf: Nah, she blocked me.
Me: "…"
Sensing these missions had been running into snags recently, I was about to call Grandpa Bennett to check in when a new WeChat popped up.
"Heh."
Who even is this?
The sender was saved as Goofball.
I couldn't place the name, and scrolling back through the chat I realized it was Ethan Mercer.
Why does this guy keep popping up to gross me out?
Stupid me for forgetting to block him.
I replied: "You damn goat."
Then I promptly blacklisted him.
So satisfying.
The night view outside the window was to die for.
Standing this high and looking down, I actually got a ridiculous, conquering-the-world feeling.
I took a cool sip of my 1982 calcium milk and told Baby Mingheng, "Behold the kingdom I’ve built for you!"
He didn’t even glance at me. He just asked, "What do you want to eat?"
Oh, for real.
That one sentence knocked me right off my pedestal.
Eating is hands-down the best therapy.
Especially when the hotel's food is actually delicious.
I was happy, enjoying our little two-person world—until the phone rang.
Assuming it was Mom or Grandpa Bennett, I didn’t even look. I ate a piece of braised pork and answered. The voice on the other end exploded, "Why did you block me?!"
Full of anger, indignation, and that superior, accusing tone.
For a second I had no idea who it was.
Then Baby Mingheng shot me a cold, quiet look. My brain switched back on.
Oh—him.
I was mad at myself. I’d only blocked his WeChat, not his number.
Normally I’d give him a piece of my mind, but with Baby Mingheng here, I didn’t dare. I hung up and immediately blocked the number.
Silence settled.
I figured I should clear things up, so I started, "Um—"
"My ex-fiancé?" Baby Mingheng cut me off. The way he said it was weirdly sarcastic, and hearing the words "ex-fiancé" through his teeth made me flinch.
Not good.
"Baby, I just forgot to block him! I really don’t like him! You don’t know how gross he is to me!"
I was pouring my heart out—no lies. But Baby Mingheng didn’t buy it. He sneered, "If you didn’t like him, why were you ever engaged?"
"It was when we were kids! From the start, you’re the only one I’ve ever cared about! And he’s engaged to Heather now—he’s got nothing to do with me!"
Baby Mingheng stared at me for a long time and finally turned his head away. "Not my problem."
Me: "…"
From what I know of him, that sounded pretty much like we’d stopped arguing and were back to normal. I breathed a sigh of relief, and suddenly realized we were sharing a room tonight. Was that…? I couldn’t help eyeing the one bed. If it came to that, would tonight be a life-changer?
I was nervous and excited. After showering, I asked Baby Mingheng, "Are we… sleeping together tonight?"
He said calmly, "Yeah."
What?!
Has he finally accepted that I’ll take his first time sooner or later?
This was a big step. I’d better seize the chance before he changed his mind.
I flopped onto the bed and struck my sexiest pose. "Come on, baby! I’m ready!"
Baby Mingheng walked over expressionless. My heart pounded faster and faster. When I thought it might actually leap out of my chest, he stopped at the bedside and said, "Move over there. Don’t touch me."
What?
Was he serious?
I blinked. "Huh?"
He repeated, "Over there."
So that night we did sleep in the same bed.
I was not happy.
The bed was huge and there was practically a galaxy between us.
Even the cowherd and the weaver girl have their bridge, but me? If I so much as scooched over, I’d get that sharp warning look.
After struggling a bunch, I gave up.
Fine—at least we were on the same bed. Small victory. I told myself I’d get him eventually and drifted off.
Sometime later, in a half-asleep fog, I felt someone touching my face—ticklish—and like I was trapped in a small space. I couldn’t move; everything felt like locked metal. I instinctively flailed and got a light, warning tap, and a low, hoarse voice whispered in my ear, "Don’t move."
Dangerous and rough.
Okay.
I didn’t move. I fell into a deeper sleep.
Early the next morning I woke up sprawled out, taking up almost the whole bed.
Baby Mingheng was already gone.
Did he leave because of how I slept?
Panic hit. It wasn’t that I didn’t trust our relationship—I just didn’t trust my own sleeping position.
I called him frantically.
He picked up almost immediately. I blurted, "Baby! Where are you?!"
Baby Mingheng was quiet for a moment, then said, "In a meeting."
Oh.
I glanced at the clock — it was almost eleven. Okay, fine, I did get up late.
After hanging up, I got up to wash up. Around noon, Baby Mingheng came back.
He asked, "Nothing this afternoon. Where do you want to go?"
That question hit me right in the heart.
I, Claire Rosie, may be hopeless at a lot of things, but when it comes to having fun, I am number one.
I gave Mingheng a mischievous grin. "Babe, have you ever been to an amusement park?"
He looked at me, puzzled.
Perfect.
At two in the afternoon we were standing at the gate of the park.
Mingheng scanned the rides and swallowed. "Maybe… we shouldn't do this?"
"Nope."
I vetoed him instantly. "You've never been to a theme park? Today I'm making up for your missing childhood!"
He still resisted, so I prodded, "What, are you… scared?"
Mingheng blinked, then offered a cool, aristocratic smile. "Scared?"
Great.
If we don't ride everything today, I'm not Claire the Goofball!
First up was the carousel. Mingheng thought it childish and embarrassing, but after I nagged he reluctantly climbed on.
He looked… rare. The more I watched, the more adorable he became. I softened completely, snapping photos and videos for posterity, and even sent a few to Grandpa Bennett.
Next was the Ferris wheel.
That one was tolerable. Mingheng kept a sour face the whole ride, but when we reached the top, I kissed him.
He was surprised. I told him, "They say if lovers kiss at the highest point in an amusement park, they'll be together forever."
He got this strange look in his eyes.
"Are you sure you want to be with me forever?" he asked.
Of course!
I nodded without hesitation.
His hand slid to my neck.
His fingers were long and delicate, the knuckles defined — unbearably handsome.
"Make sure you mean it," he said.
After that came the roller coaster, the pirate ship, the giant pendulum… each one more intense. Mingheng's expression got worse and worse. By the time we were about to enter the haunted house, he started to stall.
"I'm a little thirsty."
I glanced at a vending machine by the path. "I'll go get you a water."
"No, I'm hungry," he countered.
Ah — got it.
I winked. "You're not scared of ghosts, are you?"
He stiffened but didn't admit it. "No — let's go see a musical."
A musical my foot. I'd fall asleep for sure.
But seeing him like that, I let it slide.
I decided we'd go to the movies.
Yes — Mingheng had never been to a cinema.
There wasn't anything great out, so I picked something at random — Little Soldier Zack vs. Wild Boar Peppa — and we went straight into the theater.
It was packed. Mingheng frowned; obviously he wasn't used to it.
I patted his hand soothingly and fed him a piece of popcorn.
He looked at it, then ate it.
And the soda.
"Behold: the legendary junk-food happiness drink! Take a sip!"
He'd never drunk that stuff before, but I kept insisting until he tried it.
It felt like taking care of a kid.
As more people filled the room, he asked, "Why do you like places like this?"
I said, "Other couples date like this. It's ordinary life."
He lowered his gaze at me. "You like ordinary life?"
I shot back, "You don't?"
He studied me for a long beat, then said, "I don't like it. But I like being with you."
Wow!
That line made my heart race. If it weren't such a public place, I'd have tackled him right then.
But once the movie started, I was completely absorbed.
I expected garbage, but it turned out surprisingly good.
Afterward I was still dazed. Mingheng watched me and suddenly asked, "You like this kind of thing?"
I wiped at my eye and nodded. He stared at me silent for a long moment.
We stepped out of the theater and my phone rang. I saw it was Dad.
Was he calling because he was worried about his precious daughter?
Touched, I answered. Instead, Dad was panicked: "What do I do? Your mom blocked my seventh burner number today!"
I: "…"
Because of Grandpa Bennett's sudden family chaos, Mingheng and I didn't get to play more — we had to cut the date short.
After a rushed goodbye to him, I hurried home. But instead of some explosive scene, the house was eerily quiet.
No one was home.
I called Mom; it rang and rang. Frustrated, I called Grandpa Bennett.
He picked up.
"Dad, why isn't Mom answering?"
He was annoyingly calm. "Oh, your mom joined a new dance troupe. She's probably out dancing."
"…"
"What about you?" he asked.
I told him.
He assumed, "Of course I'm at the office."
"…"
"Why did you call me like it was an emergency?" he said after a beat.
He paused, then said, "I was anxious at the time, but telling you calmed me down, so I'm fine now."
???
For this infuriatingly unreliable family, I had no words. I dropped my bag and flopped on the couch.
After a few rounds of cards to kill time, I heard movement at the door. I thought Mom had come back and craned my neck — instead, Cora Porter walked in.
She looked just as surprised to see me.
"You scared me to death! Why do you look like a ghost?!"
She clutched her chest and glared.
I rolled my eyes. "Maybe you're the thief feeling guilty."
Cora froze for a second, cursed "psycho," and stomped back upstairs. Watching her retreating back, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something’s been off with her lately.
But exactly what was off? I couldn’t say. After all, I’m not a mind reader.
Around five in the afternoon I woke up and realized Mom was back.
She was cleaning the living room. When she saw me come downstairs, she sounded a little put out: "Why are you home so early?"
I forced myself to ignore the obvious dislike in that sentence and went straight to the point. "Mom, what’s going on between you and Dad?"
She blinked. "What do you mean, what’s going on?"
She sat down on the couch, crossed one leg over the other, and said, "Well, he’s been harassing me nonstop. I couldn’t take it anymore, so I called the police."
What?
Called the police?
My jaw nearly dropped. Mom sounded very regretful. "At first the cops were taking it seriously, but when they found out it was your father, they just said it was a family matter and wouldn’t get involved."
I: "…"
"So I had no choice. I blocked him."
I: "…"
That level of catastrophic failure was not what I expected.
I’d assumed my strategies had proven successful—especially with my campaign for Baby Mingheng—but this time maybe my tactics didn't apply, or the circumstances had shifted. Either way, a total loss this time was both surprising and, in hindsight, not entirely unexpected.
We needed a new plan.
If this keeps up, my little villa is screwed.
I texted Dad right away to tell him Mom was home and to get back. He replied with just one character: "Okay."
Twenty minutes later I heard his car pull up.
I glanced at Mom—calm as you please—while Dad tiptoed inside and nervously peered at her face. I suddenly felt sorry for him, like he was hopelessly inept.
Sigh.
I hurried him outside to rework the plan. The moment he left, Mom went back to CEO-mode: "You sort it out. I didn’t raise you to eat for free."
Me: "…"
Fine. For the villa, I will endure.
We agreed the previous licking-the-floor approach wouldn’t work on her. Step one now was to get Mom to unblock Dad on WeChat.
I told him my idea, though he sounded uneasy. "Will this really work?"
I patted my chest with overblown confidence. "Trust me. It’ll absolutely work. As long as you’re willing to spend, Mom will agree."
Yes—money strategy it is.
Based on everything I know about Hazel Bennett, this will work.
Sure enough, that night after I finished a video call with Baby Mingheng, Dad proudly messaged, "Your mom unblocked me!"
I figured as much, but I still asked, curious, "How much did you spend?"
He sent over a string of numbers.
For a second I felt a weird twinge of jealousy toward Hazel.
Bad. Bad. I quickly scolded myself.
Jealousy makes people ugly.
