Confucius Ads Library: Ads

Id	Vlad	Saved	Scrape Time	Status	Scrape Result	Title	Body	Cta Type	Link Url	Page Name	Page Profile Uri	Page Like Count	Enddate	Cta Text	Caption	Display Format	Link Description	Link Url	Creation Time	Page Profile Picture Url	Page Entity Type	Current Page Name	Startdate	Actions
2,707,289	/src/Template/Ads/index.ctp (line 281) '{"alias":2706811}'	Yes	2025-02-28 00:30	active	2651	Continue watching more series 👉👉👉	🔥Jessica, the Wolf Queen, grew tired of war and bloodshed, so she disguised herself as a plain healer in the woods. To ensure a normal, happy life for her daughter, she sent her to the Russo pack. Little did she know, she had sent her daughter into a living nightmare. Her daughter was treated like a slave—humiliated, abused, beaten, and nearly raped, simply because she had no fame or power. Realizing her mistake, Jessica resolved to save her daughter and make those who mistreated her pay. Meanwhile, she discovered that the Russo pack had betrayed their country and collaborated with Lord Kilian Darkmoom. Finally, Jessica defeated them and restored peace to the wolf world once more. 👇Download ReelShort TV to watch more series🥰	WATCH_MORE	http://play.google.com/store/apps/details?id=com.n	Reelshort-Video stories	https://www.facebook.com/100090841033078/	608,961	1969-12-31 18:00	Watch more	play.google.com	VIDEO		http://play.google.com/store/apps/details?id=com.newleaf.app.android.victor	1969-12-31 18:00	https://scontent-iad3-2.xx.fbcdn.net/v/t39.35426-6/481184457_513080041809482_2421709693240747369_n.jpg?stp=dst-jpg_s60x60_tt6&_nc_cat=106&ccb=1-7&_nc_sid=c53f8f&_nc_ohc=5bzBp2sVfgwQ7kNvgHotP2_&_nc_oc=AdgNSd5OqRDFDke3VPyc3sM-XpEA6y1nF25O7f_pdqgFgW6utizMPQFe6jNAjMiKQxbI3SN3td_TYkRQcaFQnVxp&_nc_zt=14&_nc_ht=scontent-iad3-2.xx&_nc_gid=AnBDYmReg_8rhxZYQa2-VQa&oh=00_AYCQ26e53hzgCwzdjbBz7Uy1zMlRkn4sEMLwOKIhtFt3bg&oe=67C719BC	PERSON_PROFILE	Reelshort-Video stories	1969-12-31 18:00	View Edit Delete
2,707,290	/src/Template/Ads/index.ctp (line 281) '{"alias":2706811}'	Yes	2025-02-28 00:30	active	2651	Continue watching more series 👉👉👉	🔥Jessica, the Wolf Queen, grew tired of war and bloodshed, so she disguised herself as a plain healer in the woods. To ensure a normal, happy life for her daughter, she sent her to the Russo pack. Little did she know, she had sent her daughter into a living nightmare. Her daughter was treated like a slave—humiliated, abused, beaten, and nearly raped, simply because she had no fame or power. Realizing her mistake, Jessica resolved to save her daughter and make those who mistreated her pay. Meanwhile, she discovered that the Russo pack had betrayed their country and collaborated with Lord Kilian Darkmoom. Finally, Jessica defeated them and restored peace to the wolf world once more. 👇Download ReelShort TV to watch more series🥰	WATCH_MORE	http://play.google.com/store/apps/details?id=com.n	Reelshort-Video stories	https://www.facebook.com/100090841033078/	608,961	1969-12-31 18:00	Watch more	play.google.com	VIDEO		http://play.google.com/store/apps/details?id=com.newleaf.app.android.victor	1969-12-31 18:00	https://scontent-iad3-2.xx.fbcdn.net/v/t39.35426-6/481072169_9373556269356599_8716256993214522241_n.jpg?stp=dst-jpg_s60x60_tt6&_nc_cat=111&ccb=1-7&_nc_sid=c53f8f&_nc_ohc=EI_DkhiXZiAQ7kNvgElmDH1&_nc_oc=AdiTrlCNZTeBr6LaVABsFc8QKcrIlWydZW0J7SYr6DxraCoAvJdIoj7EcdW-RNk7vX7i4ZE60yx3tttMivfQqTTk&_nc_zt=14&_nc_ht=scontent-iad3-2.xx&_nc_gid=AnBDYmReg_8rhxZYQa2-VQa&oh=00_AYAgKRWEfw9iZjsdcKONJg24FH0iTtytVQv0uACMqJj86A&oe=67C733C2	PERSON_PROFILE	Reelshort-Video stories	1969-12-31 18:00	View Edit Delete
2,707,295	/src/Template/Ads/index.ctp (line 281) null	Yes	2025-02-28 00:30	active	2651	Flash sale ends today!	Experience relief and wake up refreshed with the Orthinex Pillow, designed to alleviate neck pain and improve your sleep posture. Perfectly contoured for support, it cradles your head and neck, providing long-lasting comfort. Say goodbye to restless nights and hello to better mornings with Orthinex.	SHOP_NOW	https://orthinex.com/products/orthinex-premium-erg	Orthinex	https://www.facebook.com/61568048379894/	506	1969-12-31 18:00	Shop now	orthinex.com	VIDEO	Pay safely with PayPal	https://orthinex.com/products/orthinex-premium-ergonomic-pillow	1969-12-31 18:00	https://scontent-iad3-1.xx.fbcdn.net/v/t39.35426-6/481470167_1896521061175597_2718930349375329860_n.jpg?stp=dst-jpg_s60x60_tt6&_nc_cat=101&ccb=1-7&_nc_sid=c53f8f&_nc_ohc=lug_RMeQbNYQ7kNvgGyljmK&_nc_oc=Adg_Pn9DG4S882LItUg8m7QKoHRUhrBKkgtPLkiyKtmYTzFY05hCY9BN2ySs-H1Qfv-C4Lj1svxyXQ5pYsYqZyQ8&_nc_zt=14&_nc_ht=scontent-iad3-1.xx&_nc_gid=AnBDYmReg_8rhxZYQa2-VQa&oh=00_AYCbIKgl6sXjPLr290KbzbBxpdnpx9RstiCvLrKxN46V2w&oe=67C7356D	PERSON_PROFILE	Orthinex	1969-12-31 18:00	View Edit Delete
2,707,300	/src/Template/Ads/index.ctp (line 281) '{"alias":2707298}'	Yes	2025-02-28 00:30	active	2651	Former NBA Doctor Hack for Joint Pain Relief	🦵 The difference between UNHEALTHY and HEALTHY knees: 👉 Unhealthy knees = pain, stiffness, and limited movement. ❌ Bone-on-bone friction ❌ Dried-out synovial fluid ❌ Shrunken cartilage 👉 Healthy knees = smooth, pain-free movement. ✅ Cushioned cartilage ✅ Lubricated, flexible joints ✅ No inflammation holding you back Stop masking the issue with painkillers. Dr. Kyle Stephenson, top orthopedic surgeon & Boston Celtics 🏀 team physician, is exposing the REAL cause of joint pain – and how to fight back at the CELLULAR level. Get his professional advice right here 👉 lnk.to/SynocellRead	LEARN_MORE	https://lnk.to/SynocellRead	Dr. Kyle Stephenson	https://www.facebook.com/kylestephenson.md/	4,907	1969-12-31 18:00	Learn more	painreliefprotocol.com	IMAGE	This one thing has helped thousands of patients ease neck pain, backaches, nerve pain, joint stiffness, and sore knees. When nothing else seemed to work!	https://lnk.to/SynocellRead	1969-12-31 18:00	https://scontent-iad3-1.xx.fbcdn.net/v/t39.35426-6/480933488_933198022315096_451543176003788137_n.jpg?stp=dst-jpg_s60x60_tt6&_nc_cat=101&ccb=1-7&_nc_sid=c53f8f&_nc_ohc=YD5L8JrEVskQ7kNvgEQgceu&_nc_oc=AdhvOKsf0KCbxNeEsFKEeCjW8-hZQZwYYyn7w_-fetz5nEfbr067dNdWCwxXYRbIBB0E5etN9uQmPVPemipUFjrG&_nc_zt=14&_nc_ht=scontent-iad3-1.xx&_nc_gid=AnBDYmReg_8rhxZYQa2-VQa&oh=00_AYA7gSykDVUQYMXsNeWpR0R5eKAI7rdGhecCdI3yS-FKBw&oe=67C714D6	PERSON_PROFILE	Dr. Kyle Stephenson	1969-12-31 18:00	View Edit Delete
2,707,301	/src/Template/Ads/index.ctp (line 281) '{"alias":2707298}'	Yes	2025-02-28 00:30	active	2651	Former NBA Doctor Hack for Joint Pain Relief	🦵 The difference between UNHEALTHY and HEALTHY knees: 👉 Unhealthy knees = pain, stiffness, and limited movement. ❌ Bone-on-bone friction ❌ Dried-out synovial fluid ❌ Shrunken cartilage 👉 Healthy knees = smooth, pain-free movement. ✅ Cushioned cartilage ✅ Lubricated, flexible joints ✅ No inflammation holding you back Stop masking the issue with painkillers. Dr. Kyle Stephenson, top orthopedic surgeon & Boston Celtics 🏀 team physician, is exposing the REAL cause of joint pain – and how to fight back at the CELLULAR level. Get his professional advice right here 👉 lnk.to/SynocellRead	LEARN_MORE	https://lnk.to/SynocellRead	Dr. Kyle Stephenson	https://www.facebook.com/kylestephenson.md/	4,907	1969-12-31 18:00	Learn more	painreliefprotocol.com	IMAGE	This one thing has helped thousands of patients ease neck pain, backaches, nerve pain, joint stiffness, and sore knees. When nothing else seemed to work!	https://lnk.to/SynocellRead	1969-12-31 18:00	https://scontent-iad3-1.xx.fbcdn.net/v/t39.35426-6/481989359_1171460164672781_4059593341813108470_n.jpg?stp=dst-jpg_s60x60_tt6&_nc_cat=108&ccb=1-7&_nc_sid=c53f8f&_nc_ohc=opumnXsWIwkQ7kNvgHGnwVb&_nc_oc=Adg5Ru463gsbWlEy15tWItPe7tngGTmHibk6Kifte999Q6pk52VSaSe0pB_GZ0X1HaXKlAHPvv0RWGAuLjKlAigW&_nc_zt=14&_nc_ht=scontent-iad3-1.xx&_nc_gid=AnBDYmReg_8rhxZYQa2-VQa&oh=00_AYAW3FBwGTw9b0QlX4fSE8DYwvl9vfupq0Dshg9pEr8okw&oe=67C71A0F	PERSON_PROFILE	Dr. Kyle Stephenson	1969-12-31 18:00	View Edit Delete
2,707,304	/src/Template/Ads/index.ctp (line 281) '{"alias":2707095}'	Yes	2025-02-28 00:30	active	2651	🔞Attention! Do not read in public！👉	For seven years, I've been Castro Harrison's secret lover. Our love was hidden in the shadows, but his kisses and promises kept me willing to stay. I thought he would finally acknowledge me—until that day when I overheard him talking with his friends. It turned out I was nothing more than a substitute. That night, I finally stepped into the room he had forbidden me from entering. On the desk, there was a picture frame—inside, a photo of him and another woman locked in a tight embrace, the Eiffel Tower in Paris in the background. At that moment, my heart turned completely cold. I erased every trace of myself in a single night and left without looking back. One minute before my flight took off, I sent my brother a message. "This afternoon, have the man you chose come and register the marriage." For seven years, I've been in a secret relationship with Castro Harrison, my brother's best friend. Just as I was hoping he'd propose, I tracked his location to a private lounge at an upscale restaurant, where I found they were joking about me. "Castro, now that Oriana's back from London, what are you going to do about that replacement?" Castro remained silent, his lack of response speaking volumes. The tension in the air was broken by another friend's sardonic laugh. "You've got to hand it to Castro–having the nerve to pursue William Blackwood's sister while Oriana was away. Now that you've had your fun, and Oriana's back..." "Well, Oriana deserved it after how coldly she left. A replacement was just what she needed to teach her a lesson!" ...... The next day, Castro took me to Oriana's welcome-home party at the Blackwood Estate, lavishing attention on me with an almost theatrical display of affection. But when Oriana ran out in tears, her Chanel dress stained with wine, Castro pushed me aside without a second thought and rush out. I returned home alone, my cream silk blouse ruined by scalding soup and my skin was still stinging. With trembling hands, I finally opened the door to his study---the one room he'd always declared off-limits. There, prominently displayed on his mahogany desk, was a photograph of him and Oriana in Paris, the Eiffel Tower gleaming behind their embracing figures. My heart turned to ice as I dialed my brother's number in Switzerland. "William... about that arranged marriage–I'll do it." "Aveline?" My brother's voice softened with concern, catching the unfamiliar strain in my tone. "What's wrong? This doesn't sound like you at all." A lump formed in my throat, but I forced a light laugh. "Nothing's wrong. I just realized - marriage is inevitable, isn't it? Does it really matter who it is?" "Besides," I continued, trying to keep my voice steady. "I trust your and father's judgment. Even for a business merger marriage, I know you would have vetted the candidate thoroughly." William's relief was audible through the phone. "I'm glad you're being sensible about this. When are you coming back? Would you like to meet him first before making your final decision?" "No need. The sooner we proceed, the sooner we can resolve the company's crisis. Go ahead and start planning the wedding. Let's set it for... a month from now." "Perfect! By the way, have you heard from Castro?" he coninued, "His first love is finally back in town. You should invite him to the wedding - let him share in your happiness." So William knew about Oriana too. No wonder Castro never let me tell my brother about us. I lowered my eyes, concealing the pain that threatened to spill over. "Don't bother him, Will. We're... not that close." Hearing the door unlock, I quickly said goodbye and ended the call. I looked up to find Castro leaning against the doorframe, his signature smirk playing across his lips. "Not close to whom?" "You." My honest answer only made his smirk widen as he pulled me into his arms. "Oh really?" His voice dropped to a husky whisper. "Should we discuss just how 'not close' we are? All those nights together weren't close enough?" His breath was hot against my ear, and for the first time, his intimate gesture made my skin crawl instead of flutter. As I struggled, I caught sight of the lipstick stain on his collar - a shade I'd never worn. The movement aggravated my scalds, sending sharp stabs of pain through my body until tears sprang to my eyes. "What's wrong, sweetheart? Are you hurt?" My tears seemed to spark genuine panic in Castro. When he pushed up my sleeve and saw the angry red scalds on my wrist, his voice trembled with concern. “God, when did this happen? Why didn't you tell me you were scalded?” He seemed to have completely forgotten about the incident at the party. I remained silent, unsure whether to remind him and shatter his façade of devotion. "Stop crying, darling. Let me get some medicine for that." He stroked my hair soothingly before standing to retrieve the first aid kit, muttering as he walked. "You're still such a child sometimes, aren't you? So sensitive to pain, so quick to tears. What would you do without me?" I stared numbly at the scalds on my wrist. Yes, what would I do without him after seven years of his "protection"? But Castro... I don't want you anymore. I don't want this false love anymore! I spent a restless night, tossing and turning, my skin clammy with fever sweat on the sheets. At dawn, Castro tried to coax me out of bed. When I mumbled protests and pushed him away, he leaned in with an amused smile to kiss me. For the first time in seven years, his kiss made me flinch. My hand instinctively rose to slap him but I caught myself. Thankfully, it was just a brief peck. "Awake yet, sleeping beauty?" he teased. I turned away, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. "It's Saturday. Why can't you let me sleep?" His expression softened with concern. "You were running a fever last night. Come on, we need to get you to the hospital." Though I felt better, his insistence won out and I reluctantly got dressed. In the hospital corridor, we ran into Oriana. She was hobbling along alone, clearly having injured her ankle. Castro's gentle demeanor vanished instantly. His brow furrowed with worry as he rushed to her side, steadying her with his hands. "What happened to you?" Oriana gave him a warm smile, then glanced meaningfully at me. "Just twisted my ankle. What a coincidence seeing you both here." Castro tensed, throwing me a quick, guilty look. "Ah yes, my friend's sister wasn't feeling well. Brought her in to check her fever." I was long used to this charade. From the moment Castro decided to keep our relationship secret, he'd introduced me to all his friends as his best friend's sister who he'd promised to look after. Only his innermost circle knew the truth about us. "You're such a good guardian to the poor girl." Oriana nodded sympathetically. Well, don't let me keep you - my appointment's down that way." She gestured toward a clinic door further down the hall. When she started to hop again, Castro didn't hesitate. He swept her up into his arms bridal-style. "Let me take you there." he said eagerly, "Aveline, wait here for me, alright?" Watching them, something inside me crumbled. My fever seemed to return full force, leaving me weak and dizzy. I leaned against the cold hospital wall, not bothering to respond. The stark white corridor suddenly felt endless and empty, much like my future without him. Castro didn't wait for my response - he was already carrying Oriana toward the clinic, her arms wrapped around his neck. How telling. No matter how well he played his part, his true feelings always surfaced around Oriana, betraying everything he tried to hide. Yet he seemed completely oblivious to his own transparency. I let out a bitter laugh and headed to my own appointment. My suspicions were confirmed - my temperature was 106°F. The doctor explained that my untreated scalds, combined with emotional stress, had led to an infection. I needed immediate IV antibiotics. My finger hovered over Castro's number out of habit before I caught myself. Habits really are terrifying things, aren't they? With a self-deprecating smile, I handled everything alone - getting the prescription and finding the IV treatment room. After the treatment, I felt even worse, nearly collapsing as I tried to walk. However, Castro hadn't returned - not even a text or call. Reluctantly, I called him. "You're still at the hospital?" He sounded surprised. "I'm sorry, sweetheart. I was going to drop Oriana home quickly and come back, but her stomach condition flared up and..." But his explanation was cut short by a waitress's voice in the background: "Sir, your meals are served. Buon apetite!" Despite his rushed attempt to muffle the phone, I heard every word. "It's fine. I can handle on my own!" I said, as much to convince myself as him. Before I could hang up, he called out, "Aveline, go home first. I'll explain everything later." What was there to explain? Just another lie to add to his collection. I ended the call and ordered an Uber home. Castro didn't return that night. Unable to sleep through the New Year's fireworks outside, I worked on some jewelry designs for my clients on my iPad. Accidentally touching the messaging app icon, I saw Oriana's social media post from an hour ago - a stunning photo of fireworks lighting up the night sky, captioned: "After years of wandering, I've come home to you. The fireworks welcome me back, just as brilliant as your love. Worth every moment of waiting." I stared at the screen for a long moment before realizing I was logged into Castro's account on my iPad. I had no interest in reading their intimate messages. I logged out immediately, trying to ignore the hollow feeling in my heart. The next morning, feeling somewhat better, I arrived at the design firm right on time. Sarah, my creative director, held my resignation letter with mixed emotions when I told her about returning home for marriage. "First my best jewelry designer leaves for marriage," she sighed, shaking her head. "The studio won't be the same without you." Words failed me, so I hugged her instead, grateful for her mentorship over the years. News of my departure spread quickly through the office. My colleagues insisted on throwing me a farewell dinner. I suggested the Italian restaurant Castro and I frequented - partly because I didn't know many others, but mostly because their seafood risotto was exceptional. During dinner, I excused myself to the wash my hand, only to find Oriana touching up her makeup at the marble vanity. "What a coincidence!" She smiled warmly at my reflection. "You know, Castro first brought me here during our college days. We've had so many special moments in this place since then." I returned a polite smile and turned to leave, seeing no reason for small talk between us. But Oriana wasn't finished. She called after me, "I noticed something the other night - Castro always rinses the spicy sauce off your shrimp. Are you sensitive to spice too?" That single word - "too" - made me freeze. The truth was, I loved spicy food. But Castro always insisted on rinsing my shrimp, claiming spicy food wasn't ladylike. I'd believed he was being protective. Now I realized he was simply acting on habit. It’s Oriana, who couldn't handle spice. Seeing my silence, she tilted her head, studying my face with unsettling intensity. "You know, I've been meaning to say this since I first saw you... Don't you think we look remarkably similar?" I'd never felt more humiliated. Under her triumphant gaze, I fled the bathroom, the pieces finally falling into place - I hadn't been his love, I'd been her replacement. Back in the private dining room, my colleagues' warmth slowly thawed my frozen state. Just as I was beginning to push aside the unpleasant encounter, the door swung open. Castro stood in the doorway, his Armani suit slightly disheveled, his eyes scanning the crowded room before landing on me with laser focus. In that moment of eye contact, I saw barely contained rage in his expression, though I couldn't fathom why. "Aveline." His voice cut through the chatter like ice. "A word?" Following him into the marble-lined hallway, I was utterly unprepared for what happened next. His hand connected with my cheek in a sharp crack that echoed off the pristine walls. In seven years, he had never raised a hand to me. "How dare you push Oriana?" Meeting my shocked gaze, he showed no remorse - only fury. "You knew her ankle was injured. I told you I'd explain everything later - is this your way of getting revenge?" My cheek stung where he'd struck me. Oriana limped toward us from down the hallway. Her designer blouse was rumpled and stained with water. Before I could defend myself, she collapsed dramatically to the floor. Castro shoved past me, rushing to gather her in his arms. "Why did you follow us? I told you I'd bring her to apologize," he said to Oriana, his harsh words belied by his tender tone. Oriana shook her head, tears glistening. "It's nothing serious. She probably didn't mean it. Don't be so hard on her." "If William finds out you struck his sister..." she added softly. At the mention of my brother, something flickered in Castro's eyes. But looking at Oriana, his resolve hardened. "William trusted me with her care," he said firmly. "If she needs correction, that's my responsibility." I let out a bitter laugh. "What exactly did I do? Even criminals get due process. You're denouncing and striking me without any evidence - doesn't that seem unjust to you?" Castro's fists clenched as he glared at me. "You knew there were no cameras in the restroom. That's why you chose to attack her there." The absurdity of it all made me want to laugh and cry simultaneously. "If there were no cameras, how can you be so sure it was me?" "Because Oriana wouldn't lie!" He took a step toward me, his cologne - the one she'd given him years ago, I now realized - overwhelming. "What possible reason would she have? I've known her for years. She's not capable of that kind of deception." I met his gaze, unflinching. "So I must be the liar then?" Seven years together. I'd thought that would mean something - that Castro would at least trust my character. But in Oriana's presence, those seven years might as well have been seven minutes. “Her word alone was enough to convict me. One accusation, and I was guilty beyond redemption.” The favoritism was unmistakable, his blind devotion to her undeniable. And me? I was just the understudy who'd forgotten her place. There was no point in arguing further. Ignoring Castro's angry calls, I walked away, my cheek still stinging from his slap. Not wanting to cast a shadow over my colleagues' celebration, I quietly settled the bill and texted them: "Something came up. Please enjoy the rest of the evening - dinner's on me." Back home, I found myself really seeing our apartment for the first time in seven years. Every corner held memories: the window seat where we'd shared Sunday morning coffee, the kitchen island where he'd taught me to make his grandmother's tiramisu. What once felt magical now felt poisonous, each memory a thorn in my heart. I found a moving box and spent the night methodically erasing our relationship: the matching "Beauty and Beast" slippers, the "his and hers" coffee mugs that fit together, and a whole collection of professional couple photographs - holiday cards, vacation shots, carefully staged moments of perfect happiness. These had been my security blanket, my proof that what we had was real. Now they were just artifacts of an elaborate performance. Castro didn't come home for two weeks. Between finishing my last jewelry designs,, I systematically emptied the apartment. I sold or donated every piece of furniture I'd chosen, every decorative touch I'd added. The space returned to its original state: stark minimalist, black and white, emptiness echoing off the walls. The night before my departure, I tried calling him one last time. Each attempt met with immediate rejection. Finally, a text appeared: "Unless you're ready to admit your guilt and properly apologize to Oriana, we have nothing to discuss." I laughed bitterly at my phone's screen. So be it. Some conversations were better left unsaid. My early morning flight beckoned. As I wheeled my suitcase out, this space that had once felt so precious now felt like a prison I was finally escaping. Just before boarding, my phone lit up with birthday wishes. Friends and colleagues sending hopes for my future, wishes for happiness, prayers for true love. I responded to each one before switching off my phone. As the plane lifted off, I made a silent promise to myself: I would be happy. With so many people wishing me well, how could I not be? 【5909】	LEARN_MORE	https://image.noveltells.net/landing-page/h5-1290.	FavoRead	https://www.facebook.com/100083109648305/	1,138	1969-12-31 18:00	Learn more	image.noveltells.net	VIDEO		https://image.noveltells.net/landing-page/h5-1290.html?id=1290&yy_appname=Favoread&badid={{ad.id}}	1969-12-31 18:00	https://scontent-iad3-1.xx.fbcdn.net/v/t39.35426-6/481452524_1132259291975001_1271064091654676165_n.jpg?stp=dst-jpg_s60x60_tt6&_nc_cat=104&ccb=1-7&_nc_sid=c53f8f&_nc_ohc=q2lyd6KIPz8Q7kNvgFxXQFf&_nc_oc=Adj-gn-wTBt_kGKiTvMtuHJrB52CSp5q1yHUp3GsSvvyg9sbRKgNhaXqQ3UkEkqzAv2Nt1qIQDK2mW1b7YpTkAbM&_nc_zt=14&_nc_ht=scontent-iad3-1.xx&_nc_gid=AnBDYmReg_8rhxZYQa2-VQa&oh=00_AYAoVJ72XkZhW9Il8UAheqwFzVP4aT5n2hJIS3ro4PM5rw&oe=67C72AAA	PERSON_PROFILE	FavoRead	1969-12-31 18:00	View Edit Delete
2,707,303	/src/Template/Ads/index.ctp (line 281) '{"alias":2707095}'	Yes	2025-02-28 00:30	active	2651	🔞Attention! Do not read in public！👉	For seven years, I've been Castro Harrison's secret lover. Our love was hidden in the shadows, but his kisses and promises kept me willing to stay. I thought he would finally acknowledge me—until that day when I overheard him talking with his friends. It turned out I was nothing more than a substitute. That night, I finally stepped into the room he had forbidden me from entering. On the desk, there was a picture frame—inside, a photo of him and another woman locked in a tight embrace, the Eiffel Tower in Paris in the background. At that moment, my heart turned completely cold. I erased every trace of myself in a single night and left without looking back. One minute before my flight took off, I sent my brother a message. "This afternoon, have the man you chose come and register the marriage." For seven years, I've been in a secret relationship with Castro Harrison, my brother's best friend. Just as I was hoping he'd propose, I tracked his location to a private lounge at an upscale restaurant, where I found they were joking about me. "Castro, now that Oriana's back from London, what are you going to do about that replacement?" Castro remained silent, his lack of response speaking volumes. The tension in the air was broken by another friend's sardonic laugh. "You've got to hand it to Castro–having the nerve to pursue William Blackwood's sister while Oriana was away. Now that you've had your fun, and Oriana's back..." "Well, Oriana deserved it after how coldly she left. A replacement was just what she needed to teach her a lesson!" ...... The next day, Castro took me to Oriana's welcome-home party at the Blackwood Estate, lavishing attention on me with an almost theatrical display of affection. But when Oriana ran out in tears, her Chanel dress stained with wine, Castro pushed me aside without a second thought and rush out. I returned home alone, my cream silk blouse ruined by scalding soup and my skin was still stinging. With trembling hands, I finally opened the door to his study---the one room he'd always declared off-limits. There, prominently displayed on his mahogany desk, was a photograph of him and Oriana in Paris, the Eiffel Tower gleaming behind their embracing figures. My heart turned to ice as I dialed my brother's number in Switzerland. "William... about that arranged marriage–I'll do it." "Aveline?" My brother's voice softened with concern, catching the unfamiliar strain in my tone. "What's wrong? This doesn't sound like you at all." A lump formed in my throat, but I forced a light laugh. "Nothing's wrong. I just realized - marriage is inevitable, isn't it? Does it really matter who it is?" "Besides," I continued, trying to keep my voice steady. "I trust your and father's judgment. Even for a business merger marriage, I know you would have vetted the candidate thoroughly." William's relief was audible through the phone. "I'm glad you're being sensible about this. When are you coming back? Would you like to meet him first before making your final decision?" "No need. The sooner we proceed, the sooner we can resolve the company's crisis. Go ahead and start planning the wedding. Let's set it for... a month from now." "Perfect! By the way, have you heard from Castro?" he coninued, "His first love is finally back in town. You should invite him to the wedding - let him share in your happiness." So William knew about Oriana too. No wonder Castro never let me tell my brother about us. I lowered my eyes, concealing the pain that threatened to spill over. "Don't bother him, Will. We're... not that close." Hearing the door unlock, I quickly said goodbye and ended the call. I looked up to find Castro leaning against the doorframe, his signature smirk playing across his lips. "Not close to whom?" "You." My honest answer only made his smirk widen as he pulled me into his arms. "Oh really?" His voice dropped to a husky whisper. "Should we discuss just how 'not close' we are? All those nights together weren't close enough?" His breath was hot against my ear, and for the first time, his intimate gesture made my skin crawl instead of flutter. As I struggled, I caught sight of the lipstick stain on his collar - a shade I'd never worn. The movement aggravated my scalds, sending sharp stabs of pain through my body until tears sprang to my eyes. "What's wrong, sweetheart? Are you hurt?" My tears seemed to spark genuine panic in Castro. When he pushed up my sleeve and saw the angry red scalds on my wrist, his voice trembled with concern. “God, when did this happen? Why didn't you tell me you were scalded?” He seemed to have completely forgotten about the incident at the party. I remained silent, unsure whether to remind him and shatter his façade of devotion. "Stop crying, darling. Let me get some medicine for that." He stroked my hair soothingly before standing to retrieve the first aid kit, muttering as he walked. "You're still such a child sometimes, aren't you? So sensitive to pain, so quick to tears. What would you do without me?" I stared numbly at the scalds on my wrist. Yes, what would I do without him after seven years of his "protection"? But Castro... I don't want you anymore. I don't want this false love anymore! I spent a restless night, tossing and turning, my skin clammy with fever sweat on the sheets. At dawn, Castro tried to coax me out of bed. When I mumbled protests and pushed him away, he leaned in with an amused smile to kiss me. For the first time in seven years, his kiss made me flinch. My hand instinctively rose to slap him but I caught myself. Thankfully, it was just a brief peck. "Awake yet, sleeping beauty?" he teased. I turned away, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. "It's Saturday. Why can't you let me sleep?" His expression softened with concern. "You were running a fever last night. Come on, we need to get you to the hospital." Though I felt better, his insistence won out and I reluctantly got dressed. In the hospital corridor, we ran into Oriana. She was hobbling along alone, clearly having injured her ankle. Castro's gentle demeanor vanished instantly. His brow furrowed with worry as he rushed to her side, steadying her with his hands. "What happened to you?" Oriana gave him a warm smile, then glanced meaningfully at me. "Just twisted my ankle. What a coincidence seeing you both here." Castro tensed, throwing me a quick, guilty look. "Ah yes, my friend's sister wasn't feeling well. Brought her in to check her fever." I was long used to this charade. From the moment Castro decided to keep our relationship secret, he'd introduced me to all his friends as his best friend's sister who he'd promised to look after. Only his innermost circle knew the truth about us. "You're such a good guardian to the poor girl." Oriana nodded sympathetically. Well, don't let me keep you - my appointment's down that way." She gestured toward a clinic door further down the hall. When she started to hop again, Castro didn't hesitate. He swept her up into his arms bridal-style. "Let me take you there." he said eagerly, "Aveline, wait here for me, alright?" Watching them, something inside me crumbled. My fever seemed to return full force, leaving me weak and dizzy. I leaned against the cold hospital wall, not bothering to respond. The stark white corridor suddenly felt endless and empty, much like my future without him. Castro didn't wait for my response - he was already carrying Oriana toward the clinic, her arms wrapped around his neck. How telling. No matter how well he played his part, his true feelings always surfaced around Oriana, betraying everything he tried to hide. Yet he seemed completely oblivious to his own transparency. I let out a bitter laugh and headed to my own appointment. My suspicions were confirmed - my temperature was 106°F. The doctor explained that my untreated scalds, combined with emotional stress, had led to an infection. I needed immediate IV antibiotics. My finger hovered over Castro's number out of habit before I caught myself. Habits really are terrifying things, aren't they? With a self-deprecating smile, I handled everything alone - getting the prescription and finding the IV treatment room. After the treatment, I felt even worse, nearly collapsing as I tried to walk. However, Castro hadn't returned - not even a text or call. Reluctantly, I called him. "You're still at the hospital?" He sounded surprised. "I'm sorry, sweetheart. I was going to drop Oriana home quickly and come back, but her stomach condition flared up and..." But his explanation was cut short by a waitress's voice in the background: "Sir, your meals are served. Buon apetite!" Despite his rushed attempt to muffle the phone, I heard every word. "It's fine. I can handle on my own!" I said, as much to convince myself as him. Before I could hang up, he called out, "Aveline, go home first. I'll explain everything later." What was there to explain? Just another lie to add to his collection. I ended the call and ordered an Uber home. Castro didn't return that night. Unable to sleep through the New Year's fireworks outside, I worked on some jewelry designs for my clients on my iPad. Accidentally touching the messaging app icon, I saw Oriana's social media post from an hour ago - a stunning photo of fireworks lighting up the night sky, captioned: "After years of wandering, I've come home to you. The fireworks welcome me back, just as brilliant as your love. Worth every moment of waiting." I stared at the screen for a long moment before realizing I was logged into Castro's account on my iPad. I had no interest in reading their intimate messages. I logged out immediately, trying to ignore the hollow feeling in my heart. The next morning, feeling somewhat better, I arrived at the design firm right on time. Sarah, my creative director, held my resignation letter with mixed emotions when I told her about returning home for marriage. "First my best jewelry designer leaves for marriage," she sighed, shaking her head. "The studio won't be the same without you." Words failed me, so I hugged her instead, grateful for her mentorship over the years. News of my departure spread quickly through the office. My colleagues insisted on throwing me a farewell dinner. I suggested the Italian restaurant Castro and I frequented - partly because I didn't know many others, but mostly because their seafood risotto was exceptional. During dinner, I excused myself to the wash my hand, only to find Oriana touching up her makeup at the marble vanity. "What a coincidence!" She smiled warmly at my reflection. "You know, Castro first brought me here during our college days. We've had so many special moments in this place since then." I returned a polite smile and turned to leave, seeing no reason for small talk between us. But Oriana wasn't finished. She called after me, "I noticed something the other night - Castro always rinses the spicy sauce off your shrimp. Are you sensitive to spice too?" That single word - "too" - made me freeze. The truth was, I loved spicy food. But Castro always insisted on rinsing my shrimp, claiming spicy food wasn't ladylike. I'd believed he was being protective. Now I realized he was simply acting on habit. It’s Oriana, who couldn't handle spice. Seeing my silence, she tilted her head, studying my face with unsettling intensity. "You know, I've been meaning to say this since I first saw you... Don't you think we look remarkably similar?" I'd never felt more humiliated. Under her triumphant gaze, I fled the bathroom, the pieces finally falling into place - I hadn't been his love, I'd been her replacement. Back in the private dining room, my colleagues' warmth slowly thawed my frozen state. Just as I was beginning to push aside the unpleasant encounter, the door swung open. Castro stood in the doorway, his Armani suit slightly disheveled, his eyes scanning the crowded room before landing on me with laser focus. In that moment of eye contact, I saw barely contained rage in his expression, though I couldn't fathom why. "Aveline." His voice cut through the chatter like ice. "A word?" Following him into the marble-lined hallway, I was utterly unprepared for what happened next. His hand connected with my cheek in a sharp crack that echoed off the pristine walls. In seven years, he had never raised a hand to me. "How dare you push Oriana?" Meeting my shocked gaze, he showed no remorse - only fury. "You knew her ankle was injured. I told you I'd explain everything later - is this your way of getting revenge?" My cheek stung where he'd struck me. Oriana limped toward us from down the hallway. Her designer blouse was rumpled and stained with water. Before I could defend myself, she collapsed dramatically to the floor. Castro shoved past me, rushing to gather her in his arms. "Why did you follow us? I told you I'd bring her to apologize," he said to Oriana, his harsh words belied by his tender tone. Oriana shook her head, tears glistening. "It's nothing serious. She probably didn't mean it. Don't be so hard on her." "If William finds out you struck his sister..." she added softly. At the mention of my brother, something flickered in Castro's eyes. But looking at Oriana, his resolve hardened. "William trusted me with her care," he said firmly. "If she needs correction, that's my responsibility." I let out a bitter laugh. "What exactly did I do? Even criminals get due process. You're denouncing and striking me without any evidence - doesn't that seem unjust to you?" Castro's fists clenched as he glared at me. "You knew there were no cameras in the restroom. That's why you chose to attack her there." The absurdity of it all made me want to laugh and cry simultaneously. "If there were no cameras, how can you be so sure it was me?" "Because Oriana wouldn't lie!" He took a step toward me, his cologne - the one she'd given him years ago, I now realized - overwhelming. "What possible reason would she have? I've known her for years. She's not capable of that kind of deception." I met his gaze, unflinching. "So I must be the liar then?" Seven years together. I'd thought that would mean something - that Castro would at least trust my character. But in Oriana's presence, those seven years might as well have been seven minutes. “Her word alone was enough to convict me. One accusation, and I was guilty beyond redemption.” The favoritism was unmistakable, his blind devotion to her undeniable. And me? I was just the understudy who'd forgotten her place. There was no point in arguing further. Ignoring Castro's angry calls, I walked away, my cheek still stinging from his slap. Not wanting to cast a shadow over my colleagues' celebration, I quietly settled the bill and texted them: "Something came up. Please enjoy the rest of the evening - dinner's on me." Back home, I found myself really seeing our apartment for the first time in seven years. Every corner held memories: the window seat where we'd shared Sunday morning coffee, the kitchen island where he'd taught me to make his grandmother's tiramisu. What once felt magical now felt poisonous, each memory a thorn in my heart. I found a moving box and spent the night methodically erasing our relationship: the matching "Beauty and Beast" slippers, the "his and hers" coffee mugs that fit together, and a whole collection of professional couple photographs - holiday cards, vacation shots, carefully staged moments of perfect happiness. These had been my security blanket, my proof that what we had was real. Now they were just artifacts of an elaborate performance. Castro didn't come home for two weeks. Between finishing my last jewelry designs,, I systematically emptied the apartment. I sold or donated every piece of furniture I'd chosen, every decorative touch I'd added. The space returned to its original state: stark minimalist, black and white, emptiness echoing off the walls. The night before my departure, I tried calling him one last time. Each attempt met with immediate rejection. Finally, a text appeared: "Unless you're ready to admit your guilt and properly apologize to Oriana, we have nothing to discuss." I laughed bitterly at my phone's screen. So be it. Some conversations were better left unsaid. My early morning flight beckoned. As I wheeled my suitcase out, this space that had once felt so precious now felt like a prison I was finally escaping. Just before boarding, my phone lit up with birthday wishes. Friends and colleagues sending hopes for my future, wishes for happiness, prayers for true love. I responded to each one before switching off my phone. As the plane lifted off, I made a silent promise to myself: I would be happy. With so many people wishing me well, how could I not be? 