Betrayed by My Boyfriend, I Married a CEO in a Flash

When she went downstairs, her phone rang again. Victor Henson's name kept flashing on the screen. Willow didn't even hesitate—she hung up. A little over ten seconds later, his message came through. Just a single punctuation mark: ? Willow paused, then replied: The rain's too heavy. Can't get a cab. Running over right now. Wait for me a bit longer. After the message sent, there was no reply. Just like always. Willow gave a self-mocking smile and silently added his contact to the blacklist. When she stepped outside, the rideshare she'd booked in advance was already waiting. When Victor had called her, the rain was coming down hard. She'd waited forever and still couldn't flag down a car, so she'd had to book a rideshare ahead of time, with the pickup location pinned near the club. She'd been afraid his stomach condition would flare up and the medicine wouldn't work—and by then, it would be too late to find a car. Now, looking back at everything she'd done, the words pathetic hanger-on kept spinning through her mind. She figured it was probably because her life had been too comfortable lately. Made her head go soft. Made her single-mindedly determined to create trouble for herself. When she was ten, her parents had taken her out for a day trip. On the way back, they got into a car accident. She was the only one who survived. The Sullivan family made it clear they didn't want her. Said she was a girl—what use was that? Called her a jinx. Between the lines, the message was obvious: don't bother coming back. It was her uncle and aunt who took her in. Her aunt couldn't have children of her own. All these years, her uncle and aunt had treated her like their daughter. Whatever she wanted, they gave her—except for Victor Henson. Her aunt had said the Henson family was a dragon's den, and Victor didn't look like someone who could protect her. Willow hadn't believed it back then. She'd even kept talking up Victor's good points to them. But now? Now her face burned with humiliation. The curtain of rain blurred the lights and scenery outside the window, and it gradually blurred the chaos in her heart too. After getting her hand bandaged at the hospital, she took a cab to the hotel. When she pulled out her phone to pay, a pop-up notification appeared with a piece of news: #The person in power at Farley Group suddenly returned to the country today# She scrolled down. There was an extremely blurry photo attached. Willow didn't pay it any attention and opened the payment app. She'd heard that the young Mr. Farley her aunt had found for her—though he carried the Farley name—didn't have inheritance rights. So after she married in, she probably wouldn't have much contact with whoever was actually in power. Thinking about the marriage alliance now, her heart didn't ripple much anymore. Her uncle and aunt had been so good to her. She should be sensible too. Early the next morning, when Willow returned to the Mason residence, Georgia had already laid out all of Jesse Farley's photos and information in front of her. His looks were decent. His whole vibe gave off a spirited, ambitious energy—like a young man ready to take on the world. Among the Farley family's younger generation, he ranked third. Word was he'd just come back from studying abroad, and his personality was supposed to be pretty agreeable. Even without inheritance rights, with the Farley name backing him, his future would be smooth sailing. Not a bad deal. "There's a banquet tonight. You'll come with me—it's the perfect chance for the two of you to meet." Georgia paused after she finished speaking. After hesitating back and forth, she finally told Willow something else about Jesse Farley. Only then did Willow understand why someone with her status could marry into one of Harbor City's top-tier wealthy families. Jesse Farley had gotten involved with some woman at a nightclub—and gotten her pregnant. After she gave birth, the woman tried to leverage the child to climb the social ladder. The Farley family would never let someone like that into the family, and they didn't want to make a scandal of it either. So on one hand, they paid the woman off and sent her away. On the other hand, they found Jesse a well-educated, sensible wife—one who would be easy to control. "This situation—if you can't accept it, then forget the whole marriage. Don't blame your aunt. I only just heard about it myself." Even though Willow wasn't her biological daughter, Georgia had truly loved her for over ten years. If they hadn't already reached the point of having no other choice, she really wouldn't have resorted to this. "Aunt, I can accept it." Money and status. And she could become a mother without going through the pain of childbirth. Aside from not having love, she'd have everything. This marriage was perfect for her.

As soon as darkness fell, the banquet was already in full swing. The hillside manor dripped with luxury—glittering chandeliers, guests brushing shoulders as they mingled, extravagance on full display at every turn. Everyone here was either wealthy or powerful. Georgia led Willow through the crowd, searching for Jesse, but after a full circuit, they hadn't spotted a single member of the Farley family. "Willow, I need to make a call. Wait here for me." "Okay." Willow found an inconspicuous corner and sat down to wait. She had no real interest in these events, but if someone approached to make small talk, she could hold her own without embarrassing herself. The Mason family held their own weight in these circles. She'd spent enough time accompanying Georgia among the wealthy wives to know what topics interested them, what responses would charm them. But it was exhausting. Better to sit quietly alone. After a long wait, Georgia still hadn't returned. Instead, a man who looked like a butler approached, polite and courteous. "Are you Miss Sullivan? Mrs. Fletcher is speaking with Mrs. Farley. She asked me to bring you over." Willow gave a slight nod and followed him into the villa at the back of the property. The door had barely opened when a man's voice reached her from the living room, dripping with contempt. "Why did you decide on Willow Sullivan without asking me?" "Everyone knows she's Victor Henson's simp. There's no way I'm marrying her—whoever wants her can have her!" Hearing that word again, Willow's fingers curled slightly. But her striking face remained expressionless, as if she wasn't the one being discussed at all. The butler looked embarrassed. He gave a dry cough and stepped into the living room first. "Madam, young master, Miss Sullivan is here." Jesse snorted with undisguised disdain and rose to leave. The next second, a cool, low voice cut through from upstairs. "Jesse Farley, apologize to Miss Sullivan!" In the pale light and shadows, a tall figure descended the stairs. Sharp features, clean lines—the man carried himself with cold, reserved nobility. Jesse straightened immediately. "Uncle." The fear was obvious. The moment this man appeared, Jesse's slouching posture snapped to attention. Willow's brow lifted slightly as she placed him. Jesse's uncle. Theodore Farley—the true heir to the Farley empire, a man Harbor City couldn't afford to ignore. The kind of figure who made front-page headlines just by returning to the country. His presence here was undoubtedly about Jesse's marriage. She raised her eyes. Their gazes collided, and the sheer pressure of his stare made her lower her head, her pulse quickening. Theodore's gaze swept over her casually. Those pitch-black eyes betrayed nothing. Only after he sat down did Mrs. Farley dare to speak. She stepped forward and took Willow's hand, her expression shifting to affected warmth as she tried to smooth over the earlier scene. Jesse seized the moment to slip away. Theodore's cool voice stopped him cold. "Do I need to say it twice?" Jesse froze mid-step. He turned back and met Willow's eyes. The words "I'm sorry" reached his lips—then died there. "Damn. Who said she was ugly?" Victor liked gentle, obedient women, so when she was with him, Willow had never worn dramatic makeup. Her usual style was plain—delicate and proper, but nothing that would stop anyone in their tracks. Now that she'd decided to leave him behind, she dressed however she pleased. She lifted her gaze. Bright, gorgeous features, beautiful in a way that demanded attention—the kind of face you couldn't look away from. A cold stare landed on Jesse, and he shivered involuntarily. Snapping back to reality, he muttered, "Sorry, Miss Sullivan." Suddenly, marrying Willow Sullivan didn't seem so unbearable after all.