Besides, my goal is the little villa—this sum is peanuts.
Settling my mindset, I started coaching Dad again. "No more bootlicking. That doesn’t work on Mom. Based on my analysis of her weaknesses and our recent success, we’re switching to the money tactic."
"First, figure out what she likes—bags, clothes—then indulge her in the biggest way possible. Every day of the year, find an excuse to send a red envelope or a gift. I refuse to believe she can keep saying no!"
Dad replied, "Fine. But if this fails again, don’t show up in front of me. Save me the trouble and stay away."
Me: "…"
That put pressure on me. If this fails, I won't just lose the villa—I won’t have a home to go to at all.
I poured out my misery to Baby Mingheng, but he was unruffled. He offered a perfunctory condolence and then casually said, "If we get married, you can just live at my place. You wouldn’t have to worry about all this."
True enough, but something about that made me uneasy.
I was bored one day and was chatting with Zoe when she started complaining about a guy named Lincoln Cole. Her family’s been doing business with his family lately, so she’d been running into him more often. The way she described their interactions felt straight out of a rom-com—teasing enemies-turned-lovers energy.
Of course I didn’t say that. I switched on my top-tier half-listening mode: "Ugh, why is he like that?"
"That’s so over the line!"
"It’s okay, it’s okay—this will pass. Just block him when it’s over."
My stock responses calmed Zoe down. I actually felt a little proud—this should be a book! Titles like The Art of Faking It and The Bootlicker’s Guide came to mind.
Just as I was about to hang up, she said, "Oh—I just remembered. Yesterday Sasha said she saw your family’s mistress’ mom at the Luxford Hotel. It was so hot, but she was all masked and sunglasses and wrapped up. Something didn’t seem right. Be careful, don’t get fooled."
I was about to keep pretending not to care, but that comment hit me like lightning. Suddenly everything snapped into focus.
Could it be that Mom’s been sneaking off to hotels?
"Did she get photos?" I asked quickly.
Zoe said no. I felt disappointed, hung up, and started turning it over in my head.
There’s definitely something fishy going on.
I pulled out my phone, looked up the hotel's location, and saw it wasn't far. I decided right then to stake it out. If that woman was plotting to frame Mom and me again, we might actually end up with the same ending as in the novel.
This couldn't be handled sloppily.
So for the past few days I kept a close eye on Cora's comings and goings. But whether she’d gotten suspicious or for some other reason, she’d hardly left the house lately. Meanwhile, Heather and Ethan’s wedding date kept approaching.
August first—into the fall already.
Heather’s career was booming now; she really was a career woman. Maybe because she was so busy, I hardly ever saw her anymore.
Fine by me. I just hoped she’d completely forget about someone like me—and my mom, too.
I did wonder whether Ethan’s parents had accepted Heather yet.
If they hadn’t, holding the wedding now would be awkward.
It had been raining for days, the temperature had dropped, and I’d learned my lesson last time. Even while tailing Cora I didn’t slack off keeping in touch with Baby Mingheng. Whenever we had time we’d call; even during meals we didn’t stop.
That night at the table I was on the phone again, though my mom shot me countless warning looks. I had no choice but to hang up.
“Baby, I’ll call you back in a bit, you hang up. Love you!”
Baby Mingheng said “Mm,” then: “You hang up first.”
Me? How could I hang up?
“No, you hang up first.”
“You hang up first.”
“Nooo, you hang up!”
“You hang up first.”
…
After this went on forever my mom had had enough. With a dark look she demanded, “Hand it over!”
She snatched my phone and mercilessly hung it up.
Dad lowered his head and muttered, “Serves you right.”
Me: “…”
After dinner Dad came over all secretive with something in his hand and presented it to Mom on the sofa. Mom looked puzzled as he handed over a beautifully wrapped box. “Fifth day of rain anniversary,” he said.
Mom: “…”
Me: “…”
An anniversary for rain… I have to admit, Dad’s moves were bold.
I glanced at Mom expecting her to scoff and refuse, but she peered at the box with a sidelong look and, all seriousness, said, “Well, since you put thought into it, I’ll reluctantly take a look.”
Then, putting on a regal, cool expression, she opened it. Inside was an obviously expensive necklace.
Set with diamonds—a huge diamond.
It nearly blinded me.
For a second Mom’s lips lifted into a visible smile, but seeing Dad and me watching, she quickly composed herself and said with restraint, “Hmm. It’ll do.”
I looked green with envy, eyes glued to that giant stone, and blurting out before I could stop myself: “Mom, if you don’t like it you can give it to me. Don’t make yourself uncomfortable…”
My mother shot me a look that was all warning, sharp as a blade, and I flinched.
She then sauntered up to the second floor, leaving just Dad and me staring at each other in the living room.
After a moment I broke the silence. “Dad, that was the right move.”
He nodded. Thinking of the price tag made my chest hurt and I sighed, “But it’s so expensive. If you keep this up we’ll end up penniless.”
Dad glanced at me calmly. “Money is just an external thing.”
My eyes lit up. “So buy me one too?”
Dad: “…Get lost.”
Me: “…”
So this is the cruelty of life?
I’m exhausted (already turning dark).
After several rainy days, the sky finally cleared that afternoon.
I put on the new outfit Mom had snagged on sale yesterday, spent an hour getting ready, and planned to go see Baby Mingheng.
Heading downstairs, I saw Cora—out and about at last.
Oh, finally! I’d caught her.
I abandoned my plan to see Mingheng and trailed her without thinking.
I wanted to see what this woman was up to.
After a short walk she hailed a cab. Afraid of losing her, I hurriedly waved down the taxi right behind hers.
“Driver, follow that car.”
He turned and stared at me like I’d lost my mind. “What’re you doing? Filming a movie?”
The car ahead made the turn and disappeared. Panic rising, I snapped, “Doesn’t matter, just follow them!”
The driver fell silent, stomped on the gas—and then slammed on the brakes.
I watched the traffic light and the vanished Cora and felt my hopes sink. “If you talked less, we’d have made the light.”
The driver unhurriedly pulled out his phone. “Don’t worry. That car ahead is my friend’s. I’ll call him, tell him to slow down. Wait here.”
What…?
There was that move?
Before I could reply he called someone, spoke a quick string of dialect I didn’t understand, hung up, and looked at me with a grin. “Done!”
I secretly gave him a thumbs up. Old pro, for sure.
When the light turned green we surged forward and soon I could see Cora’s car again.
Relief flooded me. Judging by the route, she was definitely heading to the Valenca Hotel. I felt a rush—this was it. I could sense a big scoop.
No wonder people loved being paparazzi.
One word: thrilling.
The car finally stopped at the Valenca Hotel.
The driver—nonstop chatter the whole ride—kept yammering but I barely heard him. I was fixated on the front.
Cora got out and looked around cautiously—I was even more convinced she was up to something. Just in case, I pulled a wrinkled mask from my bag and put it on, then pulled a black baseball cap down over my head before paying and getting out.
As I left, the driver cheerfully called, “Come again!”
Ugh.
Come again? With a driver that chatty, it’d be best if I never saw him again in my life.
I walked toward the hotel with my phone in hand, ready to snap photos or record video at any moment. Cora didn't go to the front desk—she headed straight for the elevator. Perfect: the elevator was crowded, so I pulled my hat low and slipped in, keeping my head down to blend. Cora didn't notice me. She rode up to the thirteenth floor and only got off then; I trailed her quietly. We ended up in front of a room door. She paused, looked around, and I ducked into the corner, hiding—one heart-stopping near-miss avoided.
Pretty soon, someone knocked. I took a deep breath and peeked out. A man opened the door.
Oh my god.
That was a lot to process. I nearly died on the spot.
Cora… that wild?
My phone camera had been on the whole time and I hadn't taken a single photo. Given my skill level, not being discovered while tailing her was already a miracle. The nice, neat photo evidence I'd imagined? Yeah, that was beyond my abilities.
Still—I couldn't just leave it at that.
I looked around, slipped back to the room doorway, and took a picture of the door number.
1308.
At least I could say I'd been there.
Going downstairs, my mood was complicated.
I couldn't even bring myself to read the messages from Mingheng—or reply. After watching my own dad get cheated on with my own eyes, I felt numb.
There wasn't exactly airtight proof, but a man and a woman checking into a hotel together is pretty damning for two adults. It's not like they were there to play board games.
Besides, this wasn't Cora's first time at that hotel. Considering all the odd things she'd done lately, I was increasingly convinced: Dad was being cheated on.
Ugh.
This kind of thing is so awkward. How do I tell Dad?
I stepped out of the hotel and stared at the busy street. For the first time, I felt completely lost.
After a while I calmed down and opened my phone. Mingheng had sent multiple messages, the last of which were just a line of ellipses. Seeing those six dots made my stomach drop—I might be in real trouble.
I called him right away. The phone rang for a long time with no answer. I hung up and called again.
On the third try, his voice came through, "What are you doing?"
"Oh!" I rushed to explain. "Baby, something happened. I'm coming over right now!"
He sounded flat: "It's okay. Even though you promised you'd come see me, if you really don't want to, it's fine. I'm not that important…"
I: "…"
I couldn't delay. I hailed a cab and rushed over. Twenty minutes later I arrived at Mingheng's company. The front desk girl recognized me and greeted me cheerfully.
It was just after four. Mingheng got off work around six. I took the elevator straight to the top floor. Assistant Xiaotian still wore the same polite smile. "Ms. Bennett."
I don't forget things—especially when someone tattled on me last time. I gave him a look, no words, then scoffed and walked on.
Hmph.
Inside the office, Mingheng was working and didn't even look up. He was definitely mad, so I switched into full sugar mode. "Baby! I missed you so much!"
He didn't look up. Coldly: "You missed me so much you could be this late?"
Well, at least he could talk—so he wasn't completely furious.
I went over, pushed aside the files and laptop in front of him, and plopped down on his desk. I sighed. "Something really happened today."
He absentmindedly smoothed my messy hair. "What happened?"
I hesitated. Family scandals are private, and this involved Dad's dignity. But if Mingheng was the kind of person he was—maybe I could tell him.
So I came clean. "Heather Collins—do you know her?"
He looked at me like he was somewhere else, then finally said, "No."
Me: "…"
"Wasn't she the main girl at that engagement banquet the other day?" I prodded.
He: "Forgot."
Me: "…"
No choice. I pulled out the big gun. "She's my dad's side wife! You know about that!"
Mingheng nodded. "Yeah. I know."
Relief flooded me.
"Today I saw her checking into a hotel room with a man."
He: "Oh."
…?
"You're not going to say anything?"
He: "What am I supposed to say?"
Me: "…"
His reaction left me completely unsatisfied. This was huge news—why so calm?
"Why aren't you even interested?"
He didn't answer. His fingers—callused at the edges—softly brushed my skin and stopped at my lips.
Then, impatient, he pressed a fingertip across my mouth. I was about to ask what he was doing when he parted my lips slightly and, silently, slipped his finger inside.
Wow.
I blinked, stunned. We stared at each other. His eyes were full of warm smiles and a raging tide I couldn't read.
He said, "I'm only interested in you."
Me: "…"
As the saying goes, when a man gets flirtatious, women don't matter. Like my Dad, like… Mingheng.
But this was not the moment. I pushed his hand away and tried to be serious. "Stop it. I'm telling you something important."