【5909】	LEARN_MORE	https://image.noveltells.net/landing-page/h5-1290.	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2,707,306	/src/Template/Ads/index.ctp (line 281) '{"alias":2707095}'	Yes	2025-02-28 00:30	active	2651	🔞Attention! Do not read in public！👉	For seven years, I've been Castro Harrison's secret lover. Our love was hidden in the shadows, but his kisses and promises kept me willing to stay. I thought he would finally acknowledge me—until that day when I overheard him talking with his friends. It turned out I was nothing more than a substitute. That night, I finally stepped into the room he had forbidden me from entering. On the desk, there was a picture frame—inside, a photo of him and another woman locked in a tight embrace, the Eiffel Tower in Paris in the background. At that moment, my heart turned completely cold. I erased every trace of myself in a single night and left without looking back. One minute before my flight took off, I sent my brother a message. "This afternoon, have the man you chose come and register the marriage." For seven years, I've been in a secret relationship with Castro Harrison, my brother's best friend. Just as I was hoping he'd propose, I tracked his location to a private lounge at an upscale restaurant, where I found they were joking about me. "Castro, now that Oriana's back from London, what are you going to do about that replacement?" Castro remained silent, his lack of response speaking volumes. The tension in the air was broken by another friend's sardonic laugh. "You've got to hand it to Castro–having the nerve to pursue William Blackwood's sister while Oriana was away. Now that you've had your fun, and Oriana's back..." "Well, Oriana deserved it after how coldly she left. A replacement was just what she needed to teach her a lesson!" ...... The next day, Castro took me to Oriana's welcome-home party at the Blackwood Estate, lavishing attention on me with an almost theatrical display of affection. But when Oriana ran out in tears, her Chanel dress stained with wine, Castro pushed me aside without a second thought and rush out. I returned home alone, my cream silk blouse ruined by scalding soup and my skin was still stinging. With trembling hands, I finally opened the door to his study---the one room he'd always declared off-limits. There, prominently displayed on his mahogany desk, was a photograph of him and Oriana in Paris, the Eiffel Tower gleaming behind their embracing figures. My heart turned to ice as I dialed my brother's number in Switzerland. "William... about that arranged marriage–I'll do it." "Aveline?" My brother's voice softened with concern, catching the unfamiliar strain in my tone. "What's wrong? This doesn't sound like you at all." A lump formed in my throat, but I forced a light laugh. "Nothing's wrong. I just realized - marriage is inevitable, isn't it? Does it really matter who it is?" "Besides," I continued, trying to keep my voice steady. "I trust your and father's judgment. Even for a business merger marriage, I know you would have vetted the candidate thoroughly." William's relief was audible through the phone. "I'm glad you're being sensible about this. When are you coming back? Would you like to meet him first before making your final decision?" "No need. The sooner we proceed, the sooner we can resolve the company's crisis. Go ahead and start planning the wedding. Let's set it for... a month from now." "Perfect! By the way, have you heard from Castro?" he coninued, "His first love is finally back in town. You should invite him to the wedding - let him share in your happiness." So William knew about Oriana too. No wonder Castro never let me tell my brother about us. I lowered my eyes, concealing the pain that threatened to spill over. "Don't bother him, Will. We're... not that close." Hearing the door unlock, I quickly said goodbye and ended the call. I looked up to find Castro leaning against the doorframe, his signature smirk playing across his lips. "Not close to whom?" "You." My honest answer only made his smirk widen as he pulled me into his arms. "Oh really?" His voice dropped to a husky whisper. "Should we discuss just how 'not close' we are? All those nights together weren't close enough?" His breath was hot against my ear, and for the first time, his intimate gesture made my skin crawl instead of flutter. As I struggled, I caught sight of the lipstick stain on his collar - a shade I'd never worn. The movement aggravated my scalds, sending sharp stabs of pain through my body until tears sprang to my eyes. "What's wrong, sweetheart? Are you hurt?" My tears seemed to spark genuine panic in Castro. When he pushed up my sleeve and saw the angry red scalds on my wrist, his voice trembled with concern. “God, when did this happen? Why didn't you tell me you were scalded?” He seemed to have completely forgotten about the incident at the party. I remained silent, unsure whether to remind him and shatter his façade of devotion. "Stop crying, darling. Let me get some medicine for that." He stroked my hair soothingly before standing to retrieve the first aid kit, muttering as he walked. "You're still such a child sometimes, aren't you? So sensitive to pain, so quick to tears. What would you do without me?" I stared numbly at the scalds on my wrist. Yes, what would I do without him after seven years of his "protection"? But Castro... I don't want you anymore. I don't want this false love anymore! I spent a restless night, tossing and turning, my skin clammy with fever sweat on the sheets. At dawn, Castro tried to coax me out of bed. When I mumbled protests and pushed him away, he leaned in with an amused smile to kiss me. For the first time in seven years, his kiss made me flinch. My hand instinctively rose to slap him but I caught myself. Thankfully, it was just a brief peck. "Awake yet, sleeping beauty?" he teased. I turned away, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. "It's Saturday. Why can't you let me sleep?" His expression softened with concern. "You were running a fever last night. Come on, we need to get you to the hospital." Though I felt better, his insistence won out and I reluctantly got dressed. In the hospital corridor, we ran into Oriana. She was hobbling along alone, clearly having injured her ankle. Castro's gentle demeanor vanished instantly. His brow furrowed with worry as he rushed to her side, steadying her with his hands. "What happened to you?" Oriana gave him a warm smile, then glanced meaningfully at me. "Just twisted my ankle. What a coincidence seeing you both here." Castro tensed, throwing me a quick, guilty look. "Ah yes, my friend's sister wasn't feeling well. Brought her in to check her fever." I was long used to this charade. From the moment Castro decided to keep our relationship secret, he'd introduced me to all his friends as his best friend's sister who he'd promised to look after. Only his innermost circle knew the truth about us. "You're such a good guardian to the poor girl." Oriana nodded sympathetically. Well, don't let me keep you - my appointment's down that way." She gestured toward a clinic door further down the hall. When she started to hop again, Castro didn't hesitate. He swept her up into his arms bridal-style. "Let me take you there." he said eagerly, "Aveline, wait here for me, alright?" Watching them, something inside me crumbled. My fever seemed to return full force, leaving me weak and dizzy. I leaned against the cold hospital wall, not bothering to respond. The stark white corridor suddenly felt endless and empty, much like my future without him. Castro didn't wait for my response - he was already carrying Oriana toward the clinic, her arms wrapped around his neck. How telling. No matter how well he played his part, his true feelings always surfaced around Oriana, betraying everything he tried to hide. Yet he seemed completely oblivious to his own transparency. I let out a bitter laugh and headed to my own appointment. My suspicions were confirmed - my temperature was 106°F. The doctor explained that my untreated scalds, combined with emotional stress, had led to an infection. I needed immediate IV antibiotics. My finger hovered over Castro's number out of habit before I caught myself. Habits really are terrifying things, aren't they? With a self-deprecating smile, I handled everything alone - getting the prescription and finding the IV treatment room. After the treatment, I felt even worse, nearly collapsing as I tried to walk. However, Castro hadn't returned - not even a text or call. Reluctantly, I called him. "You're still at the hospital?" He sounded surprised. "I'm sorry, sweetheart. I was going to drop Oriana home quickly and come back, but her stomach condition flared up and..." But his explanation was cut short by a waitress's voice in the background: "Sir, your meals are served. Buon apetite!" Despite his rushed attempt to muffle the phone, I heard every word. "It's fine. I can handle on my own!" I said, as much to convince myself as him. Before I could hang up, he called out, "Aveline, go home first. I'll explain everything later." What was there to explain? Just another lie to add to his collection. I ended the call and ordered an Uber home. Castro didn't return that night. Unable to sleep through the New Year's fireworks outside, I worked on some jewelry designs for my clients on my iPad. Accidentally touching the messaging app icon, I saw Oriana's social media post from an hour ago - a stunning photo of fireworks lighting up the night sky, captioned: "After years of wandering, I've come home to you. The fireworks welcome me back, just as brilliant as your love. Worth every moment of waiting." I stared at the screen for a long moment before realizing I was logged into Castro's account on my iPad. I had no interest in reading their intimate messages. I logged out immediately, trying to ignore the hollow feeling in my heart. The next morning, feeling somewhat better, I arrived at the design firm right on time. Sarah, my creative director, held my resignation letter with mixed emotions when I told her about returning home for marriage. "First my best jewelry designer leaves for marriage," she sighed, shaking her head. "The studio won't be the same without you." Words failed me, so I hugged her instead, grateful for her mentorship over the years. News of my departure spread quickly through the office. My colleagues insisted on throwing me a farewell dinner. I suggested the Italian restaurant Castro and I frequented - partly because I didn't know many others, but mostly because their seafood risotto was exceptional. During dinner, I excused myself to the wash my hand, only to find Oriana touching up her makeup at the marble vanity. "What a coincidence!" She smiled warmly at my reflection. "You know, Castro first brought me here during our college days. We've had so many special moments in this place since then." I returned a polite smile and turned to leave, seeing no reason for small talk between us. But Oriana wasn't finished. She called after me, "I noticed something the other night - Castro always rinses the spicy sauce off your shrimp. Are you sensitive to spice too?" That single word - "too" - made me freeze. The truth was, I loved spicy food. But Castro always insisted on rinsing my shrimp, claiming spicy food wasn't ladylike. I'd believed he was being protective. Now I realized he was simply acting on habit. It’s Oriana, who couldn't handle spice. Seeing my silence, she tilted her head, studying my face with unsettling intensity. "You know, I've been meaning to say this since I first saw you... Don't you think we look remarkably similar?" I'd never felt more humiliated. Under her triumphant gaze, I fled the bathroom, the pieces finally falling into place - I hadn't been his love, I'd been her replacement. Back in the private dining room, my colleagues' warmth slowly thawed my frozen state. Just as I was beginning to push aside the unpleasant encounter, the door swung open. Castro stood in the doorway, his Armani suit slightly disheveled, his eyes scanning the crowded room before landing on me with laser focus. In that moment of eye contact, I saw barely contained rage in his expression, though I couldn't fathom why. "Aveline." His voice cut through the chatter like ice. "A word?" Following him into the marble-lined hallway, I was utterly unprepared for what happened next. His hand connected with my cheek in a sharp crack that echoed off the pristine walls. In seven years, he had never raised a hand to me. "How dare you push Oriana?" Meeting my shocked gaze, he showed no remorse - only fury. "You knew her ankle was injured. I told you I'd explain everything later - is this your way of getting revenge?" My cheek stung where he'd struck me. Oriana limped toward us from down the hallway. Her designer blouse was rumpled and stained with water. Before I could defend myself, she collapsed dramatically to the floor. Castro shoved past me, rushing to gather her in his arms. "Why did you follow us? I told you I'd bring her to apologize," he said to Oriana, his harsh words belied by his tender tone. Oriana shook her head, tears glistening. "It's nothing serious. She probably didn't mean it. Don't be so hard on her." "If William finds out you struck his sister..." she added softly. At the mention of my brother, something flickered in Castro's eyes. But looking at Oriana, his resolve hardened. "William trusted me with her care," he said firmly. "If she needs correction, that's my responsibility." I let out a bitter laugh. "What exactly did I do? Even criminals get due process. You're denouncing and striking me without any evidence - doesn't that seem unjust to you?" Castro's fists clenched as he glared at me. "You knew there were no cameras in the restroom. That's why you chose to attack her there." The absurdity of it all made me want to laugh and cry simultaneously. "If there were no cameras, how can you be so sure it was me?" "Because Oriana wouldn't lie!" He took a step toward me, his cologne - the one she'd given him years ago, I now realized - overwhelming. "What possible reason would she have? I've known her for years. She's not capable of that kind of deception." I met his gaze, unflinching. "So I must be the liar then?" Seven years together. I'd thought that would mean something - that Castro would at least trust my character. But in Oriana's presence, those seven years might as well have been seven minutes. “Her word alone was enough to convict me. One accusation, and I was guilty beyond redemption.” The favoritism was unmistakable, his blind devotion to her undeniable. And me? I was just the understudy who'd forgotten her place. There was no point in arguing further. Ignoring Castro's angry calls, I walked away, my cheek still stinging from his slap. Not wanting to cast a shadow over my colleagues' celebration, I quietly settled the bill and texted them: "Something came up. Please enjoy the rest of the evening - dinner's on me." Back home, I found myself really seeing our apartment for the first time in seven years. Every corner held memories: the window seat where we'd shared Sunday morning coffee, the kitchen island where he'd taught me to make his grandmother's tiramisu. What once felt magical now felt poisonous, each memory a thorn in my heart. I found a moving box and spent the night methodically erasing our relationship: the matching "Beauty and Beast" slippers, the "his and hers" coffee mugs that fit together, and a whole collection of professional couple photographs - holiday cards, vacation shots, carefully staged moments of perfect happiness. These had been my security blanket, my proof that what we had was real. Now they were just artifacts of an elaborate performance. Castro didn't come home for two weeks. Between finishing my last jewelry designs,, I systematically emptied the apartment. I sold or donated every piece of furniture I'd chosen, every decorative touch I'd added. The space returned to its original state: stark minimalist, black and white, emptiness echoing off the walls. The night before my departure, I tried calling him one last time. Each attempt met with immediate rejection. Finally, a text appeared: "Unless you're ready to admit your guilt and properly apologize to Oriana, we have nothing to discuss." I laughed bitterly at my phone's screen. So be it. Some conversations were better left unsaid. My early morning flight beckoned. As I wheeled my suitcase out, this space that had once felt so precious now felt like a prison I was finally escaping. Just before boarding, my phone lit up with birthday wishes. Friends and colleagues sending hopes for my future, wishes for happiness, prayers for true love. I responded to each one before switching off my phone. As the plane lifted off, I made a silent promise to myself: I would be happy. With so many people wishing me well, how could I not be? 【5909】	LEARN_MORE	https://image.noveltells.net/landing-page/h5-1290.	FavoRead	https://www.facebook.com/100083109648305/	1,138	1969-12-31 18:00	Learn more	image.noveltells.net	VIDEO		https://image.noveltells.net/landing-page/h5-1290.html?id=1290&yy_appname=Favoread&badid={{ad.id}}	1969-12-31 18:00	https://scontent-iad3-1.xx.fbcdn.net/v/t39.35426-6/480704763_615340314730215_6373698684499328026_n.jpg?stp=dst-jpg_s60x60_tt6&_nc_cat=107&ccb=1-7&_nc_sid=c53f8f&_nc_ohc=I-UAiruq1EoQ7kNvgHGdTN-&_nc_oc=AdiLRXe90WF4ZDNm_FUHSaKr3FxO3GIe_6XVnfr7nlhWaTjJ-KVaIo-nVavJi6bat_l2yCrjYOp92t4dmpn622G1&_nc_zt=14&_nc_ht=scontent-iad3-1.xx&_nc_gid=AxN8BIPl7PJcj6alJ1dPeZW&oh=00_AYCxT7f8EBmg_Gox9D5ofuBnp26MHupTCHoTyyHTWDd4CA&oe=67C739D8	PERSON_PROFILE	FavoRead	1969-12-31 18:00	View Edit Delete
2,707,307	/src/Template/Ads/index.ctp (line 281) '{"alias":2707095}'	Yes	2025-02-28 00:30	active	2651	🔞Attention! Do not read in public！👉	For seven years, I've been Castro Harrison's secret lover. Our love was hidden in the shadows, but his kisses and promises kept me willing to stay. I thought he would finally acknowledge me—until that day when I overheard him talking with his friends. It turned out I was nothing more than a substitute. That night, I finally stepped into the room he had forbidden me from entering. On the desk, there was a picture frame—inside, a photo of him and another woman locked in a tight embrace, the Eiffel Tower in Paris in the background. At that moment, my heart turned completely cold. I erased every trace of myself in a single night and left without looking back. One minute before my flight took off, I sent my brother a message. "This afternoon, have the man you chose come and register the marriage." For seven years, I've been in a secret relationship with Castro Harrison, my brother's best friend. Just as I was hoping he'd propose, I tracked his location to a private lounge at an upscale restaurant, where I found they were joking about me. "Castro, now that Oriana's back from London, what are you going to do about that replacement?" Castro remained silent, his lack of response speaking volumes. The tension in the air was broken by another friend's sardonic laugh. "You've got to hand it to Castro–having the nerve to pursue William Blackwood's sister while Oriana was away. Now that you've had your fun, and Oriana's back..." "Well, Oriana deserved it after how coldly she left. A replacement was just what she needed to teach her a lesson!" ...... The next day, Castro took me to Oriana's welcome-home party at the Blackwood Estate, lavishing attention on me with an almost theatrical display of affection. But when Oriana ran out in tears, her Chanel dress stained with wine, Castro pushed me aside without a second thought and rush out. I returned home alone, my cream silk blouse ruined by scalding soup and my skin was still stinging. With trembling hands, I finally opened the door to his study---the one room he'd always declared off-limits. There, prominently displayed on his mahogany desk, was a photograph of him and Oriana in Paris, the Eiffel Tower gleaming behind their embracing figures. My heart turned to ice as I dialed my brother's number in Switzerland. "William... about that arranged marriage–I'll do it." "Aveline?" My brother's voice softened with concern, catching the unfamiliar strain in my tone. "What's wrong? This doesn't sound like you at all." A lump formed in my throat, but I forced a light laugh. "Nothing's wrong. I just realized - marriage is inevitable, isn't it? Does it really matter who it is?" "Besides," I continued, trying to keep my voice steady. "I trust your and father's judgment. Even for a business merger marriage, I know you would have vetted the candidate thoroughly." William's relief was audible through the phone. "I'm glad you're being sensible about this. When are you coming back? Would you like to meet him first before making your final decision?" "No need. The sooner we proceed, the sooner we can resolve the company's crisis. Go ahead and start planning the wedding. Let's set it for... a month from now." "Perfect! By the way, have you heard from Castro?" he coninued, "His first love is finally back in town. You should invite him to the wedding - let him share in your happiness." So William knew about Oriana too. No wonder Castro never let me tell my brother about us. I lowered my eyes, concealing the pain that threatened to spill over. "Don't bother him, Will. We're... not that close." Hearing the door unlock, I quickly said goodbye and ended the call. I looked up to find Castro leaning against the doorframe, his signature smirk playing across his lips. "Not close to whom?" "You." My honest answer only made his smirk widen as he pulled me into his arms. "Oh really?" His voice dropped to a husky whisper. "Should we discuss just how 'not close' we are? All those nights together weren't close enough?" His breath was hot against my ear, and for the first time, his intimate gesture made my skin crawl instead of flutter. As I struggled, I caught sight of the lipstick stain on his collar - a shade I'd never worn. The movement aggravated my scalds, sending sharp stabs of pain through my body until tears sprang to my eyes. "What's wrong, sweetheart? Are you hurt?" My tears seemed to spark genuine panic in Castro. When he pushed up my sleeve and saw the angry red scalds on my wrist, his voice trembled with concern. “God, when did this happen? Why didn't you tell me you were scalded?” He seemed to have completely forgotten about the incident at the party. I remained silent, unsure whether to remind him and shatter his façade of devotion. "Stop crying, darling. Let me get some medicine for that." He stroked my hair soothingly before standing to retrieve the first aid kit, muttering as he walked. "You're still such a child sometimes, aren't you? So sensitive to pain, so quick to tears. What would you do without me?" I stared numbly at the scalds on my wrist. Yes, what would I do without him after seven years of his "protection"? But Castro... I don't want you anymore. I don't want this false love anymore! I spent a restless night, tossing and turning, my skin clammy with fever sweat on the sheets. At dawn, Castro tried to coax me out of bed. When I mumbled protests and pushed him away, he leaned in with an amused smile to kiss me. For the first time in seven years, his kiss made me flinch. My hand instinctively rose to slap him but I caught myself. Thankfully, it was just a brief peck. "Awake yet, sleeping beauty?" he teased. I turned away, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. "It's Saturday. Why can't you let me sleep?" His expression softened with concern. "You were running a fever last night. Come on, we need to get you to the hospital." Though I felt better, his insistence won out and I reluctantly got dressed. In the hospital corridor, we ran into Oriana. She was hobbling along alone, clearly having injured her ankle. Castro's gentle demeanor vanished instantly. His brow furrowed with worry as he rushed to her side, steadying her with his hands. "What happened to you?" Oriana gave him a warm smile, then glanced meaningfully at me. "Just twisted my ankle. What a coincidence seeing you both here." Castro tensed, throwing me a quick, guilty look. "Ah yes, my friend's sister wasn't feeling well. Brought her in to check her fever." I was long used to this charade. From the moment Castro decided to keep our relationship secret, he'd introduced me to all his friends as his best friend's sister who he'd promised to look after. Only his innermost circle knew the truth about us. "You're such a good guardian to the poor girl." Oriana nodded sympathetically. Well, don't let me keep you - my appointment's down that way." She gestured toward a clinic door further down the hall. When she started to hop again, Castro didn't hesitate. He swept her up into his arms bridal-style. "Let me take you there." he said eagerly, "Aveline, wait here for me, alright?" Watching them, something inside me crumbled. My fever seemed to return full force, leaving me weak and dizzy. I leaned against the cold hospital wall, not bothering to respond. The stark white corridor suddenly felt endless and empty, much like my future without him. Castro didn't wait for my response - he was already carrying Oriana toward the clinic, her arms wrapped around his neck. How telling. No matter how well he played his part, his true feelings always surfaced around Oriana, betraying everything he tried to hide. Yet he seemed completely oblivious to his own transparency. I let out a bitter laugh and headed to my own appointment. My suspicions were confirmed - my temperature was 106°F. The doctor explained that my untreated scalds, combined with emotional stress, had led to an infection. I needed immediate IV antibiotics. My finger hovered over Castro's number out of habit before I caught myself. Habits really are terrifying things, aren't they? With a self-deprecating smile, I handled everything alone - getting the prescription and finding the IV treatment room. After the treatment, I felt even worse, nearly collapsing as I tried to walk. However, Castro hadn't returned - not even a text or call. Reluctantly, I called him. "You're still at the hospital?" He sounded surprised. "I'm sorry, sweetheart. I was going to drop Oriana home quickly and come back, but her stomach condition flared up and..." But his explanation was cut short by a waitress's voice in the background: "Sir, your meals are served. Buon apetite!" Despite his rushed attempt to muffle the phone, I heard every word. "It's fine. I can handle on my own!" I said, as much to convince myself as him. Before I could hang up, he called out, "Aveline, go home first. I'll explain everything later." What was there to explain? Just another lie to add to his collection. I ended the call and ordered an Uber home. Castro didn't return that night. Unable to sleep through the New Year's fireworks outside, I worked on some jewelry designs for my clients on my iPad. Accidentally touching the messaging app icon, I saw Oriana's social media post from an hour ago - a stunning photo of fireworks lighting up the night sky, captioned: "After years of wandering, I've come home to you. The fireworks welcome me back, just as brilliant as your love. Worth every moment of waiting." I stared at the screen for a long moment before realizing I was logged into Castro's account on my iPad. I had no interest in reading their intimate messages. I logged out immediately, trying to ignore the hollow feeling in my heart. The next morning, feeling somewhat better, I arrived at the design firm right on time. Sarah, my creative director, held my resignation letter with mixed emotions when I told her about returning home for marriage. "First my best jewelry designer leaves for marriage," she sighed, shaking her head. "The studio won't be the same without you." Words failed me, so I hugged her instead, grateful for her mentorship over the years. News of my departure spread quickly through the office. My colleagues insisted on throwing me a farewell dinner. I suggested the Italian restaurant Castro and I frequented - partly because I didn't know many others, but mostly because their seafood risotto was exceptional. During dinner, I excused myself to the wash my hand, only to find Oriana touching up her makeup at the marble vanity. "What a coincidence!" She smiled warmly at my reflection. "You know, Castro first brought me here during our college days. We've had so many special moments in this place since then." I returned a polite smile and turned to leave, seeing no reason for small talk between us. But Oriana wasn't finished. She called after me, "I noticed something the other night - Castro always rinses the spicy sauce off your shrimp. Are you sensitive to spice too?" That single word - "too" - made me freeze. The truth was, I loved spicy food. But Castro always insisted on rinsing my shrimp, claiming spicy food wasn't ladylike. I'd believed he was being protective. Now I realized he was simply acting on habit. It’s Oriana, who couldn't handle spice. Seeing my silence, she tilted her head, studying my face with unsettling intensity. "You know, I've been meaning to say this since I first saw you... Don't you think we look remarkably similar?" I'd never felt more humiliated. Under her triumphant gaze, I fled the bathroom, the pieces finally falling into place - I hadn't been his love, I'd been her replacement. Back in the private dining room, my colleagues' warmth slowly thawed my frozen state. Just as I was beginning to push aside the unpleasant encounter, the door swung open. Castro stood in the doorway, his Armani suit slightly disheveled, his eyes scanning the crowded room before landing on me with laser focus. In that moment of eye contact, I saw barely contained rage in his expression, though I couldn't fathom why. "Aveline." His voice cut through the chatter like ice. "A word?" Following him into the marble-lined hallway, I was utterly unprepared for what happened next. His hand connected with my cheek in a sharp crack that echoed off the pristine walls. In seven years, he had never raised a hand to me. "How dare you push Oriana?" Meeting my shocked gaze, he showed no remorse - only fury. "You knew her ankle was injured. I told you I'd explain everything later - is this your way of getting revenge?" My cheek stung where he'd struck me. Oriana limped toward us from down the hallway. Her designer blouse was rumpled and stained with water. Before I could defend myself, she collapsed dramatically to the floor. Castro shoved past me, rushing to gather her in his arms. "Why did you follow us? I told you I'd bring her to apologize," he said to Oriana, his harsh words belied by his tender tone. Oriana shook her head, tears glistening. "It's nothing serious. She probably didn't mean it. Don't be so hard on her." "If William finds out you struck his sister..." she added softly. At the mention of my brother, something flickered in Castro's eyes. But looking at Oriana, his resolve hardened. "William trusted me with her care," he said firmly. "If she needs correction, that's my responsibility." I let out a bitter laugh. "What exactly did I do? Even criminals get due process. You're denouncing and striking me without any evidence - doesn't that seem unjust to you?" Castro's fists clenched as he glared at me. "You knew there were no cameras in the restroom. That's why you chose to attack her there." The absurdity of it all made me want to laugh and cry simultaneously. "If there were no cameras, how can you be so sure it was me?" "Because Oriana wouldn't lie!" He took a step toward me, his cologne - the one she'd given him years ago, I now realized - overwhelming. "What possible reason would she have? I've known her for years. She's not capable of that kind of deception." I met his gaze, unflinching. "So I must be the liar then?" Seven years together. I'd thought that would mean something - that Castro would at least trust my character. But in Oriana's presence, those seven years might as well have been seven minutes. “Her word alone was enough to convict me. One accusation, and I was guilty beyond redemption.” The favoritism was unmistakable, his blind devotion to her undeniable. And me? I was just the understudy who'd forgotten her place. There was no point in arguing further. Ignoring Castro's angry calls, I walked away, my cheek still stinging from his slap. Not wanting to cast a shadow over my colleagues' celebration, I quietly settled the bill and texted them: "Something came up. Please enjoy the rest of the evening - dinner's on me." Back home, I found myself really seeing our apartment for the first time in seven years. Every corner held memories: the window seat where we'd shared Sunday morning coffee, the kitchen island where he'd taught me to make his grandmother's tiramisu. What once felt magical now felt poisonous, each memory a thorn in my heart. I found a moving box and spent the night methodically erasing our relationship: the matching "Beauty and Beast" slippers, the "his and hers" coffee mugs that fit together, and a whole collection of professional couple photographs - holiday cards, vacation shots, carefully staged moments of perfect happiness. These had been my security blanket, my proof that what we had was real. Now they were just artifacts of an elaborate performance. Castro didn't come home for two weeks. Between finishing my last jewelry designs,, I systematically emptied the apartment. I sold or donated every piece of furniture I'd chosen, every decorative touch I'd added. The space returned to its original state: stark minimalist, black and white, emptiness echoing off the walls. The night before my departure, I tried calling him one last time. Each attempt met with immediate rejection. Finally, a text appeared: "Unless you're ready to admit your guilt and properly apologize to Oriana, we have nothing to discuss." I laughed bitterly at my phone's screen. So be it. Some conversations were better left unsaid. My early morning flight beckoned. As I wheeled my suitcase out, this space that had once felt so precious now felt like a prison I was finally escaping. Just before boarding, my phone lit up with birthday wishes. Friends and colleagues sending hopes for my future, wishes for happiness, prayers for true love. I responded to each one before switching off my phone. As the plane lifted off, I made a silent promise to myself: I would be happy. With so many people wishing me well, how could I not be? 【5909】	LEARN_MORE	https://image.noveltells.net/landing-page/h5-1290.	FavoRead	https://www.facebook.com/100083109648305/	1,138	1969-12-31 18:00	Learn more	image.noveltells.net	VIDEO		https://image.noveltells.net/landing-page/h5-1290.html?id=1290&yy_appname=Favoread&badid={{ad.id}}	1969-12-31 18:00	https://scontent-iad3-1.xx.fbcdn.net/v/t39.35426-6/480839073_1163332858920130_4502538350450645028_n.jpg?stp=dst-jpg_s60x60_tt6&_nc_cat=104&ccb=1-7&_nc_sid=c53f8f&_nc_ohc=WcSSVw_IUz0Q7kNvgGbHD4p&_nc_oc=Adg7H-8lwm1hfuznVafZCJYP9YJvDa_4QFl046RmiIIaB0Z_Gl51g4C6gfiHmeOk0UFFRtgKkOZp8jCUlvg1oM7j&_nc_zt=14&_nc_ht=scontent-iad3-1.xx&_nc_gid=AxN8BIPl7PJcj6alJ1dPeZW&oh=00_AYDBsw8LxfIyFXD8QOZkj6KAeGeUIVVHJDIKh_JKJpmVmQ&oe=67C70ED0	PERSON_PROFILE	FavoRead	1969-12-31 18:00	View Edit Delete