But the very next second, a single sentence from Theodore shattered Jesse's fantasies completely. "Jesse's current condition makes marriage inappropriate. Since he's unwilling, this engagement is canceled." "Uncle, I—" Jesse froze, scrambling to speak. He'd changed his mind. He hadn't expected Willow to look nothing like the rumors claimed—old and ugly. Before he could finish, one look from Theodore silenced him. In the Farley family, you didn't interrupt an elder mid-sentence. Jesse lowered his eyes and swallowed his protest. No matter. Once his uncle left, he'd beg Grandma again. She'd definitely let him marry Willow. "Miss Sullivan, don't worry. This is the Farley family's fault. I'll give you an explanation." Theodore lifted his gaze to Willow—those pitch-black eyes unreadable, without the slightest ripple. Willow understood she had no say in this matter. She nodded silently. Someone like Theodore—if he said he'd give her an explanation, he wouldn't go back on his word, right? Maybe she wouldn't have to marry into the Farley family and could still resolve Mason Group's crisis. When they left the estate, Theodore had the butler personally escort them back to the Mason residence. After returning, Willow felt a wave of guilt. "I'm sorry, Aunt. This is all my fault. I made you and Uncle lose face." In their circle, her reputation was ruined now—and she'd dragged her aunt and uncle down with her, making them targets of mockery. Thinking back on the past eight years, she felt like she'd been under some kind of spell. At least she was clear-headed now. She just hoped it wasn't too late. Georgia sighed and comforted her gently. "This isn't your fault. Since Theodore said he'd give you an explanation, he probably won't go back on his word. Let's wait. It's getting late—go rest." Willow nodded, lifted her skirt, and went upstairs. For three days straight, there was no news from the Farley family. Willow didn't get Theodore's explanation—but she did get a phone call from Victor. She'd blocked all his contact information, so when his voice came through someone else's phone, she was momentarily dazed. "Willow Sullivan, what's the meaning of this?" She stood on the balcony, gazing at the distant sea horizon, her voice light. "What do you mean, what's the meaning?" Victor's tone sharpened with irritation. "That night, I waited for you all night." Just to see her in a sorry state and laugh at her—he really went to such lengths. Her lips curved faintly. "Mr. Henson, why were you waiting for me?" "Willow Sullivan, are you playing me?" Her brow relaxed, and a trace of relief flickered across her face. "Victor Henson, we're even. I don't owe you anything anymore." She didn't give him a chance to respond before hanging up. Raising her head toward the distant mountain range, she suddenly remembered—that time after the car accident, when she was abducted from the hospital and tied up in a rundown factory deep in the mountains. Back then, the Sullivan family had left her in the hospital. Her aunt and uncle were on a plane back to the country. Her eyes hadn't recovered yet, her vision so weak she couldn't make out faces. At ten years old, she was too naive. Some stranger claimed they were sent by the Sullivan family to take her to the cemetery, and she believed them and followed. She was tied up alongside an older boy, both of them waiting for their families to pay the ransom. At first, she was full of hope—hoping her so-called family would save her. But on the second day, the kidnappers decided to kill them. The reason was simple: the Sullivan family said they couldn't come up with the money. To save her, that boy used his arm to block a knife meant for her. When the kidnappers weren't paying attention, he grabbed her and ran. During those days in the mountains, cut off from the outside world, he was the one who protected her—finding her food, finding her water. He was the one who held her hand and brought her back to Harbor City safe and sound. She thought she'd never see him again in this lifetime—until she spotted the exact same scar on Victor's arm at the school sports meet… A sudden knock on the door. Georgia's voice came through. "Willow, are you up? Someone from the Farley family is here. Get yourself together and come downstairs."