Thinking about the problem made me anxious. "It's bad if I tell Dad, but it's worse if I don't. What should I do?!"
Mingheng raised an eyebrow. "Afraid of what? Do whatever you want. If something goes wrong, I'll take care of it."
Huh?
Did that mean… he'd cover for me?
"Are you serious?"
He walked to the window, turned to the city like it barely concerned him, and calmly said, "Mm."
Just that one word, and I immediately relaxed.
It wasn’t that I was really worried Grandpa had been cheated on — these days who hasn’t got a little green on their head? What truly scared me was whether Cora would team up with that hotel’s old Mr. Wang and cook up some scheme against Mom and me. After all, TV shows are full of those tricks. If something sudden happened, we’d be finished.
But with Baby Mingheng’s promise, I felt a lot safer. No need to spiral — I just needed to handle the first problem.
A little hint to Dad, worded carefully, and it’ll be fine, right?
Dad usually comes home around five in the afternoon. It was almost five, so I needed to get home, fill Mom in, and figure it out together.
I didn’t waste time. I hopped down from the table, ran over to Baby Mingheng, stood on tiptoe and kissed his chin, then walked out without looking back. “Sweetie, I’m heading out. I’ll come back another day.”
I left before hearing him answer and ran into Assistant Mike outside. I hummed and kept going.
Yes, me — Claire Rosie — I’m the kind of person who holds grudges.
I got home quickly. Mom was in the kitchen making dinner; no sign of Cora. I didn’t know if she’d come back.
I sidled up and whispered in Mom’s ear, “Mom, is Cora back yet?”
She was washing vegetables and jumped when she heard me. Seeing it was me, her face changed and she scolded, “Are you stealing? What Cora?”
Her booming voice cut through the kitchen… I panicked and almost covered her mouth, but then she added, “She isn’t here! Lately she’s barely home. Who knows what she’s up to… Why are you looking for her?”
Under Mom’s suspicious, threatening look, I thought of poor old Gregory and sighed.
“Mom, stop washing. I have something important to tell you.”
She looked at my expression and guessed trouble. Her face changed; she dropped the veg, wiped her wet hands on her apron, and said, “Go on.”
I cut to the chase. “Mom, Dad’s been cheated on!”
She froze, then furrowed her brows in disbelief. “…What?!”
I could understand why it was hard to accept. I started to explain when she suddenly blurted, panicked, “But I didn’t do anything!”
???
What the heck?
This old lady was definitely jumping to conclusions.
I stared, dumbfounded. Watching Mom’s shocked, anxious expression made me weirdly amused.
She grabbed my arm, voice trembling. “Daughter, I’m innocent, you have to believe me. I spend my days doing housework and going to the community dance group. There aren’t even old men in the new troupe—where would I have an affair? If you don’t trust me, I’ll have to prove it with my life!”
She finished and turned for the kitchen knife on the cutting board. My blood ran cold. I grabbed her arm hard and shouted, “Mom! I didn’t mean you! I mean Cora! Cora is the one cheating!”
Mom froze, then slowly turned and stared at me with wide eyes. “What’s going on?”
I wanted to laugh but this wasn’t the time. I took the knife gently from her hand and said, “Haven’t you noticed Cora hardly goes out? It’s weird. I saw her go out this afternoon and followed her. Guess where she went?”
Mom asked, anxious, “Where?”
“The hotel. Valenca Hotel. Room 1308. There was a man inside.”
She repeated, “A…man?”
Then she looked worried and asked urgently, “You weren’t seen, were you? From experience, knowing too much can get you killed. I’m worried the two of us will end up like the characters in the book!”
Why worry about that?
I gave a confident smile. “Don’t you know your daughter? With me on it, how would anyone find out?”
Mrs. Hazel didn’t answer, but her doubtful look made her distrust obvious.
I didn’t bother to argue. I checked the time — Dad should be home soon — and said, “Mom, I think we should tell Dad about this no matter what.”
She sighed. “How do you even say that? What if your father can’t take it?”
I: “……”
As a CEO-type, Gregory Bennett wasn’t going to be ruined by this. Right now he was all over Mom; where was Cora in his eyes? At worst he’d be embarrassed. For men, pride is everything.
After some planning, we came up with what we thought was the best approach.
Time was tight, so we split tasks. Mom handled dinner and I called Dad to probe.
He didn’t pick up — probably busy — so I texted asking when he’d be home. Five minutes later, he replied, “Out getting your mom a present; I might be late.”
I teared up.
So a billionaire can be charming when he’s romantic.
Hearing that made me feel even more for him. I told Mom the news, thinking it might boost her feelings for him and speed up their romance — then I could get the little villa sooner.
But Mrs. Hazel was flipping vegetables with the spatula, unfazed. She only said flatly, “Oh.”
…That it?
Dinner finished, and we waited a good ten minutes before Dad’s car finally arrived.
Mom and I were both on our phones. When a car horn sounded outside, we both jolted and glanced at each other.
So nervous.
She whispered, “Rosie, even when we transmigrated I wasn’t this scared.”
I nodded.
Dad came in, carrying a branded shopping bag. He handed it to Mom when he saw her. “For the first day the company’s stock dropped.”
Me: “……”
Maybe my mom felt sorry for Dad — the woman who never gave him a kind look actually accepted the gift this time, and for the first time ever said, "Thank you."
As an onlooker, I clearly saw the disbelief and excitement in Dad's eyes.
He looked at me and, while Mom turned away, secretly gave me a thumbs-up.
I almost felt bad spoiling it for him.
My goofy green-tinged dad — this whole thing is out of pity!
My mom wasn't moved by you, okay?
Strutting in like he'd just won a battle, Gregory came to the dining table and froze when he saw the dishes.
After a moment he asked, puzzled, "Why is everything… vegetables? And… green?"
Mom and I exchanged glances and didn't dare speak.
Gregory looked everything over again, "No meat?"
I forced a smile and served him a plate of those healthy greens. "Dad, eat more greens. They're good for you."
He frowned. "I want meat."
How could he not get it?
Had our subtle hints failed?!
I had to be clearer. "Dad, actually we prepared tonight's dinner especially for you. Guess what it means."
That sparked his interest. "Oh?"
He put down his chopsticks and got serious. "Then I must guess."
Half an hour later, he still hadn't guessed. Not even close.
My patience hit the limit. I blurted out, "Dad! You've been… red-orange-yellow-green-blue-purple-ed!"
Dad: ???
"I mean… take the middle—"
I tried weakly.
Still no clue. Finally Mom, who'd been silent, exploded, "How are you so dense?! The middle is green. You've been greened!"
Dad froze.
Mom wouldn't let it go. "Listen carefully. You've been greened!"
Me: "…"
A few seconds of silence passed. Mom and I hadn't relaxed yet when Dad's eyes suddenly sharpened and cut over to Mom.
She flinched so hard she almost fell out of her chair, babbling, "Do-do-Do-Do-Donny… save me, pleeease…"
I was stunned too.
I'd never seen Dad like this.
So this is what a CEO's wrath looks like?
They say a dying camel is still bigger than a horse — no matter what, my father is a CEO. When his aura rises, ordinary people really can't handle it.
Luckily I'm not ordinary.
Though terrified — my words stuttered, my legs trembled, sweat beaded on my forehead — nothing drastic happened.
"Dad… it's not that Mom cheated… it's… your…other woman—"
My heart leapt.
Like getting a second life handed back to me.
Good. Not Mom cheating. Otherwise, given the mood, we would've been finished.
I silently crossed myself at my chest. Hallelujah.
Cora — no matter what, we've had our moment. Don't worry, I'll be there to see you off when the time comes.
We'd braced ourselves for the CEO thunderclap. But after I finished, Dad's expression blanked for a moment, then smoothed back into that same calm look, and he even crossed his leg with an air of elegance.
What on earth?
Mom glanced at me in confusion. I swallowed and, gathering nerve, asked, "Dad…"
Dad kept staring at the green spread for a long beat before finally lifting his head.
He took a satisfied sip of water and said, "Mm, I get it."
Huh?
Is it over already???
I could not have predicted his composure.
A normal man, seeing he'd been cheated on, would at least be upset. But Dad acted like nothing had happened — even mildly pleased?
Had he been broken by the blow?
Mom shot me a look; she clearly thought he was insane too. I swallowed and couldn't help but say, "Dad, if it's bothering you, you can cry. Men crying isn't a crime…"
He shook his head. "What are you talking about? Let's eat first."
Me: "…"
After that truly green meal, our house returned to its usual calm. Dad went upstairs to work as if nothing had occurred. I finally broke the surface peace and asked, "Dad, what do you plan to do? You can't walk around with that on your head forever."
He said, "I'll handle it."
Fine. The person concerned said it — I had no reason to interfere. I could just sit back and watch.
That settled, I felt much lighter, the burden on my shoulders lifted.
Mom went off to her community dance group, leaving me scrolling short videos in the living room.
Since I hadn't been out much lately, I decided to ask Zoe and Sasha to go shopping tomorrow. Sasha said she was busy, so I called Zoe. Usually so straightforward, she started hemming and hawing. "Um, I might not be able to tomorrow… I'm out right now…"
Huh?
"Are you alone? When did you go out?" I asked.
A pause. "I'm with that Lincoln Cole… but it's a business trip! Purely work, okay? Don't overthink it!"
I: "…"
I wasn't trying to overthink, but her coyness was suspicious. Classic drama trope… For a moment I even found myself imagining names for their future kids.
I was about to go upstairs to shower when Cora slipped in through the door all sneaky-like.
I felt like teasing her, so I said, "Where've you been? Why are you only back now?"
Then I muttered, "Looks like you've been like this these past few days…"
Cora's face changed instantly. She glared at me and snapped, trying to sound fierce but actually trembling, "Mind your own business!"
Ugh.
I didn't bother arguing. Now that Gregory knew, her good times were probably numbered.
That thought made me smile.
And judging by how things are going now, Mom and I definitely won’t end up like in the original novel.
Good.
After that, I stopped paying much attention to Cora’s business.
Days went by, and Heather’s wedding was approaching. That day I was at Baby Mingheng’s house playing five-in-a-row with Grandpa when he suddenly asked out of the blue, “Rosie, have you talked to that brat about setting a date yet? I’m old — I want to hold a big, chubby grandchild soon!”
I thought, but Baby Mingheng won’t even let me touch him — where’s the grandchild coming from? Still, it felt like maybe it was time to get engaged. After all, Mingheng had said you can’t win him without an engagement.
So one day I brought up engagement with Mingheng while he was typing. His fingers paused on the keyboard. He slowly looked up at me and asked, “Engagement?”
Yes.
I nodded.
Mingheng stared at me for a long moment, then turned back to his work and said, “Whatever. I’m not in a hurry.”
Me: “….”
Okay. From what I know about him, he was just being tsundere again.
The weather cooled, and Heather’s wedding drew closer. She seemed to care a lot about the ceremony — everything was personally overseen by her, and Ethan had no say. She even redesigned the wedding dress a dozen times before finally accepting a version.
I was still drifting through my days, sleeping, scrolling my phone, or teasing Mingheng. Dad was still trying to win Mom over with flashy gifts. One afternoon I went into Mom’s room and nearly got blinded by all the designer bags, jewelry, cosmetics, and clothes.
Jealousy twisted my face. “Mom, can I get some of that?”
