Today I Played the Villainess and Won

The man with gold-rimmed glasses looked impeccable, the garden lamps giving his face the soft glow of a carved statue.

But the look he gave me was contemptuous, mocking, an air of innate superiority—an entitled scion's disdain for an ugly duckling trying to leap a generation in one bound.

"Claire," he said, "if it weren't for the Bennett name, I wouldn't give you the time of day. So behave. Don't make my aunt have a difficult night."

I froze. My hand hidden beneath my skirt tightened into a fist.

The man rose and left; the silk shirt rippled in the flickering lights as he soon joined the others in pleasant conversation.

No one would guess he was vicious and arrogant—eyes that read the world yet looked at Claire like a ridiculous jester.

The night wind sighed. I was alone on the bench, I took a heavy swallow, and heard someone speak.

"I might still give you what you want."

It was Ethan Bennett.

His expression was complicated—part sympathy, part curiosity, and something else stirring beneath the surface that even he might not fully understand.

I looked at him and smiled. "Then give it to me. Transfer the management rights of every mall under your control to me."

Ethan studied me. For once he didn't use his elder-brother authority to press me, and he didn't wear that smug, self-satisfied look either. When he shed the personal biases, he could, begrudgingly, be a decent big brother.

"Since you collapsed and ended up hospitalized six months ago, you've shown an unusual hunger for power. Claire, tell me—why is that?"

I didn't answer. I drank again.

He grabbed my wrist and, without asking, took the wine glass from my hand. His amber eyes kept unblinking on me.

"Answer me," he demanded.

How could I answer? Tell him the truth—that in the original story, a year later he'd fail in investments, every affiliated company would collapse into bankruptcy, and Mrs. Bennett would be reduced to scrambling in disgrace, stripped of her status as a mighty social matron?

When I read that original text, I hadn't cared much. I even thought the fall of a spoiled scion fit the heroine—both ruined, and out of the ashes they would write a poor-but-pure love story.

But when everything around me gleamed and the Bennetts were worshipped, I couldn't imagine the day Mrs. Bennett—glorified and adored now—would be refused entry by a heartless butler, forced onto a city bus, fumbling to pay as strangers stared with scorn.

I had little love for the family name, but Mrs. Bennett matters to me.

I lowered my lashes and let a mocking smile show. "Because I understand business better than you, brother."

I snapped the warm scene in half with a cold line. Ethan's face went dark. "Claire, you're so tiresome."

He left, taking my glass with him.

A little ridiculous, really.

I called the waiter for another drink, and a tall figure in a black shirt appeared—Lucas Langford.

"Wasn't it said you weren't drinking?" his low, magnetic voice asked.

I laughed. My bold red nails caught the glass's reflection as I lifted it to him. "I lied. I do love my drink."

He said, "Claire, the power you crave—I can give it to you."

I laughed back, leaning my head slightly, amused. "Mr. Langford, you were so resentful about my buying Greenway Hotel not long ago. So quick to switch sides?"

He just smiled. "Claire, if not for me, do you think your acquisition would've gone so smoothly?"

He sat close. The scent of his cologne overwhelmed the burn of the liquor. "Believe it or not, I've never treated you as competition."

Fireworks suddenly exploded overhead, layer upon layer of color.

Mrs. Bennett, wrapped in a shawl, stood at the center surrounded by guests, looking up at the display made for her. She smiled; laugh lines at the corners of her eyes.

Even in this joyful moment she didn't seem wholly present—her gaze drifted, as if searching for something.

Then she saw me and waved me over.

I shoved my glass into Lucas's hand, bent slightly and smiled when I leaned in, but I left his flirtation unanswered.

I stepped up to Mrs. Bennett. She gently pulled me to her side and we watched the sky together.

Fireworks fade in an instant, but that beauty—I wanted to keep it for her.

When the party wound down, Mrs. Bennett went upstairs first.

Young once a society miss of the Hales, later married into the Bennetts and celebrated as a daughter-in-law, she had been coddled all her life. Near fifty now, she remained soft and tender like a young woman.

She hated goodbyes, so she tasked us juniors with seeing the guests out.

The night wind was cool. I wore a silk slip dress and felt the cold bite.

A warm weight settled on my shoulders—Lucas had draped his coat over me.

I immediately took it off and offered it back.

He wouldn't take it. He smiled. "Do you dislike me that much? Honestly, I haven't done anything wrong, have I?"

Nathan saw the scene. His driver waited up ahead, but he strolled over as if deliberately. He gave a light laugh—maybe he read something in my expression. "Claire, it's rare someone cares for you like that. Don't refuse."

Lucas, thinking Nathan was assisting his efforts, draped the coat back over my shoulders without asking.

But Nathan's subtext was clear: if you want power, Lucas is the best prospect; continuing this coyness might mean you miss your chance.

In the past I'd have pretended not to understand and let him mouth off. But after being unmasked so bluntly tonight, I couldn't be bothered.