2,707,308	/src/Template/Ads/index.ctp (line 281) '{"alias":2707095}'	Yes	2025-02-28 00:30	active	2651	🔞Attention! Do not read in public！👉	For seven years, I've been Castro Harrison's secret lover. Our love was hidden in the shadows, but his kisses and promises kept me willing to stay. I thought he would finally acknowledge me—until that day when I overheard him talking with his friends. It turned out I was nothing more than a substitute. That night, I finally stepped into the room he had forbidden me from entering. On the desk, there was a picture frame—inside, a photo of him and another woman locked in a tight embrace, the Eiffel Tower in Paris in the background. At that moment, my heart turned completely cold. I erased every trace of myself in a single night and left without looking back. One minute before my flight took off, I sent my brother a message. "This afternoon, have the man you chose come and register the marriage." For seven years, I've been in a secret relationship with Castro Harrison, my brother's best friend. Just as I was hoping he'd propose, I tracked his location to a private lounge at an upscale restaurant, where I found they were joking about me. "Castro, now that Oriana's back from London, what are you going to do about that replacement?" Castro remained silent, his lack of response speaking volumes. The tension in the air was broken by another friend's sardonic laugh. "You've got to hand it to Castro–having the nerve to pursue William Blackwood's sister while Oriana was away. Now that you've had your fun, and Oriana's back..." "Well, Oriana deserved it after how coldly she left. A replacement was just what she needed to teach her a lesson!" ...... The next day, Castro took me to Oriana's welcome-home party at the Blackwood Estate, lavishing attention on me with an almost theatrical display of affection. But when Oriana ran out in tears, her Chanel dress stained with wine, Castro pushed me aside without a second thought and rush out. I returned home alone, my cream silk blouse ruined by scalding soup and my skin was still stinging. With trembling hands, I finally opened the door to his study---the one room he'd always declared off-limits. There, prominently displayed on his mahogany desk, was a photograph of him and Oriana in Paris, the Eiffel Tower gleaming behind their embracing figures. My heart turned to ice as I dialed my brother's number in Switzerland. "William... about that arranged marriage–I'll do it." "Aveline?" My brother's voice softened with concern, catching the unfamiliar strain in my tone. "What's wrong? This doesn't sound like you at all." A lump formed in my throat, but I forced a light laugh. "Nothing's wrong. I just realized - marriage is inevitable, isn't it? Does it really matter who it is?" "Besides," I continued, trying to keep my voice steady. "I trust your and father's judgment. Even for a business merger marriage, I know you would have vetted the candidate thoroughly." William's relief was audible through the phone. "I'm glad you're being sensible about this. When are you coming back? Would you like to meet him first before making your final decision?" "No need. The sooner we proceed, the sooner we can resolve the company's crisis. Go ahead and start planning the wedding. Let's set it for... a month from now." "Perfect! By the way, have you heard from Castro?" he coninued, "His first love is finally back in town. You should invite him to the wedding - let him share in your happiness." So William knew about Oriana too. No wonder Castro never let me tell my brother about us. I lowered my eyes, concealing the pain that threatened to spill over. "Don't bother him, Will. We're... not that close." Hearing the door unlock, I quickly said goodbye and ended the call. I looked up to find Castro leaning against the doorframe, his signature smirk playing across his lips. "Not close to whom?" "You." My honest answer only made his smirk widen as he pulled me into his arms. "Oh really?" His voice dropped to a husky whisper. "Should we discuss just how 'not close' we are? All those nights together weren't close enough?" His breath was hot against my ear, and for the first time, his intimate gesture made my skin crawl instead of flutter. As I struggled, I caught sight of the lipstick stain on his collar - a shade I'd never worn. The movement aggravated my scalds, sending sharp stabs of pain through my body until tears sprang to my eyes. "What's wrong, sweetheart? Are you hurt?" My tears seemed to spark genuine panic in Castro. When he pushed up my sleeve and saw the angry red scalds on my wrist, his voice trembled with concern. “God, when did this happen? Why didn't you tell me you were scalded?” He seemed to have completely forgotten about the incident at the party. I remained silent, unsure whether to remind him and shatter his façade of devotion. "Stop crying, darling. Let me get some medicine for that." He stroked my hair soothingly before standing to retrieve the first aid kit, muttering as he walked. "You're still such a child sometimes, aren't you? So sensitive to pain, so quick to tears. What would you do without me?" I stared numbly at the scalds on my wrist. Yes, what would I do without him after seven years of his "protection"? But Castro... I don't want you anymore. I don't want this false love anymore! I spent a restless night, tossing and turning, my skin clammy with fever sweat on the sheets. At dawn, Castro tried to coax me out of bed. When I mumbled protests and pushed him away, he leaned in with an amused smile to kiss me. For the first time in seven years, his kiss made me flinch. My hand instinctively rose to slap him but I caught myself. Thankfully, it was just a brief peck. "Awake yet, sleeping beauty?" he teased. I turned away, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. "It's Saturday. Why can't you let me sleep?" His expression softened with concern. "You were running a fever last night. Come on, we need to get you to the hospital." Though I felt better, his insistence won out and I reluctantly got dressed. In the hospital corridor, we ran into Oriana. She was hobbling along alone, clearly having injured her ankle. Castro's gentle demeanor vanished instantly. His brow furrowed with worry as he rushed to her side, steadying her with his hands. "What happened to you?" Oriana gave him a warm smile, then glanced meaningfully at me. "Just twisted my ankle. What a coincidence seeing you both here." Castro tensed, throwing me a quick, guilty look. "Ah yes, my friend's sister wasn't feeling well. Brought her in to check her fever." I was long used to this charade. From the moment Castro decided to keep our relationship secret, he'd introduced me to all his friends as his best friend's sister who he'd promised to look after. Only his innermost circle knew the truth about us. "You're such a good guardian to the poor girl." Oriana nodded sympathetically. Well, don't let me keep you - my appointment's down that way." She gestured toward a clinic door further down the hall. When she started to hop again, Castro didn't hesitate. He swept her up into his arms bridal-style. "Let me take you there." he said eagerly, "Aveline, wait here for me, alright?" Watching them, something inside me crumbled. My fever seemed to return full force, leaving me weak and dizzy. I leaned against the cold hospital wall, not bothering to respond. The stark white corridor suddenly felt endless and empty, much like my future without him. Castro didn't wait for my response - he was already carrying Oriana toward the clinic, her arms wrapped around his neck. How telling. No matter how well he played his part, his true feelings always surfaced around Oriana, betraying everything he tried to hide. Yet he seemed completely oblivious to his own transparency. I let out a bitter laugh and headed to my own appointment. My suspicions were confirmed - my temperature was 106°F. The doctor explained that my untreated scalds, combined with emotional stress, had led to an infection. I needed immediate IV antibiotics. My finger hovered over Castro's number out of habit before I caught myself. Habits really are terrifying things, aren't they? With a self-deprecating smile, I handled everything alone - getting the prescription and finding the IV treatment room. After the treatment, I felt even worse, nearly collapsing as I tried to walk. However, Castro hadn't returned - not even a text or call. Reluctantly, I called him. "You're still at the hospital?" He sounded surprised. "I'm sorry, sweetheart. I was going to drop Oriana home quickly and come back, but her stomach condition flared up and..." But his explanation was cut short by a waitress's voice in the background: "Sir, your meals are served. Buon apetite!" Despite his rushed attempt to muffle the phone, I heard every word. "It's fine. I can handle on my own!" I said, as much to convince myself as him. Before I could hang up, he called out, "Aveline, go home first. I'll explain everything later." What was there to explain? Just another lie to add to his collection. I ended the call and ordered an Uber home. Castro didn't return that night. Unable to sleep through the New Year's fireworks outside, I worked on some jewelry designs for my clients on my iPad. Accidentally touching the messaging app icon, I saw Oriana's social media post from an hour ago - a stunning photo of fireworks lighting up the night sky, captioned: "After years of wandering, I've come home to you. The fireworks welcome me back, just as brilliant as your love. Worth every moment of waiting." I stared at the screen for a long moment before realizing I was logged into Castro's account on my iPad. I had no interest in reading their intimate messages. I logged out immediately, trying to ignore the hollow feeling in my heart. The next morning, feeling somewhat better, I arrived at the design firm right on time. Sarah, my creative director, held my resignation letter with mixed emotions when I told her about returning home for marriage. "First my best jewelry designer leaves for marriage," she sighed, shaking her head. "The studio won't be the same without you." Words failed me, so I hugged her instead, grateful for her mentorship over the years. News of my departure spread quickly through the office. My colleagues insisted on throwing me a farewell dinner. I suggested the Italian restaurant Castro and I frequented - partly because I didn't know many others, but mostly because their seafood risotto was exceptional. During dinner, I excused myself to the wash my hand, only to find Oriana touching up her makeup at the marble vanity. "What a coincidence!" She smiled warmly at my reflection. "You know, Castro first brought me here during our college days. We've had so many special moments in this place since then." I returned a polite smile and turned to leave, seeing no reason for small talk between us. But Oriana wasn't finished. She called after me, "I noticed something the other night - Castro always rinses the spicy sauce off your shrimp. Are you sensitive to spice too?" That single word - "too" - made me freeze. The truth was, I loved spicy food. But Castro always insisted on rinsing my shrimp, claiming spicy food wasn't ladylike. I'd believed he was being protective. Now I realized he was simply acting on habit. It’s Oriana, who couldn't handle spice. Seeing my silence, she tilted her head, studying my face with unsettling intensity. "You know, I've been meaning to say this since I first saw you... Don't you think we look remarkably similar?" I'd never felt more humiliated. Under her triumphant gaze, I fled the bathroom, the pieces finally falling into place - I hadn't been his love, I'd been her replacement. Back in the private dining room, my colleagues' warmth slowly thawed my frozen state. Just as I was beginning to push aside the unpleasant encounter, the door swung open. Castro stood in the doorway, his Armani suit slightly disheveled, his eyes scanning the crowded room before landing on me with laser focus. In that moment of eye contact, I saw barely contained rage in his expression, though I couldn't fathom why. "Aveline." His voice cut through the chatter like ice. "A word?" Following him into the marble-lined hallway, I was utterly unprepared for what happened next. His hand connected with my cheek in a sharp crack that echoed off the pristine walls. In seven years, he had never raised a hand to me. "How dare you push Oriana?" Meeting my shocked gaze, he showed no remorse - only fury. "You knew her ankle was injured. I told you I'd explain everything later - is this your way of getting revenge?" My cheek stung where he'd struck me. Oriana limped toward us from down the hallway. Her designer blouse was rumpled and stained with water. Before I could defend myself, she collapsed dramatically to the floor. Castro shoved past me, rushing to gather her in his arms. "Why did you follow us? I told you I'd bring her to apologize," he said to Oriana, his harsh words belied by his tender tone. Oriana shook her head, tears glistening. "It's nothing serious. She probably didn't mean it. Don't be so hard on her." "If William finds out you struck his sister..." she added softly. At the mention of my brother, something flickered in Castro's eyes. But looking at Oriana, his resolve hardened. "William trusted me with her care," he said firmly. "If she needs correction, that's my responsibility." I let out a bitter laugh. "What exactly did I do? Even criminals get due process. You're denouncing and striking me without any evidence - doesn't that seem unjust to you?" Castro's fists clenched as he glared at me. "You knew there were no cameras in the restroom. That's why you chose to attack her there." The absurdity of it all made me want to laugh and cry simultaneously. "If there were no cameras, how can you be so sure it was me?" "Because Oriana wouldn't lie!" He took a step toward me, his cologne - the one she'd given him years ago, I now realized - overwhelming. "What possible reason would she have? I've known her for years. She's not capable of that kind of deception." I met his gaze, unflinching. "So I must be the liar then?" Seven years together. I'd thought that would mean something - that Castro would at least trust my character. But in Oriana's presence, those seven years might as well have been seven minutes. “Her word alone was enough to convict me. One accusation, and I was guilty beyond redemption.” The favoritism was unmistakable, his blind devotion to her undeniable. And me? I was just the understudy who'd forgotten her place. There was no point in arguing further. Ignoring Castro's angry calls, I walked away, my cheek still stinging from his slap. Not wanting to cast a shadow over my colleagues' celebration, I quietly settled the bill and texted them: "Something came up. Please enjoy the rest of the evening - dinner's on me." Back home, I found myself really seeing our apartment for the first time in seven years. Every corner held memories: the window seat where we'd shared Sunday morning coffee, the kitchen island where he'd taught me to make his grandmother's tiramisu. What once felt magical now felt poisonous, each memory a thorn in my heart. I found a moving box and spent the night methodically erasing our relationship: the matching "Beauty and Beast" slippers, the "his and hers" coffee mugs that fit together, and a whole collection of professional couple photographs - holiday cards, vacation shots, carefully staged moments of perfect happiness. These had been my security blanket, my proof that what we had was real. Now they were just artifacts of an elaborate performance. Castro didn't come home for two weeks. Between finishing my last jewelry designs,, I systematically emptied the apartment. I sold or donated every piece of furniture I'd chosen, every decorative touch I'd added. The space returned to its original state: stark minimalist, black and white, emptiness echoing off the walls. The night before my departure, I tried calling him one last time. Each attempt met with immediate rejection. Finally, a text appeared: "Unless you're ready to admit your guilt and properly apologize to Oriana, we have nothing to discuss." I laughed bitterly at my phone's screen. So be it. Some conversations were better left unsaid. My early morning flight beckoned. As I wheeled my suitcase out, this space that had once felt so precious now felt like a prison I was finally escaping. Just before boarding, my phone lit up with birthday wishes. Friends and colleagues sending hopes for my future, wishes for happiness, prayers for true love. I responded to each one before switching off my phone. As the plane lifted off, I made a silent promise to myself: I would be happy. With so many people wishing me well, how could I not be? 【5909】	LEARN_MORE	https://image.noveltells.net/landing-page/h5-1290.	FavoRead	https://www.facebook.com/100083109648305/	1,138	1969-12-31 18:00	Learn more	image.noveltells.net	VIDEO		https://image.noveltells.net/landing-page/h5-1290.html?id=1290&yy_appname=Favoread&badid={{ad.id}}	1969-12-31 18:00	https://scontent-iad3-2.xx.fbcdn.net/v/t39.35426-6/480807661_1177803120668259_3913194066753960370_n.jpg?stp=dst-jpg_s60x60_tt6&_nc_cat=103&ccb=1-7&_nc_sid=c53f8f&_nc_ohc=Rp8z-fiE2qYQ7kNvgFqWlMV&_nc_oc=AdgNSPVFoeUKrE7idW-Od9Da2OwCDRCkRWmfiCmdE3gLaLGt96AmH8Gph5O4oMW2PJYsbWm1lPIl_Gtco0Uurn5X&_nc_zt=14&_nc_ht=scontent-iad3-2.xx&_nc_gid=AxN8BIPl7PJcj6alJ1dPeZW&oh=00_AYDvfyRUDxk8YMCeH7cTjCO5RHVzpPtO7A_lvEZvcO09NA&oe=67C72F19	PERSON_PROFILE	FavoRead	1969-12-31 18:00	View Edit Delete
2,707,310	/src/Template/Ads/index.ctp (line 281) '{"alias":2707095}'	No	2025-02-28 00:30	active	2651	🔞Attention! Do not read in public！👉	For seven years, I've been Castro Harrison's secret lover. Our love was hidden in the shadows, but his kisses and promises kept me willing to stay. I thought he would finally acknowledge me—until that day when I overheard him talking with his friends. It turned out I was nothing more than a substitute. That night, I finally stepped into the room he had forbidden me from entering. On the desk, there was a picture frame—inside, a photo of him and another woman locked in a tight embrace, the Eiffel Tower in Paris in the background. At that moment, my heart turned completely cold. I erased every trace of myself in a single night and left without looking back. One minute before my flight took off, I sent my brother a message. "This afternoon, have the man you chose come and register the marriage." For seven years, I've been in a secret relationship with Castro Harrison, my brother's best friend. Just as I was hoping he'd propose, I tracked his location to a private lounge at an upscale restaurant, where I found they were joking about me. "Castro, now that Oriana's back from London, what are you going to do about that replacement?" Castro remained silent, his lack of response speaking volumes. The tension in the air was broken by another friend's sardonic laugh. "You've got to hand it to Castro–having the nerve to pursue William Blackwood's sister while Oriana was away. Now that you've had your fun, and Oriana's back..." "Well, Oriana deserved it after how coldly she left. A replacement was just what she needed to teach her a lesson!" ...... The next day, Castro took me to Oriana's welcome-home party at the Blackwood Estate, lavishing attention on me with an almost theatrical display of affection. But when Oriana ran out in tears, her Chanel dress stained with wine, Castro pushed me aside without a second thought and rush out. I returned home alone, my cream silk blouse ruined by scalding soup and my skin was still stinging. With trembling hands, I finally opened the door to his study---the one room he'd always declared off-limits. There, prominently displayed on his mahogany desk, was a photograph of him and Oriana in Paris, the Eiffel Tower gleaming behind their embracing figures. My heart turned to ice as I dialed my brother's number in Switzerland. "William... about that arranged marriage–I'll do it." "Aveline?" My brother's voice softened with concern, catching the unfamiliar strain in my tone. "What's wrong? This doesn't sound like you at all." A lump formed in my throat, but I forced a light laugh. "Nothing's wrong. I just realized - marriage is inevitable, isn't it? Does it really matter who it is?" "Besides," I continued, trying to keep my voice steady. "I trust your and father's judgment. Even for a business merger marriage, I know you would have vetted the candidate thoroughly." William's relief was audible through the phone. "I'm glad you're being sensible about this. When are you coming back? Would you like to meet him first before making your final decision?" "No need. The sooner we proceed, the sooner we can resolve the company's crisis. Go ahead and start planning the wedding. Let's set it for... a month from now." "Perfect! By the way, have you heard from Castro?" he coninued, "His first love is finally back in town. You should invite him to the wedding - let him share in your happiness." So William knew about Oriana too. No wonder Castro never let me tell my brother about us. I lowered my eyes, concealing the pain that threatened to spill over. "Don't bother him, Will. We're... not that close." Hearing the door unlock, I quickly said goodbye and ended the call. I looked up to find Castro leaning against the doorframe, his signature smirk playing across his lips. "Not close to whom?" "You." My honest answer only made his smirk widen as he pulled me into his arms. "Oh really?" His voice dropped to a husky whisper. "Should we discuss just how 'not close' we are? All those nights together weren't close enough?" His breath was hot against my ear, and for the first time, his intimate gesture made my skin crawl instead of flutter. As I struggled, I caught sight of the lipstick stain on his collar - a shade I'd never worn. The movement aggravated my scalds, sending sharp stabs of pain through my body until tears sprang to my eyes. "What's wrong, sweetheart? Are you hurt?" My tears seemed to spark genuine panic in Castro. When he pushed up my sleeve and saw the angry red scalds on my wrist, his voice trembled with concern. “God, when did this happen? Why didn't you tell me you were scalded?” He seemed to have completely forgotten about the incident at the party. I remained silent, unsure whether to remind him and shatter his façade of devotion. "Stop crying, darling. Let me get some medicine for that." He stroked my hair soothingly before standing to retrieve the first aid kit, muttering as he walked. "You're still such a child sometimes, aren't you? So sensitive to pain, so quick to tears. What would you do without me?" I stared numbly at the scalds on my wrist. Yes, what would I do without him after seven years of his "protection"? But Castro... I don't want you anymore. I don't want this false love anymore! I spent a restless night, tossing and turning, my skin clammy with fever sweat on the sheets. At dawn, Castro tried to coax me out of bed. When I mumbled protests and pushed him away, he leaned in with an amused smile to kiss me. For the first time in seven years, his kiss made me flinch. My hand instinctively rose to slap him but I caught myself. Thankfully, it was just a brief peck. "Awake yet, sleeping beauty?" he teased. I turned away, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. "It's Saturday. Why can't you let me sleep?" His expression softened with concern. "You were running a fever last night. Come on, we need to get you to the hospital." Though I felt better, his insistence won out and I reluctantly got dressed. In the hospital corridor, we ran into Oriana. She was hobbling along alone, clearly having injured her ankle. Castro's gentle demeanor vanished instantly. His brow furrowed with worry as he rushed to her side, steadying her with his hands. "What happened to you?" Oriana gave him a warm smile, then glanced meaningfully at me. "Just twisted my ankle. What a coincidence seeing you both here." Castro tensed, throwing me a quick, guilty look. "Ah yes, my friend's sister wasn't feeling well. Brought her in to check her fever." I was long used to this charade. From the moment Castro decided to keep our relationship secret, he'd introduced me to all his friends as his best friend's sister who he'd promised to look after. Only his innermost circle knew the truth about us. "You're such a good guardian to the poor girl." Oriana nodded sympathetically. Well, don't let me keep you - my appointment's down that way." She gestured toward a clinic door further down the hall. When she started to hop again, Castro didn't hesitate. He swept her up into his arms bridal-style. "Let me take you there." he said eagerly, "Aveline, wait here for me, alright?" Watching them, something inside me crumbled. My fever seemed to return full force, leaving me weak and dizzy. I leaned against the cold hospital wall, not bothering to respond. The stark white corridor suddenly felt endless and empty, much like my future without him. Castro didn't wait for my response - he was already carrying Oriana toward the clinic, her arms wrapped around his neck. How telling. No matter how well he played his part, his true feelings always surfaced around Oriana, betraying everything he tried to hide. Yet he seemed completely oblivious to his own transparency. I let out a bitter laugh and headed to my own appointment. My suspicions were confirmed - my temperature was 106°F. The doctor explained that my untreated scalds, combined with emotional stress, had led to an infection. I needed immediate IV antibiotics. My finger hovered over Castro's number out of habit before I caught myself. Habits really are terrifying things, aren't they? With a self-deprecating smile, I handled everything alone - getting the prescription and finding the IV treatment room. After the treatment, I felt even worse, nearly collapsing as I tried to walk. However, Castro hadn't returned - not even a text or call. Reluctantly, I called him. "You're still at the hospital?" He sounded surprised. "I'm sorry, sweetheart. I was going to drop Oriana home quickly and come back, but her stomach condition flared up and..." But his explanation was cut short by a waitress's voice in the background: "Sir, your meals are served. Buon apetite!" Despite his rushed attempt to muffle the phone, I heard every word. "It's fine. I can handle on my own!" I said, as much to convince myself as him. Before I could hang up, he called out, "Aveline, go home first. I'll explain everything later." What was there to explain? Just another lie to add to his collection. I ended the call and ordered an Uber home. Castro didn't return that night. Unable to sleep through the New Year's fireworks outside, I worked on some jewelry designs for my clients on my iPad. Accidentally touching the messaging app icon, I saw Oriana's social media post from an hour ago - a stunning photo of fireworks lighting up the night sky, captioned: "After years of wandering, I've come home to you. The fireworks welcome me back, just as brilliant as your love. Worth every moment of waiting." I stared at the screen for a long moment before realizing I was logged into Castro's account on my iPad. I had no interest in reading their intimate messages. I logged out immediately, trying to ignore the hollow feeling in my heart. The next morning, feeling somewhat better, I arrived at the design firm right on time. Sarah, my creative director, held my resignation letter with mixed emotions when I told her about returning home for marriage. "First my best jewelry designer leaves for marriage," she sighed, shaking her head. "The studio won't be the same without you." Words failed me, so I hugged her instead, grateful for her mentorship over the years. News of my departure spread quickly through the office. My colleagues insisted on throwing me a farewell dinner. I suggested the Italian restaurant Castro and I frequented - partly because I didn't know many others, but mostly because their seafood risotto was exceptional. During dinner, I excused myself to the wash my hand, only to find Oriana touching up her makeup at the marble vanity. "What a coincidence!" She smiled warmly at my reflection. "You know, Castro first brought me here during our college days. We've had so many special moments in this place since then." I returned a polite smile and turned to leave, seeing no reason for small talk between us. But Oriana wasn't finished. She called after me, "I noticed something the other night - Castro always rinses the spicy sauce off your shrimp. Are you sensitive to spice too?" That single word - "too" - made me freeze. The truth was, I loved spicy food. But Castro always insisted on rinsing my shrimp, claiming spicy food wasn't ladylike. I'd believed he was being protective. Now I realized he was simply acting on habit. It’s Oriana, who couldn't handle spice. Seeing my silence, she tilted her head, studying my face with unsettling intensity. "You know, I've been meaning to say this since I first saw you... Don't you think we look remarkably similar?" I'd never felt more humiliated. Under her triumphant gaze, I fled the bathroom, the pieces finally falling into place - I hadn't been his love, I'd been her replacement. Back in the private dining room, my colleagues' warmth slowly thawed my frozen state. Just as I was beginning to push aside the unpleasant encounter, the door swung open. Castro stood in the doorway, his Armani suit slightly disheveled, his eyes scanning the crowded room before landing on me with laser focus. In that moment of eye contact, I saw barely contained rage in his expression, though I couldn't fathom why. "Aveline." His voice cut through the chatter like ice. "A word?" Following him into the marble-lined hallway, I was utterly unprepared for what happened next. His hand connected with my cheek in a sharp crack that echoed off the pristine walls. In seven years, he had never raised a hand to me. "How dare you push Oriana?" Meeting my shocked gaze, he showed no remorse - only fury. "You knew her ankle was injured. I told you I'd explain everything later - is this your way of getting revenge?" My cheek stung where he'd struck me. Oriana limped toward us from down the hallway. Her designer blouse was rumpled and stained with water. Before I could defend myself, she collapsed dramatically to the floor. Castro shoved past me, rushing to gather her in his arms. "Why did you follow us? I told you I'd bring her to apologize," he said to Oriana, his harsh words belied by his tender tone. Oriana shook her head, tears glistening. "It's nothing serious. She probably didn't mean it. Don't be so hard on her." "If William finds out you struck his sister..." she added softly. At the mention of my brother, something flickered in Castro's eyes. But looking at Oriana, his resolve hardened. "William trusted me with her care," he said firmly. "If she needs correction, that's my responsibility." I let out a bitter laugh. "What exactly did I do? Even criminals get due process. You're denouncing and striking me without any evidence - doesn't that seem unjust to you?" Castro's fists clenched as he glared at me. "You knew there were no cameras in the restroom. That's why you chose to attack her there." The absurdity of it all made me want to laugh and cry simultaneously. "If there were no cameras, how can you be so sure it was me?" "Because Oriana wouldn't lie!" He took a step toward me, his cologne - the one she'd given him years ago, I now realized - overwhelming. "What possible reason would she have? I've known her for years. She's not capable of that kind of deception." I met his gaze, unflinching. "So I must be the liar then?" Seven years together. I'd thought that would mean something - that Castro would at least trust my character. But in Oriana's presence, those seven years might as well have been seven minutes. “Her word alone was enough to convict me. One accusation, and I was guilty beyond redemption.” The favoritism was unmistakable, his blind devotion to her undeniable. And me? I was just the understudy who'd forgotten her place. There was no point in arguing further. Ignoring Castro's angry calls, I walked away, my cheek still stinging from his slap. Not wanting to cast a shadow over my colleagues' celebration, I quietly settled the bill and texted them: "Something came up. Please enjoy the rest of the evening - dinner's on me." Back home, I found myself really seeing our apartment for the first time in seven years. Every corner held memories: the window seat where we'd shared Sunday morning coffee, the kitchen island where he'd taught me to make his grandmother's tiramisu. What once felt magical now felt poisonous, each memory a thorn in my heart. I found a moving box and spent the night methodically erasing our relationship: the matching "Beauty and Beast" slippers, the "his and hers" coffee mugs that fit together, and a whole collection of professional couple photographs - holiday cards, vacation shots, carefully staged moments of perfect happiness. These had been my security blanket, my proof that what we had was real. Now they were just artifacts of an elaborate performance. Castro didn't come home for two weeks. Between finishing my last jewelry designs,, I systematically emptied the apartment. I sold or donated every piece of furniture I'd chosen, every decorative touch I'd added. The space returned to its original state: stark minimalist, black and white, emptiness echoing off the walls. The night before my departure, I tried calling him one last time. Each attempt met with immediate rejection. Finally, a text appeared: "Unless you're ready to admit your guilt and properly apologize to Oriana, we have nothing to discuss." I laughed bitterly at my phone's screen. So be it. Some conversations were better left unsaid. My early morning flight beckoned. As I wheeled my suitcase out, this space that had once felt so precious now felt like a prison I was finally escaping. Just before boarding, my phone lit up with birthday wishes. Friends and colleagues sending hopes for my future, wishes for happiness, prayers for true love. I responded to each one before switching off my phone. As the plane lifted off, I made a silent promise to myself: I would be happy. With so many people wishing me well, how could I not be? 【5909】	LEARN_MORE	https://image.noveltells.net/landing-page/h5-1290.	FavoRead	https://www.facebook.com/100083109648305/	1,138	1969-12-31 18:00	Learn more	image.noveltells.net	IMAGE	For seven years, I've been in a secret relationship with Castro Harrison, my brother's best friend. Just as I was hoping he'd propose, I tracked his location to a private lounge at an upscale restaurant, where I found they were joking about me.	https://image.noveltells.net/landing-page/h5-1290.html?id=1290&yy_appname=Favoread&badid={{ad.id}}	1969-12-31 18:00	https://scontent-iad3-2.xx.fbcdn.net/v/t39.35426-6/481005020_2092273964533624_8418786768714894166_n.jpg?stp=dst-jpg_s60x60_tt6&_nc_cat=100&ccb=1-7&_nc_sid=c53f8f&_nc_ohc=r_F1xogEvesQ7kNvgFsdPVN&_nc_oc=AdgjNTVuE5OjIXZVMWEmeJK3cHc21H5PajhR2OH8XZ2usk_WLtILG4XMPMtwRisuQc936Ne-Hmek0X_kfrVdKP2L&_nc_zt=14&_nc_ht=scontent-iad3-2.xx&_nc_gid=AxN8BIPl7PJcj6alJ1dPeZW&oh=00_AYDV_Rz2CDFBAXfjuWCigpJcCSsBkt0uD_iKGCNtvf0K8g&oe=67C72A3B	PERSON_PROFILE	FavoRead	1969-12-31 18:00	View Edit Delete