When she came downstairs, Theodore was already seated on the living room sofa. After the maid served tea and snacks, Joseph spoke. "To be honest with you, Mr. Farley—when Willow was little, she lost both her parents. My wife and I raised her. All these years, she's been like our own daughter. I can't bear to see her suffer even the slightest grievance. The marriage arrangement with the Farley family should be called off." From the start, Joseph had opposed the match. The little girl he'd painstakingly raised wasn't a commodity. He refused to let her sacrifice her happiness for business. But Georgia had insisted on the alliance, said they'd let Willow decide, then dragged out Victor and made her choose between the two men. With no other option, he'd agreed to wait for Willow's decision. He just hadn't expected the girl who'd always chased after Victor to actually accept the arrangement. The Hensons were a dragon's pool and tiger's den. The Farleys weren't any better. Now that Jesse was also unwilling, he could cancel the engagement without slapping the Farley family in the face. Theodore's eyes lowered slightly. His long fingers pinched the blue-gray teacup. In the pale light, his expression was unreadable. He took a sip of tea. "I didn't come to plead for Jesse. I came to propose." Propose? To whom? After everything Jesse said, he still wanted to propose? Joseph and Georgia exchanged confused looks—then Theodore's next words made their eyes widen. "I'm marrying Willow." Willow froze mid-step, confusion flickering across her face. Her gaze drifted to him. Today he wore a tailored black suit. The gold cuff at his wrist caught the light. He sat there quietly, radiating an untouchable nobility from head to toe. A man like this wanted to marry her? When their eyes met, something in her chest stirred. Theodore's brow shifted slightly. His gaze stayed level, betraying nothing. "Mr. Farley, you're joking." With Theodore's status, why would the Farleys let him marry a woman who brought nothing to the table—one who'd need his support? His gaze was cool. "I don't joke about these things." Joseph pressed his lips together. Surprise and shock warred in his eyes, leaving him unsure whether to smile or stay silent. He'd never imagined any connection with the Farley family. Theodore paused, then raised an eyebrow. "The marriage between our families is the talk of the town. If we break it off now, Miss Sullivan gets hurt the most. I don't think that's what you want either, Uncle Joseph." The implication was clear: Willow's reputation was already in tatters. If the Farleys dumped her on top of that, her prospects—marriage or otherwise—would be ruined. Every circle had its pecking order. Those at the bottom bore the weight. Joseph understood, but still hesitated. "We should ask Willow what she wants." "Uncle, Aunt—I'm willing." Willow knew her uncle pitied her. Even if she never married, he'd support her for life. But she couldn't be that selfish. Besides, this outcome was better than she'd expected. Marrying Theodore was like investing in a high-risk, high-return project. Even if this was just a stopgap for him, keeping her uncle's life's work from collapsing was still a win. At her answer, something flickered in Theodore's calm eyes. "I have a business trip in a few days. The return date is uncertain. I'll pick up Miss Sullivan tomorrow. We'll register first, then hold the wedding later. What do you think, Uncle Joseph?" Joseph blinked. "Isn't that... a bit fast?" Theodore's voice stayed even. "The sooner you marry, the sooner the Masons can turn things around." No fluctuation in his tone. But to Joseph, it carried a hint of mockery. Shame crept in. He opened his mouth to explain, but Willow spoke first. "Okay." She knew the pressure her uncle had been under: the factory stalled, contracts bleeding liquidated damages, shareholders pushing to cut losses and sell. If she was marrying Theodore anyway, what difference did timing make? After seeing him off, Joseph watched the car disappear around the corner and sighed. "Willow, that was impulsive." Georgia's expression was uneasy. "Why would Theodore Farley suddenly show up to propose? There has to be something behind this." Joseph sighed, looking at his niece. "The Farleys are even more complicated than the Hensons. I'm worried you'll suffer once you marry in." Even marrying into an equal family could mean suffering—let alone a dynasty like the Farleys. And Theodore and Willow had no emotional foundation. If something happened, a man like him probably wouldn't protect her. Willow knew they meant well. She stepped between them, hooked their arms, and smiled sweetly. "Maybe Theodore saw me at the banquet, was struck by how pretty I am, and fell in love at first sight?" Joseph and Georgia looked at her, then burst out laughing. "You really inherited your mother's narcissism." Joseph tapped her forehead, but the worry in his eyes deepened. Willow tilted her chin up. "I think you've got a bit of it too, Uncle." Joseph's eyes widened. "Me?" Georgia laughed. "Who was it sneaking out of bed at midnight to stare at himself in the mirror for hours?" Joseph shook his head in denial and retreated inside. Georgia followed. Willow stood in the doorway, watching them walk in together. Something warm and gentle shone in her eyes. Early the next morning, she pushed open the balcony door to get some fresh air—and spotted a Maybach parked at the entrance. She rubbed her eyes, went back inside, and checked the time. 7:30. Theodore had come this early. She hurried to wash up and change. By the time she came downstairs, an hour had passed. "Sorry, Mr. Farley. I kept you waiting." The driver opened the door. When she got in, the man beside her was reading documents. Today he wore a white dress shirt—simple, unadorned, but it made him look restrained, noble, elegant. That face really did add points. In all of Harbor City, looks like his were rare. Seeing her, Theodore set the documents aside. His voice was low. "It's fine. Did you bring the documents?" Willow nodded. "Mm!" Theodore gave an instruction. The driver started the engine. The cabin stayed quiet. Neither spoke. Willow watched the street scenery slide backward, debating whether to ask his purpose—even knowing someone like him might not tell her the truth. But what if? While she hesitated, they arrived at City Hall. Theodore didn't rush to get out. He sat at ease and broke the silence first. "If Miss Sullivan has something to ask, ask directly." Willow's eyelid twitched. She hadn't expected him to read her so easily. One chance. She turned—and crashed straight into his deep, fathomless eyes. "Why do you want to marry me, Mr. Farley?"