I didn't refuse. Wrapped in Lucas's still-warm coat, I smiled calmly under the lamps. "There are plenty of people with intent and few without feeling—those smug, self-important spectators would do well to watch themselves before one day becoming the clown."

Just a little snide—who doesn't do that?

Nathan wasn't angered. He had class; his smile stayed polite and gentlemanly under the lights.

"Plenty with intent and few without feeling?" he replied, with a pointed meaning. "Claire, I hope that's true."

He nodded to Lucas and walked off; the silk of his shirt rippled in the breeze like a clear spring.

Lucas watched Nathan's retreating back, thoughtful, then smiled after a moment.

"What are you laughing at?" I asked.

"Your cousin's interesting," he said.

The Bentley had already arrived and the driver idled. I pushed Lucas toward the car and practically shoved him into the door. He still tried to speak. "I'm serious. I can give you the power you want."

I tucked the collar up and smiled faintly. "Mr. Langford, the key to business is reading people. Some women are thrilled to be handed a designer bag. Others need to earn it for themselves to feel worthy."

The night wind rattled the treetops as I turned to go home.

Right before the car pulled away, Lucas said one last thing.

"Claire, you're really not what the rumors say you are."

My heels clicked on the pavement—click, click—until I kicked them off and stood barefoot on the asphalt. Finally, the last guests were gone. The street held only me and the lights.

Before I married into the Bennetts, this was my territory. No one watched me here, so I could walk freely.

A silver-gray sports car pulled up, and a young man leaned against it.

It was around one a.m. He wore a white shirt and black slacks, crisp and neat without a wrinkle.

When I’m not in heels I have to look up to see him. Like any silly woman, I blurted out the dumbest line: “What are you doing here?”

A man—a young, hot-blooded man—showing up at your doorstep in the middle of the night is never about discussing life or ideals.

I knew that, and so did Owen.

He shrugged with innocent charm, then smiled. “I missed you so much, Claire. We were apart for only one night and I couldn’t stand it.”

At two in the morning the city was asleep, but the bar was still roaring.

Owen had undone two buttons of his shirt and rolled up his sleeves. He blended into the noise and indulgence like he belonged there.

He said he’d get another drink and when he came back he stumbled.

A young man like him—handsome, strong, with that unmistakable air of privilege—is obviously a preferred plaything for the nightlife crowd.

I understood why, and it made me uncomfortable.

The music was deafening. I couldn’t hear their words, only watched Owen turn and point at me. The flirty girl bit her lip and shot me a resentful glare as she jabbered.

Another figure stepped forward: a boy in a hoodie, embarrassed, tugging his earlobe. Maybe his friends were behind him; a pack of young men and women were hooting.

He opened his mouth but the music drowned him out. I beckoned him closer; he blushed and whispered in my ear, “I lost truth-or-dare. Can I add you on WeChat?”

I raised my phone and handed it to him. “Sure. Why not?”

Suddenly someone snatched my phone. Owen, who had been talking to the girl a moment ago, reappeared and said coolly, “Sorry, she’s taken.”

He was about the same age as the boy, but his presence was entirely different. When he frowned, he looked cold and indifferent—like the undisputed owner of the place.

I shot him a look. “I didn’t stop you from giving your WeChat. Be reasonable.”

He paused, eyebrow raised. “Are you jealous, Claire?”

Then he grabbed my wrist, pushed through the crowd, and steered me out. “I didn’t give her my WeChat—Claire, you’re the only one I care about.”

I smiled, pulling my coat around me. “You’re the only one in your heart, or only your revenge plan?”

He froze for a second. The tenderness drained from his face, replaced by indifference.

“So you know everything, huh?” he said.

I was calm. “Someone with mysterious origins—how could they be my assistant? The Langford family’s older generation had a nasty power struggle. The branches tore into one another; scandal after scandal. The public may have moved on, but those families remember everything.”

He let go of my hand and stood like a statue, the neon nightlife reduced to background.

A boy who grew up as a city bastard somehow had that innate noble air—it was almost unbelievable.

He said quietly, “Then you know why I came to your side?”

I tossed my car keys without much interest. “Lucas’s grandfather is ill. A bastard son’s return is timed for the most sympathetic moment. But you picked me as your wedge—wrong target.”

Owen smiled, but it was frosty. “Rumor says the Bennett heiress is hopelessly devoted. What makes me less than Ethan? Why shouldn’t you treat me like you treat him?”

I burst out, “Because you’re not the male lead of a Mary Sue novel!”

He blinked in surprise. “What did you say?”

I laughed and answered seriously: “Because I’m not a romance-boggled idiot anymore. Maybe I used to be, but not now. If you want my help, you have to give me something equal in return.”

Owen thought for a moment, then put his practiced, handsome smile back on. “I understand, Claire.”

Before he finished, I cut him off. “And stop calling me ‘sister.’ If you don’t truly adore me, don’t use titles that make people’s skin crawl.”

He faltered, then gave a wry smile. “Okay… Ms. Bennett.”