2,707,313	/src/Template/Ads/index.ctp (line 281) '{"alias":2707095}'	Yes	2025-02-28 00:30	active	2651	🔞Attention! Do not read in public！👉	For seven years, I've been Castro Harrison's secret lover. Our love was hidden in the shadows, but his kisses and promises kept me willing to stay. I thought he would finally acknowledge me—until that day when I overheard him talking with his friends. It turned out I was nothing more than a substitute. That night, I finally stepped into the room he had forbidden me from entering. On the desk, there was a picture frame—inside, a photo of him and another woman locked in a tight embrace, the Eiffel Tower in Paris in the background. At that moment, my heart turned completely cold. I erased every trace of myself in a single night and left without looking back. One minute before my flight took off, I sent my brother a message. "This afternoon, have the man you chose come and register the marriage." For seven years, I've been in a secret relationship with Castro Harrison, my brother's best friend. Just as I was hoping he'd propose, I tracked his location to a private lounge at an upscale restaurant, where I found they were joking about me. "Castro, now that Oriana's back from London, what are you going to do about that replacement?" Castro remained silent, his lack of response speaking volumes. The tension in the air was broken by another friend's sardonic laugh. "You've got to hand it to Castro–having the nerve to pursue William Blackwood's sister while Oriana was away. Now that you've had your fun, and Oriana's back..." "Well, Oriana deserved it after how coldly she left. A replacement was just what she needed to teach her a lesson!" ...... The next day, Castro took me to Oriana's welcome-home party at the Blackwood Estate, lavishing attention on me with an almost theatrical display of affection. But when Oriana ran out in tears, her Chanel dress stained with wine, Castro pushed me aside without a second thought and rush out. I returned home alone, my cream silk blouse ruined by scalding soup and my skin was still stinging. With trembling hands, I finally opened the door to his study---the one room he'd always declared off-limits. There, prominently displayed on his mahogany desk, was a photograph of him and Oriana in Paris, the Eiffel Tower gleaming behind their embracing figures. My heart turned to ice as I dialed my brother's number in Switzerland. "William... about that arranged marriage–I'll do it." "Aveline?" My brother's voice softened with concern, catching the unfamiliar strain in my tone. "What's wrong? This doesn't sound like you at all." A lump formed in my throat, but I forced a light laugh. "Nothing's wrong. I just realized - marriage is inevitable, isn't it? Does it really matter who it is?" "Besides," I continued, trying to keep my voice steady. "I trust your and father's judgment. Even for a business merger marriage, I know you would have vetted the candidate thoroughly." William's relief was audible through the phone. "I'm glad you're being sensible about this. When are you coming back? Would you like to meet him first before making your final decision?" "No need. The sooner we proceed, the sooner we can resolve the company's crisis. Go ahead and start planning the wedding. Let's set it for... a month from now." "Perfect! By the way, have you heard from Castro?" he coninued, "His first love is finally back in town. You should invite him to the wedding - let him share in your happiness." So William knew about Oriana too. No wonder Castro never let me tell my brother about us. I lowered my eyes, concealing the pain that threatened to spill over. "Don't bother him, Will. We're... not that close." Hearing the door unlock, I quickly said goodbye and ended the call. I looked up to find Castro leaning against the doorframe, his signature smirk playing across his lips. "Not close to whom?" "You." My honest answer only made his smirk widen as he pulled me into his arms. "Oh really?" His voice dropped to a husky whisper. "Should we discuss just how 'not close' we are? All those nights together weren't close enough?" His breath was hot against my ear, and for the first time, his intimate gesture made my skin crawl instead of flutter. As I struggled, I caught sight of the lipstick stain on his collar - a shade I'd never worn. The movement aggravated my scalds, sending sharp stabs of pain through my body until tears sprang to my eyes. "What's wrong, sweetheart? Are you hurt?" My tears seemed to spark genuine panic in Castro. When he pushed up my sleeve and saw the angry red scalds on my wrist, his voice trembled with concern. “God, when did this happen? Why didn't you tell me you were scalded?” He seemed to have completely forgotten about the incident at the party. I remained silent, unsure whether to remind him and shatter his façade of devotion. "Stop crying, darling. Let me get some medicine for that." He stroked my hair soothingly before standing to retrieve the first aid kit, muttering as he walked. "You're still such a child sometimes, aren't you? So sensitive to pain, so quick to tears. What would you do without me?" I stared numbly at the scalds on my wrist. Yes, what would I do without him after seven years of his "protection"? But Castro... I don't want you anymore. I don't want this false love anymore! I spent a restless night, tossing and turning, my skin clammy with fever sweat on the sheets. At dawn, Castro tried to coax me out of bed. When I mumbled protests and pushed him away, he leaned in with an amused smile to kiss me. For the first time in seven years, his kiss made me flinch. My hand instinctively rose to slap him but I caught myself. Thankfully, it was just a brief peck. "Awake yet, sleeping beauty?" he teased. I turned away, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. "It's Saturday. Why can't you let me sleep?" His expression softened with concern. "You were running a fever last night. Come on, we need to get you to the hospital." Though I felt better, his insistence won out and I reluctantly got dressed. In the hospital corridor, we ran into Oriana. She was hobbling along alone, clearly having injured her ankle. Castro's gentle demeanor vanished instantly. His brow furrowed with worry as he rushed to her side, steadying her with his hands. "What happened to you?" Oriana gave him a warm smile, then glanced meaningfully at me. "Just twisted my ankle. What a coincidence seeing you both here." Castro tensed, throwing me a quick, guilty look. "Ah yes, my friend's sister wasn't feeling well. Brought her in to check her fever." I was long used to this charade. From the moment Castro decided to keep our relationship secret, he'd introduced me to all his friends as his best friend's sister who he'd promised to look after. Only his innermost circle knew the truth about us. "You're such a good guardian to the poor girl." Oriana nodded sympathetically. Well, don't let me keep you - my appointment's down that way." She gestured toward a clinic door further down the hall. When she started to hop again, Castro didn't hesitate. He swept her up into his arms bridal-style. "Let me take you there." he said eagerly, "Aveline, wait here for me, alright?" Watching them, something inside me crumbled. My fever seemed to return full force, leaving me weak and dizzy. I leaned against the cold hospital wall, not bothering to respond. The stark white corridor suddenly felt endless and empty, much like my future without him. Castro didn't wait for my response - he was already carrying Oriana toward the clinic, her arms wrapped around his neck. How telling. No matter how well he played his part, his true feelings always surfaced around Oriana, betraying everything he tried to hide. Yet he seemed completely oblivious to his own transparency. I let out a bitter laugh and headed to my own appointment. My suspicions were confirmed - my temperature was 106°F. The doctor explained that my untreated scalds, combined with emotional stress, had led to an infection. I needed immediate IV antibiotics. My finger hovered over Castro's number out of habit before I caught myself. Habits really are terrifying things, aren't they? With a self-deprecating smile, I handled everything alone - getting the prescription and finding the IV treatment room. After the treatment, I felt even worse, nearly collapsing as I tried to walk. However, Castro hadn't returned - not even a text or call. Reluctantly, I called him. "You're still at the hospital?" He sounded surprised. "I'm sorry, sweetheart. I was going to drop Oriana home quickly and come back, but her stomach condition flared up and..." But his explanation was cut short by a waitress's voice in the background: "Sir, your meals are served. Buon apetite!" Despite his rushed attempt to muffle the phone, I heard every word. "It's fine. I can handle on my own!" I said, as much to convince myself as him. Before I could hang up, he called out, "Aveline, go home first. I'll explain everything later." What was there to explain? Just another lie to add to his collection. I ended the call and ordered an Uber home. Castro didn't return that night. Unable to sleep through the New Year's fireworks outside, I worked on some jewelry designs for my clients on my iPad. Accidentally touching the messaging app icon, I saw Oriana's social media post from an hour ago - a stunning photo of fireworks lighting up the night sky, captioned: "After years of wandering, I've come home to you. The fireworks welcome me back, just as brilliant as your love. Worth every moment of waiting." I stared at the screen for a long moment before realizing I was logged into Castro's account on my iPad. I had no interest in reading their intimate messages. I logged out immediately, trying to ignore the hollow feeling in my heart. The next morning, feeling somewhat better, I arrived at the design firm right on time. Sarah, my creative director, held my resignation letter with mixed emotions when I told her about returning home for marriage. "First my best jewelry designer leaves for marriage," she sighed, shaking her head. "The studio won't be the same without you." Words failed me, so I hugged her instead, grateful for her mentorship over the years. News of my departure spread quickly through the office. My colleagues insisted on throwing me a farewell dinner. I suggested the Italian restaurant Castro and I frequented - partly because I didn't know many others, but mostly because their seafood risotto was exceptional. During dinner, I excused myself to the wash my hand, only to find Oriana touching up her makeup at the marble vanity. "What a coincidence!" She smiled warmly at my reflection. "You know, Castro first brought me here during our college days. We've had so many special moments in this place since then." I returned a polite smile and turned to leave, seeing no reason for small talk between us. But Oriana wasn't finished. She called after me, "I noticed something the other night - Castro always rinses the spicy sauce off your shrimp. Are you sensitive to spice too?" That single word - "too" - made me freeze. The truth was, I loved spicy food. But Castro always insisted on rinsing my shrimp, claiming spicy food wasn't ladylike. I'd believed he was being protective. Now I realized he was simply acting on habit. It’s Oriana, who couldn't handle spice. Seeing my silence, she tilted her head, studying my face with unsettling intensity. "You know, I've been meaning to say this since I first saw you... Don't you think we look remarkably similar?" I'd never felt more humiliated. Under her triumphant gaze, I fled the bathroom, the pieces finally falling into place - I hadn't been his love, I'd been her replacement. Back in the private dining room, my colleagues' warmth slowly thawed my frozen state. Just as I was beginning to push aside the unpleasant encounter, the door swung open. Castro stood in the doorway, his Armani suit slightly disheveled, his eyes scanning the crowded room before landing on me with laser focus. In that moment of eye contact, I saw barely contained rage in his expression, though I couldn't fathom why. "Aveline." His voice cut through the chatter like ice. "A word?" Following him into the marble-lined hallway, I was utterly unprepared for what happened next. His hand connected with my cheek in a sharp crack that echoed off the pristine walls. In seven years, he had never raised a hand to me. "How dare you push Oriana?" Meeting my shocked gaze, he showed no remorse - only fury. "You knew her ankle was injured. I told you I'd explain everything later - is this your way of getting revenge?" My cheek stung where he'd struck me. Oriana limped toward us from down the hallway. Her designer blouse was rumpled and stained with water. Before I could defend myself, she collapsed dramatically to the floor. Castro shoved past me, rushing to gather her in his arms. "Why did you follow us? I told you I'd bring her to apologize," he said to Oriana, his harsh words belied by his tender tone. Oriana shook her head, tears glistening. "It's nothing serious. She probably didn't mean it. Don't be so hard on her." "If William finds out you struck his sister..." she added softly. At the mention of my brother, something flickered in Castro's eyes. But looking at Oriana, his resolve hardened. "William trusted me with her care," he said firmly. "If she needs correction, that's my responsibility." I let out a bitter laugh. "What exactly did I do? Even criminals get due process. You're denouncing and striking me without any evidence - doesn't that seem unjust to you?" Castro's fists clenched as he glared at me. "You knew there were no cameras in the restroom. That's why you chose to attack her there." The absurdity of it all made me want to laugh and cry simultaneously. "If there were no cameras, how can you be so sure it was me?" "Because Oriana wouldn't lie!" He took a step toward me, his cologne - the one she'd given him years ago, I now realized - overwhelming. "What possible reason would she have? I've known her for years. She's not capable of that kind of deception." I met his gaze, unflinching. "So I must be the liar then?" Seven years together. I'd thought that would mean something - that Castro would at least trust my character. But in Oriana's presence, those seven years might as well have been seven minutes. “Her word alone was enough to convict me. One accusation, and I was guilty beyond redemption.” The favoritism was unmistakable, his blind devotion to her undeniable. And me? I was just the understudy who'd forgotten her place. There was no point in arguing further. Ignoring Castro's angry calls, I walked away, my cheek still stinging from his slap. Not wanting to cast a shadow over my colleagues' celebration, I quietly settled the bill and texted them: "Something came up. Please enjoy the rest of the evening - dinner's on me." Back home, I found myself really seeing our apartment for the first time in seven years. Every corner held memories: the window seat where we'd shared Sunday morning coffee, the kitchen island where he'd taught me to make his grandmother's tiramisu. What once felt magical now felt poisonous, each memory a thorn in my heart. I found a moving box and spent the night methodically erasing our relationship: the matching "Beauty and Beast" slippers, the "his and hers" coffee mugs that fit together, and a whole collection of professional couple photographs - holiday cards, vacation shots, carefully staged moments of perfect happiness. These had been my security blanket, my proof that what we had was real. Now they were just artifacts of an elaborate performance. Castro didn't come home for two weeks. Between finishing my last jewelry designs,, I systematically emptied the apartment. I sold or donated every piece of furniture I'd chosen, every decorative touch I'd added. The space returned to its original state: stark minimalist, black and white, emptiness echoing off the walls. The night before my departure, I tried calling him one last time. Each attempt met with immediate rejection. Finally, a text appeared: "Unless you're ready to admit your guilt and properly apologize to Oriana, we have nothing to discuss." I laughed bitterly at my phone's screen. So be it. Some conversations were better left unsaid. My early morning flight beckoned. As I wheeled my suitcase out, this space that had once felt so precious now felt like a prison I was finally escaping. Just before boarding, my phone lit up with birthday wishes. Friends and colleagues sending hopes for my future, wishes for happiness, prayers for true love. I responded to each one before switching off my phone. As the plane lifted off, I made a silent promise to myself: I would be happy. With so many people wishing me well, how could I not be? 【5909】	LEARN_MORE	https://image.noveltells.net/landing-page/h5-1290.	FavoRead	https://www.facebook.com/100083109648305/	1,138	1969-12-31 18:00	Learn more	image.noveltells.net	VIDEO		https://image.noveltells.net/landing-page/h5-1290.html?id=1290&yy_appname=Favoread&badid={{ad.id}}	1969-12-31 18:00	https://scontent-iad3-2.xx.fbcdn.net/v/t39.35426-6/482086996_1851329748738468_6137477289514052090_n.jpg?stp=dst-jpg_s60x60_tt6&_nc_cat=106&ccb=1-7&_nc_sid=c53f8f&_nc_ohc=YoasJ1tDJoIQ7kNvgEPWXJ8&_nc_oc=AdgI4Uee5m--mkqBk_XAr3oCskWjFFx4lUmhO-3K_fc5mnBUvbaumxWqrRfXI2WWG9YwuVH24MTk8ctGoSi1imAV&_nc_zt=14&_nc_ht=scontent-iad3-2.xx&_nc_gid=AxN8BIPl7PJcj6alJ1dPeZW&oh=00_AYB_st1Ahaz8zIW0c3H1sGNDs8SoTUMp9drDZrc8qZkb8w&oe=67C72103	PERSON_PROFILE	FavoRead	1969-12-31 18:00	View Edit Delete
2,707,316	/src/Template/Ads/index.ctp (line 281) '{"alias":2707315}'	Yes	2025-02-28 00:30	active	2651	Say Goodbye to Cavities in 2025 👋	Tired of painful drilling and fillings? Over 95% of toothpastes use toxic fluoride in an attempt to prevent cavities. But what if there was a safer way to protect your teeth… Introducing hydroxyapatite, the powerful cavity fighter in our Wellnesse Toothpaste! It's not just a fancy name, it's the natural mineral that makes your teeth strong and remineralizes weakened enamel! Hydroxyapatite is more than just your cavity conquering hero: ✔️ Helps balance your oral microbiome ✔️ Decreases tooth sensitivity ✔️ Helps bones regrow ✔️ Strengthens enamel ✔️ Naturally whitens teeth Plus, unlike other store-bought fluoride toothpaste, there are NO adverse side effects and it’s safe to use daily for adults and children. If you’d like to know more about the benefits of our hydroxyapatite toothpastes, sign up for our Wellnesse Newsletter and you will also receive 10% OFF your first order! We know you’ll love our products as much as we do that we offer a 30–Day Money Back Guarantee - so you can try it risk-free. So why not make the switch today!	SHOP_NOW	https://wellnesse.com/products/toothpaste	Wellnesse	https://www.facebook.com/wellnesse/	14,634	1969-12-31 18:00	Shop now	wellnesse.com	VIDEO	100% safe & natural ingredients	https://wellnesse.com/products/toothpaste	1969-12-31 18:00	https://scontent-iad3-2.xx.fbcdn.net/v/t39.35426-6/481085108_3282359581907064_2533418962081286465_n.jpg?stp=dst-jpg_s60x60_tt6&_nc_cat=105&ccb=1-7&_nc_sid=c53f8f&_nc_ohc=Ox5ADeMsRU4Q7kNvgFmjYP3&_nc_oc=AdiEiBVOI3tgtsqBBPVVL-gWfRAyWR2urzGBtfwhgxnK7Xwpa3e3FZi9WfqXoVSSmpvqLgi4lWGTBWGhNP_M1_5r&_nc_zt=14&_nc_ht=scontent-iad3-2.xx&_nc_gid=AxN8BIPl7PJcj6alJ1dPeZW&oh=00_AYDJPBh4AupOTOODp2QvEjZmEte4J7uzlIszRoDB4aH6pA&oe=67C71B29	PERSON_PROFILE	Wellnesse	1969-12-31 18:00	View Edit Delete
2,707,319	/src/Template/Ads/index.ctp (line 281) '{"alias":2707318}'	Yes	2025-02-28 00:30	active	2651	❤️🔥The Fake Heiress Turns Out to Be a True Tycoon!	June, just after the college entrance exams had concluded. Scarlett Garrison had just completed her discharge paperwork alone and returned home. As she stepped through the doorway of the Garrison Family villa, a suitcase landed with a thud at her feet. A glamorous woman stood at the entrance, looking down at her. Her gaze swept over the girl's delicate features and snow-like skin, a flicker of jealousy passed through her eyes, soon replaced by undisguised disgust, "I've packed your things. From today onwards, you'll get out of this house and go back to your biological parents!" Scarlett Garrison didn't even glance at the suitcase on the floor. Her almond-shaped eyes looked coldly at Emma White, the woman she had called mom for seventeen years. The commotion at the door caught the attention of those inside, and soon, Scarlett's father and his two children stepped out. Scarlett's father looked at the suitcase at Scarlett's feet, then at his wife, his tone slightly reproachful, "Emma, what is this about? Scarlett is a daughter we've raised for eighteen years after all." "She's a thankless burden!" Emma White glared at Scarlett Garrison, "I clearly told her to give the city image representative spot to Isolde. She ignored my words! If I hadn't inquired about the final list, we'd still be kept in the dark by her! If she had any conscience at all, she wouldn't have taken her sister's spot!" At Emma's words, a flicker of envious hatred flashed in Isolde Garrison's eyes, but she quickly masked it, showing a hint of grievance and sadness on her face. However, she said, "Mom, don't be like this. The opportunity to be a city image representative is rare; it's normal for sister not to want to give it up. Maybe there's something I didn't do well enough, otherwise, I wouldn't have been chosen…" "What do you lack compared to her? Everything she has wasn't because of the Garrison Family." Emma White gently comforted her daughter. Scarlett Garrison just watched the mother and daughter perform. She had seen such performances countless times since childhood. This time, not only did she feel no waves in her heart, she even wanted to laugh a little. Four days ago, she was hit by a car and thrown twenty meters away while trying to save Isolde. Everyone thought she wouldn't survive. When Emma White and the Garrison Family rushed to the scene, their first reaction was not to check on her injuries, but to comfort the tearful Isolde who was inconsolable after the accident. Scarlett Garrison lay on the ground, feeling dazed and with icy hands and feet. What chilled her more was the conversation between Scarlett's father and Emma White— "The front of the car is smashed; she likely won't make it." "Well, if she dies, it means she really took Isolde's great misfortune in her life, which makes all the years we raised her worth it…" Scarlett Garrison had always known she was merely a tool the Garrison Family raised to shield Isolde from hardship. As a child, she didn't understand why every time Isolde got sick, Emma White would demand she take care of Isolde around the clock, and each time under her care, Isolde would quickly recover, while Scarlett would fall seriously ill afterward. Later, she met a mentor who enlightened her that she and Isolde's birth dates belonged to the complementary halves of the Harmony Technique. The two halves of Harmony, and she was the good half. The Garrison Family kept her by Isolde's side to actually use her own fortune to mitigate the misfortunates Isolde carried, and through these acts of shielding, Isolde's fate gradually improved, while Scarlett's would slowly venture towards decline. If Scarlett Garrison hadn't prepared in advance, she might have already exhausted her fortune and died in that car accident four days ago. It was also because of this accident that her biological father unexpectedly found her. "Are you done talking? If so, can I leave?" Having heard this couple coldly discussing her death, any last shred of hope Scarlett Garrison had for the Garrison Family vanished completely. She felt not the slightest reluctance in leaving the Garrison Family. "Scarlett, don't blame your mother. In this instance, you were indeed in the wrong." Scarlett's father finally came forward, his expression as stern as ever, "Since you've found your biological parents, you should go back with them." Isolde Garrison also spoke up, her voice soft and timid, "Sister, don't be mad at mom, she did everything for me." As she spoke, she suddenly took out an envelope from the side and handed it to Scarlett, very considerately adding, "This is your travel money. Dad said your biological parents live in the mountains, their home is poor, and the network in those places is underdeveloped, so it's better to carry some cash." Emma White snorted from the side, "Don't say we didn't consider the many years of affection; this money is enough to last a year in the mountains. Our family has been more than good to you." She sneered again, "Once you go back, I guess you won't have a chance to return. I heard there are many old men in those mountains who can't find wives; you could marry there, since you wouldn't get into college anyway with your grades." Scarlett Garrison glanced at Emma White's face, which was full of malice even as she feigned generosity, and merely gave her a light glance, "You have some deep frown lines, which is a sign of excessive scheming and accumulated debts. Instead of worrying about me, perhaps you should use that few thousand to buy a facial mask." She paused deliberately, as if adding as an afterthought, "Although it probably wouldn't help much." Scarlett's words were earnest, but they made Emma White's face suddenly grow sharp with anger. She shouted, "You little brat, who gave you the nerve to talk to me like that!" Saying so, she raised her hand to strike Scarlett across the face. The latter merely watched coldly, slightly stepping aside so that Emma White's slap hit nothing but air. Emma White stared incredulously, "You even dare to dodge…" Isolde hurried forward, pulling Scarlett, "Sister, don't make mom angry; just speak calmly, and she will forgive you." Her words sounded kind, but her real intention was to hold Scarlett so she couldn't dodge Emma White's slap again. Scarlett Garrison raised her hand, ready to push her away, but her eye caught sight of something, and her gaze froze. She saw the Jade Bracelet on Isolde's wrist. Swiftly, she grabbed Isolde's wrist, coldly demanding, "Why is the bracelet with you?" Isolde had intentionally worn the bracelet today to flaunt it. Now that Scarlett actually noticed it, and grabbed her by surprise, she put on a frightened face, crying out in pain, "Ah, it hurts…" As soon as Isolde cried out, Emma White's expression changed instantly. She grabbed Scarlett's hand, pulling it away, and screamed angrily, "Scarlett Garrison! What do you think you're doing?!" Scarlett, however, kept her gaze fixed on Isolde, her voice cold, "That bracelet was left to me by Grandma." "What do you mean your bracelet?! That was left for the Garrison Family's daughters; you're not even part of this family anymore, so of course, it belongs to Isolde!" Scarlett Garrison bit her lip, letting go of the suitcase handle and looking at Scarlett's father, "I won't take a single thing from the Garrison Family, I only want the bracelet Grandma left for me." If there was anything left in the Garrison Family that she cherished, it was Grandma. Grandma was the only person in this family who truly loved her. Even on her deathbed, she worried about how Scarlett would fare after she was gone. That bracelet was the only memory Grandma left her. 2 That Mountain Belongs to Our Family Timothy Garrison, who had been silent, finally spoke, his youthful features mirroring those of his father, carrying a trace of dissatisfaction and heartache, "Scarlett, that belongs to Isolde. When did you become so greedy and insatiable?" Scarlett Garrison's hand, hanging by her side, secretly clenched, then she heard him add, "If you listen obediently and give the spot to Isolde, I can persuade mom and dad to let you stay." Josiah Garrison thought he was giving her the best choice, and she should be grateful. Timothy Garrison also said, "Although you are adopted, I have always treated you as my own daughter. Our Garrison Family is a decent family, not the kind to let our daughter go back to her birth parents without even taking her luggage. Your biological parents don't have good conditions, you should bring what you need." However, he did not mention a word about giving her the bracelet. Isolde Garrison also spoke up at this time, with grievance, "Sister, I know you really want this bracelet, but, after all, it's something from grandma... how about this, I can transfer you some money? Is ten thousand enough? If not, twenty thousand?" The implication was clearly saying she wanted the bracelet to sell for money. Scarlett Garrison immediately glared coldly at Isolde Garrison. Isolde Garrison shivered at her glance, shrinking slightly. Scarlett Garrison looked at the three people in front of her, her expression very indifferent, and spoke decisively and unequivocally, "I don't need your money, and I don't need you to speak for me to stay." Once, to gain their approval, she learned etiquette, made amulets for them with her own hands, treated them genuinely as her real family, doing her best for them, but never received a true heart in return. Even when she nearly died for Isolde Garrison, she couldn't get even a glance from them. Such a family, she would never cherish again. Josiah Garrison's face turned a bit unsightly at her unwavering refusal, thinking Scarlett Garrison truly did not know what was good for her. Without the Garrison Family, what good days could she possibly have? Emma White blocked in front of Isolde Garrison, angrily reprimanding, "Josiah, why are you telling her this? Even if she cries to give up her spot now, our family won't want her! She had better not even think of taking a single thing from the Garrison Family!" Seeing this, Isolde Garrison approached again, trying to persuade, but used a voice only the two of them could hear, with a somewhat proud gloat, "Sister, I forgot to tell you, Patterson confessed to me the day before yesterday. We plan to get engaged in a few days. I know you always liked Patterson, but I still hope you bless us." Scarlett Garrison looked at her boastful face, expressionlessly asking her back, "Who told you I like him?" Isolde Garrison was startled, obviously not expecting such a reaction. In her imagination, hearing one's crush confess to someone else, Scarlett Garrison ought to be so devastated she'd fall to her knees in tears, shouldn't she? Scarlett Garrison just looked at her with eyes as if watching a fool, "Even though you're blind, I will still bless you, after all, when two pests are together, they can't harm others anymore." That's good. Isolde Garrison's pupils shrank at her words, almost changing her expression. Scarlett Garrison no longer paid her any attention, instead, she looked at the other members of the Garrison family, "I will repay the upbringing expenses from childhood. From now on, I have no relation to your family anymore." The Garrison Family calculated her fate chart, she severed this connection, and the calamities Isolde used her to shield in the past would double back onto Isolde herself in the future. Repaying the upbringing expenses, she rendered the debt of nurturing from the Garrison Family. All favors and causalities were cut off; even if she acted against the Garrison Family in the future, she would bear no karmic debts. She took a final glance at the bracelet on Isolde's wrist and said, "You won't be able to keep this bracelet. It won't be long before I make you return it to me personally." After saying this, Scarlett Garrison, without any lingering attachment, walked out of the Garrison's villa gate alone. Emma White looked at her retreating back, so angry she could hardly find the words. "See, truly a thankless wretch! If it weren't for Isolde's sake, I'd have driven her out long ago!" Isolde Garrison soothed her anger by wrapping her arm around her, "Sister probably just found out she's being sent back to such a poor place and couldn't accept it for a moment. Mom, don't be angry with her." "You, you're just too kind," Emma White said helplessly, looking at her younger daughter, then glanced in the direction Scarlett Garrison left, cursing under her breath, "Getting hit like that and not dying or getting hurt, it must be some monster possessing her. Luckily, we got rid of her just in time, or who knows how she'd harm our family." "Alright, enough, stop talking," Timothy Garrison spoke in a deep voice, decisively ending the topic. The Garrison family of four did not know that just when Scarlett Garrison stepped out of the Garrison family garden, the sun that hung over them seemed to be covered by dark clouds, causing the surrounding temperature to drop a couple of degrees. In the shadowy corners, there seemed to be a rustling sound of laughter and discussion. "She left, she finally left." "This house is ours now, hee hee hee." ... Scarlett Garrison walked towards the villa area gate, under the scorching sun overhead, yet no sign of heat appeared on her, not even a bead of sweat at her temple, as if her body automatically warded off the summer heat. She pulled out her phone from her pocket, Timothy Garrison had previously given her contact information for her biological parents, but she had not yet contacted them. Scarlett Garrison knew little about her biological parents. But living in the mountains, being not wealthy was a certainty; the college entrance exam just ended, after university, if her biological parents couldn't afford to support her education, she could find a way to earn money herself. As for worrying about being sold off to marriage after going back, Scarlett Garrison never feared such a thing. In this world, there probably wasn't anyone who could sell her. As she was thinking about this, she found the phone number, ready to press the call button, when she heard a loud commotion from the helipad not far away. Raising her eyes, she saw not far from the helipad, dozens of black helicopters were landing in orderly fashion. The villa area where the Garrison house was located, though not the top villa area in the city, often had luxury cars coming and going, but having over a dozen private helicopters landing at once was a first for Scarlett Garrison. She assumed it was some rich owner in the community showing off and was about to leave. But unexpectedly, as she moved to the side, the guards from those dozen helicopters ran up like a military formation, lining up in front of her in two rows. Then, the helicopter doors opened, and pilots clad in black suits with white gloves quickly disembarked and stood in formation, evidently well-trained. At this moment, the door of the central helicopter slowly opened. Scarlett Garrison saw first a long leg clad in dark gray suit trousers step out, the man walking down from the cabin, tall and slender, wearing a well-tailored same-color suit, which made his exceptionally handsome features appear even more noble and elegant. The man looked at her, walked slowly closer, then spoke, his voice low and pleasant, "Scarlett Garrison?" Scarlett Garrison observed the familiar similarities in his features to hers, vaguely guessing his identity, "I am." The man glanced at the phone in her hand that was still at the dialing interface, tut-tutted, reached out, and suddenly pressed the call button for her. The next second, a melodious mobile ring tone sounded from his pocket, he took out his phone, held the caller display interface in front of Scarlett Garrison, accommodating her height, slightly bent down, and smiled, "Nice to meet you, I am your brother, Donovan Jennings." Scarlett Garrison: ... Scarlett Garrison silently assessed the extremely handsome "brother" in front of her, then looked past him at the helicopter fleet and the well-trained pilots and bodyguards behind him, and finally found her voice, "I heard, my parents live in the mountains..." Implying, this scene doesn't seem like my family at all. Donovan