She said, “Get lost.”
Me: “….”
That afternoon, Heather unexpectedly came home.
I wondered what was up, then saw Greg come in after her.
Now I honestly had no clue.
Greg set his briefcase down and said calmly, “There’s something going on. Let’s have a meeting.”
That told me everything — there was definitely something.
I didn’t breathe loudly. I sat obediently on the sofa.
Mom shot me a look and sat down beside me.
For a moment, the house was silent.
Once everyone was in place, Greg finally sat, crossed one leg, and said, “I’ve recently found some things.”
People exchanged glances.
I had a hunch what Dad was going to say. The next second, he pulled a few photos out of his folder and slapped them down in front of Cora.
I saw it was proof of Cora going into a hotel with that man.
Whoa.
Dad was dropping a bomb in the quietest way possible.
Cora went pale. Heather stared, unbelieving. “Dad, this can’t be! It can’t!”
Greg smiled faintly. “Why not?”
At that moment my admiration for Dad surged like a river. Of course — a CEO even when betrayed still kept his dignity.
This scene was deliciously entertaining. I couldn’t help grabbing a handful of sunflower seeds and starting to crack them.
Mom glanced at me and silently reached out her hand for seeds.
Me: “….”
Heather really looked clueless, nearly hysterical, urging her mom to speak. “Mom, say something! Explain to Dad!”
Cora snapped out of it and began babbling, “Greg, you have to believe me. I had no choice. He forced me. Really—”
Greg, calm as ever, asked, “Is that so?”
It got juicier.
Mom and I watched anxiously. Greg tossed out another stack of documents. “Still going to deny it?”
There, glaringly obvious, was a marriage certificate between Cora and that man.
And there was no divorce.
So Cora was actually legally married to that man right now.
I was so stunned I couldn’t speak.
Heather was dumbstruck too.
The living room filled with the faint sound of Cora’s sobs… and the mindless crack-crack of Mom’s sunflower seeds.
I shot Mom a look. This woman, at a critical moment, is still cracking seeds?!
Mom caught my gaze and asked quietly what was wrong. I sighed and typed on my phone: “Act like a wife for Dad. Maybe you’ll get another designer bag if you play it right.”
Mom got it. She put the seeds down and rose with sudden bravado.
She marched over to Cora and, without hesitation, slapped her hard. “How dare you betray my husband?!”
Me: “….”
Dad: “….”
I saw Dad rub his forehead, annoyed, and pull Mom back to sit beside him. “Sit down.”
Mom shut up and sat.
I figured the drama was over — but Dad had another bomb.
He produced a paternity test. It clearly showed Heather was not his biological daughter.
I was dumbfounded. Heather’s hands trembled as she looked through the paper, whispering, “Impossible… impossible…”
I had no words. One explosive revelation after another hit so fast I was off guard. Dad really had all the aces.
This should be the end, he said. “I won’t press other charges, but tomorrow I’ll notify the media and lay everything out. You’d better leave the Bennett family before tomorrow night.”
Cora nearly fainted. Heather was frozen.
Mom and I didn’t say a word and slipped upstairs.
Only after we were upstairs did we breathe a sigh of relief.
I was about to say something when I saw Greg come out of his study with a gift box. He walked over to Mom and handed it to her. “Today’s present.”
Mom: “…what’s this commemorating now?”
Dad: "So… you’re saying I got cheated on?"
Me: "…"
Her—born poor, tortured by hardship, who at one point had to work as a hostess to make ends meet.
Him—heir of a wealthy family, a golden boy, handsome and suave, a famous young, capable, domineering CEO.
When fate’s gears spun too fast, they met at a business banquet.
Fragile like a little white rabbit, she… and cold, domineering him—what sparks could possibly fly between them? Welcome to Catherine Network’s exclusive new, big-budget rural-magical-romcom series "My Wife’s Name Is Shunliu: Sparkling Cora," delivering fireworks-level visual delight!
Ahem. That got dramatic.
But Cora’s story really is bizarre.
After two days of digging, I’ve finally pieced together the outline.
Cora first met Grandpa Gregory at a tycoons’ dinner.
At the time she was nothing more than a plain hostess.
Gregory was still young then—very handsome and a major CEO—so he wouldn’t have noticed someone like Cora.
But that night, the man who could usually hold his liquor got wasted—stone-cold drunk.
The next thing he remembers was blank. He woke up early the next morning, saw Cora crying and naked in his bed, and was completely floored.
I asked him, "How did this get so weird? Getting mysteriously wasted, then waking up in bed with her?"
Gregory took a slow drag of his cigarette, eyes narrowing a little. "They said I was drunk. I think someone slipped me something. And I’m sure I didn’t do anything."
Oh.
This calls for debate.
Whatever the truth, Gregory and Cora’s tangled fate was set.
After that, she kept showing up to remind him she existed—he couldn’t dodge her. Two months later, Cora came with a medical report claiming she was pregnant.
Awkward.
I couldn’t help asking again, "Are you absolutely sure you didn’t do anything?"
He gave me a sideways look. "I’m sure. But I’ll admit, for a while I wondered about myself."
Then Cora moved into the Bennett household.
Gregory wouldn’t marry a hostess—he was of marriageable age and got engaged to my mother. It was a match of equals, more or less.
Cora didn’t accept it.
She made a huge scene, but Gregory ignored her. Then, whether she’d lost her mind or read too many CEO novels, she did what female leads in those books do—she ran off while pregnant.
I was speechless. "Dad, how did you feel back then?"
He answered plainly: "I breathed a sigh of relief."
Me: "…"
He never went after her. She didn’t come back—no one knew where she went. The case was closed.
After marrying, Dad’s and Mom’s relationship was nothing special—no love. But twenty years later, Cora came back with a daughter.
By then Mom and I had only just transmigrated into this life. We freaked out when the heroine showed up and, in our eagerness, invited them to move in.
Dad said, "My original plan was to have them stay elsewhere, but you and your mother pushed so hard—like you couldn’t wait to have them in—that I had no choice."
Me: "…"
He continued, "But then I thought, since they’re staying, we might as well look into the old matter and close this chapter."
"She left—fine. But since she’s back, we need to get to the bottom of it."
So Dad quietly started investigating.
After Cora moved in, she was often caught sneaking money out of the house. She thought she could get away with it in a big family, but Dad had been wary from the start.
His digging showed the money went to an overseas account held by a man named Jason Zhang.
Dad followed the trail and what he found was explosive.
Jason Zhang turned out to be Cora’s childhood sweetheart!
They grew up in the same village and were married abroad.
Dad immediately ordered a DNA test. The result: Heather Collins is not his biological daughter.
Whoa.
I felt a thrill—goosebumps.
Continuing: Jason had a gambling habit and massive debts. Cora couldn’t take it, so she secretly returned, planning to leave him for good.
But back home with nowhere to go and no income, she decided to latch onto the ultimate rescuer—the CEO, Grandpa Gregory.
So she brought Heather from her hometown and presented her at the Bennetts’ door. Thanks to the push from Mom and me, she got to stay.
Jason soon tracked her down and started blackmailing her for money, threatening to tell Dad Heather’s true parentage.
Yes—Heather is Jason’s child. When Dad first met Cora, she was living with Jason and already two weeks pregnant.
Whatever happened that night, Dad really hadn’t done anything. Cora perhaps saw his wealth and schemed to climb the social ladder, staging the set-up.
As for why she ran off while pregnant, I think one reason was that Dad was determined to marry Mom, no matter what. Another reason: she panicked—afraid a paternity test at the baby’s birth would blow everything up. So she fled to Jason.
Jason, drowned in debt in the US, couldn’t survive there and returned home to dodge his creditors. Cora, under his threats, met him and handed over money repeatedly—until I caught wind of it.
Heather, having been raised apart from her mother, didn’t know any of this and naturally reacted strongly at the time.
The drama concluded.
I sighed, "So you really were innocent, Dad!"
He cleared his throat and looked over at Mom, who was knitting.
I immediately understood what he meant and raised my voice, "Dad! You’re innocent!"
It was almost coming out of my mouth.
My mom didn’t even look up. “If you’re sick, go get treatment.”
Me: “…”
With my mom acting like that, my little cottage was clearly still a long way off.
After all, a woman who’s been hurt by a man is hard to win over. Her heart had gone cold, like the knitting needle she held.
The next day, Heather and her mom moved out.
Even with her background exposed, Miss Heather still kept her arrogant posture. She sniffed at me, hatred written all over her face.
I said, “What are you staring at?”
Heather: “…”
I’m not usually the type to kick someone when they’re down, but beating a fallen dog is kind of my thing.
So I added, “From now on, should I call you Zara?”
That actually hit a nerve.
“Shut up!” she hissed, totally losing that frosty, regal act she always put on.
Pfft.
Before long, everyone in the circle knew about it.
Heather’s company took a huge hit; her standing in the business world fell fast—she’d been propped up by the Bennett family tree for so long.
Also, her engagement to Ethan was suddenly off the radar.
Rumor had it Ethan’s mom had forced him to break things off under threat of—well, you know, but Ethan wouldn’t listen. His father was so furious he almost disowned his only son.
I thought to myself, who knew that idiot could be so devoted?
Well, I sure couldn’t be outdone.
I texted Baby Mingheng at once: “Baby, everything at my house is settled!”
He replied in a second: “Okay.”
I wrote: “Baby, I’ll love you forever!”
He: “I don’t believe you.”
Me: “…”
That night I had a dream.
It was the system again. It said, “Your mission is complete.”
Hearing that didn’t make me happy—I panicked a little.
“You’re not going to send me back, are you?”
In these novels, that’s how it always goes: finish the mission, and back you go to wherever you came from. If I got sent away, what would happen to my Baby Mingheng?
Prepared to die refusing to leave, I ground my teeth, “Don’t even think about sending me back. Alive I’m Baby Mingheng’s, dead I’m Baby Mingheng’s ghost!”
The system: “…”
It snorted. “You’re thinking about peaches. Do you know what it costs to send someone back? I’m not some charity. Stay put.”
Huh?
“Really?”
The system, impatient, said, “Not wasting time lying to you.”
I asked, “Is there a reward for finishing the mission?”
It frowned. “What else do you want? I already gave you such a great family background and a boyfriend. You want more? Be grateful. In your old life, you’d never even get close to them in eight hundred lifetimes!”
Me: “…”
He wasn’t wrong, but why did it sting hearing it out loud?
“If I go, goodbye… no, never see you again!”
Me: “Yeah, go away.”
System: “…”
I got up early the next morning.
Dad wasn’t off to work yet. I peeked outside—nice weather, a little chilly since it was autumn. I rubbed my arms and was about to go back upstairs for another nap when Dad suddenly said, “We’ll have dinner with the Ming family today.”
Huh?
Me: “What?”
Dinner… together?
His decision was so sudden I was dumbfounded. “Really?”
“Of course.”
Dad looked perfectly matter-of-fact. “I’ll invite Mr. Ming this afternoon. The two families will have dinner and discuss the engagement.”
The surprise hit me like a splash.
I hurried upstairs to tell Baby Mingheng the good news.
He was calm. “I know.”
Me: “…”
Obviously my mom knew too—she started bustling around the house, making quite the production.
“How did you know?” I asked. Maybe she’d overheard me and Dad this morning?