Soon it was time for Lucas Langford’s first mall opening.

This was his big comeback project, the best proof of his capability to the old man. He wanted it perfect and missed nothing.

And Owen—really Liam Langford in disguise—wanted Lucas to fail so he could rise.

I lingered in the dressing room too long, unsure how to dress. Clothing announces your position. Overdressed or casual, either choice would disappoint one of them.

In the end I chose a new haute-couture piece by a well-known house.

Owen and the driver arrived to pick me up. He opened the door and his eyes flickered unreadably. Finally he said, “Ms. Bennett, you look beautiful tonight.”

I pretended not to read his eyes.

He had no leverage over me now. I wasn’t going to irrationally favor him over Lucas. We’re adults—he should understand that profit comes first.

So I accepted his compliment coolly and stepped out, walking straight into Lucas, who came over to greet me.

“Your mall concept matches mine,” I said. “I’d planned a shopping gallery—a boutique club atmosphere to attract upper-middle-end customers—but you beat me to it.”

He smiled. “If you want to run a mall, you can invest in Langford. We’ll operate it together.”

I answered lightly, “My brother would hate that.”

We approached the red carpet. He offered his arm with gentlemanly grace.

As we finished on the backdrop and I was about to leave, Ethan Bennett came over—with Maya Keller beside him.

If I remembered correctly, that dress Maya wore was the one Evelyn had meant to give me.

And in the original story, because of that dress I made a scene with Ethan. Their relationship grew worse and Maya cried in betrayal, saying the story’s core line: “Claire, I don’t care about money. Even without money, I have love. You have nothing!”

See? Mary Sues work like that—everyone illogically adores the heroine, while the villainess is doomed from the start.

Ugh.

I didn’t look their way again and walked forward.

Ethan called after me, “Claire, let’s take a photo—just the four of us.”

I lifted my eyes coldly and didn’t answer.

The press flashes were snapping; the tabloids were poised to spin a story about a family rift. If I refused, tomorrow’s headlines could scream Bennett sibling drama.

I swallowed my pride and moved to step forward.

Lucas slid his arm across my shoulders. He leaned in and said quietly, “You don’t have to pretend when I’m here.”

Then he straightened, a faint, restrained smile on that handsome, distant face. “Ms. Bennett, Claire will be joining me for the ribbon cutting. Excuse us.”

Ethan’s expression tightened. He held himself back for the cameras but I could see the urge to explode.

I felt inexplicably pleased. I followed Lucas out with him, leaving an arrogant silhouette behind.

Don’t ask how I knew my walk looked arrogant—aren’t Mary Sue novels written like that, hmph.

The ribbon-cutting went smoothly. Lucas pulling me close deflated the cameras’ teeth; he looked warm and accommodating in front of the press.

He was usually cold and reserved, the kind of man shaped by military life—stern, contained. Seeing him show warmth for me stirred a strange mix of sorrow and apology inside me.

According to the original, he was the only man in that circle who truly loved Claire.

Even when he got angry at being cuckolded in the story, it was genuine love. That kind of love was rare.

So although I didn’t feel anything special for him, I didn’t embarrass him publicly either.

After leaving the cameras behind, I subtly stepped back from him.

He pretended not to notice and asked, “Are you free tomorrow night? Could you come see my grandfather with me?”

I smiled. “In what capacity? A friend, yes. Not a girlfriend.”

He studied me for a long moment, then sighed. “As a friend.”

Later he added softly, “Someone like you needs to be won slowly.”

The next day I had lunch at the Bennett household.

Evelyn had been obsessed with soup lately—calling and messaging nonstop—insisting I come home for a meal.

I didn’t want to watch Ethan and Maya feed each other (not that it’s unhygienic or anything), but Evelyn’s coquettish nagging left me unable to refuse. I went home with Owen in tow.

Before we got out of the car I said, “You know how to play this, right?”

He somehow produced a bottle of cologne and spritzed it once. The cool, crisp scent wrapped around us.

I wasn’t used to that fragrance and frowned slightly.

Owen reached up to smooth my brow and smiled softly. “Claire, when we act, we do it fully.”

Then he tilted his head with an earnest smile. “I’ll just be the little boyfriend—playing myself.”

He was a natural actor—handsome, polite—and quickly won Evelyn over.

I introduced him as a junior from the company, young and accomplished. Ethan’s look was knife-sharp.

I pretended not to notice and personally brought Owen a bowl of soup.

Maya, bless her, for reasons I couldn’t fathom, said, “I want some, too.”

You want it? Do you deserve it?

The room fell quiet; even the cat slid away from my feet.

I was about to snap when someone strolled up and beat me to the line.

Nathan Hale held a coffee cup, half-smiling. “Guests should be treated as guests; that’s the host’s courtesy. If a guest truly insists on considering herself a guest, she should be prepared to remain a guest forever.”

Maya’s face went blank. Tears welled up within seconds; the sight made me feel oddly pitying.