Theodore paused, his long fingers brushing the watch face on his wrist. His expression gave nothing away. Willow blinked. As she waited for his answer, her gaze drifted back to his face. His features were too striking—every glance made her want another. As if noticing her little move, the corner of his mouth barely lifted. "Miss Sullivan doesn't need to feel too much pressure. Between us, it's just cooperation." She froze. "Cooperation?" She couldn't figure out what she possibly had worth "plotting against." The Mason family's business had been doing well, and she'd managed to squeeze into Harbor City's upper-class circle, but compared to a top-tier old-money family like the Farleys—one that rarely showed their faces—people like them, second-generation kids who only knew nightlife, weren't worth mentioning. Not to mention the Farley patriarch, a figure who existed only in other people's fantasies. What could someone like that possibly want from her? Theodore nodded, his dark eyes calm and unreadable. "I need a wife." A long silence followed. Willow: "……" That was like saying something and also saying nothing! In the lobby of City Hall, bright red slogans scrolled back and forth on the screen. In less than twenty minutes, a fresh, still-warm marriage certificate was placed in Willow's hands. Outside, the sunlight was blazing. Dappled shadows fell across the document. For some reason, she let out a breath of relief. A strange feeling. Theodore descended the stairs and walked up to her. He lowered his head. The noon sun fell on him, tinting his dark eyes with a layer of warmth, softening some of the sharpness and indifference. "My flight to Harbor City is at two this afternoon. My return date is uncertain. I'll have my assistant take you home first." Willow looked up at him blankly, suddenly having the illusion that a boyfriend was checking in with his girlfriend. "Okay." She watched his tall, straight figure disappear, then lowered her eyes to the certificate in her hand. The glaring red cover opened to reveal their photo—her and Theodore, side by side. Handsome man, beautiful woman. They actually looked pretty well-matched. Before she could be amused by the thought, a woman in professional attire approached. She raised a hand and pushed the gold-rimmed glasses on her nose, smiling appropriately. "Hello, ma'am. I'm Mr. Farley's assistant, Harper Simmons." The woman had neat short hair. She looked capable, and her manner was comfortable, the kind that made people let down their guard. The people around Theodore were indeed not simple. On the way back, Willow watched the increasingly unfamiliar streets. "Where are we going?" Theodore had said he'd have his assistant take her home, but this road wasn't the way back to Mason Villa. Harper kept her eyes on the road. "Mr. Farley has already purchased the Harbor Villa on Coastal Road as the marital home for the two of you. We're heading there now." Coastal Road. Harbor Villa. A location where every inch of land was worth a fortune—Harbor City's number-one villa district, so expensive that even the air seemed to come with a price tag. When the electric gate slid open, Willow looked at the grand scene before her and thought of Victor. Back then, Victor had wanted to buy a place here. He'd put in a lot of effort, but in the end, he couldn't even get through the gate. She still remembered his expression when the agent told him his status didn't qualify—furious, yet still forcing composure. Pretty interesting. The car stopped in the parking area. Harper got out and opened Willow's door. Her tone was strictly businesslike. "Mr. Farley said the door code is your birthday. This is my business card. If you have any needs, call me anytime." After the assistant left, Willow stood under the porch, staring at the high-end electronic lock. Why was the door code her birthday? And how did Theodore know it? She entered the numbers. The moment the door opened, she understood. Someone like Theodore wouldn't marry by randomly picking someone. The information on her ancestors for eighteen generations was probably sitting in a drawer in his office. The villa's decor was minimalist, but the kitchen, dining room, and bedroom had everything they needed. In the walk-in closet, men's and women's clothes hung neatly in a row—all the newest styles. Willow lay on the soft bed. She'd planned to sleep, but the moment she closed her eyes, her phone rang. An unfamiliar number. She hesitated, then hung up. The next second, it rang again. Frowning, she answered. "Where are you? I have something to see you about." Even without a saved contact, she recognized Victor's voice immediately. She hung up without thinking. Since she'd decided to start a new life, the people and things from before needed to stay far away. She turned over to go back to sleep, but her phone rang again. Before she could hang up, a text appeared: You wouldn't want me to visit your uncle and aunt for a nice long chat, would you? Willow's expression turned cold. Her finger paused on the screen. Another message followed: Answer the phone! She connected. Victor's voice came through, softer this time. "Where are you? I'll come pick you up." Her tone was flat. "I think I made myself clear last time. How about we don't contact each other anymore?" Silence on the other end. As if suppressing his anger. After all, Willow had chased him for eight years. Eight years of coming when called and leaving when dismissed. This time, Victor had given her plenty of face, and she was putting on airs instead. "Willow Sullivan, are you serious?" She curled her lips. "Do I look like I'm joking?" He hung up abruptly. This time, she didn't hesitate. She blocked the number. Outside the floor-to-ceiling window, dark clouds spread across the sky, and the sea churned. Looked like a storm was coming. Willow took a deep breath, her mind drifting to the absurd eight years past. Eight years so humble she'd been in the dust. To prevent Victor from actually going to her uncle and aunt with nonsense, she took a cab back to the Mason residence. Half an hour later, the moment the taxi stopped at Mason Villa, distant thunder rumbled. Fat raindrops connected into lines, crackling against the glass. Willow's heart sank. Chaotic images flashed before her eyes. She took a deep breath, paid quickly, and pushed the door open. The downpour drenched her instantly. Just as she ran toward the villa, a pair of hands gripped her wrist and yanked her into an embrace.