She shot me a baffled look. “What do you mean how did I know? This was decided by your father and me.”
Well then.
They’d discussed it together—so their relationship had suddenly deepened, apparently.
Thinking about the little cottage not far away, I grinned. “Mom, are you starting to like Dad? Maybe a tiny little bit?”
She paused her chores, turned to face me, one hand on her hip, the other gripping a feather duster. “If you’ve got nothing to do, go play somewhere else. Mess with me again and I’ll smack you.”
With that stance, I didn’t push it. I slunk off.
It was still early, so I napped again. When I woke, it was already noon and Mom was calling me for lunch downstairs.
I went down and took in the refreshed house—props to Mom, she’d cleaned the whole place and still managed to cook.
In the afternoon, Dad messaged that the Ming family would come over at seven. There was plenty of time, so I planned to hang out a bit more.
I hadn’t talked to Zoe for a few days—no idea if she’d come back—so I called her.
“Are you home yet?”
Zoe stammered for a long time and didn’t really say anything. Instead I heard a distant male voice ask, “Who is this?”
Zoe answered, then lowered her voice. “I’ve got something going on here. I have to hang up. I’ll explain to you later, okay?”
And she actually hung up.
I stared at my phone a beat, then let out a cold laugh.
Explain? Is that even necessary?
Everything’s obvious—practically an announcement.
That guy? No need to guess—definitely Lincoln—no, his last name doesn’t matter, but it’s him. I always thought something was off between them; it’s clearly trending toward a rom-com plot, and now—of course.
I immediately called Sasha. When she answered, her voice sounded breathless.
“They’re sleeping. Why are you waking them?”
I cut to the chase. “Have you noticed Zoe acting weird lately?”
Sasha blurted, “Gained weight? I saw a photo a few days ago—maybe a little.”
Me: “…”
Sasha: "Anything else?"
Me: "No, you go back to sleep."
My gossip-sharing attempt had been thwarted, and I was a little annoyed.
Out of desperation, I thought of Baby Mingheng.
I sent him a sticker to test if he was busy. He replied quickly.
"What's up?"
My fingers flew over the keyboard. "Zoe and Lincoln Cole are together!"
After a long moment, Baby Mingheng sent a question mark.
Then he asked, "Who's that? Should I know them?"
Me: "…"
I'd forgotten he hardly knew anyone.
I sighed and replied, "Never mind, never mind. Go do your thing."
Baby Mingheng: "Mm."
Dad came home at five that afternoon.
I glanced at him. "You're home early today."
Dad gave me a look and frowned. "Why are you still like this? Haven't you washed your face?"
Haven't washed my face?
I protested, "I washed my face!"
Dad looked displeased. "The Mings will be here soon and you still haven't tidied up? What if you scare them off like this? You're old enough to know better!"
I thought it was ridiculous. "That's overdoing it… anyway, Mingheng likes me no matter what I look like."
Dad: "…"
In the end I couldn't argue with Dad. I obediently went upstairs, changed clothes, and put on light makeup.
It only took me half an hour. I walked out and froze—Mom, who never fussed over her looks, was dressed up like a graceful lady.
Dad came out of the room holding two shirts. "Which one, this or this?"
Mom pointed to the beige one, and Dad nodded and went back in.
The whole scene made me nervous.
Was this a royal audience?
I patted my mom's shoulder. "What are you two doing?"
Mom turned to me without answering and instead scolded, clearly annoyed. "How are you dressed… look at those wrinkled pants. Put on that white dress of yours!"
I wasn't happy. "I wanted to wear this—"
Mom smiled thinly and then snapped, "Change!"
My little heart jumped three times.
Is this really my mother?
Once we were all ready, there were ten minutes to seven.
Mom had prepared the food herself; everything was on the table now, just waiting for Baby Mingheng to arrive.
Sure enough, they came right on time at seven.
Grandpa Ming wore a traditional jacket and a hat—very dignified for an old gentleman.
He took off his hat when he came in and smiled politely. "Sorry to keep you waiting."
I don't know what Dad said in response; I only noticed how slick and shiny Grandpa Ming's hair looked.
How much hair gel did he use?
Baby Mingheng came in after him, carrying a bunch of things—probably gifts. His hair was slicked too, and he wore an old-style suit, totally unlike his usual image.
The more I looked, the more I wanted to laugh. When he put on an act and called my dad "Uncle," I couldn't hold it in any longer and quietly turned away.
Oh my god, why does this feel like a comedy sketch? Everyone tonight looked so serious except me, who was completely on the sidelines, clueless.
Once I calmed down, I pulled Baby Mingheng aside. "What's with the getup today?"
He frowned and glanced toward Grandpa Ming as if resigned. "He arranged it."
I admit the tiny wronged look on his face was endearing. I wanted to ruffle his hair but didn't want to mess up the style, so I held back and whispered, "It's okay. Even like this, you're still the world's most handsome."
He curled the corner of his mouth when he heard that, then immediately went expressionless when he noticed me staring. Calmly: "Mm."
Ha. Show-off.
At the table the two families made small talk.
I kept passing dishes to Grandpa Ming—whatever I found tasty I pushed toward his bowl. Mom pinched my arm to stop me, but I couldn't help being eager to please.
"Grandpa, I always said I'd bring you and Mingheng to eat my mom's cooking. Now it's real—try this broccoli…"
Mom couldn't hold back. She stifled her temper. "Rosie, what if Grandpa Ming doesn't like it—"
Before she could finish, Grandpa Ming interrupted, laughing, "I’m not picky. Rosie putting food on my plate makes me happy! I like a bright girl like that! Not like my lout of a son, he's just a block of wood!"
He immediately popped the broccoli I’d just given him in his mouth and gave Baby Mingheng a deliberate look.
I puffed with pride at Mom. No matter what, I'm close with Grandpa Ming; I know his temper. Even if I'm not the sharpest, I have these small things down.
The table conversation mellowed, and Baby Mingheng tugged my sleeve, looking a little down. "What's wrong?"
He said casually, "Nothing. I just suddenly don't feel like eating."
After so long together, I know what that really means. Without asking I picked a braised rib and put it on his plate. "You want this now?"
He didn't answer. He lowered his head and began to eat slowly.
The chat drifted to my childhood.
"Rosie, in sixth grade you still wet the bed and your classmates teased you and you came crying to me…"
I felt embarrassed, but Grandpa Ming laughed heartily while Baby Mingheng, unusually, listened to Mom's nagging seriously. Dad secretly texted me: "Why didn't I know this?"
I thought, of course you didn't, and then replied after considering the scene: "You hardly saw me back then. How would you know?"
Dad was silent for a moment, then said, "My fault."
Not bad—he admitted it.
I felt proud.
After talking it over, we finally set Baby Mingheng’s engagement ceremony for November.
He didn’t seem to object, but I let out a secret sigh.
November—right now it’s only August. I still have three months to wait before I can sleep with him.
What a long road this is.
After dinner I took Baby Mingheng to my room. He inspected every corner carefully, then said, “How can you be so messy?”
Oh really? He’s judging me now?!
Not one to back down, I tackled him onto the bed and snarled, “Aren’t you the one sleeping in my messy bed?”
Feeling smug, I used all my strength to pin him down. He stared up at me with those gray-blue eyes. Just when I thought he really couldn’t resist, with one wrong move it flipped—and suddenly I was the one trapped beneath him.
Before I could speak, his lips were on mine.
I closed my eyes and surrendered to the fierce rush of affection and desire. Then there was a knock at the door, and someone pushed it open. We both froze and craned our necks to see who it was—Grandpa Gregory.
Me: “…”
That moment of eye contact was awkward, to say the least.
Usually I can be quick-witted and sharp-tongued, but in that instant I couldn’t get a single word out.
But Baby Mingheng remained oddly calm.
He didn’t even blink. “What is it? Is something wrong?”
Grandpa’s eyes darted everywhere except at us. “N-no… I’ll go…”
No sooner had he said it than he disappeared out the doorway.
Me: “…”
Around nine-ish that night, Baby Mingheng left with Grandpa.
“Rosie girl, come by the house when you can. When you’re not here, this old man’s about to die of boredom.”
I hurriedly promised, “Okay, okay, I will.”
I only let myself go back inside after the car disappeared down the street.
Sigh—no Baby Mingheng tonight again.
Back inside, Mom was tidying up. My dad suddenly pulled me aside with a mysterious look.
“I needed to talk to you earlier.”
Remembering what had just happened, my face warmed, but I couldn’t show it. I plastered on a casual tone. “Wh—what is it?”
Dad looked embarrassed and hemmed and hawed, reluctant to say it.
The more he fumbled, the more curious I got. I pressed him. “Say it or I’m leaving. I’ve got a video call with my baby.”
Dad grabbed my arm, sighed, and finally said, “Sweetheart, you know your mother and I have been living separately. But look—we’ve been getting a lot closer lately. I’m thinking…”
“You want to start sleeping with Mom again?” I blurted out. Dad’s expression tightened; he glanced toward Mom to see if she’d heard. When she hadn’t, he relaxed. “Lower your voice!”
What’s so big about that?
I wasn’t bothered. I was about to offer my precious advice when I realized I might as well get paid for my services this time.
Weighing it up, I held up five fingers. “This is the fee. Otherwise I’m not helping.”
Dad didn’t bat an eye—he immediately transferred the money.
Of course. That’s my CEO dad.
Now fueled by cash, I set to work giving my patron the best strategy. After analyzing both their personalities and the state of their relationship, I proposed a brand-new plan.
“Seduction.”
Dad’s first reaction was to refuse. “Seduction? Me? I’m a grown man…”
That was a narrow view.
I narrowed my eyes and lectured him like some mysterious guru. “Dad, you’re thinking about it all wrong. If a woman turns on the charm, men can’t handle it. Don’t believe me? Try it.”
He hesitated.
I didn’t push. I waited. Sure enough, after thinking it over, he asked, “Okay… how exactly?”
Seducing a woman—simple in concept, tricky in execution. The difficulty depends on the hardware: looks, figure, aura.
And my father, as a textbook CEO, certainly has those.
So if he learns a few clever moves, Mom will be a sitting duck.
“First, pick the right moment.”
“How do I pick the right moment?” Dad asked.
I scavenged scenes from every rom-com and idol drama I could remember and summarized: “Timing it so you slip into her bathroom to shower. Whether you actually shower doesn’t matter—dampen your hair, towel it a bit so it looks messy. Create this soft, cute, vulnerable vibe to trigger her protective instinct.”
Dad blinked. “…That’s it?”
I shook my head and continued. “You need to wear a bathrobe, but not button it up tight. Let it fall open just enough to show your chest. Add some water droplets trickling down… the whole sensual, just-out-of-the-bath atmosphere will be instant.”
Dad: “…”
“If she asks why you’re in her room, don’t overthink it. Lie—say your shower head’s broken.”
He looked skeptical but accepted it.
“Remember,” I said, “wait until you hear her coming, then casually walk out as if nothing’s wrong, drying your hair as you go.”
After Dad went upstairs, my job was to stall Mom so she didn’t go up too soon and ruin the plan.
So when she had everything tidied and was about to head upstairs, I quickly called out, “Mom! I need to tell you something!”
Without turning, she said, “We’ll talk later. I’m going to bed early tonight.”
She was already stepping up the stairs. Thinking fast, I blurted out at the top of my lungs, “Mom! I love you!”