Is that the Mary Sue heroine’s essential skill? With tears and helplessness she becomes a fragile white flower.

In reality, a woman like that might win temporary favors but never win truly big things.

Yet in Mary Sue novels she earns unconditional protection from the male leads. Sure enough—Ethan said in a low voice, “Nathan, she didn’t mean any harm. You shouldn’t speak to her like that.”

Nathan Hale sneered, light and dismissive. "Tears are the most useless thing. Still, occasionally some fools will pay for them."

He had that snide, sneering tone down to an art—best of all, he delivered it in one smooth breath so you had no time to react. Then he tilted his mouth at me. "Although I'm not that fond of you, you're at least one of the clearer-headed ones in this family."

I forced a smile. "Should I say thank you?"

He offered me a pitying look. "No need."

Maya Keller's face froze and froze again, like she didn't know whether to keep crying.

Evelyn Bennett walked in from the garden as if the awkwardness hadn't happened at all, cradling a cat and shining with that warm, well-bred glow of a socialite.

"Eat—why've you stopped?"

She even fussed over Maya, "Mrs. Zhang, bring Miss Keller another bowl of soup. Guests should be treated as guests."

Maya's face blackened completely.

I'd had my fill of smiling; I pushed back my chin and stood. "I've got some work at the office. I'm heading out."

Footsteps sounded behind me. I thought it was Owen and reached out to link arms.

A familiar sneer whispered at my ear, "Holding hands with anyone you see—is that your thing?"

It was Nathan.

When I looked again, Owen was being stopped by Evelyn, doing his utmost to play the "first time Claire brought a young man home" role—gentle, shy smiles that made Ethan Bennett's eyes widen.

I should've snapped back at Nathan, but his treatment of Maya today was satisfying enough.

So I didn't bother him. I just asked, "Why are you following me?"

He arched a brow. "Are you the security now? Is the access code just yours?"

I ignored him and called for Owen. Nathan broke in unexpectedly, "Langford waters run deep. Be careful."

I appraised him.

Sunlight washed over him, but he seemed to give off a chill. He wore a gray silk shirt; his thin lips formed that haughty line. From head to toe he was all aristocratic, all barbed.

I stared too long. He curled one corner of his mouth into a mocking smile and was about to speak when I cut him off. "You're being kind today? Not like you."

He looked at me with that condescending pity reserved for idiots. "Because I've recently realized—you're half-smart. The Langford hotel acquisition was handled well; you didn't let personal feelings cost you. You're not Mr. Bennett's biological daughter, but you have his ruthless touch."

Nathan kept on, so I interrupted flatly, "Nathan."

He blinked. "Huh?"

I smiled brightly. "If you're so smart, why don't you go prove the Goldbach conjecture?"

He actually floundered—no comeback within five seconds.

Delighted, I called to Owen, "Baby! Let's head back to the office!"

As Owen and I walked off together, Nathan stayed where he was. I caught a sidelong glance: for the first time, irritation flashed across his face.

Making Nathan lose his footing pleased me even more than seeing Maya humiliated.

Nathan's warning wasn't without basis, though.

Langford's battlefield used to be something I only read about in the papers. Seeing it in person was a first for me.

The old man lay in a private room; the whole floor had been cleared out.

I inwardly scoffed—rich people with all their power, hogging top medical resources and turning a hospital wing into a private courtyard.

When Lucas Langford and I arrived, the private courtyard had erupted. The lead players were Lucas's father and his uncle—an all-out family argument—with a crowd of relatives making it louder than a market.

I stole a glance at the heavy door to the critical care room, wondering if that thin door could hold back the clashing voices.

Old Mr. Langford had led a brilliant life, and now, bedridden, to have his unworthy descendants squabble while he listened was pathetic.

Lucas Langford wore a bleak expression and barked, "Enough!"

Unlike the pampered lot around him, he'd truly been forged in the military—an ex-colonel used to commanding thousands. A lazy lion by nature, when he bared his teeth they were terrifyingly sharp.

He planted himself between them, voice hard. "Is there any reason you can't take this home? This is a hospital!"

The Langford clan's influence was vast, a titan in his grandfather's generation. But the second generation—three sons—were either useless or corrupt, so the old man, even into his seventies, had held the reins until he could summon Lucas back from the army as head of the family.

The pampered elders fell silent under Lucas's pressure.

If it ended that easily, where's the battlefield?

Just like in a movie, someone parted the hush of elders and walked down the corridor from the other end.

Tall, long-legged, crisp white shirt and black suit, a luxury watch flashing a cold gleam on his wrist.

Owen.

Only then did I realize—my little assistant had taken time off work to exert influence here.

Business savvy was his inheritance, no doubt.

I stood by the elevator, not sure whether he'd seen me. He gave me not so much as a glance. Like a young monarch, he split the crowd aside and arrogantly approached his one rival.

"Cousin," he smiled and extended his right hand. "First official meeting—I'm Owen Chase."

Lucas ignored him. "Security. Clear all these outsiders."