A mix of women's perfume, tobacco, and alcohol hit her full in the face. Willow's brain needed only a second to identify who carried this complicated scent. She frowned unconsciously, stepped back, and widened the distance between them. "What does Mr. Henson mean by this?" Seeing this face again, Willow couldn't help recalling fragments of their past. Her heart felt like someone had viciously crushed it in their fist. Victor noticed something was off about her, and his expression shifted. He tilted the umbrella toward her, his tone heavy. "What happened before was my fault. I apologize." If she hadn't heard those words with her own ears, Willow definitely would have been fooled by him again. She glanced at the heavy rain beyond the umbrella, then turned back to look at Victor, her voice flat. "If you have something to say, say it." For a golden boy like him to lower himself and come here—even apologize to her so humbly—meant he'd run into some thorny problem. And this problem could only be solved by her. Victor reached for her hand, but she dodged. His brows furrowed, but he quickly suppressed his displeasure. He handed over the bracelet he'd bought in advance. Under the drumming rain, his voice softened considerably. "You said you liked this before. I had a friend bring one back from overseas." Round pearls paired with rubies—the new design from her favorite designer. She had originally planned to make a trip to Paris to pick it up personally, but then something happened to her uncle's company. She couldn't even remember how long it had been since she'd paid attention to such things. So long that now, with the bracelet right in front of her, it stirred nothing in her heart. "If I'm not wrong, you came today for Spencer's contract." She didn't take the bracelet, but directly exposed Victor's purpose. Victor's patience ran out. He stopped beating around the bush. "Spencer's contract was handled by you before. The agreement's up for renewal. I heard he has other ideas, so I want you to help." Willow gave a self-mocking smile. "Sorry. I can't help." Back then, when Old Mr. Henson returned to the country, Victor was eager to perform in front of the old man, so he'd boasted he would secure the Salazar family's entire year-long contract. But with such a big piece of meat, there were plenty of wolves watching it. Victor didn't have much of an advantage when it came to proposals. To help him, she'd put in money and connections, accompanied Mrs. Salazar on outings for a whole week before she got the chance to meet Spencer. At that dinner, she drank until she threw up, then hugged the contract and slept on the bathroom floor all night. But when she brought the contract to Victor, she discovered him being affectionate with another woman... Thinking back now, Willow felt she'd been unbelievably stupid. She turned to leave, but Victor grabbed her wrist tight. "Willow Sullivan, what exactly do you mean?" Victor's face at that moment was so dark it looked like water could be wrung from it. His hand on the umbrella handle kept tightening, knuckles turning white. Willow shook off his grip, her expression turning colder still. "For someone like me—soulless, boring, a pathetic simp—haven't you had enough fun yet, Mr. Henson?" She stared into his eyes. For an instant, his pupils trembled slightly, a flash of panic crossing through. "You heard that? Listen to my explanation. I didn't mean it. I just..." "You were just drunk. Talking nonsense." Willow curled her lips into a smile, her eyes reddening. "Is that what you want to say?" "Willow..." The rain beyond the umbrella seemed to intensify, pounding against the umbrella's surface. Willow took a deep breath and looked away. "From now on, you and I won't have the slightest relationship." "No—we never had a relationship in the first place. Instead of running here and begging so humbly, Mr. Henson, you should think about how to win the contract back on your own merit." Victor's expression went cold. When he spoke, he still carried that lofty air. "Willow Sullivan, I gave you a chance. Don't regret it." Willow raised her head and met his gaze, clearly seeing a trace of expectation in his eyes. Expectation? He couldn't possibly think she would still be like before, begging him humbly to turn back? She suddenly laughed and said, word by word, "The thing I regret most right now is knowing you." The bracelet he'd been clutching was thrown viciously to the ground. The last look he gave her was full of indifference. The engine roared, and the luxury sports car sped away. Rolling wheels crushed the pearls scattered on the pavement. A few drops of splashed water landed in Willow's eyes. The car went farther and farther, becoming blurry and indistinct. Willow stood there the whole time, her gaze gradually turning hollow. Everything was over. One thunderclap after another exploded overhead, again and again, as if someone were holding a hammer and smashing it into her heart. A child's crying sounded by her ear. Her memory abruptly dragged her back to that car accident scene with spring thunder surging. The drizzling rain couldn't extinguish the white smoke rising from the engine. She lay on ground covered with broken glass, hazily watching doctors lift her mom and dad—covered in blood—onto stretchers. Gradually, blood dyed her eyes red, and a sharp pain drilled into the tip of her heart. After more than ten years, this kind of pain erupted on every thunderstorm day, constantly devouring her. "Willow, Willow..." Her aunt's voice suddenly sounded by her ear. Willow turned her head blankly. The moment the image before her gradually became clear, surging emotions reached their peak, and she couldn't hold back anymore. She started crying. "Aunt..." "Silly child, I'm here. I'm here." Georgia hugged her and gently patted her back. "Let's go home. Go home." When they entered the house, Joseph poked his head out of the kitchen holding a spatula. Seeing Willow come in looking utterly bedraggled, his face filled with worry. He was about to ask what happened when Georgia gave him a look, and he swallowed his words. Back in her room, Georgia ran to the bathroom and brought over two towels, wrapping her up. "You silly child—if you were coming home, why didn't you call your uncle to pick you up? It's raining so hard, and Theodore Farley actually let you come back alone. That's simply too awful." "Aunt, he went to Harbor City on a business trip. He had the driver bring me back." Georgia paused, looking at her with considerable worry. "He... didn't bully you, did he?" Willow shook her head and forced a smile. "No. He treats me pretty well." To keep Georgia from disbelieving her, she added, "He also bought Harbor Villa. Said it would be our marital home." Looking at her like this, Georgia hesitated. After a long while, she let out a soft sigh. "As long as he treats you well. All right, go take a hot bath first. I'll go downstairs and make ginger soup for you." "Thank you, Aunt." After watching Georgia leave, Willow's smile finally couldn't hold and fell. The moment she turned around, tears fell uncontrollably. In Harbor City, rain poured down in torrents. In the other Harbor City, the sky was clear and cloudless. A black sedan slowly drove along a crowded street. One ferry after another drifted past in front of it. When Harper's call came in, Theodore was leaning back in his seat, resting. "Mr. Farley, Mrs. Farley went back to the Mason residence." The man's voice was light, without much fluctuation. "Mm." The other party hesitated for a moment, then continued. "Victor Henson went to the Mason residence to look for Mrs. Farley. The two of them still look like they're... not completely cut off."