Jennings thought she was going to say something and just replied, "The home is indeed in the mountains." Paused, then added, "But that mountain is our family's." Scarlett Garrison: ... So, her biological parents' family was not only not poor, but... they also owned an entire mountain? Who could privately own an entire mountain? Does the nation even allow that? 3 Blinded by His Golden Light "Family sent me to pick you up. They specifically instructed that our first meeting should be formal, so I temporarily borrowed a helicopter team. It's not too many, but it'll have to do." Scarlett Garrison stared in silence at the bustling helicopter crew blocking nearly the entire villa entrance. You call this... making do? Then Donovan Jennings waved to the people behind him and suddenly signaled, "Call her." "Miss!" The uniformed pilots behind him shouted in unison, their voices as neat as a military chant. "Welcome home, Miss!" Scarlett Garrison: ... Why in the world did this feel so embarrassingly melodramatic? Perhaps because of the cold reception she often received at the Garrison Family, Scarlett Garrison wasn't adept at dealing with such enthusiastic occasions. She opened her mouth and managed to squeak out, "Let's go." Let's go quickly. Didn't you see the villa security running over? Donovan Jennings watched her reaction with a smile, then suddenly seemed to remember something. His charming almond eyes narrowed slightly as he surveyed her and asked, "But why are you here alone?" At this hour, appearing alone at the villa entrance, she couldn't have just stepped out to buy some soy sauce, right? Scarlett pursed her lips at his words. She didn't want to say that she'd been kicked out early by the Garrison Family. Just as she was contemplating how to dismiss it, another voice suddenly rang out. It had a hint of indifference, like the clear and quiet sound of a cold spring, deep and pleasant, with a touch of impatience. "Are we not leaving?" Scarlett looked towards the voice and then noticed there was another person on the initial helicopter. Just one glance almost blinded her. Inside the aircraft, the man had his long legs slightly bent. From her angle, she could only see half of his body hidden in the shadow of the helicopter door. His wrist rested casually on the handrail of the stairs, his elegant posture exuding a composed aura, even the wrinkles on his suit seemed to carry an inexplicable allure. But more than that, it was the golden light emanating from the man that truly bedazzled Scarlett. Since childhood, she could see things others couldn't, and people's fortunes had many colors. Golden light she had only seen on those who contributed to the nation. But looking at this nearly blinding golden light. Had this man stolen the nation's fortune? The moment the man spoke, Donovan quickly responded with a laugh, not asking any further questions. "Let's go, let's go." He said, pushing Scarlett's shoulder and steering her that way. He then lowered his voice, muttering quietly, "Tsk, the Great Demon King really has no patience." And so Scarlett was taken in front of the "Great Demon King," placed in the seat beside him in the aircraft. From this close, the golden light was even more blinding. Bearing the risk of having her eyes blinded, Scarlett finally got a good look at his true face. As stern as the sharp timbre in his indifferent voice, his features were like they were carved with a knife, angular and handsome, carrying a cold and hard beauty; his thin, slightly pursed lips radiated a cool demeanor, like ice and snow descending from a frigid mountain, engulfed in his deep, obsidian irises. Realizing that she was staring too hard, he slightly glanced in her direction, his gaze seeming to capture all her curiosities and emotions. Scarlett was very curious about the golden light around him but worried he might think she's an idiot. After pondering, she asked, "Are you my brother too?" With just one question, Donovan Jennings, sitting opposite them, let out a chuckle, while the man beside her merely cast him a cold glance, then silently withdrew his deep gaze. "No." And he didn't say another word. Fortunately, Donovan Jennings was also there in that helicopter. "This is Samuel Chalmers, not your brother. You only have me as your brother." Scarlett found the name vaguely familiar, but she couldn't recall where she'd heard it before. However, among the Four Great Families of Sea City, two of which were the Chalmers and Jennings. Was it a coincidence? Then she heard Donovan explain, "I came to pick you up today, and he's tagging along for a seat." Scarlett nodded understandably at his words, but just as she was about to respond, the man, who had already looked away, suddenly glanced at Donovan, his thin lips parting as he spoke coolly, "You used my helicopter team." As the head of the Chalmers family, he certainly didn't need to piggyback on anyone's ride. Donovan remained unfazed, even reluctantly spreading his hands. "I had no choice. All the company's vehicles were sent out, and among the people I know, you're the only one who has their own personal helicopter team set up." Samuel Chalmers, the high-end obsessive-compulsive who even insisted that his subordinates wear the same color and style of socks. Not to mention his helicopters, which even had foot mats that matched perfectly. While the three continued their conversation, the all-black helicopters had already begun to slowly take off, escorting the luxurious central helicopter, leaving in a grand fashion just as they had arrived. After the helicopter team rumbled away, several security guards who had been watching from the villa looked at each other, starting their discussion. "The one the helicopter picked up just now, was that the Garrison's eldest daughter?" "Yes, it was her. I heard two days ago that she's not actually the Garrison's biological daughter, and she's been kicked out. I heard her real parents are from the mountains." "The mountains? Look at this scene, does it look like she's from the mountains? Maybe her real parents are some big shots." "Ha, if that's the case, General Manager Garrison would regret it to death." Although the security office had strict regulations, in private, they often gossiped about these wealthy people residing in the villa district. But just then, one of them quickly shut his mouth, turning around to bow respectfully towards the gate. It's always best not to talk about people during the day, wasn't that the Garrison's car? Emma White and Isolde Garrison sat in the backseat, not glancing at the bowing security guards. As noble owners, they never paid attention to these societal underlings. "Even though the final list of city representatives has been set, it hasn't been officially submitted. I've found out that the person responsible for submitting the final list is an executive from Jennings Group." Speaking to Isolde Garrison, Emma White smiled contentedly. "Your father happened to strike a deal with Jennings Group two days ago, so we can just go through them." Isolde was somewhat excited upon hearing that. "Jennings Group? Behind them is the Jennings Family, one of the Four Great Families! Dad actually managed to collaborate with them, that's impressive!" Emma White was visibly proud, but she tried to maintain an indifferent demeanor. "Indeed, it is the Jennings Family. Many people came with money to seek collaboration only to be ignored. But they proactively sought out your father. It shows our family's standing in Sea City. In the future, more people will be knocking on our door for collaboration." Listening to this, Isolde's face lit up visibly with excitement. Being able to collaborate with the Jennings Family meant that soon they would break into Sea City's top circles. In the future, the eligible bachelors she could choose from would be on a whole new level. Indeed, ever since Scarlett left, their family's fortune had improved significantly! "Great." Isolde said, with a hint of feigned modesty, "But if we directly ask them for help, won't they refuse?" Emma was utterly confident. "They came to us seeking cooperation; since we're partners, helping with such a minor issue should be expected, right?" She held Isolde's hand, reassuringly, "Don't worry. Mother will ensure you secure the city image representative spot! This is about our Sea City's image. That ungrateful vulture wants to take it from you? She's not even worthy!" Isolde felt immensely proud inside. She already considered the city representative role as her own but still put on an obedient and non-competitive front. After pausing for a moment, she asked, "Are we heading to the Jennings Group headquarters now?" "We're not going to the headquarters," Emma said. "We are going directly to the Jennings Family." 4 Top-Tier Elite Jennings Family Jennings Family. Located in the heart of Sea City, Silver River One was the most exclusive community in the entire city. Even though every inch of land was worth gold, the villas boasted a green rate as high as 80%. Besides a separately excavated artificial lake, there were lavishly designed landscaped rock gardens. The security of the villas was on par with retired special forces, and to view or purchase a property required verification of financial qualifications, because this was where the city's elite gathered. Scarlett Garrison knew about this place. Timothy Garrison had always dreamed of buying a house here. Living here meant being neighbors with the top echelon and becoming a member of the elite. A uniform fleet of helicopters was parked on the spacious helipad in the villa district. Nearby, a black Maybach awaited them. The three switched cars, drove through the expansive lawns of the estate, and finally stopped in front of a four-story manor villa. Donovan Jennings got out of the car with Scarlett Garrison, while Samuel Chalmers remained seated. When others reunited with family, no matter how good the relationship, it wasn't appropriate to intrude. This was out of courtesy. Donovan waved a hand, and the Maybach started again, driving deeper into the villa area. "The Chalmers Family lives just ahead. I'll formally take you to visit them later," Donovan explained, then led Scarlett Garrison inside. The European-style manor villa exuded a luxurious grandeur. Walking through the garden and entering the villa doors, they bypassed the entrance to the living room, where Scarlett Garrison was met with the sight of a large group of Jennings family members sitting in the room. On the way there, Donovan had given her a brief overview. As Scarlett had previously speculated, the Jennings Family was indeed one of the Four Great Families of Sea City, comprising four branches: three sons and a daughter, each with their own family. The old master had stepped down due to health reasons the previous year, leaving the Jennings Group to the eldest, Luca Jennings. The second uncle, Michael Jennings, was a domestic first-tier singer in his youth, later founding his own entertainment company, and was now a top figure in the industry. The third uncle, Blaise Jennings, served as the Vice President of the Jennings Group, independently managing several key industries of the group. The aunt, Brianna Jennings, was also a strong woman, having created an international first-tier brand and wielding great influence in the fashion circle. As for the younger generation, it seemed the Jennings Family had an abundance of male descendants, with the exception of the youngest daughter of the second branch and Azura Loomis, who was a daughter fostered by the Jennings Matriarch from her maternal family. Looking at the crowd before her, it was apparent that most members of the Jennings Family were present. Upon seeing Scarlett and Donovan enter, all eyes turned to her, their gazes either scrutinizing, curious, indifferent, or... subtly dissatisfied. "Grandfather." Donovan maintained his usual demeanor, stepping forward with long strides toward the elderly man sitting in the center of the sofa, introducing, "This is Scarlett." He then gestured toward Scarlett, "Scarlett, greet Grandfather." Scarlett looked at the elderly man sitting upright with a smile in the center. She wasn't particularly skilled at face reading, despite the gentle smile in the old man's eyes. However, his prominent nose, broad forehead, and deep-set eyes marked him as someone with strong opinions— In other words, someone accustomed to giving orders. "Grandfather," Scarlett obediently greeted him. The old man nodded and warmly said, "Good, it's good you've returned. From now on, you are the eldest daughter of the Jennings Family; no one can bully you." Donovan then turned to the man sitting next to Old Sir Jennings, Luca Jennings, and introduced, "This is Father." Scarlett followed his gaze. Compared to the kindly appearance of Old Sir Jennings, Luca Jennings gave off a relatively cold and composed impression. Especially when viewed in profile, the angles of his features exuded a certain hardness, and his well-defined features hinted at his once handsome visage. The fine lines etched by time on his face showed not the slightest sign of aging but rather emanated the charm of a mature man— Quite different from Timothy Garrison. Scarlett opened her mouth slightly and softly called, "Father." Luca Jennings' thin lips tightened slightly at this address, his entire face revealing little emotion as he looked at Scarlett. After a long pause, he replied in a deep voice, "Mm." Donovan then took her to meet each of the other Jennings family elders individually. Scarlett silently observed the surrounding Jennings family members. Apart from the grandmother still in the sanatorium and another cousin, almost everyone was present. However, among these people, her mother was absent. According to Donovan, when she was abducted, her mother had pursued the kidnapper alone, but she accidentally fell into the sea midway, and to this day, not even her remains had been recovered. Perhaps she was feeling a bit somber when the woman who had been addressed as second aunt earlier approached voluntarily, affectionately wrapped an arm around Scarlett, her eyes full of pity and affection. "Scarlett, you're probably tired from your journey. Second Aunt has already prepared a room for you. Let's see if you like it, and if there's anything you don't like, just let me know anytime." In family matters, Old Sir Jennings adhered to traditional values, emphasizing that while parents were alive, the family should remain united. Except for the already married fourth daughter, the other three branches all lived together in this manor villa. The woman, named Odessa, appeared to be around forty but had maintained both her figure and skin extremely well. At first glance, she had all the trappings of an aristocratic lady. Yet, the pity on her face coupled with the vanity and obsession evident in her demeanor struck Scarlett as incongruous. Scarlett quietly withdrew her arm and was about to express her gratitude when a young boy, around thirteen or fourteen, suddenly jumped out from the side, exclaiming, "Second Aunt, give her a different room. The one she got was Sister Azura's toy room, and if she takes it, Sister Azura won't have a place for her dolls." The boy was the youngest son of the third branch, named Lucas Jennings, and was known among the Jennings Family as the most brash. Indeed, as soon as he spoke, several people in the sitting room showed expressions of exasperation. Third Uncle Blaise Jennings immediately put on a stern face, "What nonsense are you spouting?! It's none of your concern." "Why are you scolding me? It's not like I'm lying," Lucas Jennings retorted stubbornly. "The house has so many rooms that aren't used, and as soon as she comes, she has to take over Sister Azura's toy room. Why's that fair?!" The girl sitting among the younger generation had already stood up without anyone noticing. A look of slight self-reproach appeared on her delicate and fair face, "Stop it, Lucas." This was Azura Loomis, as the boy referred to. Azura Loomis was the niece from Old Lady Jennings' side of the family. Back when Scarlett went missing, to console her eldest son and also to balance the predominance of males in the Jennings Family, Old Lady Jennings especially brought Azura from her maternal home to live with them. She had been raised alongside her cousins since the age of three. Azura turned to Scarlett and said gently, "Don't mind Lucas, Scarlett. He doesn't mean any harm. He just can't stand me being wronged. That room is yours if it's given to you. I'm fine with it." Her attitude was gracious and proper, yet each word subtly emphasized her grievances. She demonstrated the familiar behavior often seen in Isolde Garrison. Scarlett pondered silently. Could it be that her peculiar disposition always attracted these types of tea lovers? The girl turned her head and feigned a scolding manner, "Apologize quickly, Lucas. Scarlett is your sister." "Tch," the boy scoffed with disdain, muttering under his breath, "How is she my sister?" With a "clang," a cup was suddenly slammed heavily onto the marble table, abruptly silencing the living room. 5 My Sister, Never Wronged On one side of the living room, Lucas Jennings sat expressionlessly in a single-seater sofa, a water ring forming on the table in front of his teacup. After a while, he slightly turned his eyes toward Lucas Jennings, speaking calmly, yet he asked, "Scarlett is my daughter, my daughter, isn't she worthy to be your sister?" The boy, who just moments ago was brash, was visibly cowed now. "Uncle, I didn't mean it like that..." Beside him, Donovan Jennings, watching his father suppress the young one with a single look, turned his gaze to Azura Loomis, "Azura, do you feel wronged living with the Jennings Family?" Called out, Azura Loomis's face turned slightly pale, and she hurriedly denied, "No, Brother Donovan, you've misunderstood me." "In that case, stop saying things that might cause misunderstandings in the future." Donovan Jennings maintained his smile, but his voice carried an undeniable pressure. Azura Loomis opened her mouth, hesitated, and then lowered her head without daring to speak further, silently biting her lip. At this moment, Odessa spoke up to break the tension, "It's my oversight, just a room, it shouldn't be a problem." "Your arrangements were indeed inappropriate." Donovan Jennings, as the eldest grandson of the Jennings Family, never sugarcoated his words, even with elders. "Scarlett is my sister, the eldest daughter of the Jennings Family. Having her live in an unused nursery room is laughable." As he spoke, he suddenly wrapped an arm around Scarlett's shoulder, protectively, "My sister came home, not to endure this kind of grievance." With those words, he unintentionally made Azura Loomis's cheeks flush. She had just hinted to everyone that she was wronged, and here Donovan turned it around, saying that having Scarlett stay in her used room was the real injustice. Wasn't he embarrassing her? On the other hand, Scarlett, suddenly having her shoulder embraced, froze. It wasn't clear if it was because of Donovan's gesture or his words. The supposed grievances couldn't be compared to what she experienced at the Garrison Family, just words. But it was the first time someone showed concern about whether she felt wronged. A warmth spread through her heart, like feeling for the first time what family should be. Odessa's face showed slight embarrassment, secretly cursing Donovan Jennings for never giving her face, and instinctively she looked at Luca Jennings and Old Sir Jiang, only to find them both silent. Unable to voice her frustration, she endeavored to maintain her composure, "Donovan is right, it's my fault for not considering it thoroughly. I will have someone rearrange it." Donovan immediately smiled and nodded at her, "Please, take care of it soon, Aunt." Then he turned to the others, "I'll take Scarlett for a walk in the garden." After speaking, without caring about anyone's opinion, he led Scarlett toward the garden. With their departure, the atmosphere in the hall grew tense again. Odessa felt extremely aggrieved and was about to explain when the butler walked in and addressed Old Sir Jiang, "Sir, there's a call from the gate saying Mrs. Garrison is here to visit." The surname Garrison, everyone immediately thought of Scarlett. Thinking that she had just been brought over from the Garrison Family, why would someone chase after her now? "Is she here for Scarlett? It seems she can't bear to part with the child." The third aunt of the Jennings Family said with a laugh, trying to ease the tension. She had noticed Scarlett came in without luggage. Not knowing the reason, the Garrison Family must have come to bring her belongings. Knowing Scarlett is the daughter of the Jennings, even a confused Garrison Family wouldn't make such a mistake as not providing her luggage. The butler hesitated a bit, then said, "That Mrs. Garrison is here to visit Mrs. George." The third aunt's smile froze, puzzled, "To see me?" Why would someone from the Garrison Family come see her without the child? ... On the other side. The Jennings Family garden had a classic European style, the vintage fence on the side of the villa was covered with roses, the meticulously maintained lawn spread green brilliantly in the summer sun. Following behind Donovan Jennings, Scarlett listened to him casually introduce the little things in the garden, but her thoughts quietly drifted back to when Donovan stood up for her in the living room. There was a curious, subtle feeling. After a while, she couldn't help but softly say, "Thank you." Donovan stopped and looked at her, then suddenly smiled and ruffled her hair, "With your brother, no need for thanks." Scarlett just stared at him, looking slightly dazed with her hair tousled, which deepened Donovan's smile even more. Just as he was about to say something else, his phone rang at the perfect moment. He glanced at the caller, signaling Scarlett to roam around as she liked, and he stepped aside to take the call. Scarlett continued walking forward, going about ten steps before her gaze fell on a woman cleaning furniture in a gazebo. The woman was about fifty, with an unassuming appearance, but from Scarlett's angle, she could easily see the gloomy aura entangled around her, which is something clinging only to those tainted by wickedness. Scarlett normally disliked meddling because getting involved unnecessarily could invite karmic entanglements. But if ignored, the woman's dark aura might affect others in the house. She approached her. The woman, with a rag in hand, mechanically wiping, looked dazed with confusion, her eyes occasionally glancing in one direction until Scarlett stood in front of her, jolting her back to awareness as she hurriedly greeted, "M-Miss." "You recognize me?" Scarlett was somewhat surprised; she had only been in this house for a bit more than half an hour, without having met all the Jennings Family members. "The butler gave all the staff photos to recognize Miss beforehand so we wouldn't accidentally offend you." The woman smiled ingratiatingly, explaining. Scarlett didn't expect the Jennings Family to make such arrangements, quietly considerate, truly befits a prestigious family. "Is there something you need, Miss?" The woman asked as Scarlett remained silent. Scarlett was about to speak when suddenly she saw two familiar figures walking in through the garden gate. It was Emma White and Isolde Garrison. Both were led in by the butler in a suit, spotting Scarlett in the gazebo immediately, and their faces turned to shock. "What are you doing here?!"	LEARN_MORE	https://dynamic.lightreader.com/noah-ssg/wn/766754	Novabeats-0530	https://www.facebook.com/61559933356514/	8,014	1969-12-31 18:00	Learn more	dynamic.lightreader.com	VIDEO		https://dynamic.lightreader.com/noah-ssg/wn/766754101/31427145508022505+1+5+facebook?utm_source={{campaign.name}}&utm_campaign={{campaign.id}}&utm_adset={{adset.name}}	1969-12-31 18:00	https://scontent-iad3-1.xx.fbcdn.net/v/t39.35426-6/481778294_1356751762181374_5227560317268178772_n.jpg?stp=dst-jpg_s60x60_tt6&_nc_cat=108&ccb=1-7&_nc_sid=c53f8f&_nc_ohc=SiVBVB1Vvn4Q7kNvgGk9_HK&_nc_oc=AdhzdyzFBwYD3vOWZqsEze2kSpK4Z4wGxMTgVSz513CQN2hXd9NdRdyEaH05MdsU36KUiete_p3A7pcf1F-quPip&_nc_zt=14&_nc_ht=scontent-iad3-1.xx&_nc_gid=AxN8BIPl7PJcj6alJ1dPeZW&oh=00_AYCmK8LMmRg8JZXs-UfzxCs1LCFXx36AFScvFo7uyRyqgQ&oe=67C73CC5	PERSON_PROFILE	Novabeats-0530	1969-12-31 18:00	View Edit Delete
2,707,320	/src/Template/Ads/index.ctp (line 281) '{"alias":2707318}'	Yes	2025-02-28 00:30	active	2651	❤️🔥The Fake Heiress Turns Out to Be a True Tycoon!	June, just after the college entrance exams had concluded. Scarlett Garrison had just completed her discharge paperwork alone and returned home. As she stepped through the doorway of the Garrison Family villa, a suitcase landed with a thud at her feet. A glamorous woman stood at the entrance, looking down at her. Her gaze swept over the girl's delicate features and snow-like skin, a flicker of jealousy passed through her eyes, soon replaced by undisguised disgust, "I've packed your things. From today onwards, you'll get out of this house and go back to your biological parents!" Scarlett Garrison didn't even glance at the suitcase on the floor. Her almond-shaped eyes looked coldly at Emma White, the woman she had called mom for seventeen years. The commotion at the door caught the attention of those inside, and soon, Scarlett's father and his two children stepped out. Scarlett's father looked at the suitcase at Scarlett's feet, then at his wife, his tone slightly reproachful, "Emma, what is this about? Scarlett is a daughter we've raised for eighteen years after all." "She's a thankless burden!" Emma White glared at Scarlett Garrison, "I clearly told her to give the city image representative spot to Isolde. She ignored my words! If I hadn't inquired about the final list, we'd still be kept in the dark by her! If she had any conscience at all, she wouldn't have taken her sister's spot!" At Emma's words, a flicker of envious hatred flashed in Isolde Garrison's eyes, but she quickly masked it, showing a hint of grievance and sadness on her face. However, she said, "Mom, don't be like this. The opportunity to be a city image representative is rare; it's normal for sister not to want to give it up. Maybe there's something I didn't do well enough, otherwise, I wouldn't have been chosen…" "What do you lack compared to her? Everything she has wasn't because of the Garrison Family." Emma White gently comforted her daughter. Scarlett Garrison just watched the mother and daughter perform. She had seen such performances countless times since childhood. This time, not only did she feel no waves in her heart, she even wanted to laugh a little. Four days ago, she was hit by a car and thrown twenty meters away while trying to save Isolde. Everyone thought she wouldn't survive. When Emma White and the Garrison Family rushed to the scene, their first reaction was not to check on her injuries, but to comfort the tearful Isolde who was inconsolable after the accident. Scarlett Garrison lay on the ground, feeling dazed and with icy hands and feet. What chilled her more was the conversation between Scarlett's father and Emma White— "The front of the car is smashed; she likely won't make it." "Well, if she dies, it means she really took Isolde's great misfortune in her life, which makes all the years we raised her worth it…" Scarlett Garrison had always known she was merely a tool the Garrison Family raised to shield Isolde from hardship. As a child, she didn't understand why every time Isolde got sick, Emma White would demand she take care of Isolde around the clock, and each time under her care, Isolde would quickly recover, while Scarlett would fall seriously ill afterward. Later, she met a mentor who enlightened her that she and Isolde's birth dates belonged to the complementary halves of the Harmony Technique. The two halves of Harmony, and she was the good half. The Garrison Family kept her by Isolde's side to actually use her own fortune to mitigate the misfortunates Isolde carried, and through these acts of shielding, Isolde's fate gradually improved, while Scarlett's would slowly venture towards decline. If Scarlett Garrison hadn't prepared in advance, she might have already exhausted her fortune and died in that car accident four days ago. It was also because of this accident that her biological father unexpectedly found her. "Are you done talking? If so, can I leave?" Having heard this couple coldly discussing her death, any last shred of hope Scarlett Garrison had for the Garrison Family vanished completely. She felt not the slightest reluctance in leaving the Garrison Family. "Scarlett, don't blame your mother. In this instance, you were indeed in the wrong." Scarlett's father finally came forward, his expression as stern as ever, "Since you've found your biological parents, you should go back with them." Isolde Garrison also spoke up, her voice soft and timid, "Sister, don't be mad at mom, she did everything for me." As she spoke, she suddenly took out an envelope from the side and handed it to Scarlett, very considerately adding, "This is your travel money. Dad said your biological parents live in the mountains, their home is poor, and the network in those places is underdeveloped, so it's better to carry some cash." Emma White snorted from the side, "Don't say we didn't consider the many years of affection; this money is enough to last a year in the mountains. Our family has been more than good to you." She sneered again, "Once you go back, I guess you won't have a chance to return. I heard there are many old men in those mountains who can't find wives; you could marry there, since you wouldn't get into college anyway with your grades." Scarlett Garrison glanced at Emma White's face, which was full of malice even as she feigned generosity, and merely gave her a light glance, "You have some deep frown lines, which is a sign of excessive scheming and accumulated debts. Instead of worrying about me, perhaps you should use that few thousand to buy a facial mask." She paused deliberately, as if adding as an afterthought, "Although it probably wouldn't help much." Scarlett's words were earnest, but they made Emma White's face suddenly grow sharp with anger. She shouted, "You little brat, who gave you the nerve to talk to me like that!" Saying so, she raised her hand to strike Scarlett across the face. The latter merely watched coldly, slightly stepping aside so that Emma White's slap hit nothing but air. Emma White stared incredulously, "You even dare to dodge…" Isolde hurried forward, pulling Scarlett, "Sister, don't make mom angry; just speak calmly, and she will forgive you." Her words sounded kind, but her real intention was to hold Scarlett so she couldn't dodge Emma White's slap again. Scarlett Garrison raised her hand, ready to push her away, but her eye caught sight of something, and her gaze froze. She saw the Jade Bracelet on Isolde's wrist. Swiftly, she grabbed Isolde's wrist, coldly demanding, "Why is the bracelet with you?" Isolde had intentionally worn the bracelet today to flaunt it. Now that Scarlett actually noticed it, and grabbed her by surprise, she put on a frightened face, crying out in pain, "Ah, it hurts…" As soon as Isolde cried out, Emma White's expression changed instantly. She grabbed Scarlett's hand, pulling it away, and screamed angrily, "Scarlett Garrison! What do you think you're doing?!" Scarlett, however, kept her gaze fixed on Isolde, her voice cold, "That bracelet was left to me by Grandma." "What do you mean your bracelet?! That was left for the Garrison Family's daughters; you're not even part of this family anymore, so of course, it belongs to Isolde!" Scarlett Garrison bit her lip, letting go of the suitcase handle and looking at Scarlett's father, "I won't take a single thing from the Garrison Family, I only want the bracelet Grandma left for me." If there was anything left in the Garrison Family that she cherished, it was Grandma. Grandma was the only person in this family who truly loved her. Even on her deathbed, she worried about how Scarlett would fare after she was gone. That bracelet was the only memory Grandma left her. 2 That Mountain Belongs to Our Family Timothy Garrison, who had been silent, finally spoke, his youthful features mirroring those of his father, carrying a trace of dissatisfaction and heartache, "Scarlett, that belongs to Isolde. When did you become so greedy and insatiable?" Scarlett Garrison's hand, hanging by her side, secretly clenched, then she heard him add, "If you listen obediently and give the spot to Isolde, I can persuade mom and dad to let you stay." Josiah Garrison thought he was giving her the best choice, and she should be grateful. Timothy Garrison also said, "Although you are adopted, I have always treated you as my own daughter. Our Garrison Family is a decent family, not the kind to let our daughter go back to her birth parents without even taking her luggage. Your biological parents don't have good conditions, you should bring what you need." However, he did not mention a word about giving her the bracelet. Isolde Garrison also spoke up at this time, with grievance, "Sister, I know you really want this bracelet, but, after all, it's something from grandma... how about this, I can transfer you some money? Is ten thousand enough? If not, twenty thousand?" The implication was clearly saying she wanted the bracelet to sell for money. Scarlett Garrison immediately glared coldly at Isolde Garrison. Isolde Garrison shivered at her glance, shrinking slightly. Scarlett Garrison looked at the three people in front of her, her expression very indifferent, and spoke decisively and unequivocally, "I don't need your money, and I don't need you to speak for me to stay." Once, to gain their approval, she learned etiquette, made amulets for them with her own hands, treated them genuinely as her real family, doing her best for them, but never received a true heart in return. Even when she nearly died for Isolde Garrison, she couldn't get even a glance from them. Such a family, she would never cherish again. Josiah Garrison's face turned a bit unsightly at her unwavering refusal, thinking Scarlett Garrison truly did not know what was good for her. Without the Garrison Family, what good days could she possibly have? Emma White blocked in front of Isolde Garrison, angrily reprimanding, "Josiah, why are you telling her this? Even if she cries to give up her spot now, our family won't want her! She had better not even think of taking a single thing from the Garrison Family!" Seeing this, Isolde Garrison approached again, trying to persuade, but used a voice only the two of them could hear, with a somewhat proud gloat, "Sister, I forgot to tell you, Patterson confessed to me the day before yesterday. We plan to get engaged in a few days. I know you always liked Patterson, but I still hope you bless us." Scarlett Garrison looked at her boastful face, expressionlessly asking her back, "Who told you I like him?" Isolde Garrison was startled, obviously not expecting such a reaction. In her imagination, hearing one's crush confess to someone else, Scarlett Garrison ought to be so devastated she'd fall to her knees in tears, shouldn't she? Scarlett Garrison just looked at her with eyes as if watching a fool, "Even though you're blind, I will still bless you, after all, when two pests are together, they can't harm others anymore." That's good. Isolde Garrison's pupils shrank at her words, almost changing her expression. Scarlett Garrison no longer paid her any attention, instead, she looked at the other members of the Garrison family, "I will repay the upbringing expenses from childhood. From now on, I have no relation to your family anymore." The Garrison Family calculated her fate chart, she severed this connection, and the calamities Isolde used her to shield in the past would double back onto Isolde herself in the future. Repaying the upbringing expenses, she rendered the debt of nurturing from the Garrison Family. All favors and causalities were cut off; even if she acted against the Garrison Family in the future, she would bear no karmic debts. She took a final glance at the bracelet on Isolde's wrist and said, "You won't be able to keep this bracelet. It won't be long before I make you return it to me personally." After saying this, Scarlett Garrison, without any lingering attachment, walked out of the Garrison's villa gate alone. Emma White looked at her retreating back, so angry she could hardly find the words. "See, truly a thankless wretch! If it weren't for Isolde's sake, I'd have driven her out long ago!" Isolde Garrison soothed her anger by wrapping her arm around her, "Sister probably just found out she's being sent back to such a poor place and couldn't accept it for a moment. Mom, don't be angry with her." "You, you're just too kind," Emma White said helplessly, looking at her younger daughter, then glanced in the direction Scarlett Garrison left, cursing