Owen didn't flinch; he slid his hand back into his pocket with a genteel smile. "No need. Today isn't the right time. We'll meet another day."

He went into the special care room and spoke with the old man. When he came out, he bowed to the crowd. "Don't let my affairs disturb the family's harmony. We're all family, after all."

He sounded like the one running the show.

Then he left—tall, proud, vanishing down the corridor.

Lucas finally spoke as murmurs rose. "Everyone go. Do I have to ask?"

Silence settled. Lucas didn't go into the room; he sat on a bench, head tilted back against the wall, eyes closed, exhaustion showing on his face.

A man used to strength, occasionally showing weakness makes you want to soften toward him.

I walked over and, after a moment's thought, sat down beside him.

He didn't open his eyes but took my hand with unerring certainty. I tried to pull away, but didn't; so our fingers entwined.

Ten fingers laced together—intimate, warm. His hand was callused, the kind from holding a gun.

The corridor smelled faintly of disinfectant. His voice was a little hoarse. "My uncle has three daughters and always wanted a son. My aunt's family is powerful; she didn't want another child. When someone like Owen comes to claim the legacy—a big son, ambitious without cultivation—my uncle was thrilled. But ambition is the same toward anyone. Today, he may be an ally; tomorrow, he becomes a target for revenge."

Maybe it's because I like smart men, but Lucas analyzing things seriously was more attractive than when he got poetic.

Still, I felt awkward—these family secrets weren't mine to hear. At least, not yet. Our relationship hadn't earned such confidences.

I stayed quiet. Lucas smiled lightly. "Do you know why I like you? Four years ago in Canada, the way you looked at your brother made me think, if someone ever looked at me like that, I'd die content."

He meant the original story's Claire Bennett.

I don't like saccharine moments, so I said bluntly, "Sorry you had to witness such a nauseating scene. I won't look at anyone that way again."

That Claire was dead.

Lucas laughed. "Ethan Bennett really isn't worth it."

He rose and naturally took my hand. "Let's go in."

On the bed lay old Mr. Langford—old, lined face, but when he opened his eyes they were clear.

His first words were, "Lucas, I'm sorry you've suffered."

Lucas paused. "I read the paternity test. If he's really a cousin, then it's not a grievance."

The old man nodded. "Good you've got that mindset. Your uncles only focus on immediate gains, fighting over scraps—short-sighted."

He coughed. Lucas patted his back, voice gentle. "I understand. Langford is a whole. Owen may have personal motives, but if his goals align with ours and he can serve the Langford name, he's one of us."

The old man patted Lucas's hand, then looked at me. "That Bennett girl—heard Owen used to be your assistant?"

Caught off guard, I immediately distanced myself. "He wanted to use me as a stepping stone. Smart me saw through it. He didn't come here at my urging."

The old man laughed. After my righteous declaration, he leisurely said, "Don't worry. I'm just surprised both my grandsons are connected to you—fate, maybe."

Old man, listen—actually I don't want to be tied to Owen or Lucas!

I replied, "If you ask me, I'm most fated to you—both palms belong to the same hand. Do I have to worry about family honor and reputation?"

He studied me a moment, then grinned. "So fated—how about being my granddaughter-in-law? I'm very good to my younger generations."

I hurried to refuse. "No thanks. Let me remain a solo beauty."

He looked meaningfully at Lucas and crooned a little, like an old opera line about unrequited blossoms and cold streams—so melodramatic it could break hearts.

We didn't stay long; the old man needed rest. On our way to the underground garage, Lucas was silent until I was about to get out at the company. Then he asked, "Solo beauty—was that a joke?"

I said, "I'm serious."

He was quiet a moment. "If it's because of Ethan and Maya, it's unnecessary. There are many people better than Ethan."

I didn't reply. I opened the car door and waved goodbye.

I never used to look back—but today, for some inexplicable reason, I did.

The navy blue sports car was still parked at the curb, its window rolled down. When I turned, Lucas was watching me.

At the flash of surprise on my face, he smiled broadly.

I walked into the office and found Nathan Hale inside.

He was standing by the bookshelf with "Robert's Rules of Order" in hand. When he heard me, he flipped the pages slowly and said, coolly, "So this explains why you've improved so much over the past six months — you've actually been working hard behind the scenes."

Hearing praise from him was rare, so I was a little surprised.

Maybe noticing my expression, he cleared his throat awkwardly and added, "A person who recognizes their own mediocrity has taken the first step toward improvement."

I snapped, "Are you here for something or not? If not, leave. I don't have time to chat."

He shut the book and said lightly, "I'm not here to chat with you."

Nathan walked over and tapped the desk with his knuckles, his face unusually serious. "There's an issue with the project Andrew Bennett wants to invest in."

My heart skipped. In the original timeline, Andrew's project did start being prepared now, but the real problems were only discovered a year later — by then it was too late and the whole Bennett household was dragged under.

This problem shouldn't appear now, and it definitely shouldn't be Nathan who discovers it.