After a long silence, Theodore slowly opened his eyes, a trace of sharpness flashing in them. "How did you know?" His tone was calm, but it carried an invisible pressure that made Harper's heart tremble. "I was worried about Madam, and I was thinking—" "Next time you do something this unnecessary, just get out." He didn't give her a chance to explain and hung up. The car had stopped at some point. The driver quickly got out and opened the door. The estate halfway up the hill was packed with well-dressed young men and women dripping in jewelry. The moment Theodore appeared, he drew immediate attention. The butler hurried to the poolside and said a few words to the man splashing around with a beautiful woman. He immediately climbed out, wrapped a towel around himself, and headed upstairs. "Why are you only getting here now? Being late isn't your style." Theodore ignored him. He sent the text message he'd already drafted first, then spoke. "Where is he?" The man smiled and leaned in. "What's the rush? Since you're here, play a little first. He's not going to run away." Theodore lifted his head and glanced at him, saying nothing. The man squirmed under that gaze and raised his hands in surrender. "I'll have someone bring him over later. But aren't there any good composers in Harbor City? You had to come here? And the one you're looking for is some third-rate composer drowning in gambling debt." Theodore idly spun the phone in his hand. His lowered eyes were flat, emotionless. "Probably." The man frowned, then seemed to remember something and leaned in again. "Oh right, my mom wants you to come for dinner tomorrow. There'll be a surprise." The moment Theodore saw his smug look, he understood what kind of surprise he meant. "Not convenient." The man blinked. "What's not convenient? My mom said you've already turned her down several times. It makes her lose face in front of her friends, so this time, no matter what, you have to go." Theodore raised his eyes. "I already have a family. Thank my aunt for her kindness." "…" The man shot up like he'd been struck by lightning. "Since when?" "Six hours ago." "…" The room fell into deathly silence. A few seconds later, a notification broke the deadlock. A photo appeared—a man and woman embracing in heavy rain. Harper's message popped up: Mr. Farley, I just didn't want you to be fooled. The faces in the photo weren't clear, but the clothes the woman was wearing looked very familiar. His Adam's apple bobbed. Theodore replied: You're fired. "Cousin, what are you looking at? A photo of my sister-in-law? Let me see!" The man pounced over, face full of gossip. Theodore pocketed his phone, eyes dark. "If I were you, I wouldn't be so happy." The man immediately understood, threw his head back, and let out a long howl. "Oh no! Looks like I need to flee abroad for a few days. Hey, Cousin, how about I go to Harbor City with you? Perfect timing to meet my new sister-in-law." Theodore looked him up and down, his gaze finally landing on that head of hair—white bleeding into purple, purple bleeding into red. "Your new sister-in-law may not want to see you." At that moment, a certain new sister-in-law sneezed. Looking at the text from an unfamiliar number, she was confused: Already landed in Harbor City! She read it over and over, and her mind drifted back to what Theodore had said when he left. She hesitated, then silently put the phone down. She didn't know how to reply. Or what to reply. After dinner, the rain that had raged all day finally stopped. A gentle evening breeze, wrapped with moisture, rose and fell in the air. Willow curled up on the terrace sofa, looking at the pitch-black sky. She picked up the beer beside her and took a sip. Her mind replayed everything that had happened these past few days, over and over. The phone screen on the table lit up. A message popped up—news about what she'd asked a friend to look into. After she replied, she vaguely remembered she still had one message left unanswered. She opened the chat again. Looking at those brief five words, she typed back: Okay. A little over ten seconds later, the sender called.