under her breath, "Getting hit like that and not dying or getting hurt, it must be some monster possessing her. Luckily, we got rid of her just in time, or who knows how she'd harm our family." "Alright, enough, stop talking," Timothy Garrison spoke in a deep voice, decisively ending the topic. The Garrison family of four did not know that just when Scarlett Garrison stepped out of the Garrison family garden, the sun that hung over them seemed to be covered by dark clouds, causing the surrounding temperature to drop a couple of degrees. In the shadowy corners, there seemed to be a rustling sound of laughter and discussion. "She left, she finally left." "This house is ours now, hee hee hee." ... Scarlett Garrison walked towards the villa area gate, under the scorching sun overhead, yet no sign of heat appeared on her, not even a bead of sweat at her temple, as if her body automatically warded off the summer heat. She pulled out her phone from her pocket, Timothy Garrison had previously given her contact information for her biological parents, but she had not yet contacted them. Scarlett Garrison knew little about her biological parents. But living in the mountains, being not wealthy was a certainty; the college entrance exam just ended, after university, if her biological parents couldn't afford to support her education, she could find a way to earn money herself. As for worrying about being sold off to marriage after going back, Scarlett Garrison never feared such a thing. In this world, there probably wasn't anyone who could sell her. As she was thinking about this, she found the phone number, ready to press the call button, when she heard a loud commotion from the helipad not far away. Raising her eyes, she saw not far from the helipad, dozens of black helicopters were landing in orderly fashion. The villa area where the Garrison house was located, though not the top villa area in the city, often had luxury cars coming and going, but having over a dozen private helicopters landing at once was a first for Scarlett Garrison. She assumed it was some rich owner in the community showing off and was about to leave. But unexpectedly, as she moved to the side, the guards from those dozen helicopters ran up like a military formation, lining up in front of her in two rows. Then, the helicopter doors opened, and pilots clad in black suits with white gloves quickly disembarked and stood in formation, evidently well-trained. At this moment, the door of the central helicopter slowly opened. Scarlett Garrison saw first a long leg clad in dark gray suit trousers step out, the man walking down from the cabin, tall and slender, wearing a well-tailored same-color suit, which made his exceptionally handsome features appear even more noble and elegant. The man looked at her, walked slowly closer, then spoke, his voice low and pleasant, "Scarlett Garrison?" Scarlett Garrison observed the familiar similarities in his features to hers, vaguely guessing his identity, "I am." The man glanced at the phone in her hand that was still at the dialing interface, tut-tutted, reached out, and suddenly pressed the call button for her. The next second, a melodious mobile ring tone sounded from his pocket, he took out his phone, held the caller display interface in front of Scarlett Garrison, accommodating her height, slightly bent down, and smiled, "Nice to meet you, I am your brother, Donovan Jennings." Scarlett Garrison: ... Scarlett Garrison silently assessed the extremely handsome "brother" in front of her, then looked past him at the helicopter fleet and the well-trained pilots and bodyguards behind him, and finally found her voice, "I heard, my parents live in the mountains..." Implying, this scene doesn't seem like my family at all. Donovan Jennings thought she was going to say something and just replied, "The home is indeed in the mountains." Paused, then added, "But that mountain is our family's." Scarlett Garrison: ... So, her biological parents' family was not only not poor, but... they also owned an entire mountain? Who could privately own an entire mountain? Does the nation even allow that? 3 Blinded by His Golden Light "Family sent me to pick you up. They specifically instructed that our first meeting should be formal, so I temporarily borrowed a helicopter team. It's not too many, but it'll have to do." Scarlett Garrison stared in silence at the bustling helicopter crew blocking nearly the entire villa entrance. You call this... making do? Then Donovan Jennings waved to the people behind him and suddenly signaled, "Call her." "Miss!" The uniformed pilots behind him shouted in unison, their voices as neat as a military chant. "Welcome home, Miss!" Scarlett Garrison: ... Why in the world did this feel so embarrassingly melodramatic? Perhaps because of the cold reception she often received at the Garrison Family, Scarlett Garrison wasn't adept at dealing with such enthusiastic occasions. She opened her mouth and managed to squeak out, "Let's go." Let's go quickly. Didn't you see the villa security running over? Donovan Jennings watched her reaction with a smile, then suddenly seemed to remember something. His charming almond eyes narrowed slightly as he surveyed her and asked, "But why are you here alone?" At this hour, appearing alone at the villa entrance, she couldn't have just stepped out to buy some soy sauce, right? Scarlett pursed her lips at his words. She didn't want to say that she'd been kicked out early by the Garrison Family. Just as she was contemplating how to dismiss it, another voice suddenly rang out. It had a hint of indifference, like the clear and quiet sound of a cold spring, deep and pleasant, with a touch of impatience. "Are we not leaving?" Scarlett looked towards the voice and then noticed there was another person on the initial helicopter. Just one glance almost blinded her. Inside the aircraft, the man had his long legs slightly bent. From her angle, she could only see half of his body hidden in the shadow of the helicopter door. His wrist rested casually on the handrail of the stairs, his elegant posture exuding a composed aura, even the wrinkles on his suit seemed to carry an inexplicable allure. But more than that, it was the golden light emanating from the man that truly bedazzled Scarlett. Since childhood, she could see things others couldn't, and people's fortunes had many colors. Golden light she had only seen on those who contributed to the nation. But looking at this nearly blinding golden light. Had this man stolen the nation's fortune? The moment the man spoke, Donovan quickly responded with a laugh, not asking any further questions. "Let's go, let's go." He said, pushing Scarlett's shoulder and steering her that way. He then lowered his voice, muttering quietly, "Tsk, the Great Demon King really has no patience." And so Scarlett was taken in front of the "Great Demon King," placed in the seat beside him in the aircraft. From this close, the golden light was even more blinding. Bearing the risk of having her eyes blinded, Scarlett finally got a good look at his true face. As stern as the sharp timbre in his indifferent voice, his features were like they were carved with a knife, angular and handsome, carrying a cold and hard beauty; his thin, slightly pursed lips radiated a cool demeanor, like ice and snow descending from a frigid mountain, engulfed in his deep, obsidian irises. Realizing that she was staring too hard, he slightly glanced in her direction, his gaze seeming to capture all her curiosities and emotions. Scarlett was very curious about the golden light around him but worried he might think she's an idiot. After pondering, she asked, "Are you my brother too?" With just one question, Donovan Jennings, sitting opposite them, let out a chuckle, while the man beside her merely cast him a cold glance, then silently withdrew his deep gaze. "No." And he didn't say another word. Fortunately, Donovan Jennings was also there in that helicopter. "This is Samuel Chalmers, not your brother. You only have me as your brother." Scarlett found the name vaguely familiar, but she couldn't recall where she'd heard it before. However, among the Four Great Families of Sea City, two of which were the Chalmers and Jennings. Was it a coincidence? Then she heard Donovan explain, "I came to pick you up today, and he's tagging along for a seat." Scarlett nodded understandably at his words, but just as she was about to respond, the man, who had already looked away, suddenly glanced at Donovan, his thin lips parting as he spoke coolly, "You used my helicopter team." As the head of the Chalmers family, he certainly didn't need to piggyback on anyone's ride. Donovan remained unfazed, even reluctantly spreading his hands. "I had no choice. All the company's vehicles were sent out, and among the people I know, you're the only one who has their own personal helicopter team set up." Samuel Chalmers, the high-end obsessive-compulsive who even insisted that his subordinates wear the same color and style of socks. Not to mention his helicopters, which even had foot mats that matched perfectly. While the three continued their conversation, the all-black helicopters had already begun to slowly take off, escorting the luxurious central helicopter, leaving in a grand fashion just as they had arrived. After the helicopter team rumbled away, several security guards who had been watching from the villa looked at each other, starting their discussion. "The one the helicopter picked up just now, was that the Garrison's eldest daughter?" "Yes, it was her. I heard two days ago that she's not actually the Garrison's biological daughter, and she's been kicked out. I heard her real parents are from the mountains." "The mountains? Look at this scene, does it look like she's from the mountains? Maybe her real parents are some big shots." "Ha, if that's the case, General Manager Garrison would regret it to death." Although the security office had strict regulations, in private, they often gossiped about these wealthy people residing in the villa district. But just then, one of them quickly shut his mouth, turning around to bow respectfully towards the gate. It's always best not to talk about people during the day, wasn't that the Garrison's car? Emma White and Isolde Garrison sat in the backseat, not glancing at the bowing security guards. As noble owners, they never paid attention to these societal underlings. "Even though the final list of city representatives has been set, it hasn't been officially submitted. I've found out that the person responsible for submitting the final list is an executive from Jennings Group." Speaking to Isolde Garrison, Emma White smiled contentedly. "Your father happened to strike a deal with Jennings Group two days ago, so we can just go through them." Isolde was somewhat excited upon hearing that. "Jennings Group? Behind them is the Jennings Family, one of the Four Great Families! Dad actually managed to collaborate with them, that's impressive!" Emma White was visibly proud, but she tried to maintain an indifferent demeanor. "Indeed, it is the Jennings Family. Many people came with money to seek collaboration only to be ignored. But they proactively sought out your father. It shows our family's standing in Sea City. In the future, more people will be knocking on our door for collaboration." Listening to this, Isolde's face lit up visibly with excitement. Being able to collaborate with the Jennings Family meant that soon they would break into Sea City's top circles. In the future, the eligible bachelors she could choose from would be on a whole new level. Indeed, ever since Scarlett left, their family's fortune had improved significantly! "Great." Isolde said, with a hint of feigned modesty, "But if we directly ask them for help, won't they refuse?" Emma was utterly confident. "They came to us seeking cooperation; since we're partners, helping with such a minor issue should be expected, right?" She held Isolde's hand, reassuringly, "Don't worry. Mother will ensure you secure the city image representative spot! This is about our Sea City's image. That ungrateful vulture wants to take it from you? She's not even worthy!" Isolde felt immensely proud inside. She already considered the city representative role as her own but still put on an obedient and non-competitive front. After pausing for a moment, she asked, "Are we heading to the Jennings Group headquarters now?" "We're not going to the headquarters," Emma said. "We are going directly to the Jennings Family." 4 Top-Tier Elite Jennings Family Jennings Family. Located in the heart of Sea City, Silver River One was the most exclusive community in the entire city. Even though every inch of land was worth gold, the villas boasted a green rate as high as 80%. Besides a separately excavated artificial lake, there were lavishly designed landscaped rock gardens. The security of the villas was on par with retired special forces, and to view or purchase a property required verification of financial qualifications, because this was where the city's elite gathered. Scarlett Garrison knew about this place. Timothy Garrison had always dreamed of buying a house here. Living here meant being neighbors with the top echelon and becoming a member of the elite. A uniform fleet of helicopters was parked on the spacious helipad in the villa district. Nearby, a black Maybach awaited them. The three switched cars, drove through the expansive lawns of the estate, and finally stopped in front of a four-story manor villa. Donovan Jennings got out of the car with Scarlett Garrison, while Samuel Chalmers remained seated. When others reunited with family, no matter how good the relationship, it wasn't appropriate to intrude. This was out of courtesy. Donovan waved a hand, and the Maybach started again, driving deeper into the villa area. "The Chalmers Family lives just ahead. I'll formally take you to visit them later," Donovan explained, then led Scarlett Garrison inside. The European-style manor villa exuded a luxurious grandeur. Walking through the garden and entering the villa doors, they bypassed the entrance to the living room, where Scarlett Garrison was met with the sight of a large group of Jennings family members sitting in the room. On the way there, Donovan had given her a brief overview. As Scarlett had previously speculated, the Jennings Family was indeed one of the Four Great Families of Sea City, comprising four branches: three sons and a daughter, each with their own family. The old master had stepped down due to health reasons the previous year, leaving the Jennings Group to the eldest, Luca Jennings. The second uncle, Michael Jennings, was a domestic first-tier singer in his youth, later founding his own entertainment company, and was now a top figure in the industry. The third uncle, Blaise Jennings, served as the Vice President of the Jennings Group, independently managing several key industries of the group. The aunt, Brianna Jennings, was also a strong woman, having created an international first-tier brand and wielding great influence in the fashion circle. As for the younger generation, it seemed the Jennings Family had an abundance of male descendants, with the exception of the youngest daughter of the second branch and Azura Loomis, who was a daughter fostered by the Jennings Matriarch from her maternal family. Looking at the crowd before her, it was apparent that most members of the Jennings Family were present. Upon seeing Scarlett and Donovan enter, all eyes turned to her, their gazes either scrutinizing, curious, indifferent, or... subtly dissatisfied. "Grandfather." Donovan maintained his usual demeanor, stepping forward with long strides toward the elderly man sitting in the center of the sofa, introducing, "This is Scarlett." He then gestured toward Scarlett, "Scarlett, greet Grandfather." Scarlett looked at the elderly man sitting upright with a smile in the center. She wasn't particularly skilled at face reading, despite the gentle smile in the old man's eyes. However, his prominent nose, broad forehead, and deep-set eyes marked him as someone with strong opinions— In other words, someone accustomed to giving orders. "Grandfather," Scarlett obediently greeted him. The old man nodded and warmly said, "Good, it's good you've returned. From now on, you are the eldest daughter of the Jennings Family; no one can bully you." Donovan then turned to the man sitting next to Old Sir Jennings, Luca Jennings, and introduced, "This is Father." Scarlett followed his gaze. Compared to the kindly appearance of Old Sir Jennings, Luca Jennings gave off a relatively cold and composed impression. Especially when viewed in profile, the angles of his features exuded a certain hardness, and his well-defined features hinted at his once handsome visage. The fine lines etched by time on his face showed not the slightest sign of aging but rather emanated the charm of a mature man— Quite different from Timothy Garrison. Scarlett opened her mouth slightly and softly called, "Father." Luca Jennings' thin lips tightened slightly at this address, his entire face revealing little emotion as he looked at Scarlett. After a long pause, he replied in a deep voice, "Mm." Donovan then took her to meet each of the other Jennings family elders individually. Scarlett silently observed the surrounding Jennings family members. Apart from the grandmother still in the sanatorium and another cousin, almost everyone was present. However, among these people, her mother was absent. According to Donovan, when she was abducted, her mother had pursued the kidnapper alone, but she accidentally fell into the sea midway, and to this day, not even her remains had been recovered. Perhaps she was feeling a bit somber when the woman who had been addressed as second aunt earlier approached voluntarily, affectionately wrapped an arm around Scarlett, her eyes full of pity and affection. "Scarlett, you're probably tired from your journey. Second Aunt has already prepared a room for you. Let's see if you like it, and if there's anything you don't like, just let me know anytime." In family matters, Old Sir Jennings adhered to traditional values, emphasizing that while parents were alive, the family should remain united. Except for the already married fourth daughter, the other three branches all lived together in this manor villa. The woman, named Odessa, appeared to be around forty but had maintained both her figure and skin extremely well. At first glance, she had all the trappings of an aristocratic lady. Yet, the pity on her face coupled with the vanity and obsession evident in her demeanor struck Scarlett as incongruous. Scarlett quietly withdrew her arm and was about to express her gratitude when a young boy, around thirteen or fourteen, suddenly jumped out from the side, exclaiming, "Second Aunt, give her a different room. The one she got was Sister Azura's toy room, and if she takes it, Sister Azura won't have a place for her dolls." The boy was the youngest son of the third branch, named Lucas Jennings, and was known among the Jennings Family as the most brash. Indeed, as soon as he spoke, several people in the sitting room showed expressions of exasperation. Third Uncle Blaise Jennings immediately put on a stern face, "What nonsense are you spouting?! It's none of your concern." "Why are you scolding me? It's not like I'm lying," Lucas Jennings retorted stubbornly. "The house has so many rooms that aren't used, and as soon as she comes, she has to take over Sister Azura's toy room. Why's that fair?!" The girl sitting among the younger generation had already stood up without anyone noticing. A look of slight self-reproach appeared on her delicate and fair face, "Stop it, Lucas." This was Azura Loomis, as the boy referred to. Azura Loomis was the niece from Old Lady Jennings' side of the family. Back when Scarlett went missing, to console her eldest son and also to balance the predominance of males in the Jennings Family, Old Lady Jennings especially brought Azura from her maternal home to live with them. She had been raised alongside her cousins since the age of three. Azura turned to Scarlett and said gently, "Don't mind Lucas, Scarlett. He doesn't mean any harm. He just can't stand me being wronged. That room is yours if it's given to you. I'm fine with it." Her attitude was gracious and proper, yet each word subtly emphasized her grievances. She demonstrated the familiar behavior often seen in Isolde Garrison. Scarlett pondered silently. Could it be that her peculiar disposition always attracted these types of tea lovers? The girl turned her head and feigned a scolding manner, "Apologize quickly, Lucas. Scarlett is your sister." "Tch," the boy scoffed with disdain, muttering under his breath, "How is she my sister?" With a "clang," a cup was suddenly slammed heavily onto the marble table, abruptly silencing the living room. 5 My Sister, Never Wronged On one side of the living room, Lucas Jennings sat expressionlessly in a single-seater sofa, a water ring forming on the table in front of his teacup. After a while, he slightly turned his eyes toward Lucas Jennings, speaking calmly, yet he asked, "Scarlett is my daughter, my daughter, isn't she worthy to be your sister?" The boy, who just moments ago was brash, was visibly cowed now. "Uncle, I didn't mean it like that..." Beside him, Donovan Jennings, watching his father suppress the young one with a single look, turned his gaze to Azura Loomis, "Azura, do you feel wronged living with the Jennings Family?" Called out, Azura Loomis's face turned slightly pale, and she hurriedly denied, "No, Brother Donovan, you've misunderstood me." "In that case, stop saying things that might cause misunderstandings in the future." Donovan Jennings maintained his smile, but his voice carried an undeniable pressure. Azura Loomis opened her mouth, hesitated, and then lowered her head without daring to speak further, silently biting her lip. At this moment, Odessa spoke up to break the tension, "It's my oversight, just a room, it shouldn't be a problem." "Your arrangements were indeed inappropriate." Donovan Jennings, as the eldest grandson of the Jennings Family, never sugarcoated his words, even with elders. "Scarlett is my sister, the eldest daughter of the Jennings Family. Having her live in an unused nursery room is laughable." As he spoke, he suddenly wrapped an arm around Scarlett's shoulder, protectively, "My sister came home, not to endure this kind of grievance." With those words, he unintentionally made Azura Loomis's cheeks flush. She had just hinted to everyone that she was wronged, and here Donovan turned it around, saying that having Scarlett stay in her used room was the real injustice. Wasn't he embarrassing her? On the other hand, Scarlett, suddenly having her shoulder embraced, froze. It wasn't clear if it was because of Donovan's gesture or his words. The supposed grievances couldn't be compared to what she experienced at the Garrison Family, just words. But it was the first time someone showed concern about whether she felt wronged. A warmth spread through her heart, like feeling for the first time what family should be. Odessa's face showed slight embarrassment, secretly cursing Donovan Jennings for never giving her face, and instinctively she looked at Luca Jennings and Old Sir Jiang, only to find them both silent. Unable to voice her frustration, she endeavored to maintain her composure, "Donovan is right, it's my fault for not considering it thoroughly. I will have someone rearrange it." Donovan immediately smiled and nodded at her, "Please, take care of it soon, Aunt." Then he turned to the others, "I'll take Scarlett for a walk in the garden." After speaking, without caring about anyone's opinion, he led Scarlett toward the garden. With their departure, the atmosphere in the hall grew tense again. Odessa felt extremely aggrieved and was about to explain when the butler walked in and addressed Old Sir Jiang, "Sir, there's a call from the gate saying Mrs. Garrison is here to visit." The surname Garrison, everyone immediately thought of Scarlett. Thinking that she had just been brought over from the Garrison Family, why would someone chase after her now? "Is she here for Scarlett? It seems she can't bear to part with the child." The third aunt of the Jennings Family said with a laugh, trying to ease the tension. She had noticed Scarlett came in without luggage. Not knowing the reason, the Garrison Family must have come to bring her belongings. Knowing Scarlett is the daughter of the Jennings, even a confused Garrison Family wouldn't make such a mistake as not providing her luggage. The butler hesitated a bit, then said, "That Mrs. Garrison is here to visit Mrs. George." The third aunt's smile froze, puzzled, "To see me?" Why would someone from the Garrison Family come see her without the child? ... On the other side. The Jennings Family garden had a classic European style, the vintage fence on the side of the villa was covered with roses, the meticulously maintained lawn spread green brilliantly in the summer sun. Following behind Donovan Jennings, Scarlett listened to him casually introduce the little things in the garden, but her thoughts quietly drifted back to when Donovan stood up for her in the living room. There was a curious, subtle feeling. After a while, she couldn't help but softly say, "Thank you." Donovan stopped and looked at her, then suddenly smiled and ruffled her hair, "With your brother, no need for thanks." Scarlett just stared at him, looking slightly dazed with her hair tousled, which deepened Donovan's smile even more. Just as he was about to say something else, his phone rang at the perfect moment. He glanced at the caller, signaling Scarlett to roam around as she liked, and he stepped aside to take the call. Scarlett continued walking forward, going about ten steps before her gaze fell on a woman cleaning furniture in a gazebo. The woman was about fifty, with an unassuming appearance, but from Scarlett's angle, she could easily see the gloomy aura entangled around her, which is something clinging only to those tainted by wickedness. Scarlett normally disliked meddling because getting involved unnecessarily could invite karmic entanglements. But if ignored, the woman's dark aura might affect others in the house. She approached her. The woman, with a rag in hand, mechanically wiping, looked dazed with confusion, her eyes occasionally glancing in one direction until Scarlett stood in front of her, jolting her back to awareness as she hurriedly greeted, "M-Miss." "You recognize me?" Scarlett was somewhat surprised; she had only been in this house for a bit more than half an hour, without having met all the Jennings Family members. "The butler gave all the staff photos to recognize Miss beforehand so we wouldn't accidentally offend you." The woman smiled ingratiatingly, explaining. Scarlett didn't expect the Jennings Family to make such arrangements, quietly considerate, truly befits a prestigious family. "Is there something you need, Miss?" The woman asked as Scarlett remained silent. Scarlett was about to speak when suddenly she saw two familiar figures walking in through the garden gate. It was Emma White and Isolde Garrison. Both were led in by the butler in a suit, spotting Scarlett in the gazebo immediately, and their faces turned to shock. "What are you doing here?!"	LEARN_MORE	https://dynamic.lightreader.com/noah-ssg/wn/766754	Novabeats-0530	https://www.facebook.com/61559933356514/	8,014	1969-12-31 18:00	Learn more	dynamic.lightreader.com	VIDEO		https://dynamic.lightreader.com/noah-ssg/wn/766754101/31427145508022505+1+5+facebook?utm_source={{campaign.name}}&utm_campaign={{campaign.id}}&utm_adset={{adset.name}}	1969-12-31 18:00	https://scontent-iad3-1.xx.fbcdn.net/v/t39.35426-6/481261992_4010841259147333_4427313524442674817_n.jpg?stp=dst-jpg_s60x60_tt6&_nc_cat=108&ccb=1-7&_nc_sid=c53f8f&_nc_ohc=9AkoV5ySYocQ7kNvgFpnyEU&_nc_oc=AdgCgkSCipNjCnwfVil6WdnshiBkgL3JXVXPBEw8yX9pZ_c8xF1n0KkfvFjrbMPIWEU9H5UijjxGADf6QiJrgWFr&_nc_zt=14&_nc_ht=scontent-iad3-1.xx&_nc_gid=AxN8BIPl7PJcj6alJ1dPeZW&oh=00_AYCEurCoWhbdPIi7DmlJSCNVvGicpNDCVC-rGb59cEIyRQ&oe=67C73F39	PERSON_PROFILE	Novabeats-0530	1969-12-31 18:00	View Edit Delete
2,707,324	/src/Template/Ads/index.ctp (line 281) '{"alias":2707095}'	Yes	2025-02-28 00:30	active	2651	🔞Attention! Do not read in public！👉	For seven years, I've been Castro Harrison's secret lover. Our love was hidden in the shadows, but his kisses and promises kept me willing to stay. I thought he would finally acknowledge me—until that day when I overheard him talking with his friends. It turned out I was nothing more than a substitute. That night, I finally stepped into the room he had forbidden me from entering. On the desk, there was a picture frame—inside, a photo of him and another woman locked in a tight embrace, the Eiffel Tower in Paris in the background. At that moment, my heart turned completely cold. I erased every trace of myself in a single night and left without looking back. One minute before my flight took off, I sent my brother a message. "This afternoon, have the man you chose come and register the marriage." For seven years, I've been in a secret relationship with Castro Harrison, my brother's best friend. Just as I was hoping he'd propose, I tracked his location to a private lounge at an upscale restaurant, where I found they were joking about me. "Castro, now that Oriana's back from London, what are you going to do about that replacement?" Castro remained silent, his lack of response speaking volumes. The tension in the air was broken by another friend's sardonic laugh. "You've got to hand it to Castro–having the nerve to pursue William Blackwood's sister while Oriana was away. Now that you've had your fun, and Oriana's back..." "Well, Oriana deserved it after how coldly she left. A replacement was just what she needed to teach her a lesson!" ...... The next day, Castro took me to Oriana's welcome-home party at the Blackwood Estate, lavishing attention on me with an almost theatrical display of affection. But when Oriana ran out in tears, her Chanel dress stained with wine, Castro pushed me aside without a second thought and rush out. I returned home alone, my cream silk blouse ruined by scalding soup and my skin was still stinging. With trembling hands, I finally opened the door to his study---the one room he'd always declared off-limits. There, prominently displayed on his mahogany desk, was a photograph of him and Oriana in Paris, the Eiffel Tower gleaming behind their embracing figures. My heart turned to ice as I dialed my brother's number in Switzerland. "William... about that arranged marriage–I'll do it." "Aveline?" My brother's voice softened with concern, catching the unfamiliar strain in my tone. "What's wrong? This doesn't sound like you at all." A lump formed in my throat, but I forced a light laugh. "Nothing's wrong. I just realized - marriage is inevitable, isn't it? Does it really matter who it is?" "Besides," I continued, trying to keep my voice steady. "I trust your and father's judgment. Even for a business merger marriage, I know you would have vetted the candidate thoroughly." William's relief was audible through the phone. "I'm glad you're being sensible about this. When are you coming back? Would you like to meet him first before making your final decision?" "No need. The sooner we proceed, the sooner we can resolve the company's crisis. Go ahead and start planning the wedding. Let's set it for... a month from now." "Perfect! By the way, have you heard from Castro?" he coninued, "His first love is finally back in town. You should invite him to the wedding - let him share in your happiness." So William knew about Oriana too. No wonder Castro never let me tell my brother about us. I lowered my eyes, concealing the pain that threatened to spill over. "Don't bother him, Will. We're... not that close." Hearing the door unlock, I quickly said goodbye and ended the call. I looked up to find Castro leaning against the doorframe, his signature smirk playing across his lips. "Not close to whom?" "You." My honest answer only made his smirk widen as he pulled me into his arms. "Oh really?" His voice dropped to a husky whisper. "Should we discuss just how 'not close' we are? All those nights together weren't close enough?" His breath was hot against my ear, and for the first time, his intimate gesture made my skin crawl instead of flutter. As I struggled, I caught sight of the lipstick stain on his collar - a shade I'd never worn. The movement aggravated my scalds, sending sharp stabs of pain through my body until tears sprang to my eyes. "What's wrong, sweetheart? Are you hurt?" My tears seemed to spark genuine panic in Castro. When he pushed up my sleeve and saw the angry red scalds on my wrist, his voice trembled with concern. “God, when did this happen? Why didn't you tell me you were scalded?” He seemed to have completely forgotten about the incident at the party. I remained silent, unsure whether to remind him and shatter his façade of devotion. "Stop crying, darling. Let me get some medicine for that." He stroked my hair soothingly before standing to retrieve the first aid kit, muttering as he walked. "You're still such a child sometimes, aren't you? So sensitive to pain, so quick to tears. What would you do without me?" I stared numbly at the scalds on my wrist. Yes, what would I do without him after seven years of his "protection"? But Castro... I don't want you anymore. I don't want this false love anymore! I spent a restless night, tossing and turning, my skin clammy with fever sweat on the sheets. At dawn, Castro tried to coax me out of bed. When I mumbled protests and pushed him away, he leaned in with an amused smile to kiss me. For the first time in seven years, his kiss made me flinch. My hand instinctively rose to slap him but I caught myself. Thankfully, it was just a brief peck. "Awake yet, sleeping beauty?" he teased. I turned away, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. "It's Saturday. Why can't you let me sleep?" His expression softened with concern. "You were running a fever last night. Come on, we need to get you to the hospital." Though I felt better, his insistence won out and I reluctantly got dressed. In the hospital corridor, we ran into Oriana. She was hobbling along alone, clearly having injured her ankle. Castro's gentle demeanor vanished instantly. His brow furrowed with worry as he rushed to her side, steadying her with his hands. "What happened to you?" Oriana gave him a warm smile, then glanced meaningfully at me. "Just twisted my ankle. What a coincidence seeing you both here." Castro tensed, throwing me a quick, guilty look. "Ah yes, my friend's sister wasn't feeling well. Brought her in to check her fever." I was long used to this charade. From the moment Castro decided to keep our relationship secret, he'd introduced me to all his friends as his best friend's sister who he'd promised to look after. Only his innermost circle knew the truth about us. "You're such a good guardian to the poor girl." Oriana nodded sympathetically. Well, don't let me keep you - my appointment's down that way." She gestured toward a clinic door further down the hall. When she started to hop again, Castro didn't hesitate. He swept her up into his arms bridal-style. "Let me take you there." he said eagerly, "Aveline, wait here for me, alright?" Watching them, something inside me crumbled. My fever seemed to return full force, leaving me weak and dizzy. I leaned against the cold hospital wall, not bothering to respond. The stark white corridor suddenly felt endless and empty, much like my future without him. Castro didn't wait for my response - he was already carrying Oriana toward the clinic, her arms wrapped around his neck. How telling. No matter how well he played his part, his true feelings always surfaced around Oriana, betraying everything he tried to hide. Yet he seemed completely oblivious to his own transparency. I let out a bitter laugh and headed to my own appointment. My suspicions were confirmed - my temperature was 106°F. The doctor explained that my untreated scalds, combined with emotional stress, had led to an infection. I needed immediate IV antibiotics. My finger hovered over Castro's number out of habit before I caught myself. Habits really are terrifying things, aren't they? With a self-deprecating smile, I handled everything alone - getting the prescription and finding the IV treatment room. After the treatment, I felt even worse, nearly collapsing as I tried to walk. However, Castro hadn't returned - not even a text or call. Reluctantly, I called him. "You're still at the hospital?" He sounded surprised. "I'm sorry, sweetheart. I was going to drop Oriana home quickly and come back, but her stomach condition flared up and..." But his explanation was cut short by a waitress's voice in the background: "Sir, your meals are served. Buon apetite!" Despite his rushed attempt to muffle the phone, I heard every word. "It's fine. I can handle on my own!" I said, as much to convince