But the world in that original story had already changed because of me, so all I could do now was be curious why Nathan was sticking his nose into Bennett affairs.

"How did you find out?" I asked, keeping my voice steady.

He paused for a beat, oddly evasive. "That's none of your business."

"Did you plant a mole in our company? Come on, Nathan, you're scheming to take our family's money, right?"

He said icily, "I have no interest in your family's money. To be honest, your acquisition looked so clean my dad praised it for a good while, so I pulled up your company's files — more precisely, I wanted to find flaws in projects you've handled so I could offer some harsh criticism."

I was speechless for a moment. Then I said, "You're so childish."

Nathan raised an eyebrow and swept me with that cutting look of his from head to toe, then said, "I couldn't find your flaws, so you get to say that for now. But let me warn you: if Andrew's project succeeds, you're done."

I thought for a moment and called Andrew. "Where are you? I need to see you."

Nathan said, "I suppose I should take my leave."

I ended the call and called after him, "Don't go — unless you want front row seats to me beating him up."

When Andrew arrived, Nathan was criticizing my office décor at length. I slammed a coffee down on the low table in front of him. "Shut up and drink your coffee."

Andrew scanned the room and asked, "You called me here just so I could drink coffee?"

I handed him the project files. Two clauses were marked with red pen: obscure but blatantly noncompliant.

"What's the problem?" he asked.

I had little patience. "Do you and your team even read things in context? If you only look at this part, fine. But check clause eighteen of the supplemental agreement, will you?"

Nathan finally obliged and tasted what he'd earlier dismissed as "the most like-instant coffee pour-over I've ever seen." He had a moment to mock Andrew. "This report looks like an intern's work."

Andrew didn't rise to the bait. He flipped through the thick project book in silence for a long time.

A thought hit me. "This report wasn't actually done by an intern, was it?"

Nathan theatrically rubbed his temple. "Let me guess… that something—Maya Keller?"

No way. This is so melodramatic.

Andrew was silent for a long time before finally saying, "Got it."

Nathan and I exchanged a look and burst out laughing. I teased, "Beauty ruins nations, huh, big brother?"

Nathan said, "Beauty? Then perhaps both of you have terrible taste."

Andrew ignored us and went to the window, making several phone calls.

After a while he came back, looking annoyed but at least — "It's resolved. The process hasn't finished, but Legal will retract the clauses within two days," he said.

I handed him a coffee so he could steady himself. He didn't look great, but he accepted it and gave me a serious "thanks."

Nathan broke the silence. "If I were you, next I'd consider pursuing accountability. This can't happen twice."

Andrew was quiet a long while. "I know."

The mood was heavy; I deliberately lightened it and told them to go. "Everything's settled. Get out of here — I've got work to do."

Andrew glanced at me gloomily and rose to leave.

Nathan didn't move. He sipped the coffee he'd disparaged and suddenly said, "It's so hot in the summer. Looking for a place to get away — any recommendations?"

Me: ?

Andrew slowed his steps.

No one answered. Nathan didn't seem embarrassed and continued, "How about Antarctica? That should be cold enough."

I gave him a puzzled look. He met my eyes calmly: "So? Want to go together?"

I realized what he was doing and readied a teasing retort, only to be beaten to it by Andrew, who'd already reached the doorway. He said flatly, "Not only cold enough — it might freeze you to death."

The project contract was revised. The legal team and I pulled an all-nighter to triple-check there were no regulatory risks, then sent the contract to the other party.

Since Nathan and I had pointed out the project's flaws, Maya Keller hadn't shown up at the company.

I wouldn't ask Andrew if he fired her — that would be tacky.

If I didn't ask, someone would bring the news to me. The hotel and the mall belonged to sister companies under the same group, and personnel moves were common practice. If performance wasn't a disaster, the HR deputy director under Andrew would normally be promoted into my branch next quarter; she knew whom to flatter at delicate moments.

She told me privately that although the storm had been calmed, Andrew had thrown a fit in his office. Maya left his office in tears, packed her things at her desk, and left. Others vaguely knew what happened; no one comforted her.

Perspective changes the story. If Maya were the heroine, this scene would be written as the vicious side character provoking the male lead, causing his rage while the heroine silently endures. From my point of view, both of them looked ridiculous — letting emotions trump interests made them unfit to hold power.

Her exit was the right ending, and Andrew should probably give up his shaky seat.

While the HR deputy kept chattering, I cut her off politely. "Don't talk about Maya. Talk about something else — like getting me a full personnel transfer and five-year performance evaluation package from the mall side before this quarter ends. Can you do that?"

I wasn't interested in Maya's fate. Frankly, since I became Claire Bennett, I never held her in high regard.

What I cared most about now was how to convince the board to put both the mall and hotels under my control.

I only needed to sway three people, plus my own vote, to get a majority.

First: Evelyn Bennett. Second: Nathan's father. Third: the chairman of the CJL Foundation.