Staring at the green call button flashing on her screen, Willow's heart inexplicably tightened. When the call connected, the man's low voice drifted through, carrying a hint of something she couldn't name. "This is my number. Save it." "Okay." Silence stretched between them. For someone usually so adept at navigating social situations, her mind had gone completely blank. She didn't understand why she was so nervous. "It's late. Sleep well! Good night!" A few seconds later, his voice came through: "Mm." Theodore stood before his hotel's floor-to-ceiling window, gazing at the harbor in the distance. "Good night," he said softly. Unfortunately, she'd already hung up. Early the next morning, Willow woke to an avalanche of messages. They were all about the same thing: Victor had officially announced his girlfriend. All these years, Victor played around as he pleased, but he'd never brought anyone into the open. The one who'd been by his side longest was only Willow. So when this news dropped, the whole social circle exploded. Several friends called to confirm the news, but most were just waiting for the show—to see whether Willow would lose it and run to Victor to humiliate herself. She ignored the gossip messages. As if possessed, she opened her social media feed. The first post was a couple photo, clearly edited within an inch of its life. Victor's expression was casual, without much deep affection. The woman nestled in his arms, however, looked like she'd won the lottery—brows lifted, radiating smug satisfaction. Willow stared at the photo until her eyes burned. Then she turned off her phone, got up, and went to wash up. She had something more important to do today. When she came downstairs, Georgia had already prepared breakfast. "Good morning, Aunt. Where's Uncle?" Georgia smiled, ladling porridge for her. "He went to the company early. Theodore really does what he says—the money was deposited last night. Your uncle rushed to cash it out and get paychecks sent first." So fast! Willow hadn't expected Theodore to move this quickly. Could his call last night have been about this? On her way out, she hesitated, then sent Theodore a message: Thank you! No reply. It sank like a stone. She didn't mind. Someone like Theodore—how could he possibly sit around waiting for her texts? Their relationship wasn't close enough for instant replies and daily greetings. But when she arrived at her destination, his message came through: How will you thank me? Willow stared at those words for a while before typing: When you come back, I'll treat you to dinner. Again, no reply. She put away her phone, pushed open the Western restaurant door, and headed straight to the second floor. By the window, on an expensive leather sofa, someone was already waiting. In her thirties, Tessa Salazar carried a weariness that didn't match her age. "Mrs. Salazar, long time no see!" Willow smiled, placing the blue shopping bag on the table. "For you." A new release from a luxury brand—no domestic stock, preordered six months ago. She'd originally planned it as her own birthday gift. Luckily, her birthday hadn't passed yet. In the past, Tessa would've excitedly torn it open, cooing over it, practically wanting to transfer all her lipstick collection to Willow's face out of gratitude. Now she barely glanced at it. "Thanks, but I'm not in the mood." Willow ordered orange juice and studied her. "What's wrong? Who upset our little fairy?" Tessa picked up the glass beside her and downed all the liquor in one gulp. After a moment, her dull eyes suddenly brightened. She looked at Willow like she'd found a lifeline. "Will you come somewhere with me?" Willow had prepared herself to drink and commiserate. She never expected Tessa to drag her along to catch a cheating husband. The elevator rose. The silver walls reflected their faces. Both looked worse than the other. The Mason family had barely survived this crisis. Even with Theodore's investment, they were badly hurt. Willow had wanted to secure the Salazar family's cooperation and discuss expanding production lines with her uncle. When she'd called Tessa yesterday to arrange this meeting, she'd carefully steered the conversation toward which company the Salazars wanted to partner with next quarter. As expected—the Sullivan family. Publicly or privately, she didn't want this deal falling into their hands. She'd planned to make another pitch. But now... Whether this affair-busting succeeded or failed, the moment she followed Tessa into that suite, the Salazar contract would slip through her fingers forever. Ding. The elevator arrived. Soft carpet swallowed the click of their heels. Willow followed Tessa to the innermost suite door. The keycard touched the sensor. The lock clicked open. Tessa gripped the handle and pushed. A woman's moans and a man's low laughter drifted from the bedroom. Willow didn't need to look to know what was happening inside. Tessa was already losing control. Her shoulders trembled violently, her grip on the golf club shaking. Eyes reddening, she said flatly, "Sorry to trouble you, Willow. Wait outside for me." Willow stood at the doorway, watching that thin, fragile back. She felt the urge to help, but a few seconds later, reason won out. She walked away. Her own life was already a mess. What right did she have to play savior? The woman's screams erupted from the room—hysterical. Each accusation struck like a drill to the heart, hitting the weakest places buried deep inside. Willow leaned against the wall, staring at the expensive antique painting across from her. Her heart felt like it was being fried in hot oil. This scene felt familiar. Chaotic memories tangled together like yarn—the more she pulled, the worse the knots became. She forced herself to calm down. Her phone's notification sound pulled her from the past. Another entertainment headline. This time, the photo was crystal clear. Theodore Farley. Looking at that striking face, Willow blanked for a moment. Only then did it hit her—she was already married to him. A sharp smack yanked her back to reality. She turned toward the room. Tessa was struggling up from the floor, clawing at the man again. Spencer Salazar cursed in pain. "You crazy woman, let go!" In the scuffle, Tessa was flung aside. Her head struck the table corner. Bright red blood immediately ran down her temple, dripping onto the carpet. The two culprits watched coldly, making no move to help. Willow even heard a trace of laughter. The closest person had torn off his mask, yet the one driven mad was the one hurt most. Tessa laughed through her fury. The next second, she grabbed a vase and hurled it at them. Spencer barely dodged. Cursing, he stepped forward to hit her. Willow flung open the door, crossed the room in three strides, shoved the man hard, and helped Tessa up. "Spencer, this is a society ruled by law!" He sneered, anger surging. "This is my family business. Get out of the way!" Willow shielded Tessa, backing up. Her pretty face showed nothing but cold stubbornness. "I recorded everything and sent it to a friend. If we don't walk out safely today, you know the consequences." The menace around him finally eased slightly. "Willow, I've always treated you well, haven't I?" "I don't want to be enemies with you either, Spencer. But you're really pushing it." He chuckled, walked to the sofa, and picked up his cigarette case, ready to negotiate. But the next second, Tessa lunged at him like she'd snapped, hitting and kicking. Afraid Tessa would get hurt, Willow stepped in to help. And then... Faster than legal punishment came the patrol cars.