myself as him. Before I could hang up, he called out, "Aveline, go home first. I'll explain everything later." What was there to explain? Just another lie to add to his collection. I ended the call and ordered an Uber home. Castro didn't return that night. Unable to sleep through the New Year's fireworks outside, I worked on some jewelry designs for my clients on my iPad. Accidentally touching the messaging app icon, I saw Oriana's social media post from an hour ago - a stunning photo of fireworks lighting up the night sky, captioned: "After years of wandering, I've come home to you. The fireworks welcome me back, just as brilliant as your love. Worth every moment of waiting." I stared at the screen for a long moment before realizing I was logged into Castro's account on my iPad. I had no interest in reading their intimate messages. I logged out immediately, trying to ignore the hollow feeling in my heart. The next morning, feeling somewhat better, I arrived at the design firm right on time. Sarah, my creative director, held my resignation letter with mixed emotions when I told her about returning home for marriage. "First my best jewelry designer leaves for marriage," she sighed, shaking her head. "The studio won't be the same without you." Words failed me, so I hugged her instead, grateful for her mentorship over the years. News of my departure spread quickly through the office. My colleagues insisted on throwing me a farewell dinner. I suggested the Italian restaurant Castro and I frequented - partly because I didn't know many others, but mostly because their seafood risotto was exceptional. During dinner, I excused myself to the wash my hand, only to find Oriana touching up her makeup at the marble vanity. "What a coincidence!" She smiled warmly at my reflection. "You know, Castro first brought me here during our college days. We've had so many special moments in this place since then." I returned a polite smile and turned to leave, seeing no reason for small talk between us. But Oriana wasn't finished. She called after me, "I noticed something the other night - Castro always rinses the spicy sauce off your shrimp. Are you sensitive to spice too?" That single word - "too" - made me freeze. The truth was, I loved spicy food. But Castro always insisted on rinsing my shrimp, claiming spicy food wasn't ladylike. I'd believed he was being protective. Now I realized he was simply acting on habit. It’s Oriana, who couldn't handle spice. Seeing my silence, she tilted her head, studying my face with unsettling intensity. "You know, I've been meaning to say this since I first saw you... Don't you think we look remarkably similar?" I'd never felt more humiliated. Under her triumphant gaze, I fled the bathroom, the pieces finally falling into place - I hadn't been his love, I'd been her replacement. Back in the private dining room, my colleagues' warmth slowly thawed my frozen state. Just as I was beginning to push aside the unpleasant encounter, the door swung open. Castro stood in the doorway, his Armani suit slightly disheveled, his eyes scanning the crowded room before landing on me with laser focus. In that moment of eye contact, I saw barely contained rage in his expression, though I couldn't fathom why. "Aveline." His voice cut through the chatter like ice. "A word?" Following him into the marble-lined hallway, I was utterly unprepared for what happened next. His hand connected with my cheek in a sharp crack that echoed off the pristine walls. In seven years, he had never raised a hand to me. "How dare you push Oriana?" Meeting my shocked gaze, he showed no remorse - only fury. "You knew her ankle was injured. I told you I'd explain everything later - is this your way of getting revenge?" My cheek stung where he'd struck me. Oriana limped toward us from down the hallway. Her designer blouse was rumpled and stained with water. Before I could defend myself, she collapsed dramatically to the floor. Castro shoved past me, rushing to gather her in his arms. "Why did you follow us? I told you I'd bring her to apologize," he said to Oriana, his harsh words belied by his tender tone. Oriana shook her head, tears glistening. "It's nothing serious. She probably didn't mean it. Don't be so hard on her." "If William finds out you struck his sister..." she added softly. At the mention of my brother, something flickered in Castro's eyes. But looking at Oriana, his resolve hardened. "William trusted me with her care," he said firmly. "If she needs correction, that's my responsibility." I let out a bitter laugh. "What exactly did I do? Even criminals get due process. You're denouncing and striking me without any evidence - doesn't that seem unjust to you?" Castro's fists clenched as he glared at me. "You knew there were no cameras in the restroom. That's why you chose to attack her there." The absurdity of it all made me want to laugh and cry simultaneously. "If there were no cameras, how can you be so sure it was me?" "Because Oriana wouldn't lie!" He took a step toward me, his cologne - the one she'd given him years ago, I now realized - overwhelming. "What possible reason would she have? I've known her for years. She's not capable of that kind of deception." I met his gaze, unflinching. "So I must be the liar then?" Seven years together. I'd thought that would mean something - that Castro would at least trust my character. But in Oriana's presence, those seven years might as well have been seven minutes. “Her word alone was enough to convict me. One accusation, and I was guilty beyond redemption.” The favoritism was unmistakable, his blind devotion to her undeniable. And me? I was just the understudy who'd forgotten her place. There was no point in arguing further. Ignoring Castro's angry calls, I walked away, my cheek still stinging from his slap. Not wanting to cast a shadow over my colleagues' celebration, I quietly settled the bill and texted them: "Something came up. Please enjoy the rest of the evening - dinner's on me." Back home, I found myself really seeing our apartment for the first time in seven years. Every corner held memories: the window seat where we'd shared Sunday morning coffee, the kitchen island where he'd taught me to make his grandmother's tiramisu. What once felt magical now felt poisonous, each memory a thorn in my heart. I found a moving box and spent the night methodically erasing our relationship: the matching "Beauty and Beast" slippers, the "his and hers" coffee mugs that fit together, and a whole collection of professional couple photographs - holiday cards, vacation shots, carefully staged moments of perfect happiness. These had been my security blanket, my proof that what we had was real. Now they were just artifacts of an elaborate performance. Castro didn't come home for two weeks. Between finishing my last jewelry designs,, I systematically emptied the apartment. I sold or donated every piece of furniture I'd chosen, every decorative touch I'd added. The space returned to its original state: stark minimalist, black and white, emptiness echoing off the walls. The night before my departure, I tried calling him one last time. Each attempt met with immediate rejection. Finally, a text appeared: "Unless you're ready to admit your guilt and properly apologize to Oriana, we have nothing to discuss." I laughed bitterly at my phone's screen. So be it. Some conversations were better left unsaid. My early morning flight beckoned. As I wheeled my suitcase out, this space that had once felt so precious now felt like a prison I was finally escaping. Just before boarding, my phone lit up with birthday wishes. Friends and colleagues sending hopes for my future, wishes for happiness, prayers for true love. I responded to each one before switching off my phone. As the plane lifted off, I made a silent promise to myself: I would be happy. With so many people wishing me well, how could I not be? 【5909】	LEARN_MORE	https://image.noveltells.net/landing-page/h5-1290.	FavoRead	https://www.facebook.com/100083109648305/	1,138	1969-12-31 18:00	Learn more	image.noveltells.net	IMAGE	For seven years, I've been in a secret relationship with Castro Harrison, my brother's best friend. Just as I was hoping he'd propose, I tracked his location to a private lounge at an upscale restaurant, where I found they were joking about me.	https://image.noveltells.net/landing-page/h5-1290.html?id=1290&yy_appname=Favoread&badid={{ad.id}}	1969-12-31 18:00	https://scontent-iad3-2.xx.fbcdn.net/v/t39.35426-6/480766592_9256267084408463_4586942619734485952_n.jpg?stp=dst-jpg_s60x60_tt6&_nc_cat=103&ccb=1-7&_nc_sid=c53f8f&_nc_ohc=ytXMFP9fSRcQ7kNvgFrfY76&_nc_oc=Adg-T0aio51CgRcqa0VPvKbb5m5DkTQmvgLoEKl_WVnxi5YBP7u6A9dedGx1BGavmPZZ5hLSm8yviC-MnPB66KV1&_nc_zt=14&_nc_ht=scontent-iad3-2.xx&_nc_gid=AxN8BIPl7PJcj6alJ1dPeZW&oh=00_AYAIv02OJS_n1X5TLPXzg1tTE-aW2ids-4UtcHwGAhJ-kQ&oe=67C71527	PERSON_PROFILE	FavoRead	1969-12-31 18:00	View Edit Delete
2,707,329	/src/Template/Ads/index.ctp (line 281) '{"alias":2707315}'	No	2025-02-28 00:30	active	2651	Say Goodbye to Cavities in 2025 👋	Tired of painful drilling and fillings? Over 95% of toothpastes use toxic fluoride in an attempt to prevent cavities. But what if there was a safer way to protect your teeth… Introducing hydroxyapatite, the powerful cavity fighter in our Wellnesse Toothpaste! It's not just a fancy name, it's the natural mineral that makes your teeth strong and remineralizes weakened enamel! Hydroxyapatite is more than just your cavity conquering hero: ✔️ Helps balance your oral microbiome ✔️ Decreases tooth sensitivity ✔️ Helps bones regrow ✔️ Strengthens enamel ✔️ Naturally whitens teeth Plus, unlike other store-bought fluoride toothpaste, there are NO adverse side effects and it’s safe to use daily for adults and children. If you’d like to know more about the benefits of our hydroxyapatite toothpastes, sign up for our Wellnesse Newsletter and you will also receive 10% OFF your first order! We know you’ll love our products as much as we do that we offer a 30–Day Money Back Guarantee - so you can try it risk-free. So why not make the switch today!	SHOP_NOW	https://wellnesse.com/products/toothpaste	Wellnesse	https://www.facebook.com/wellnesse/	14,634	1969-12-31 18:00	Shop now	wellnesse.com	VIDEO	100% safe & natural ingredients	https://wellnesse.com/products/toothpaste	1969-12-31 18:00	https://scontent-iad3-2.xx.fbcdn.net/v/t39.35426-6/482240153_1156563812867796_4129888690131320823_n.jpg?stp=dst-jpg_s60x60_tt6&_nc_cat=103&ccb=1-7&_nc_sid=c53f8f&_nc_ohc=Jo9a-286uJwQ7kNvgE-0olT&_nc_oc=AdjM3sHVdU9EPJoYhwfsTcw2IXaJ3zuV3H2eHeXO8V_G4K615REGY3hc6YOb5bAb2qB33Xj7pDP1RLnGQDa6PV2x&_nc_zt=14&_nc_ht=scontent-iad3-2.xx&_nc_gid=AxN8BIPl7PJcj6alJ1dPeZW&oh=00_AYAhZgCFV5_A3KUtnAAYe7DUt7M3KS39EarDFOqSir5BMQ&oe=67C72FA1	PERSON_PROFILE	Wellnesse	1969-12-31 18:00	View Edit Delete
2,707,337	/src/Template/Ads/index.ctp (line 281) '{"alias":2707095}'	Yes	2025-02-28 00:30	active	2651	🔞Attention! Do not read in public！👉	For seven years, I've been Castro Harrison's secret lover. Our love was hidden in the shadows, but his kisses and promises kept me willing to stay. I thought he would finally acknowledge me—until that day when I overheard him talking with his friends. It turned out I was nothing more than a substitute. That night, I finally stepped into the room he had forbidden me from entering. On the desk, there was a picture frame—inside, a photo of him and another woman locked in a tight embrace, the Eiffel Tower in Paris in the background. At that moment, my heart turned completely cold. I erased every trace of myself in a single night and left without looking back. One minute before my flight took off, I sent my brother a message. "This afternoon, have the man you chose come and register the marriage." For seven years, I've been in a secret relationship with Castro Harrison, my brother's best friend. Just as I was hoping he'd propose, I tracked his location to a private lounge at an upscale restaurant, where I found they were joking about me. "Castro, now that Oriana's back from London, what are you going to do about that replacement?" Castro remained silent, his lack of response speaking volumes. The tension in the air was broken by another friend's sardonic laugh. "You've got to hand it to Castro–having the nerve to pursue William Blackwood's sister while Oriana was away. Now that you've had your fun, and Oriana's back..." "Well, Oriana deserved it after how coldly she left. A replacement was just what she needed to teach her a lesson!" ...... The next day, Castro took me to Oriana's welcome-home party at the Blackwood Estate, lavishing attention on me with an almost theatrical display of affection. But when Oriana ran out in tears, her Chanel dress stained with wine, Castro pushed me aside without a second thought and rush out. I returned home alone, my cream silk blouse ruined by scalding soup and my skin was still stinging. With trembling hands, I finally opened the door to his study---the one room he'd always declared off-limits. There, prominently displayed on his mahogany desk, was a photograph of him and Oriana in Paris, the Eiffel Tower gleaming behind their embracing figures. My heart turned to ice as I dialed my brother's number in Switzerland. "William... about that arranged marriage–I'll do it." "Aveline?" My brother's voice softened with concern, catching the unfamiliar strain in my tone. "What's wrong? This doesn't sound like you at all." A lump formed in my throat, but I forced a light laugh. "Nothing's wrong. I just realized - marriage is inevitable, isn't it? Does it really matter who it is?" "Besides," I continued, trying to keep my voice steady. "I trust your and father's judgment. Even for a business merger marriage, I know you would have vetted the candidate thoroughly." William's relief was audible through the phone. "I'm glad you're being sensible about this. When are you coming back? Would you like to meet him first before making your final decision?" "No need. The sooner we proceed, the sooner we can resolve the company's crisis. Go ahead and start planning the wedding. Let's set it for... a month from now." "Perfect! By the way, have you heard from Castro?" he coninued, "His first love is finally back in town. You should invite him to the wedding - let him share in your happiness." So William knew about Oriana too. No wonder Castro never let me tell my brother about us. I lowered my eyes, concealing the pain that threatened to spill over. "Don't bother him, Will. We're... not that close." Hearing the door unlock, I quickly said goodbye and ended the call. I looked up to find Castro leaning against the doorframe, his signature smirk playing across his lips. "Not close to whom?" "You." My honest answer only made his smirk widen as he pulled me into his arms. "Oh really?" His voice dropped to a husky whisper. "Should we discuss just how 'not close' we are? All those nights together weren't close enough?" His breath was hot against my ear, and for the first time, his intimate gesture made my skin crawl instead of flutter. As I struggled, I caught sight of the lipstick stain on his collar - a shade I'd never worn. The movement aggravated my scalds, sending sharp stabs of pain through my body until tears sprang to my eyes. "What's wrong, sweetheart? Are you hurt?" My tears seemed to spark genuine panic in Castro. When he pushed up my sleeve and saw the angry red scalds on my wrist, his voice trembled with concern. “God, when did this happen? Why didn't you tell me you were scalded?” He seemed to have completely forgotten about the incident at the party. I remained silent, unsure whether to remind him and shatter his façade of devotion. "Stop crying, darling. Let me get some medicine for that." He stroked my hair soothingly before standing to retrieve the first aid kit, muttering as he walked. "You're still such a child sometimes, aren't you? So sensitive to pain, so quick to tears. What would you do without me?" I stared numbly at the scalds on my wrist. Yes, what would I do without him after seven years of his "protection"? But Castro... I don't want you anymore. I don't want this false love anymore! I spent a restless night, tossing and turning, my skin clammy with fever sweat on the sheets. At dawn, Castro tried to coax me out of bed. When I mumbled protests and pushed him away, he leaned in with an amused smile to kiss me. For the first time in seven years, his kiss made me flinch. My hand instinctively rose to slap him but I caught myself. Thankfully, it was just a brief peck. "Awake yet, sleeping beauty?" he teased. I turned away, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. "It's Saturday. Why can't you let me sleep?" His expression softened with concern. "You were running a fever last night. Come on, we need to get you to the hospital." Though I felt better, his insistence won out and I reluctantly got dressed. In the hospital corridor, we ran into Oriana. She was hobbling along alone, clearly having injured her ankle. Castro's gentle demeanor vanished instantly. His brow furrowed with worry as he rushed to her side, steadying her with his hands. "What happened to you?" Oriana gave him a warm smile, then glanced meaningfully at me. "Just twisted my ankle. What a coincidence seeing you both here." Castro tensed, throwing me a quick, guilty look. "Ah yes, my friend's sister wasn't feeling well. Brought her in to check her fever." I was long used to this charade. From the moment Castro decided to keep our relationship secret, he'd introduced me to all his friends as his best friend's sister who he'd promised to look after. Only his innermost circle knew the truth about us. "You're such a good guardian to the poor girl." Oriana nodded sympathetically. Well, don't let me keep you - my appointment's down that way." She gestured toward a clinic door further down the hall. When she started to hop again, Castro didn't hesitate. He swept her up into his arms bridal-style. "Let me take you there." he said eagerly, "Aveline, wait here for me, alright?" Watching them, something inside me crumbled. My fever seemed to return full force, leaving me weak and dizzy. I leaned against the cold hospital wall, not bothering to respond. The stark white corridor suddenly felt endless and empty, much like my future without him. Castro didn't wait for my response - he was already carrying Oriana toward the clinic, her arms wrapped around his neck. How telling. No matter how well he played his part, his true feelings always surfaced around Oriana, betraying everything he tried to hide. Yet he seemed completely oblivious to his own transparency. I let out a bitter laugh and headed to my own appointment. My suspicions were confirmed - my temperature was 106°F. The doctor explained that my untreated scalds, combined with emotional stress, had led to an infection. I needed immediate IV antibiotics. My finger hovered over Castro's number out of habit before I caught myself. Habits really are terrifying things, aren't they? With a self-deprecating smile, I handled everything alone - getting the prescription and finding the IV treatment room. After the treatment, I felt even worse, nearly collapsing as I tried to walk. However, Castro hadn't returned - not even a text or call. Reluctantly, I called him. "You're still at the hospital?" He sounded surprised. "I'm sorry, sweetheart. I was going to drop Oriana home quickly and come back, but her stomach condition flared up and..." But his explanation was cut short by a waitress's voice in the background: "Sir, your meals are served. Buon apetite!" Despite his rushed attempt to muffle the phone, I heard every word. "It's fine. I can handle on my own!" I said, as much to convince myself as him. Before I could hang up, he called out, "Aveline, go home first. I'll explain everything later." What was there to explain? Just another lie to add to his collection. I ended the call and ordered an Uber home. Castro didn't return that night. Unable to sleep through the New Year's fireworks outside, I worked on some jewelry designs for my clients on my iPad. Accidentally touching the messaging app icon, I saw Oriana's social media post from an hour ago - a stunning photo of fireworks lighting up the night sky, captioned: "After years of wandering, I've come home to you. The fireworks welcome me back, just as brilliant as your love. Worth every moment of waiting." I stared at the screen for a long moment before realizing I was logged into Castro's account on my iPad. I had no interest in reading their intimate messages. I logged out immediately, trying to ignore the hollow feeling in my heart. The next morning, feeling somewhat better, I arrived at the design firm right on time. Sarah, my creative director, held my resignation letter with mixed emotions when I told her about returning home for marriage. "First my best jewelry designer leaves for marriage," she sighed, shaking her head. "The studio won't be the same without you." Words failed me, so I hugged her instead, grateful for her mentorship over the years. News of my departure spread quickly through the office. My colleagues insisted on throwing me a farewell dinner. I suggested the Italian restaurant Castro and I frequented - partly because I didn't know many others, but mostly because their seafood risotto was exceptional. During dinner, I excused myself to the wash my hand, only to find Oriana touching up her makeup at the marble vanity. "What a coincidence!" She smiled warmly at my reflection. "You know, Castro first brought me here during our college days. We've had so many special moments in this place since then." I returned a polite smile and turned to leave, seeing no reason for small talk between us. But Oriana wasn't finished. She called after me, "I noticed something the other night - Castro always rinses the spicy sauce off your shrimp. Are you sensitive to spice too?" That single word - "too" - made me freeze. The truth was, I loved spicy food. But Castro always insisted on rinsing my shrimp, claiming spicy food wasn't ladylike. I'd believed he was being protective. Now I realized he was simply acting on habit. It’s Oriana, who couldn't handle spice. Seeing my silence, she tilted her head, studying my face with unsettling intensity. "You know, I've been meaning to say this since I first saw you... Don't you think we look remarkably similar?" I'd never felt more humiliated. Under her triumphant gaze, I fled the bathroom, the pieces finally falling into place - I hadn't been his love, I'd been her replacement. Back in the private dining room, my colleagues' warmth slowly thawed my frozen state. Just as I was beginning to push aside the unpleasant encounter, the door swung open. Castro stood in the doorway, his Armani suit slightly disheveled, his eyes scanning the crowded room before landing on me with laser focus. In that moment of eye contact, I saw barely contained rage in his expression, though I couldn't fathom why. "Aveline." His voice cut through the chatter like ice. "A word?" Following him into the marble-lined hallway, I was utterly unprepared for what happened next. His hand connected with my cheek in a sharp crack that echoed off the pristine walls. In seven years, he had never raised a hand to me. "How dare you push Oriana?" Meeting my shocked gaze, he showed no remorse - only fury. "You knew her ankle was injured. I told you I'd explain everything later - is this your way of getting revenge?" My cheek stung where he'd struck me. Oriana limped toward us from down the hallway. Her designer blouse was rumpled and stained with water. Before I could defend myself, she collapsed dramatically to the floor. Castro shoved past me, rushing to gather her in his arms. "Why did you follow us? I told you I'd bring her to apologize," he said to Oriana, his harsh words belied by his tender tone. Oriana shook her head, tears glistening. "It's nothing serious. She probably didn't mean it. Don't be so hard on her." "If William finds out you struck his sister..." she added softly. At the mention of my brother, something flickered in Castro's eyes. But looking at Oriana, his resolve hardened. "William trusted me with her care," he said firmly. "If she needs correction, that's my responsibility." I let out a bitter laugh. "What exactly did I do? Even criminals get due process. You're denouncing and striking me without any evidence - doesn't that seem unjust to you?" Castro's fists clenched as he glared at me. "You knew there were no cameras in the restroom. That's why you chose to attack her there." The absurdity of it all made me want to laugh and cry simultaneously. "If there were no cameras, how can you be so sure it was me?" "Because Oriana wouldn't lie!" He took a step toward me, his cologne - the one she'd given him years ago, I now realized - overwhelming. "What possible reason would she have? I've known her for years. She's not capable of that kind of deception." I met his gaze, unflinching. "So I must be the liar then?" Seven years together. I'd thought that would mean something - that Castro would at least trust my character. But in Oriana's presence, those seven years might as well have been seven minutes. “Her word alone was enough to convict me. One accusation, and I was guilty beyond redemption.” The favoritism was unmistakable, his blind devotion to her undeniable. And me? I was just the understudy who'd forgotten her place. There was no point in arguing further. Ignoring Castro's angry calls, I walked away, my cheek still stinging from his slap. Not wanting to cast a shadow over my colleagues' celebration, I quietly settled the bill and texted them: "Something came up. Please enjoy the rest of the evening - dinner's on me." Back home, I found myself really seeing our apartment for the first time in seven years. Every corner held memories: the window seat where we'd shared Sunday morning coffee, the kitchen island where he'd taught me to make his grandmother's tiramisu. What once felt magical now felt poisonous, each memory a thorn in my heart. I found a moving box and spent the night methodically erasing our relationship: the matching "Beauty and Beast" slippers, the "his and hers" coffee mugs that fit together, and a whole collection of professional couple photographs - holiday cards, vacation shots, carefully staged moments of perfect happiness. These had been my security blanket, my proof that what we had was real. Now they were just artifacts of an elaborate performance. Castro didn't come home for two weeks. Between finishing my last jewelry designs,, I systematically emptied the apartment. I sold or donated every piece of furniture I'd chosen, every decorative touch I'd added. The space returned to its original state: stark minimalist, black and white, emptiness echoing off the walls. The night before my departure, I tried calling him one last time. Each attempt met with immediate rejection. Finally, a text appeared: "Unless you're ready to admit your guilt and properly apologize to Oriana, we have nothing to discuss." I laughed bitterly at my phone's screen. So be it. Some conversations were better left unsaid. My early morning flight beckoned. As I wheeled my suitcase out, this space that had once felt so precious now felt like a prison I was finally escaping. Just before boarding, my phone lit up with birthday wishes. Friends and colleagues sending hopes for my future, wishes for happiness, prayers for true love. I responded to each one before switching off my phone. As the plane lifted off, I made a silent promise to myself: I would be happy. With so many people wishing me well, how could I not be? 【5909】	LEARN_MORE	https://image.noveltells.net/landing-page/h5-1290.	FavoRead	https://www.facebook.com/100083109648305/	1,138	1969-12-31 18:00	Learn more	image.noveltells.net	IMAGE	For seven years, I've been in a secret relationship with Castro Harrison, my brother's best friend. Just as I was hoping he'd propose, I tracked his location to a private lounge at an upscale restaurant, where I found they were joking about me.	https://image.noveltells.net/landing-page/h5-1290.html?id=1290&yy_appname=Favoread&badid={{ad.id}}	1969-12-31 18:00	https://scontent-iad3-2.xx.fbcdn.net/v/t39.35426-6/480985444_1156097075975174_2894801342793005142_n.jpg?stp=dst-jpg_s60x60_tt6&_nc_cat=109&ccb=1-7&_nc_sid=c53f8f&_nc_ohc=rpd6_lGeV5MQ7kNvgGAOsGs&_nc_oc=AdgBF8bkWAON6fKIxP9kJACiyVUVkBxPwdscS0gpiUit8_KA_yOEQZQBnBPCH0QPIA08BvMDC-ElmxxNcYFTA6jS&_nc_zt=14&_nc_ht=scontent-iad3-2.xx&_nc_gid=AI1Scn5sXtjCUjB-gGBrDGt&oh=00_AYBmY2K7Yir3hbpTM_E7gX4_qZSJVXXzzzyVIAnDzdO2RQ&oe=67C72BF8	PERSON_PROFILE	FavoRead	1969-12-31 18:00	View Edit Delete
2,707,339	/src/Template/Ads/index.ctp (line 281) '{"alias":2707166}'	Yes	2025-02-28 00:30	active	2651	❤️😍Continue reading👉👉👉	"Be honest. Did you ever sleep with Elaine?" The deep, low voice cut through the crack in the door, freezing me in my tracks. My hand hovered over the doorknob. Through the narrow gap, I could see Logan Mercer lounging on the couch, his jaw tight, his lips pressed into a thin line. "She's tried," he said flatly. "But I wasn't interested." "Come on, Logan," his best friend, Caleb Turner, replied with a laugh that carried a hint of disbelief. "Don't sell her short. Everyone knows Elaine's gorgeous. She's got half the guys in our circle chasing after her." Logan tipped his head back slightly, his brows pulling together. "You don't get it. We've known each other too long. It's like…" He hesitated, searching for the words. "It's like knowing what's behind every door before you open it. There's no mystery left." My chest tightened as I listened from the hallway. I first met Logan when I was fourteen. Back then, everyone told me he was the person I'd marry. I was sent to live at the Mercer estate, and for ten years, we'd been tied together—sharing a house, a life, a future, or so I thought. Caleb chuckled, breaking my thoughts. "So you're saying you see too much of her? What, you know how many times she sneezes in a day? How often she checks the mirror?" His teasing tone shifted into something more reflective. "You know, Logan, relationships don't work like that anymore. People want excitement. They crave the chase. It's only fun when you can't have what you want." Logan didn't respond. He just sat there, smk curling up from the cig he'd lit. "So," Caleb pressed, leaning forward, "are you still going to marry her?" My breath caught. Logan' parents had pushed for us to get married, but he'd never given me a clear answer. I hadn't dared to ask. Now, Caleb was doing it for me. Logan exhaled a slow stream of smk, his silence stretching into the room. "Not answering, huh?" Caleb smirked. "Let me guess. You don't want to marry her." "That's not it," Logan replied, his tone clipped. "Then what? You're willing to marry her, but you're not exactly thrilled about it?" Caleb's grin widened, as if he'd struck a nerve. He knew Logan too well. Logan leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Ever heard this saying?" he asked. Caleb raised an eyebrow. "What saying?" "Some things hold no real value, but you still can't seem to let them go." The words hit me like a punch to the stomach. My grip tightened on the marriage license application I was holding, the paper crumpling slightly beneath my fingers. "So," Caleb said, his voice quieter now, "what's it going to be? Are you marrying her or not?" Logan glanced up, his lips curving into a faint, humorless smile. "Why do you care so much? Are you interested in her? If you want, I'll give her to you." It wasn't just the words, but the way he said them—detached, careless, as though I were an object he was ready to discard. I felt something inside me crack. Logan might not have cared, but I had given him ten years of my life. Ten years during which he'd become my whole world. And now, he was treating me like nothing. Caleb scoffed. "Don't be ridiculous. I'm not that desperate." He stood up, grabbing his jacket off the back of the chair. "But seriously, Logan, if you don't want her, let her go. She deserves better." Logan stubbed out his cig, the motion sharp and deliberate. "Get out, Caleb. You're just here to stir up trouble." Caleb shrugged. "I'm not the one stirring up trouble. That's all on you." He turned toward the door. When he opened it, he froze. I was standing there, still clutching the marriage license application. My legs felt stiff, my fingertips numb. "Elaine," Caleb said, his voice unusually cautious. He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, then forced a small smile. "Were you looking for Logan? He's inside." I couldn't speak. My throat felt dry, and my heart was pounding in my ears. Caleb's gaze flicked to the paper in my hands. He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping. "You should think about what you really want." His shoulder brushed mine as he walked past, leaving me standing there, motionless. The application form felt unbearably heavy in my hands, the weight of it pressing down on me like a stone. After what felt like an eternity, I swallowed hard, forced myself to breathe, and pushed the door open. Chapter 2 The soft rustle of paper caught Logan' attention. He looked up, his dark eyes locking onto mine. I didn't need a mirror to know how grim my expression was. "You look pale," he said, frowning slightly. "Are you feeling unwell?" Without answering, I walked over to his desk, my fingers tightening around the marriage license application in my hand. Swallowing the bitterness in my throat, I finally spoke. "If you don't want to marry me, I can tell your mom myself." His frown deepened. He knew I'd overheard everything. My voice cracked as I continued, "I never thought I'd end up being a burden to you, Logan—" "Elaine," he cut in, his tone calm but firm. "To everyone else, we're already like a married couple." I froze. Was that why? Because it looked right to everyone else? I wanted him to marry me because he loved me, not because it was convenient. Logan capped the pen in his hand with a quiet click, his gaze dropping to the crumpled application form I was holding. "We'll register next Wednesday," he said, the words flat, emotionless. It was what I thought I wanted to hear. But instead of relief, I felt a heavy ache deep in my chest. I shook my head slightly, my voice barely above a whisper. "You don't have to force yourself. I'm not some charity case." "Elaine Hart." His voice turned sharp. I flinched and looked up, meeting his impatient gaze. He held out his hand. "Give it to me." I didn't move. The air between us grew tense, heavy. After a few seconds, he sighed, stood, and crossed the short distance between us. His tall frame towered over me as he exhaled softly, his frustration tempered with a strange gentleness. "I was joking with Caleb," he said, his voice quieter now. "Did you really take it seriously?" Was it really just a joke? "You know how men are," he added, his tone almost dismissive. "Prideful. Stupid." He reached out, his hand sliding down my arm until it found mine. His grip was firm yet strangely comforting. Slowly, he pried the document from my grasp. "Don't let something like this get to you," he said, his voice steady, almost coaxing. With that, he turned away and tucked the application form into a desk drawer. Then, grabbing his coat, he added, "I need to step out for a bit." He'd been doing that a lot lately—leaving without explanation, staying out longer each time. Before he could pass me, I spoke, my voice cutting through the silence. "Logan." He stopped. "Do you like me?" I asked, my words trembling slightly but firm enough to demand an answer. He turned slowly, his dark eyes studying me. For a moment, I thought he might actually answer. Then, a faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips, softening his features. A dimple appeared on his left cheek. Logan looked good when he smiled—too good. I still remembered the first time I saw that smile, ten years ago. I had just arrived at the Mercer estate, a scared girl of fourteen, and he had ruffled my hair and called me "kid." That smile had felt like sunlight breaking through the clouds, warming a part of me I didn't even know existed. Even now, that same smile still had the power to undo me. He reached out, his large hand resting lightly on my head, his fingers ruffling my hair in the same casual, familiar way. "Of course I like you," he said, his voice soft. "Why else would I go across the city to get you roasted pears when you're sick? Or buy you your favorite roses every birthday? Or watch meteor showers with you, even though I hate staying up late?" He paused, his hand sliding from my head to my cheek, his thumb brushing lightly against my skin. "And why else," he added, "would I want to marry you?" His words should've comforted me. They should've been enough. But they weren't. I stared at him, unwilling to let it go this time. "Do you like me romantically?" His hand froze mid-motion. The smile faded from his face. For a moment, I thought I saw something flicker in his eyes—hesitation, uncertainty—but it vanished as quickly as it appeared. His hand dropped to his side, and he let out a soft chuckle, as if I'd asked something