There's an order to winning them over: Nathan's father first, then the CJL Foundation, and finally Evelyn. Nathan's father, Jonathan Hale, was a thorough businessman — he weighed pros and cons and made rational choices. He'd praised my acquisition as "very clean," so he'd been monitoring Bennett Enterprises closely. He'd see that I'm better suited to lead than Andrew. With his endorsement, convincing the CJL Foundation would be much easier. Present the malls' and hotels' operating numbers side by side — anyone who can read the numbers will see the right choice.

And indeed, that's how it played out.

I set up a meeting with Jonathan. His office had an inner and outer room. Nathan sat in the outer room in a silver-gray silk shirt, reading reports on the couch.

I slowed a step when I walked past him, debating whether to greet him.

He leisurely looked up and pretended to have just noticed me. "If you can't get past my dad, you can always hire outside help."

I arched an eyebrow. "You mean yourself as the outside help?"

He didn't deny it and bragged, "Do you know how much it costs to hire me for a consultation?"

I looked him over with his own trademark contemptuous stare until a crack appeared in his polished mask. He couldn't help asking, "What are you staring at?"

I smiled faintly and shot back, slowly, "Pork goes for fifteen a pound — if that's what you meant."

Nathan didn't take offense. He clicked his tongue. "Go on in. Good luck. I'm curious to see who ends up as my opponent."

The secretary led me inside. Jonathan was reviewing documents and greeted me warmly.

The two of them looked alike; it's easy to imagine Nathan aging into his father's sharp-featured face. Technically I should have called him "uncle," but I simply addressed him politely, "Mr. Hale."

Jonathan gestured for me to sit. He didn't ask about performance metrics or targets. Instead he asked a question way off topic: "Why do you want to replace Andrew?"

"Because he's soft, quick-tempered, and indecisive. Fine as a friend, less so as a leader," I said.

He laughed. "You didn't always say that about him."

I smiled openly. "People change."

He said, "You can't guarantee that you wouldn't become like him if you fell in love."

"I'm especially confident I'm not going to," I said. "Frankly, no man in the world deserves me, so you don't have to worry I would let personal relationships affect my decisions."

He chuckled softly. "Understood. You can go now."

I was surprised. "That's it?"

He tapped the pile of documents on the desk, the concise analysis report on top, and said, "This is enough."

When I hesitated, he asked, "What, do you want me to walk you out?"

I thought to myself—they really could be father and son, Nathan and Jonathan. That inherited habit of sneering and not even realizing it had probably been passed down for generations.

I closed the door and stepped out. Nathan set his report aside like he’d just finished reading it. “Already come out?”

I didn’t point out that his report had been stuck on page two the whole time. I only said, “Nathan Hale, could you come with me to the Bennett household?”

The CJL Foundation side would be easy—Jonathan had backed me, so it was only a matter of time before they nodded.

Only Mrs. Bennett—I didn’t know how to convince her.

Emotionally, Ethan was her biological son and I was just an adopted daughter.

If I tried to seize power, it would look like overreach. Maybe she’d start to doubt me forever, and that was the last thing I wanted.

Logically, my—Claire Bennett’s—change had only happened in the last six months.

All those previous, illogical, romance-driven decisions made it hard to tell her, with absolute certainty, that Claire and I were two different people.

I wanted Nathan to come with me. He was brutal with his words and proud, but oddly calming.

At that moment, the man in a silver-gray silk shirt—noble as a medieval lord—stood, patted my shoulder like it was a favor, and said, “Don’t worry.”

For the first time, I felt a little less worried.

Nathan drove us to the Bennett estate.

Streetlights streamed past, occasionally catching his profile. When he was silent, his looks were deceptive.

Deep-set brows and a straight nose—handsome enough to intimidate—yet long lashes and a gentle eye shape softened him.

When he noticed me staring, he unusually didn’t sneer. He said, “You don’t need to feel guilty. In the long run, you running Bennett Enterprises is the wise choice—cough, assuming you have no ulterior motives.”

I was tired. “This can’t prove itself. I can’t exactly cut open my chest and show you.”

He replied calmly, “You can prove it. Marry me. I can supervise you.”

???

I blurted out, “Are you delirious?”

He half-smiled. “I never say delirious things.”

That made it worse.

I didn’t respond as we walked into the Bennett garden.

Mrs. Bennett knew we were coming. She’d brewed tea, laid out pastries and fruit, and sat, slowly playing with a cat.

The scene was peaceful and lovely, which only made it harder to speak.

Nathan glanced at me and opened with, “Ethan’s not strict enough. Have you heard?”

Mrs. Bennett nodded, noncommittal. Her eyes landed on the folder in my hands. “What’s that?”

I set the folder on the glass table. She flipped two pages and slowly smiled. “What are you implying?”

Nathan explained, “A comparison of profits between hotels and malls and—”

Mrs. Bennett cut him off and looked at me. “Claire, I want to hear from you.”