She froze.
Then she turned and looked at me, steady and sharp.
I went all in when I saw it might work. “Your eyes—one sees our future, the other sees into our hearts. Your ears—one listens to our secrets, the other remembers our needs.
Thank you, Mom.
Mother’s Day is here. Wishing you health and a long life. Thank you for everything you’ve done for us!”
My mom: “……”
Why no reaction?
I had no choice but to keep blathering, forcing it out. “There’s no love in this world greater than yours, no flower more beautiful than you, no face kinder than your kind—um—your gentle face. And you have the most beautiful name in the world: Mom!”
When I finished, she quietly walked toward me. Encouraged, I thought to add another line, but she suddenly asked, “Did you get into trouble again?”
Me: “……No.”
She sighed with sympathy. “It’s okay, Rosie. I’ll find a good psychiatric hospital and send you there…”
Me: “……”
I’d sacrificed my dignity and my health, but at least I’d bought Dad enough time. I’d done my part for their love affair.
Watching her walk upstairs, I prayed silently, “Father, your daughter did all she could. The rest is up to you.”
I waited downstairs and stayed quiet.
If nothing happened within half an hour, it meant no big deal and we were good to go: not only would I get paid tonight, but my little villa would be basically guaranteed.
If something bad happened… no, no!
With such a brilliant plan and airtight logic, how could anything go wrong?
Claire Rosie!
Have confidence in yourself and Dad!
So I waited on the steps, playing on my phone, feeling smug. Baby Mingheng was already home— I tried to video call him, but before I could connect, someone burst out of Mom’s room on the second floor.
I looked up and—surprise—the usually composed, suave CEO Dad came barreling down the stairs.
He wasn’t graceful at all. His face was fierce as he shouted at me, “Run! Run!”
Oh.
My God.
I didn’t think twice; I bolted for the nearest kitchen. Dad followed. Just as we both realized this was a dead end, Mom had planted herself in the doorway holding a mop like a weapon.
She glared at the two of us and sneered, “I want to see if the shower head in your bathroom is broken. If it isn’t…”
She snorted twice. Dad and I both shivered.
“…I’ll skin you both!”
Since childhood I’ve been terrified of Mom when she was furious.
If I made her mad, she wouldn’t listen to neighbors’ pleas—she’d chase me with a feather duster and hammer me mercilessly.
That left a deep impression. Seeing a scene so familiar made my whole body ache.
The only difference this time was that Dad was there with me.
Cowardice wins every time; fear beat family loyalty. I steeled myself and pointed at Dad, loudly, “Mom! I don’t know anything! This was all Dad’s idea!”
I’ll never forget the stunned look on his face.
What could I do, Dad? I can’t fight this tigress in front of me, so I had to drag you into it.
Mom listened and coldly told me, “Go upstairs.”
I didn’t dare delay. I left quickly, sneaking a prayer for Dad on my way out.
Amen.
What happened next—I have no idea.
Whether Dad got beaten last night, I don’t know.
But at breakfast the next morning, Mom came downstairs looking completely calm, as if nothing had happened. Dad had been reading a paper but suddenly stood up like a rookie in front of an officer, which startled me.
I asked Dad, “Did they beat you?”
He shot me a glance and snapped, “Traitor! Give me my money back!”
Me: “……”
“Tell me what happened!”
He put down the paper, glanced covertly at Mom in the kitchen, and sighed, “No. I saved myself last night with money.”
Me: “……”
“How much?”
He made a figure-eight with his fingers.
Well, excuse me!
More than I make!
Jealousy distorted my face.
That afternoon I told Baby Mingheng about it, whining, “Mom just did nothing and has so much money. I worked so hard and almost got beaten, and I still don’t make as much as she does.”
Baby Mingheng didn’t say anything. A moment later, money arrived in my account.
I rubbed my eyes and counted the digits: ones, tens, hundreds, thousands, ten-thousands—my ancestors, heavens above… holy moly.
I was thrilled, but then I had a small problem. “Why did I count twice and get different numbers?”
He was silent a beat, then said, “On your second count you included the numbers after the decimal.”
Me: “……”
Nothing changed between Mom and Dad.
That worried me sick.
If this dragged on, my little villa would be lost and all my effort wasted. I couldn’t accept that.
There was nothing I could do in the short term. I told myself not to rush, or I’d mess everything up.
So I waited. And waited. And waited.
The weather grew colder. One day Grandpa Ming insisted I come over to the Ming house. I pulled my wool sweater out of the closet, put it on, masked up, and went.
At the Ming house, Grandpa first challenged me to a few games of Gomoku.
While we played he said, “Rosie, girl, you and that brat are about to get engaged. There are some things this old man should tell you.”
His expression told me it was important. Sure enough, he continued, “Ah-heng’s father was my only son and the greatest pride of my life.”
My heart skipped.
So it was about Baby Mingheng’s family background.
I’d had questions about this—after all, I’d never once seen his parents.
There were a lot of rumors about that—dozens of versions. I didn't really believe them, but I also didn't want to ask.
After all, who doesn't have secrets?
Those questions sank and stayed in my chest.
But since Grandpa brought it up today, it meant he'd already accepted me as family.
I sat up straight and said seriously, "You tell me. I'm listening."
Grandpa's eyes drifted to the distant sky, dredging up countless memories.
"Back then, our family lived in Y Country. Ethan's father grew up there too.
With all the family affairs, I was busy all the time and rarely with him, so father and son didn't have many conversations.
"He was smart from the start. In middle school he was already training at the company with me. Everyone in the company praised him nonstop. I was proud, but I was afraid he'd get arrogant, so I never once praised him.
"Thinking back now… it's such a regret."
Grandpa sighed.
"He always listened to me, so I felt safe handing the company to him.
But when he was twenty-seven, he fell in love with a girl from Y Country.
Her family was ordinary, she had a gentle nature, fair skin, blue eyes—literally a typical white girl.
"I didn't approve. He should have married into a family of similar standing.
But on this matter, he never once compromised.
They married anyway, and I stuck to my position.
"I didn't go to their wedding.
"My stance never changed. Even after Ethan's child was born, it couldn't change my mind—until something happened to them."
Grandpa fell silent. Pain and remorse, and a rare vulnerability, filled his eyes.
I felt heavy inside and said, "Grandpa, let's not talk about it now. We can talk later…"
He shook his head and continued, "Ethan was only five months old.
That night, I'd just fallen asleep when the butler rushed in and woke me. He said their plane had crashed."
I was quiet, at a loss for words for a moment.
I had been prepared, but still, hearing it hit me.
Grandpa wiped the tears from his eyes; his voice grew hoarse. "That night there was heavy fog, terrible weather.
The plane went down. They died on impact.
"They could have avoided that flight or come a few days later, but they rushed—only to make it for my birthday the next day.
If it weren't for me, they'd still be alive.
"I regret it! I wanted to kill myself. But that didn't help. I still had five‑month‑old Ethan—if I died he'd have no one. So I endured."
I sniffed and couldn't speak. I just patted the old man who's been through so much.
"After that, I raised Ethan. He grew up looking a lot like his mother. His personality… who knows who he takes after. He never listens, stubborn as can be, had his own ideas from a kid.
His grades were always good. He learned the business well."
"We came back home. He was quiet, never close to people, no friends. I thought he'd live alone his whole life. Then he met you."
Grandpa looked at me with a soft smile, full of affection and gratitude.
"So, Rosie, you don't know how thankful I am…"
I couldn't take that. I quickly said, "Don't say that, Grandpa. Meeting Baby Ethan was my stroke of luck—I should be the one thanking you! Who would marry someone with my luck otherwise?"
That made Grandpa laugh, and the mood relaxed. He grinned, "You've got a great personality—no wonder that stinker likes you so much!"
The butler somehow drifted over and brought out a pile of my favorite pastries. "Ha ha, sir, Miss Rosie really is a joy. If she joins our family, we'll have so much fun…"
Grandpa agreed. "Yes. I want that stinker to hurry up and marry you!"
No problems there. None at all.
But I still had a little thing I wanted acknowledged. "Butler, don't call me 'Miss Rosie.' Call me Rosie, or Miss Bennett, or Claire—okay?"
The butler blinked. "Yes, Miss Rosie."
Me: "…"
Alright, fine, you're impressive. Very impressive.
Now knowing Ethan's background, I couldn't say I was sad, but my chest felt tight. Especially when he came home that night—I wanted to hold him and comfort him.
Ethan looked down at me, as if asking what was wrong. I lifted my head and, with a sad little tune, murmured, "Sleep now, sleep now, my dear…"
Ethan: "…"
At dinner, I kept piling food onto Ethan's plate, afraid he'd be hungry. He glanced at me in silence, then obediently finished everything in his bowl.
I ruffled his hair. "Good boy today."
Grandpa paused, but said nothing.
That night I stayed at Ethan's place.
Even though the engagement wasn't for a while, I planned to shamelessly crash in his room. Even if I couldn't do anything, seeing him up close wasn't so bad.
I lounged on the bed watching a show. A shower scene was playing—the male lead had a ripped chest, eight-pack abs, water streaming down his torso. I watched, blood heating, when a voice suddenly asked, "Is it good?"
I looked up—oh, fuck.
I quickly turned off my phone and hid it behind me, trying to act casual. "Aren't you working? It's over already?"
Ethan wasn't fooled by my crude cover. He sneered, "Watching other men in my room?"
Me: "…"
"You're something else, Claire Bennett."
That was the first time he'd called me by my name.
I froze, my mouth quicker than my brain. "You actually know my name?"
Ethan's face darkened even more.
Sensing something was wrong, I hurried to explain what happened earlier. "Baby, even though I was looking at another man just now, when I looked at him, all I was thinking about was you."
"Those eight-pack abs, the waist, the chest—yeah, solid, sexy, and symmetrical, but how could any of that measure up to you? Not even a fraction. You're the most beautiful cloud in my eyes. Let me hold onto you with all my heart…"
Ethan's expression fell. "…You sure looked him over carefully."
Me: "…"
"Go back to your room. It's late."
He said.
Go back?
No way.
I flashed a mischievous grin. "I'm sleeping here tonight."
Ethan: "…"
Thanks to my shameless persistence and endless nagging, I finally got my way and ended up lying in the same bed as Ethan.
It wasn't the first time—we'd shared a bed on that last trip—but nothing had happened then, so of course nothing would happen now either.
Ha.
Ethan was way too proper.
Still, I dared not watch my show. My heart felt like it was being scratched by cats, so I distracted myself and started a game of poker.
Ethan's bedtime habit was reading. I scooted over to peek at what he was reading, and he put a hand on my head and said, "Keep your distance."
Hmph.
Like I care.
Except… maybe I really did care a lot.
A simp has no dignity.
Sigh.
My luck was terrible tonight—I kept losing—so I lost interest after a while and scrolled short videos instead. Before long I was too sleepy to keep my eyes open, and consciousness slipped away.
I don't know how long had passed, but I heard someone say my name in my ear: "Claire Bennett."
Groggy, I recognized Ethan's voice. For some reason, his backstory I’d learned earlier today tugged at my heart, and my nose tingled. Tears slipped out.
My eyes wouldn't open. Half dreaming, half awake, I choked out, "Baby! I'll always, always love you. I'll stay by your side."
No reply.