By the time the statement was finished, it was already dark. The office next door had been arguing the whole time, like they were going to vent all the resentment they'd built up over the years. Willow thought about it and still went over to say hello to Mrs. Salazar. Luckily, when she saw her, Mrs. Salazar's emotions had stabilized quite a bit, and her wound had already been treated. "I dragged you into this, but you're a real one. I'll contact you again after I'm done dealing with things here." Willow nodded and didn't take it to heart. After all, in a world of fame and money, polite small talk is the last thing you can take seriously. As soon as she walked out, under the bright lights, a man in a white dress shirt and black slacks was leaning against a sports car, a cigarette between his lips. Smoke curled around him, but it couldn't hide his unruly brows and eyes. Willow had thought there wouldn't be any follow-up between them, but she hadn't expected to see him here. The phone in her bag buzzed. She opened the screen, and a message successfully explained why she would see Victor here. In less than a day, the news that she, in order to help Victor land the deal, had run off to be Spencer's mistress and gotten caught by the wife had already spread like wildfire. Willow suddenly laughed, but there was more helplessness in that smile. She put her phone away, stepped down the stairs, and chose to ignore Victor. But he was clearly waiting for her. He lifted his leg, walked in front of her, and blocked her path. "Still throwing a tantrum?" The man in front of her had a pair of peach-blossom eyes, looking affectionate at anyone. After countless heartbreaks, Willow would still be fooled by those eyes, to the point that she wasted eight years of her youth on him. She took a step back, widening the distance between them. There was no expression on her face. "Move." Victor scratched between his brows and smiled as he stepped forward to press closer. "Willow, okay, stop it. About what happened before, I sincerely apologize. I know you still have me in your heart. Let's be good." "I'm married." Willow really didn't want to keep getting tangled up with him. Victor's expression changed slightly. After a moment, he curled his lips into a smile. "You mean the marriage with the Farley family?" Willow didn't speak. She neither admitted it nor denied it. Her hesitation fell into Victor's eyes and immediately became proof that she was lying. "Jesse Farley is in Melbourne right now." Willow raised her eyebrows and didn't expose him. "So what?" Victor frowned slightly, as if he could see her frankness and seriousness. A trace of subtle anger suddenly appeared on his face. "So you really got the certificate with Jesse?" Jesse's matter hadn't blown up, but people like them more or less knew some of it, and they also knew the Farley family's intention in choosing Willow as a granddaughter-in-law at this time. Since it was a temporary patch-the-hole role, naturally there wouldn't be any grand wedding. Or rather, even if there was a wedding, the Farley family's banquet wasn't somewhere they could go just because they wanted to. Willow still didn't know whether Theodore was willing to make this marriage public, so she could only be vague and change the subject. "Mr. Henson should worry more about your girlfriend. My business is none of your concern. I hope you stay farther away from me in the future." She walked past Victor. Just as she lifted her head, a bodyguard in black stepped forward and said respectfully, "Hello, ma'am. I'm Lincoln, Mr. Farley's personal bodyguard. Mr. Farley specifically had me come pick you up and take you home." The bodyguard in front of her was different from other bodyguards. Others had big pecs and were bulky; he looked thin and tall, and his whole person gave off a sharp edge. With a black suit on him, it added a bit more of that suit-wearing thug vibe. Willow's gaze circled over him and slowly landed on the luxury sedan behind him. She recognized the license plate—an entire string of lucky numbers. When Theodore went to the Mason residence to pick her up, he was in this very car. Only after confirming his identity did she nod in response. Lincoln walked to the car and opened the door first. Just as Willow was about to bend down and get in, Victor chased up, disbelief still lingering in his eyes. He wanted to question Willow about how long she planned to keep playing around, but Lincoln didn't give him any chance to get close. "Mr. Henson, please conduct yourself." Victor had never thought anyone would say the words "please conduct yourself" to him. The hand hanging at his side clenched tight, veins bulging. "Move." Lincoln didn't budge at all, his expression unchanged. Victor was so furious he laughed. Just as he was about to make a move, a patrol car returned from duty. The siren sound wandered back and forth in the air, forcibly pressing down the fire in his heart. Watching that car gradually disappear into the flow of traffic, Victor cursed under his breath and kicked his own tire. He didn't even know why. Clearly, he had never cared about Willow, but now, seeing her get into another man's car, he actually felt irritated. When he drove to the bar, a group of people were already waiting for him. "Victor, how'd it go? Did you get the contract?" A man stood up, poured a glass of liquor, and respectfully handed it to Victor. It would've been fine if they didn't mention it, but once they did, Victor's face looked awful. He kicked over the table. That move instantly scared the men and women who had been joking around into silence. This group had been following Victor for so long, and they'd never seen him lose his temper this badly. The man who had just poured him a drink waved his hand, drove out all the irrelevant people who were waiting to hear gossip, and efficiently pulled out a cigarette and handed it over. "Victor, what's going on?" Victor took a deep breath, exhaustion all over his brows and eyes. "Go check Jesse Farley's itinerary, and also his marital status." The man froze. "Victor, did something happen?" Victor lifted his eyes and glanced at him. The man immediately shut his mouth, nodded, accepted the errand, and walked out. The door closed, and the private room fell into a deathly silence. Victor leaned back on the sofa and suddenly felt his stomach hurt a little. Instinctively, he wanted to take out his phone and call Willow, but in a flash, the image of her not looking back surfaced in front of his eyes. That license plate—if he hadn't mistaken it—was a Farley family plate. These days, news kept popping up that Willow wanted to climb the social ladder and marry into a rich family, but he didn't believe it. Not to mention what kind of family the Farleys really were, and whether Willow could even climb up to them—just Willow as a person, she couldn't possibly leave him. All these years, she had been chasing after him, and no matter who tried to persuade her, it was useless. But the scene tonight made him realize that something seemed to have quietly changed. Thinking of this, Victor felt inexplicably irritated. He stubbed out the cigarette between his fingers, stood up, and walked out. Downstairs in the dance floor, there were seductive figures everywhere. Usually, when he was bored, he would order a drink and sit at the bar for a while, and naturally there would be social butterflies pouncing on him, but tonight, he wasn't in the mood. When he got home, he stood in the entryway looking at the pitch-black living room. His mind was in a mess, full of Willow. From the moment she got into the Farley family's car, he had always had an uncomfortable feeling. That feeling was very subtle, like something was slowly being pulled away. He gave a self-mocking smile, then took out his phone and called Bonnie Head. It was just a woman. What Victor lacked the least was women.