Mrs. Bennett was always gentle. In youth she’d been a pampered daughter; later, a dignified social matron. But none of us forgot that when Ethan’s father died in a car accident, she’d taken on Bennett Enterprises alone—changing her surname to Bennett to announce she was the one rescuing the family business.

And she did it.

Once our generation grew up, she stepped back. But in our circles, no one underestimated her.

Under that calm gaze I clenched my fist. After a long pause I said, “Ethan isn’t fit to be a decision-maker. Our profits have been shrinking year after year. Now it’s a matter of advance or retreat. If he stays in charge, we won’t be able to answer to the shareholders.”

Mrs. Bennett studied me for a long moment. I almost broke. I forced out, “Believe me or not, I don’t have other intentions. I’m doing this for the family.”

I couldn’t tell her that in the original novel, after Ethan went bankrupt he didn’t change—he stubbornly chose to work ordinary jobs with Maya Keller, trying to rebuild the family on wages.

Literally, the plot demanded a trope: pull the male lead down and have him struggle with the heroine.

But when you live it, it’s infuriating and terrifying.

Hearing me, Mrs. Bennett’s face softened. Then she said, “Claire, you’re a good girl. I’ve always known.”

That was agreement.

Before I could breathe, she turned to Nathan with a half-smile. “You surprised me today, coming here and speaking for Claire.”

Nathan raised an eyebrow. “There are exceptions to everything.”

Mrs. Bennett raised one too. “Is Claire your only exception?”

Nathan answered calmly, “A rare worthy opponent—once you find one, future matches won’t be exceptions.”

Watching the pride creep onto her face, I couldn’t stand it. I interrupted, “I don’t want to play chess with anyone. I just want to make Bennett Enterprises profitable.”

Nathan’s smug look cleared half away; he sounded aggrieved. “We agreed to go to Antarctica. When did you flip on me?”

I slung my bag and said cheerfully, “Who told you we agreed— I only invited Owen Chase.”

Owen had been riding high lately. When I called, he paused a beat. “Sis, I’d love to go, but I’ve just taken over the family business—”

He hesitated. I could tell: he had no use for me anymore, so he didn’t need to drive over at dawn like before.

I didn’t hold it against him. Owen looked noble and composed, but his upbringing as an illegitimate son left its marks. He had talent, but his vision was short.

What Colonel Lucas Langford said to the old man in the hospital—that kind, wide-angled tolerance—was likely a maneuver. Lucas appeared gentle but was the kind of player who planned five moves ahead.

I said nothing and simply answered, “Fine,” then called Lucas.

“Hey, Antarctica—are you coming?”

On the phone Lucas laughed. “If I heard right, is this a date?”

I laughed back. “Sorry, not a date. Just a vacation—don’t read into it.”

He agreed quickly. “I’ll have my assistant arrange it.”

Nathan asked coolly, “When are you leaving?”

I frowned. He looked up at the sky, unbothered. “It’s been hot lately. I could use an escape.”

I stifled a smile and told Lucas, “Add Nathan Hale to the itinerary. Charge him.”

Lucas paused, conciliatory. “I can book him solo so the schedules don’t overlap.”

Nathan, as if reading minds, cut in, “Or I’ll arrange it. How about that? And you don’t have to pay—I’ll treat.”

…They were so childish.

In the end, I set the trip. Before I left for the airport, Ethan came to see me off.

He had already stepped down. Authority had been handed to me.

Strangely, he wasn’t furious. He told me Mrs. Bennett had talked to him for a long time.

Curious how she’d persuaded him, I asked. He looked a bit odd. “Mom said she had a long dream.”

In the dream, Mrs. Bennett saw Ethan’s investments fail. He never recovered; the family business fell. Ethan, in a fit of pride, left home and worked ordinary jobs with Maya Keller, trying to rebuild Bennett from scratch.

But a trust-fund kid skilled in finance didn’t know the tricks of street-level business. He failed again and again.

Claire still loved him. Even humiliated, she insisted on finding him.

On her way, she had an accident and couldn’t afford medicine—she died waiting.

Mrs. Bennett ended with a bit of sadness. “Ethan, I don’t think you would definitely do what I saw. But I’m old. I want you all to remain proud and energetic. Take a role that suits your strengths, okay?”

Ethan agreed, but didn’t take an immediate post at Bennett. He wanted to study abroad—there were too many things he wanted to learn.

Nathan asked my thoughts. I said he should indeed study more.

By then I was already on the plane, cutting through clouds and sky.

For the first time, the villainess felt completely in control—and truly relaxed.

There are many ways to live, but none of them should be letting yourself become a pitiful Mary Sue heroine: handing your fate into someone else’s hands, then carefully buttering them up. That’s the dumbest life.

It’s true for men and doubly true for women.

We who could command our own fate might face struggles in steering it, but that’s worth it. The future is wide open—if you don’t climb some peaks, how can you ever see the view?

I am Claire Bennett. I was the villainous side character in a Mary Sue novel.

But in my life’s script, I am the only protagonist.

(The End.)