Just as I was sinking into deeper sleep, I felt something cool press to my forehead—a kiss—and a low voice whispered in my ear.
"You're mine."
The engagement was drawing nearer. Lately I'd been staying at Ethan's house, not going home, not knowing how Mom and Dad were doing.
It was afternoon now. Ethan had gone to work, Grandpa had gone off to play chess with his friends. It was just me and the butler, staring at each other in the house.
After a beat of silence I couldn't help asking, "Do you play Gomoku?"
The butler shook his head.
Me: "…"
Oh well.
Might as well go see Ethan.
I threw on a jacket and hailed a car. Ten minutes later I was at his office.
Afternoons were usually meeting-free for him. I rode the elevator up and walked in to find him working.
He looked up and, clearly surprised, asked, "What's up? Something wrong?"
I shook my head and gave him a cheeky grin. "Nothing. I just missed you."
Ethan set aside his work and waved me over. "Come here."
I shrugged off my coat and tossed it on the couch as I walked over.
He pulled me into his lap, wrapped an arm around my waist, and sat there looking at me without saying a word.
I was puzzled. "W-what's wrong?"
Ethan shook his head, his gaze deep, still silent.
Worried that something was wrong, I kept pressing until he finally spoke. "Lately I've been dreaming you were going to leave me."
That caught me off guard.
Seeing him so serious and a little scared made my chest ache.
"I wouldn't. How could I ever leave you? Don't have that dream anymore. I'll stay with you forever."
Ethan didn't answer. His fingers brushed my eyelashes, then one hand covered my eyes. I froze for a second, then felt a heat at my lips—only then did I realize he was kissing me.
This kiss felt different from his usual ones.
Before, he barged in like a tyrant, giving me no room to resist. This time it was cautious, tender, and careful.
He must've been shaken by that dream.
The more I thought about it, the more my heart softened. I wanted to comfort him, give him every ounce of reassurance. Maybe he felt it—he chuckled softly between kisses and gently nipped my lower lip.
He grabbed my waist with both hands and lifted me onto the desk.
"W-what are you doing?"
Ethan didn't answer. He stood, bent over, and kissed my lips again.
This kiss was nothing like the first.
It came down like a cool tide. I didn't react right away and clamped my jaw shut. He purred, "Open your mouth."
Like I was bewitched, his voice filled my head. I loosened my jaw, and his tongue slipped in—delicate, exploring, pulling back and then pressing in again—making my insides itch. I wanted to chase after him, but he teased me, drawing me into his mouth bit by bit.
"W-what are you… doing?!"
Ethan smiled. "What do you think?"
What I thought?
He wasn't about to let me think. I didn't even get a chance.
His kiss came back fierce, teamed with a near-roughness in his movement that made my whole body go weak.
Suddenly embarrassed, I opened my eyes and met Ethan's deep stare. Those gray-blue eyes were ink-dark at the center, lit by a fierce flame.
The flame broke loose. Like a man possessed, he kissed me with an intensity that felt like it might tear me apart—uncomfortable and irresistible at once. I couldn't help but cry out, "Ethan…"
Baby Ethan lifted his head. His gaze was like a black hole, ready to swallow me whole.
He said, "You really nearly killed me."
…It was late autumn now. Our engagement was set for November, the wedding for early March next year. Both families were already preparing, and I was getting more and more anxious.
It's not that I don't want to be engaged to Baby Ethan — I do want him — but I'm actually kind of terrified.
I want to sleep with him, sure, but I don't want to die.
Too bad fear doesn't change reality. The engagement was huge. Both sides are prominent families, so there were press and media everywhere. It was basically Grandpa Bennett publicly announcing me as his future granddaughter-in-law.
In front of everyone, I officially became the fiancée of Mingheng — one of the city's top young talents — with no room for doubt.
As soon as the ceremony ended, my dad packed my things and threw them out. I was heartbroken. "You old scoundrel, have you been waiting for this day forever?"
Dad replied calmly, "Not just me. Your mother too."
I looked over. Mom was holding my suitcase, joy written all over her face. From across the yard she shouted, "I've been waiting for this day!"
Me: "…"
Other daughters get teary goodbyes when they marry. Me? I get kicked out of the house just for being engaged.
I ran off crying. Baby Ethan didn't say a word. He made a call to have my things moved, then pulled me away.
By the time we reached the Ethan household, my grief had faded and fear had taken its place.
God, I used to daydream about getting to sleep with Ethan after our engagement. Never thought the day would make me want to run.
Grandpa Bennett was in an unusually good mood.
After dinner he called me into his study and handed me a very old jade pendant, sighing as he spoke. "This pendant has been passed down to the daughter-in-law of the Ming family for generations. Unfortunately, I never recognized Ethan's mother, so I never gave it to her.
I've kept this for so long. Today has finally come. Now, I give it to you."
I felt a pang and accepted it reverently. The pendant was carved with simple, antique patterns. I held it tightly. "Don't worry, Grandpa. I'll take good care of it."
He waved his hand without much fanfare. I didn't say anything more and slipped out.
Some regrets and wounds never heal.
In those pale, hopeless nights; in mornings pummeled by the passage of time; at the sight of a battered soda can on the street, a moon sliver sinking into the river, or a mottled, drifting dream — it all surges up quietly and weaves a tight net that wraps you until it forms an inescapable cocoon.
Forever impossible to undo.
Forever impossible to escape.
I stood by the door, frozen for a long time.
…My sadness had made me forget the immediate problem, until I saw Baby Ethan and remembered there was something far more terrifying coming.
He saw the pendant in my hand but said nothing. Instead he asked, "Do you want to shower first, or should I?"
Here we go again?!
I panicked. He was perfectly relaxed. "I'll go first," he said.
Me: "…"
Only when he left did I go back to the room.
The running water was loud in the quiet house. I slipped inside like a thief, put the pendant away, and sat on the edge of the bed trying to figure out what to do.
Before I could even think of a plan, Baby Ethan — lean waist wrapped in a towel — walked out.
He casually towel-dried his hair. "Go ahead."
What? Already?!
I was a nervous wreck and couldn't come up with a reason, so I blurted, "I guess… I don't have to shower."
He nodded. "Okay. We can start then."
I froze. "Huh? Start what?"
His eyes darkened for a second. He stepped closer, lifted my chin, voice flat, "You."
After the engagement I naturally moved into the Ethan household.
It wasn't a big adjustment — I used to visit often — but I did have one condition.
"Mr. Ming," I said, "I've decided we should sleep in separate rooms."
Baby Ethan was reading the paper. He slowly looked up. "What did you say?"
I repeated, "I'm sleeping in the room next door tonight."
He didn't answer. Grandpa and the Butler (Mr. Hayes) were nearby, listening quietly like they always did — watching our faces for every microexpression.
Just as I headed upstairs, he finally spoke, making that familiar wounded-sounding face, "Am I not good enough to you?"
That trick used to make me give in. Not this time. Instead of melting, I felt like punching him.
"Heh."
I snorted. "You know what you did. Don't give me that act."
Last night almost killed me. I nearly stopped breathing. Foolishly I had thought he was a gentle lamb — I didn't realize he was a wolf.
Baby Ethan dropped his eyes and sighed softly. "Fine. I'll do whatever you want."
Still putting on that act?!
I was furious. I ran up the stairs, and at the corner caught Grandpa and the Butler craning their necks and then quickly looking down when our eyes met, acting like they didn't know anything.
I went to the room next door and locked the door. Only then did I exhale.
If he tried any of those pancake moves on me again tonight, I would actually die.
Because I hadn't slept well the night before, I was in bed and asleep by nine. I slept like the dead and was stunned to wake up the next day in his bed.
Wait — sleepwalking?
Clearly not.
I jumped out of bed and ran downstairs. Baby Ethan was already gone—he must have left for work. I went back to the room where I'd slept last night and found the mattress and furniture all gone, the whole place turned into a storage room for junk.
Me: "…"
No need to ask—I knew exactly who did it.
Fuming, I changed clothes and planned to go find Mr. Mercer and get revenge. But just as I finished putting on my shoes, the Butler (Mr. Hayes) appeared with a gift box.
"Butler (Mr. Hayes): Miss Rosie, this is a gift the young master asked me to deliver to you."
A gift?
I opened it suspiciously and found the handbag I’d been obsessing over lately—the one that’s been impossible to buy.
"Wow!"
I cradled it like it was precious and tried it on, totally forgetting what I was about to do.
Right then my phone buzzed—an alert from the bank. I counted the digits and couldn’t help smiling.
No doubt about it—that had to be Baby Ethan.
Old trick, I know, but I fell for it. Blinded by material desire, everything else stopped mattering. I couldn’t help texting him: "Baby, I love you."
No reply. He was probably busy.
In the afternoon I got a call from Dad. He said he needed a favor related to Mom. Well, that was certainly about my little villa, wasn’t it?
I didn’t want to waste time, so I hurried out. Grandpa Bennett had the driver take me, and the traffic wasn’t bad—about twenty minutes later I was at Dad’s company.
When I walked in he was wrapping up business. Seeing me, he snapped his laptop shut. "Let’s go."
I wondered where we were headed until the car stopped in front of a big mall, then I got a vague idea.
"You buying something for Mom?"
Dad nodded.
That surprised me. "Don’t you usually just buy things yourself? Why drag me along?"
He looked mysterious. "This time it’s different."
Seeing my confused face, he explained: "You know your mother. I want you to pick out gifts for her. We’re buying a lot, and they have to be her favorites. Tonight I’m planning a romantic gesture—going all out."
A romantic gesture?
I laughed. "When did you learn this?"
"From TV," he said. He glanced at me with disdain. "It’s more useful than your whatever 'bootlicker strategy.'"
Me: "…"
As the biggest mall in town, it had everything. From ground floor to top, I was dizzy from choice. Thinking of Mom’s tastes, I bought clothes, bags, shoes, cosmetics—while Dad swiped his card without batting an eye. I suddenly felt the sting in my wallet.
"Dad, what if this doesn’t work?"
He was confident, almost triumphant. "Impossible."
So sure? If it failed, he’d be crushed.
I worried, but I didn’t say it aloud.
We bought nearly everything, even roses. Still, something felt missing. After thinking, I suddenly remembered: "Stinky tofu!"
Dad blinked. "What?"
"It’s Mom’s favorite! We can’t forget it."
He looked doubtful. "Really?"
I didn’t bother convincing him and went to the nearest food street to buy two portions—one for me, one for Mom. I also grabbed her favorite lamb skewers, pancakes, and grilled cold noodles.
On the way back I happily munched stinky tofu; it was heavenly. Dad frowned. "If that thing upsets your mother, I’ll skin you alive!"
Me: "…"
I’d planned to go home with Dad and watch the show—tonight would surely be a big scene. But he said, "Why would you go? You’d just be a third wheel."
???
Before I could protest, he drove me back to the Mercers at top speed.
"Go home and don’t bother us."
Me: "…"
So that’s the famous heartless man, huh?
Back inside, Baby Ethan was already home. I told him excitedly, "There’s a show tonight!"
He didn’t care about my news—just smoothed my wind-tousled hair and said, "Mm."
I waited for a message from Dad starting at seven, even keeping my phone by the tub while I showered, afraid of missing it.
I waited until nine. No message.
At ten, Ethan finished work and came back to the room. He saw me anxiously staring at my phone, untied his tie, and said, "If you’re that bored, do something useful."
My instincts screamed danger. My feet moved before my brain did—I tried to run—but even so, his hands caught me.
When he stripped me bare I regretted everything.
I’d been so focused on Dad and Mom I’d completely forgotten I was in the lion’s den.
…What a sin!
That night I was tossed around, repeating in a fog, unreal and weightless. It felt like another world where I stumbled and was battered by waves. No birdsong, no scent of flowers, no landscapes—only the hot breath of a man in my ear that brought me the slightest comfort.
He was like a handsome demon, tempting me into another world. And my repeated "I love you"s were spells that seized my heart.
When morning came, I half thought I’d died and the person in my bed was a ghost. My body felt like it had fallen apart; moving was an effort. Angry as I was—wanting to claw the perpetrator’s face—I still remembered I had business to handle.
I had no idea how Dad’s plan had gone.
I strained to reach the phone on the nightstand and called him immediately.
It was already past ten in the morning—he should be at work. I wondered if he'd pick up.
To my surprise, the call connected almost instantly.
I hurried, "Dad, how did last night go?"
"I don't know either."
There was a trace of frustration—his voice sounded stripped of its usual confidence.
Could it have failed?
My heart skipped at the thought of the little villa. "Did Mom accept the gift?"
"She did."
Dad said, "She even finished everything you bought."
Finished everything?
That many things?
Wow.
Of course—my mom, Claire Rosie!
"She didn't say anything?"
It would be weird if she didn't say anything about that.
Sure enough, Dad said, "She said she'd watch how I behave."
He paused. "But what does that mean?"
Me: "…"
Typical straight-man move.
I exhaled and, thinking about the little villa, couldn't help smiling.
"Knowing Hazel, if she says that, it basically means she accepted you."
Dad was stunned. "Really?"
Of course it was true.
Expecting Hazel to be clear-cut about things would be asking too much.
"I know her better than anyone," he added.
Dad was quiet for a moment, then said, "I'm going to hang up. I have something to do."
Huh?
"What is it?"
Dad: "Go find your mom."
Me: "…"
After that, Dad and Mom's relationship clearly warmed up.
I wasn't allowed to witness that historic progress—Dad didn't want to mess with his plans, so he kept me from coming home.
Pfft.
Life at the Mings' place wasn't bad, aside from the nightly tragedies.
From repeated experience, I distilled two hard lessons.
First, never trust a man's empty promises.
Second, especially don't trust a man's promises in bed.
Those lessons came from bitter, personal experience—how I learned them isn't something I'll detail; let's save some dignity.
That day I was still living like a freeloader, days blending into one another, except someone came to find me.
Zoe.
Hah. Finally decided to show up?
I sneered, "Did you finish your honeymoon with Lincoln Cole?"
Zoe flushed. "What are you saying?"
She set her bag carefully on the table and sat beside me. "I just missed you. I came to see you."
So noble-sounding.
I rolled my eyes. "What's the use now? You didn't even come to my engagement!"
Humph. Don't think I would've forgotten that. I called her for such an important day, and she told me she might not be able to make it—yeah right. That sister was out of line!
But the woman sitting in front of me didn't even look guilty. She crossed her legs self-righteously. "You have a nerve!
I rushed over that night. I almost died getting there and arrived at nine. But you—Sasha told me you'd already been taken away by Ethan. Everyone knew what you were doing. I couldn't very well drag you out just to see me, could I?!
The next day I had things to do, so I rushed back again. I was the one wronged here, okay?!"
What the—?
Sensing the tide turning against me, and not wanting Zoe to use that as leverage, I deftly changed the subject. "Stop. First tell me about you and Lincoln Cole."
As soon as I said that name, Zoe wilted—the bravado drained from her. Her eyes darted around and, under my stare, she stammered, "I-it's… it's just… like that…"
Big red flag.
I narrowed my eyes, ready to press, but she refused to talk. "I really have to go!"
With that she grabbed her bag and bolted.
There was no way I would let her go without answers, so I chased after her. She ran like she was dodging a debt collector—fast. I had to shout from where I stood, "Go if you must, but send me the link to that bag!"
Zoe: "…"
"Who bought it for you?"
She vanished before I could get any more out of her, smiling like the happy partner in a sweet new relationship.
I pulled out my phone and called Baby Mingheng. "Three minutes. Get me the same bag Zoe has."
Baby Mingheng: "…"
When everyone found out I was pregnant, I was stunned.
How did this happen so suddenly?
Baby Mingheng was shocked too. I grabbed his hand. "You didn't use protection?"
He seemed not to hear, instinctively touching my belly. "Don't be angry. It's not good for you."
Me: "…"
My immersion in the role was oddly quick.
Once the news got out, everyone was delighted—even Mom spoke to me more gently.
She looked at me nearly in tears. "Rosie, after all these years, you finally did something grown-up."
Me: "…"
Grandpa Bennett was grinning from ear to ear, buying me so many gifts I was dizzy.
There were perks.
The biggest perk, though, was a brief liberation—I no longer had to be micromanaged by Ethan Mercer from every angle.
Hooray.
He often held me and said, "If I had known, I wouldn't have let you get pregnant!"
Yeah, and hindsight is always twenty-twenty.
Then he'd ask, "When the baby is born, will you love me more or love the baby more?"
What kind of ridiculous question is that?
I had to laugh a little, but to calm him I said, "Of course I'll love you more!"
He finally slept peacefully.
Over time, I started to accept that I was going to be a mom.
The wedding was still a month away; by then the bump wouldn't show much and it wouldn't affect the wedding dress.
Being stuck at home too long made me restless. That afternoon I craved stinky tofu from the food street, but I dared not have anyone fetch it for me—Mom and Dad and Grandpa would worry it was bad for me.
So I had to go get it myself.
Although it was almost spring, it was still chilly. I wrapped myself in a wool coat and went out. Right away I saw a cab and hopped in, heading straight for the food street.
I don't know when I lost consciousness.
When I woke up, my whole body ached. I opened my eyes to darkness and instinctively struggled. Someone flicked on the light, and everything flooded bright.
It was Heather Collins.
She stood over me, her expression almost deranged.
"Claire Bennett, why—why do I lose to you again even after getting a second chance?
Last life you ended up with Ethan Mercer, so this time I snatched him. But I never expected you'd meet Baby Ethan!"
She laughed like it hurt. "I wanted to rewrite my fate, but I ended up with an even worse ending. The business world shut me out, all my efforts were wasted, Ethan abandoned me, and my mom went overseas with that man. I have nothing left.
But even so, I'll destroy you first!"
A chill went through me. Thinking of the baby inside me, I knew I had to calm her. "Um… don't be hasty. I know it's my fault. Look, let me go and I'll—I'll be grateful.
Whatever you want, I can give it to you!"
Heather's smile turned feral. "I want your life!"
…No negotiating that.
"I hired people to wait at the Bennetts' gate for three whole months before I got the chance to kidnap you. You think I'm going to let you go? Dream on!"
Me: "…"
I shouldn't have eaten stinky tofu today!
Ugh, never thought Claire Rosie would die because she couldn't resist a craving!
I regretted it so much I could've strangled her. "What are you going to do to me?"
Heather's face shifted.
She bent over and stroked my cheek, her voice crawling over my skin. "Don't worry, I won't kill you. You're too pretty to waste."
She straightened and looked down at me. "I'll sell you—make you a prostitute for a thousand men!"
Me: "…"
"Happy now, Claire Bennett?"
…Happy your mother!
Hoping this lunatic would let me go was useless. My only hope was Baby Ethan—if he noticed I was missing soon, maybe we'd be saved. If not, both the baby and I were finished.
The door creaked and two hulking men came in. Heather asked, "When does the boat arrive?"
One of them answered, "Eleven tonight."
Eleven? Eleven!
There was a clock on the wall. Squinting, I made it out to be around seven in the evening—four hours until eleven. If Baby Ethan didn't find me in that window, I was done for.
Fear robbed me of speech. Thinking of Claire Bennett's fate in the book made my stomach drop.
You can't seriously have done all this and still be stuck with the same ending, can you?
If conditions allowed, I would've recorded a last message.
Every minute there felt like walking a tightrope. I watched the hour hand creep toward eight, and despair rolled over me like a wave.
Then, at that moment, there was a sound outside.
I shot up. The main gate slowly swung open. Was that… Baby Ethan?!
Tears flooded my face.
The guards by the door were sprawled on the floor, some of them motionless. The people who came in had disarmed Heather in seconds. Baby Ethan stepped to me and untied my ropes.
"Sorry I'm late," he said.
Not late. Not late at all.
I couldn't form words—just cried, loud and helpless, without caring who heard. Baby Ethan didn't say much; he just rubbed my back.
What happened after that is a blur.
Maybe the release of tension blanked my head. I only remember that night he held me tight and didn't let go.
Heather was taken to jail. Grandpa Bennett was livid, swearing she'd rot behind bars. Dad even got angry enough to go to the station himself.
Mom was ridiculous—when she learned I'd been kidnapped she fainted and didn't relax until I was safe. Then she insisted Dad take her to the prison to beat Heather herself.
Zoe and Sasha were fuming too, vowing Heather wouldn't have it easy. But I, being the one involved, was strangely calm.
The wedding preparations were already underway. The wedding dress had arrived and I loved it. Life was pretty good.
Now all that remained was to get married.
I watched buds swell on the trees outside and felt a flush of anticipation.
I went to see Heather.
She looked awful—what you'd expect after prison life.
She stared at me, sallow and dead-eyed. "What? Came to gloat?"
I reflexively shook my head, then nodded.
"Sort of. Been bored lately."
Heather: "…"
"But mainly I'm here to tell you a secret."
Heather raised her eyes, not very interested.
A cop stood beside her, so I lowered my voice. "You know why you lost?"
No response.
I continued, "Let me tell you—you're a reborn person, but you don't know that I'm someone transported into this novel."
Heather's pupils snapped small.
Her lips trembled, disbelief stamped on her face. "Wh—what?"
Seeing her like that made me feel deliciously satisfied. I even wanted to hum a little tune.
"I'm not the original Claire Bennett. My mom isn't the original Hazel Bennett either—but she is my mother."
"Got it?"
Heather couldn't form another word. I was done confronting her; I stood and left. At the door I heard her scream, wrenching and raw.
If I'd known it'd be like this, would I have done it?
The day I married Baby Ethan was bright and clear.
I wore the custom gown and slipped the ring on in front of everyone.
He had never looked at me with such tenderness.
Meeting him made everything worthwhile.
Zoe and Sasha were there. To my surprise, Lincoln was there too.
That was the first time I'd met him.
He had lax, charming eyes, a smile like spring sunshine, and easy, gentlemanly manners. No wonder he had tamed the famous Zoe.
Poor Sasha, though.
He sighed, "I wish someday I could put on a wedding dress and marry the one I love most."
Me: "…"
That night, because I was pregnant, Baby Ethan couldn't—how should I put it—go all wild on me. Burning with desire, he went to the bathroom and took a long cold shower before he could finally calm down. I, heartless, fell asleep in seconds. Who cares if he could sleep or not.
Deep in my sleep I had a dream.
In the dream the wildflowers bloomed, spring was like a painting, and I wandered the hills until I found the one I longed for.
When I woke up, everything was exactly the same as before.