foolish. "Don't overthink things," he said lightly. "Come on, let's go home after work. You like fish, right? I'll have someone send over some fresh salmon and cook it for you tonight." Then he turned and walked out, leaving me standing there in the quiet, his words hanging in the air like smoke. He'd dodged the question. Again. The faint scent of his hand cream lingered in the space between us, and the warmth of his touch still burned on my cheek. But my heart felt cold. Logan treated me well. He pampered me. He cared for me. But his affection felt… familial. Like that of an older brother looking after a younger sister. And yet, despite everything, I couldn't stop myself from loving him. I had loved him for ten years. But what now? Should I marry him, knowing that we might spend the rest of our lives together as nothing more than companions, our intimacy stripped of passion and romance? Or should I let him go, even if it meant breaking my own heart, so he could find someone he truly loved? Chapter 3 I couldn't stop thinking about the question all day. It lingered in the back of my mind, unanswered, gnawing at me. By the time Logan came to pick me up that afternoon, I still didn't know what I wanted to do. And yet, I followed him anyway. Habit was a terrifying thing. Ten years was all it took to tether me to this routine—him, the Mercer Estate, and the unspoken understanding that I would always be there. "Why are you so quiet?" he asked, glancing at me as he drove. He must have noticed my mood. I hesitated, my fingers fidgeting with the strap of my bag. Finally, I worked up the courage to say, "Logan, maybe we should—" Before I could finish, his phone rang. The car display lit up with an unlisted number. I saw his grip tighten on the steering wheel, his knuckles whitening. It wasn't like him to look nervous. I turned to study his face, but his expression was unreadable. Without a word, he tapped the screen, switching the call to Bluetooth. "Hello. … Yeah, I'm on my way." The call was brief, but his voice was clipped, his tone unnaturally tense. When it ended, he glanced at me, his jaw tight. "Elaine, something urgent came up. I can't take you home." I knew what he was going to say before he said it. It wasn't the first time. Still, foolishly, I'd hoped he'd at least take me back before running off. My chest ached, but I forced myself to keep my voice steady. "Is something wrong?" He didn't answer. Instead, his gaze shifted to the road ahead as he pulled into a temporary parking spot. "Get off here and grab a taxi," he said, his tone brisk. I stared at him, searching for some kind of explanation, but he offered none. He didn't even bother to lie. What could I say to that? Begging for answers would only humiliate me further. "Text me when you get home," he added, already reaching for the gearshift. I nodded stiffly, clutching my backpack as I climbed out of the car. The cool air hit my face as I stood on the sidewalk, watching his car merge back into traffic. He didn't look back. I already knew. From the call to his unwillingness to explain, I could feel it—something wasn't right. But I didn't ask. I didn't want to peel back the thin, fragile layer of denial that kept me sane. "Be careful on your way home," he called out the window before speeding off. I stood there for a long time, staring at the empty stretch of road where his car had disappeared. My chest felt hollow, my feet rooted to the spot. My phone buzzed in my pocket, snapping me out of my thoughts. It was Nora, my best friend. "Elaine, where are you? Want to grab dinner?" Nora was a gynecologist, sharp-tongued and brilliant. She never minced words, which was exactly what I needed right now. "Sure," I said without hesitation. Nora sounded surprised. "Wow, you didn't even check with Logan first? Did the sun rise in the west today?" I managed a dry laugh, but her words hit a little too close to home. For years, I'd lived as if my entire life revolved around Logan. Every plan, every decision—always prefaced with, "Let me check with him first." "Where are you right now?" I asked, changing the subject. She rattled off an address, and I hailed a taxi to meet her. The moment she saw me, Nora's sharp eyes narrowed. "What happened? Did you and Mr. Perfect have a fight?" She was one of the few people I could confide in, so I told her everything. When I finished, her expression darkened. "Men are the worst," she muttered, stirring her drink with unnecessary force. "He thinks you're boring? Insipid? As if he's some kind of prize. Has he even slept with you?" Her bluntness made my cheeks burn. I shook my head, embarrassed. Nora rolled her eyes. "Exactly. What a jerk. If he spent ten years with you and hasn't even tried, it's not respect, Elaine. It's disinterest." Her words stung because they were true. There had been moments—like the time I'd gotten drunk and kissed him. But instead of kissing me back, he'd gently pulled away and sent me to bed. At the time, I thought it was because he respected me, that he didn't want to take advantage of me. But now, I realized it was because he didn't want me. Wasn't there a saying? That if a man loved a woman, he'd want her. He'd desire her. Logan had never shown that kind of desire. Not once. "I think," I said slowly, my voice trembling, "I want to give up." Nora's eyes softened. She reached across the table and clinked her glass against mine. "Good. You deserve better. There are plenty of guys out there, Elaine. With your looks, you could have anyone." She wasn't wrong. At eighteen, I'd won a beauty pageant. There had been offers for modeling, even acting. If Logan hadn't stopped me, I might have had a career in the spotlight. Over the years, countless men had tried to win me over. But I had eyes for only one. And he didn't want me. The thought made my throat tighten. I pushed back my chair and mumbled an excuse, hurrying to the restroom before Nora could see the tears threatening to spill. I was so distracted I didn't notice the man stepping out of the restroom until it was too late. We collided, and I stumbled, knocking him to the ground. "I'm so sorry!" I exclaimed, reaching out to help him up. But before I could, he shrieked, "Help! Someone's trying to molest me!" His voice rang through the hallway, loud and panicked. My jaw dropped. What just happened? Chapter 4 I never thought I'd find myself sitting in a police station, accused of indecency. The boy I'd accidentally knocked down—who turned out to be a seventeen-year-old named Kian Vaughn—insisted I'd done it on purpose. His story was as absurd as it was infuriating. "She touched me!" Kian declared dramatically, pointing at me like I was a criminal. The officer leaned forward, his expression carefully neutral. "Where exactly did she touch you?" Kian's face lit up with faux indignation as he pointed to his chest and then below his waist. "Here. And here!" I stared at him, dumbfounded. What in the actual hell? I nearly shouted my disbelief out loud. Me, a woman who hadn't even touched Logan—someone I'd been in love with for ten years—was suddenly being accused of assaulting a brat who hadn't even finished puberty. The officer turned his attention to me, his expression skeptical. "I didn't touch him," I said quickly, my voice firm. "I bumped into him by accident. That's it." "Had you been drinking?" he asked, his tone pointed. I blinked, caught off guard. Was that really relevant? But in this world, a drunk man was just a man. A drunk woman? She was indecent. "Yes," I admitted. "I had a bottle of beer." The officer raised an eyebrow, his disbelief clear. I sighed, frustrated. "Look, I wasn't drunk, and I definitely didn't ‘take advantage' of this kid." My words came out sharper than intended, but I was too irritated to care. The officer made a note of my statement before turning back to Kian. "Are you absolutely sure about your accusation? You're aware filing a false report is a crime, right?" Kian crossed his arms defiantly. "I'm sure. She touched me." I clenched my fists, resisting the urge to strangle him. Before I could say something I'd regret, Kian's face suddenly brightened. His gaze shifted to the doorway. "Selene, you're here!" he exclaimed, his voice dripping with childish glee. I turned to see who had arrived, ready to plead my case to his family. But the sight of the two people walking in stopped me cold. The woman was stunning, with long black hair cascading down her back and a flowing white dress that made her look ethereal. She was the kind of woman men imagined as their first love—soft, gentle, perfect. Her name was Selene Vaughn. And standing right next to her was Logan. My heart sank like a stone. "Kian, what happened?" Selene asked, her voice full of concern as she knelt in front of him. Kian ignored her question entirely, his attention locked on Logan. "Hey, Selene, is he my new brother-in-law?" Logan' expression froze. His eyes widened briefly before narrowing, his gaze hardening as it shifted to me. "Elaine," he said, his tone cold and clipped. "What's going on here?" "Brother-in-law, do you know her?" Kian interrupted, pointing at me with exaggerated outrage. "She's a hooligan! She touched me here and here—" He gestured to his chest and groin again, like he was auditioning for a bad soap opera. I didn't have the energy to explain anymore. I just stared at Logan, trying to make sense of what I was seeing. He'd been gone for a few hours. Just a few hours. And now he was someone's "brother-in-law"? Was this why he'd left so suddenly earlier? Selene stood and turned to me, her expression polite but distant. "Elaine, right? I'm Selene, Kian's sister." Her voice was soft, almost apologetic. I was surprised she even knew my name. But then again, I was Logan' shadow, his accessory. Anyone who knew him would know me. I swallowed hard, forcing the bitterness down. "I accidentally knocked your brother over. That's all. I didn't do what he's accusing me of." Selene's lips curved into a small, reassuring smile. "I believe you. Kian can be... dramatic." Without warning, she turned and smacked Kian lightly on the back of his head—twice. "Stop causing trouble," she scolded, her tone gentle but firm. She explained the situation to the officer while the police checked the surveillance footage. Unsurprisingly, the video proved my innocence. The officer sighed, looking at Selene. "Since you two know each other, you can settle this privately. Otherwise, the boy will need to be detained for filing a false report." Selene immediately tugged on Logan' sleeve, a small, intimate gesture that sent a pang through my chest. Logan had always been distant with people. His guarded nature kept most at arm's length, and he hated being touched. But Selene? She seemed to bypass all of that effortlessly. And judging by the lack of reaction from Logan, this wasn't the first time she'd done it. There was an ease between them that I didn't want to analyze too deeply. I opened my mouth to say something, but Logan spoke before I could. "It's fine," he said curtly. "It was a misunderstanding. Let's drop it." Before I could process his words, I felt his hand wrap around my wrist, firm and unyielding. Without another word, he pulled me out. Chapter 5 Logan' hand gripped mine so tightly that it hurt. He didn't say a word at first, but his jaw was clenched, his anger radiating off him like heat. "Elaine," he said, his tone low and biting. "Did you go to the bar to drink? Is this your idea of revenge? Acting out just because of something I said?" I blinked, stunned. Revenge? Was that really what he thought? His jaw tightened, and his eyes burned with an intensity I rarely saw. The raw emotion in his face—anger, frustration—momentarily silenced me. It was almost… possessive. For a brief moment, the bitterness in my chest eased. Maybe, just maybe, he cared. If he only saw me as a sister or a friend, he wouldn't care so much about what happened. "No," I repeated firmly. "I didn't—" Before Logan could respond, Kian swaggered out of the building, wearing his trademark smirk. He whistled as if he hadn't just caused chaos. "Hooligan," he called out, his voice dripping with mockery. "What are you trying to do now? Seduce my brother-in-law?" I bit back a groan. Some people were born to test your patience, and Kian Vaughn was one of them. As he walked toward me, his cocky grin widened, and I couldn't help but glance at Selene. She stood nearby, her expression carefully composed, the perfect picture of innocence. But I couldn't forget the way she'd touched Logan earlier—light, casual, intimate. The memory burned in my mind. Acting on impulse, I reached out and took Logan' arm. His muscles tensed under my touch, but he didn't pull away. "You're talking nonsense again," Selene said, her voice soft as she stepped forward and pinched Kian's arm. Her chastising tone came with a faint smile, like she was used to handling his antics. She turned to me with an apologetic look. "Elaine, I'm so sorry." "It's not your fault," Logan said before I could respond. His voice was firm, his eyes locked on Kian. "And you," he added, his tone sharp, "this is your last warning. Cause trouble again, and no one will save you." Kian, defiant as ever, glared up at him. "Who do you think you are? You're not my dad. I'll only listen to you if you marry my sister and actually become my brother-in-law." "Kian!" Selene hissed, her face flushing with embarrassment. She smacked his arm harder this time, but he dodged her, laughing. "Don't act like you don't know," Kian taunted, his voice loud and obnoxious. "He likes you, Selene. Why else would he spend all his time with you? Day and night, taking care of you like you're the only person in the world?" My grip on Logan' arm tightened involuntarily. Day and night. The words struck a nerve. Logan had barely been home these past weeks, disappearing for hours on end without notice. I'd tried to dismiss it, telling myself he was busy with work. But now, hearing Kian's words, the truth felt undeniable. He'd been with Selene. Of course, I knew why. She was his late best friend's widow. It made sense for him to take care of her after her husband's tragic death. But every day? To the point where her own brother saw it as something more? "What are you even talking about?" Selene snapped, her voice trembling as she hit Kian again, harder this time. He raised his hand instinctively to block her, but the motion caught her off balance. Selene staggered, her heels slipping on the pavement. "Watch out!" Logan shouted. I felt a shove, and before I could steady myself, I stumbled backward. By the time I regained my footing, Logan was already by Selene's side. He knelt on one knee, holding her as if she were made of glass. "Selene, are you okay?" His voice was frantic, his hands steadying her. "Where does it hurt?" Her face twisted in pain as she clutched his arm. "My stomach," she whimpered. "It hurts, Logan." "Don't worry," he said, his voice trembling. "I'll take you to the hospital. You're going to be okay." I stood frozen, watching the scene unfold like an outsider. I'd seen Logan in countless situations—calm, composed, in control. But now? He was panicking. For her. Not once in ten years had I ever seen him look at me like that. "Elaine!" Logan barked, snapping me out of my daze. "Get in the car. You're driving." For a moment, I couldn't move. "Hurry up!" Kian shouted, storming over to me. He grabbed my arm roughly, and something inside me snapped. Without thinking, I raised my hand and slapped him. The sharp crack echoed in the air. Kian stumbled back, his cheek already reddening with the imprint of my fingers. He touched his face, stunned, before his expression twisted in anger. "You—" he hissed, lifting his hand as if to strike me back. "Kian!" Logan' voice cut through the tension like a blade. "If you touch her, I'll make sure you go back inside." Kian froze, his hand hovering mid-air. After a moment, he lowered it, glaring at both Logan and me before stomping off. "Kian!" Selene called after him weakly, but her voice gave way to a pained cry as she clutched her stomach again. "Logan… It hurts," she whimpered. "Please, take me to the hospital." Logan didn't hesitate. "Elaine!" he barked again. I swallowed the lump in my throat and climbed into the driver's seat. Selene groaned in pain as Logan helped her into the backseat, his voice low and soothing as he reassured her. "Doctor!" Logan shouted the moment we arrived at the hospital. "She's pregnant, and she just fell. She's in a lot of pain!" Pregnant? The word echoed in my mind, heavy and disorienting. My legs felt like they were weighed down with lead as I stood there, unable to move. My chest tightened, and a sinking feeling settled in my stomach. Selene's husband was dead. How could she be pregnant? My gaze drifted to Logan. His face was taut with panic, his eyes fixed on the door to the emergency room. He looked so anxious, so desperate. Was he... was he worried because the baby was his?	INSTALL_MOBILE_APP	http://play.google.com/store/apps/details?id=com.t	ReadStory	https://www.facebook.com/61570605681062/	22	1969-12-31 18:00	Install now	play.google.com	IMAGE		http://play.google.com/store/apps/details?id=com.tapread.reader	1969-12-31 18:00	https://scontent-iad3-1.xx.fbcdn.net/v/t39.35426-6/481999990_1155011266166997_5891835312119460324_n.jpg?stp=dst-jpg_s60x60_tt6&_nc_cat=101&ccb=1-7&_nc_sid=c53f8f&_nc_ohc=_jUrP5Wzl7wQ7kNvgH4jO7e&_nc_oc=Adh6l_9g13VMjk_IQ4V2pZQcTzVpS6d-1tIrmMqRy_sdylDRvKwDCb4grjgwi5NiW3hk1Y4Oe9HvpWR0rQu5rp8L&_nc_zt=14&_nc_ht=scontent-iad3-1.xx&_nc_gid=AhkCwi8TWwgzxp1PVcokhEr&oh=00_AYATMRU5vmvDkCKQdA6YyCS7C1bIpEZsTL9Ci8e7sof89g&oe=67C72A8E	PERSON_PROFILE	ReadStory	1969-12-31 18:00	View Edit Delete
2,707,340	/src/Template/Ads/index.ctp (line 281) '{"alias":2707166}'	Yes	2025-02-28 00:30	active	2651	❤️😍Continue reading👉👉👉	"Be honest. Did you ever sleep with Elaine?" The deep, low voice cut through the crack in the door, freezing me in my tracks. My hand hovered over the doorknob. Through the narrow gap, I could see Logan Mercer lounging on the couch, his jaw tight, his lips pressed into a thin line. "She's tried," he said flatly. "But I wasn't interested." "Come on, Logan," his best friend, Caleb Turner, replied with a laugh that carried a hint of disbelief. "Don't sell her short. Everyone knows Elaine's gorgeous. She's got half the guys in our circle chasing after her." Logan tipped his head back slightly, his brows pulling together. "You don't get it. We've known each other too long. It's like…" He hesitated, searching for the words. "It's like knowing what's behind every door before you open it. There's no mystery left." My chest tightened as I listened from the hallway. I first met Logan when I was fourteen. Back then, everyone told me he was the person I'd marry. I was sent to live at the Mercer estate, and for ten years, we'd been tied together—sharing a house, a life, a future, or so I thought. Caleb chuckled, breaking my thoughts. "So you're saying you see too much of her? What, you know how many times she sneezes in a day? How often she checks the mirror?" His teasing tone shifted into something more reflective. "You know, Logan, relationships don't work like that anymore. People want excitement. They crave the chase. It's only fun when you can't have what you want." Logan didn't respond. He just sat there, smk curling up from the cig he'd lit. "So," Caleb pressed, leaning forward, "are you still going to marry her?" My breath caught. Logan' parents had pushed for us to get married, but he'd never given me a clear answer. I hadn't dared to ask. Now, Caleb was doing it for me. Logan exhaled a slow stream of smk, his silence stretching into the room. "Not answering, huh?" Caleb smirked. "Let me guess. You don't want to marry her." "That's not it," Logan replied, his tone clipped. "Then what? You're willing to marry her, but you're not exactly thrilled about it?" Caleb's grin widened, as if he'd struck a nerve. He knew Logan too well. Logan leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Ever heard this saying?" he asked. Caleb raised an eyebrow. "What saying?" "Some things hold no real value, but you still can't seem to let them go." The words hit me like a punch to the stomach. My grip tightened on the marriage license application I was holding, the paper crumpling slightly beneath my fingers. "So," Caleb said, his voice quieter now, "what's it going to be? Are you marrying her or not?" Logan glanced up, his lips curving into a faint, humorless smile. "Why do you care so much? Are you interested in her? If you want, I'll give her to you." It wasn't just the words, but the way he said them—detached, careless, as though I were an object he was ready to discard. I felt something inside me crack. Logan might not have cared, but I had given him ten years of my life. Ten years during which he'd become my whole world. And now, he was treating me like nothing. Caleb scoffed. "Don't be ridiculous. I'm not that desperate." He stood up, grabbing his jacket off the back of the chair. "But seriously, Logan, if you don't want her, let her go. She deserves better." Logan stubbed out his cig, the motion sharp and deliberate. "Get out, Caleb. You're just here to stir up trouble." Caleb shrugged. "I'm not the one stirring up trouble. That's all on you." He turned toward the door. When he opened it, he froze. I was standing there, still clutching the marriage license application. My legs felt stiff, my fingertips numb. "Elaine," Caleb said, his voice unusually cautious. He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, then forced a small smile. "Were you looking for Logan? He's inside." I couldn't speak. My throat felt dry, and my heart was pounding in my ears. Caleb's gaze flicked to the paper in my hands. He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping. "You should think about what you really want." His shoulder brushed mine as he walked past, leaving me standing there, motionless. The application form felt unbearably heavy in my hands, the weight of it pressing down on me like a stone. After what felt like an eternity, I swallowed hard, forced myself to breathe, and pushed the door open. Chapter 2 The soft rustle of paper caught Logan' attention. He looked up, his dark eyes locking onto mine. I didn't need a mirror to know how grim my expression was. "You look pale," he said, frowning slightly. "Are you feeling unwell?" Without answering, I walked over to his desk, my fingers tightening around the marriage license application in my hand. Swallowing the bitterness in my throat, I finally spoke. "If you don't want to marry me, I can tell your mom myself." His frown deepened. He knew I'd overheard everything. My voice cracked as I continued, "I never thought I'd end up being a burden to you, Logan—" "Elaine," he cut in, his tone calm but firm. "To everyone else, we're already like a married couple." I froze. Was that why? Because it looked right to everyone else? I wanted him to marry me because he loved me, not because it was convenient. Logan capped the pen in his hand with a quiet click, his gaze dropping to the crumpled application form I was holding. "We'll register next Wednesday," he said, the words flat, emotionless. It was what I thought I wanted to hear. But instead of relief, I felt a heavy ache deep in my chest. I shook my head slightly, my voice barely above a whisper. "You don't have to force yourself. I'm not some charity case." "Elaine Hart." His voice turned sharp. I flinched and looked up, meeting his impatient gaze. He held out his hand. "Give it to me." I didn't move. The air between us grew tense, heavy. After a few seconds, he sighed, stood, and crossed the short distance between us. His tall frame towered over me as he exhaled softly, his frustration tempered with a strange gentleness. "I was joking with Caleb," he said, his voice quieter now. "Did you really take it seriously?" Was it really just a joke? "You know how men are," he added, his tone almost dismissive. "Prideful. Stupid." He reached out, his hand sliding down my arm until it found mine. His grip was firm yet strangely comforting. Slowly, he pried the document from my grasp. "Don't let something like this get to you," he said, his voice steady, almost coaxing. With that, he turned away and tucked the application form into a desk drawer. Then, grabbing his coat, he added, "I need to step out for a bit." He'd been doing that a lot lately—leaving without explanation, staying out longer each time. Before he could pass me, I spoke, my voice cutting through the silence. "Logan." He stopped. "Do you like me?" I asked, my words trembling slightly but firm enough to demand an answer. He turned slowly, his dark eyes studying me. For a moment, I thought he might actually answer. Then, a faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips, softening his features. A dimple appeared on his left cheek. Logan looked good when he smiled—too good. I still remembered the first time I saw that smile, ten years ago. I had just arrived at the Mercer estate, a scared girl of fourteen, and he had ruffled my hair and called me "kid." That smile had felt like sunlight breaking through the clouds, warming a part of me I didn't even know existed. Even now, that same smile still had the power to undo me. He reached out, his large hand resting lightly on my head, his fingers ruffling my hair in the same casual, familiar way. "Of course I like you," he said, his voice soft. "Why else would I go across the city to get you roasted pears when you're sick? Or buy you your favorite roses every birthday? Or watch meteor showers with you, even though I hate staying up late?" He paused, his hand sliding from my head to my cheek, his thumb brushing lightly against my skin. "And why else," he added, "would I want to marry you?" His words should've comforted me. They should've been enough. But they weren't. I stared at him, unwilling to let it go this time. "Do you like me romantically?" His hand froze mid-motion. The smile faded from his face. For a moment, I thought I saw something flicker in his eyes—hesitation, uncertainty—but it vanished as quickly as it appeared. His hand dropped to his side, and he let out a soft chuckle, as if I'd asked something foolish. "Don't overthink things," he said lightly. "Come on, let's go home after work. You like fish, right? I'll have someone send over some fresh salmon and cook it for you tonight." Then he turned and walked out, leaving me standing there in the quiet, his words hanging in the air like smoke. He'd dodged the question. Again. The faint scent of his hand cream lingered in the space between us, and the warmth of his touch still burned on my cheek. But my heart felt cold. Logan treated me well. He pampered me. He cared for me. But his affection felt… familial. Like that of an older brother looking after a younger sister. And yet, despite everything, I couldn't stop myself from loving him. I had loved him for ten years. But what now? Should I marry him, knowing that we might spend the rest of our lives together as nothing more than companions, our intimacy stripped of passion and romance? Or should I let him go, even if it meant breaking my own heart, so he could find someone he truly loved? Chapter 3 I couldn't stop thinking about the question all day. It lingered in the back of my mind, unanswered, gnawing at me. By the time Logan came to pick me up that afternoon, I still didn't know what I wanted to do. And yet, I followed him anyway. Habit was a terrifying thing. Ten years was all it took to tether me to this routine—him, the Mercer Estate, and the unspoken understanding that I would always be there. "Why are you so quiet?" he asked, glancing at me as he drove. He must have noticed my mood. I hesitated, my fingers fidgeting with the strap of my bag. Finally, I worked up the courage to say, "Logan, maybe we should—" Before I could finish, his phone rang. The car display lit up with an unlisted number. I saw his grip tighten on the steering wheel, his knuckles whitening. It wasn't like him to look nervous. I turned to study his face, but his expression was unreadable. Without a word, he tapped the screen, switching the call to Bluetooth. "Hello. … Yeah, I'm on my way." The call was brief, but his voice was clipped, his tone unnaturally tense. When it ended, he glanced at me, his jaw tight. "Elaine, something urgent came up. I can't take you home." I knew what he was going to say before he said it. It wasn't the first time. Still, foolishly, I'd hoped he'd at least take me back before running off. My chest ached, but I forced myself to keep my voice steady. "Is something wrong?" He didn't answer. Instead, his gaze shifted to the road ahead as he pulled into a temporary parking spot. "Get off here and grab a taxi," he said, his tone brisk. I stared at him, searching for some kind of explanation, but he offered none. He didn't even bother to lie. What could I say to that? Begging for answers would only humiliate me further. "Text me when you get home," he added, already reaching for the gearshift. I nodded stiffly, clutching my backpack as I climbed out of the car. The cool air hit my face as I stood on the sidewalk, watching his car merge back into traffic. He didn't look back. I already knew. From the call to his unwillingness to explain, I could feel it—something wasn't right. But I didn't ask. I didn't want to peel back the thin, fragile layer of denial that kept me sane. "Be careful on your way home," he called out the window before speeding off. I stood there for a long time, staring at the empty stretch of road where his car had disappeared. My chest felt hollow, my feet rooted to the spot. My phone buzzed in my pocket, snapping me out of my thoughts. It was Nora, my best friend. "Elaine, where are you? Want to grab dinner?" Nora was a gynecologist, sharp-tongued and brilliant. She never minced words, which was exactly what I needed right now. "Sure," I said without hesitation. Nora sounded surprised. "Wow, you didn't even check with Logan first? Did the sun rise in the west today?" I managed a dry laugh, but her words hit a little too close to home. For years, I'd lived as if my entire life revolved around Logan. Every plan, every decision—always prefaced with, "Let me check with him first." "Where are you right now?" I asked, changing the subject. She rattled off an address, and I hailed a taxi to meet her. The moment she saw me, Nora's sharp eyes narrowed. "What happened? Did you and Mr. Perfect have a fight?" She was one of the few people I could confide in, so I told her everything. When I finished, her expression darkened. "Men are the worst," she muttered, stirring her drink with unnecessary force. "He thinks you're boring? Insipid? As if he's some kind of prize. Has he even slept with you?" Her bluntness made my cheeks burn. I shook my head, embarrassed. Nora rolled her eyes. "Exactly. What a jerk. If he spent ten years with you and hasn't even tried, it's not respect, Elaine. It's disinterest." Her words stung because they were true. There had been moments—like the time I'd gotten drunk and kissed him. But instead of kissing me back, he'd gently pulled away and sent me to bed. At the time, I thought it was because he respected me, that he didn't want to take advantage of me. But now, I realized it was because he didn't want me. Wasn't there a saying? That if a man loved a woman, he'd want her. He'd desire her. Logan had never shown that kind of desire. Not once. "I think," I said slowly, my voice trembling, "I want to give up." Nora's eyes softened. She reached across the table and clinked her glass against mine. "Good. You deserve better. There are plenty of guys out there, Elaine. With your looks, you could have anyone." She wasn't wrong. At eighteen, I'd won a beauty pageant. There had been offers for modeling, even acting. If Logan hadn't stopped me, I might have had a career in the spotlight. Over the years, countless men had tried to win me over. But I had eyes for only one. And he didn't want me. The thought made my throat tighten. I pushed back my chair and mumbled an excuse, hurrying to the restroom before Nora could see the tears threatening to spill. I was so distracted I didn't notice the man stepping out of the restroom until it was too late. We collided, and I stumbled, knocking him to the ground. "I'm so sorry!" I exclaimed, reaching out to help him up. But before I could, he shrieked, "Help! Someone's trying to molest me!" His voice rang through the hallway, loud and panicked. My jaw dropped. What just happened? Chapter 4 I never thought I'd find myself sitting in a police station, accused of indecency. The boy I'd accidentally knocked down—who turned out to be a seventeen-year-old named Kian Vaughn—insisted I'd done it on purpose. His story was as absurd as it was infuriating. "She touched me!" Kian declared dramatically, pointing at me like I was a criminal. The officer leaned forward, his expression carefully neutral. "Where exactly did she touch you?" Kian's face lit up with faux indignation as he pointed to his chest and then below his waist. "Here. And here!" I stared at him, dumbfounded. What in the actual hell? I nearly shouted my disbelief out loud. Me, a woman who hadn't even touched Logan—someone I'd been in love with for ten years—was suddenly being accused of assaulting a brat who hadn't even finished puberty. The officer turned his attention to me, his expression skeptical. "I didn't touch him," I said quickly, my voice firm. "I bumped into him by accident. That's it." "Had you been drinking?" he asked, his tone pointed. I blinked, caught off guard. Was that really relevant? But in this world, a drunk man was just a man. A drunk woman? She was indecent. "Yes," I admitted. "I had a bottle of beer." The officer raised an eyebrow, his disbelief clear. I sighed, frustrated. "Look, I wasn't drunk, and I definitely didn't ‘take advantage' of this kid." My words came out sharper than intended, but I was too irritated to care. The officer made a note of my statement before turning back to Kian. "Are you absolutely sure about your accusation? You're aware filing a false report is a crime, right?" Kian crossed his arms defiantly. "I'm sure. She touched me." I clenched my fists, resisting the urge to strangle him. Before I could say something I'd regret, Kian's face suddenly brightened. His gaze shifted to the doorway. "Selene, you're here!" he exclaimed, his voice dripping with childish glee. I turned to see who had arrived, ready to plead my case to his family. But the sight of the two people walking in stopped me cold. The woman was stunning, with long black hair cascading down her back and a flowing white dress that made her look ethereal. She was the kind of woman men imagined as their first love—soft, gentle, perfect. Her name was Selene Vaughn. And standing right next to her was Logan. My heart sank like a stone. "Kian, what happened?" Selene asked, her voice full of concern as she knelt in front of him. Kian ignored her question entirely, his attention locked on Logan. "Hey, Selene, is he my new brother-in-law?" Logan' expression froze. His eyes widened briefly before narrowing, his gaze hardening as it shifted to me. "Elaine," he said, his tone cold and clipped. "What's going on here?" "Brother-in-law, do you know her?" Kian interrupted, pointing at me with exaggerated outrage. "She's a hooligan! She touched me here and here—" He gestured to his chest and groin again, like he was auditioning for a bad soap opera. I didn't have the energy to explain anymore. I just stared at Logan, trying to make sense of what I was seeing. He'd been gone for a few hours. Just a few hours. And now he was someone's "brother-in-law"? Was this why he'd left so suddenly earlier? Selene stood and turned to me, her expression polite but distant. "Elaine, right? I'm Selene, Kian's sister." Her voice was soft, almost apologetic. I was surprised she even knew my name. But then again, I was Logan' shadow, his accessory. Anyone who knew him would know me. I swallowed hard, forcing the bitterness down. "I accidentally knocked your brother over. That's all. I didn't do what he's accusing me of." Selene's lips curved into a small, reassuring smile. "I believe you. Kian can be... dramatic." Without warning, she turned and smacked Kian lightly on the back of his head—twice. "Stop causing trouble," she scolded, her tone gentle but firm. She explained the situation to the officer while the police checked the surveillance footage. Unsurprisingly, the video proved my innocence. The officer sighed, looking at Selene. "Since you two know each other, you can settle this privately. Otherwise, the boy will need to be detained for filing a false report." Selene immediately tugged on Logan' sleeve, a small, intimate gesture that sent a pang through my chest. Logan had always been distant with people. His guarded nature kept most at arm's length, and he hated being touched. But Selene? She seemed to bypass all of that effortlessly. And judging by the lack of reaction from Logan, this wasn't the first time she'd done it. There was an ease between them that I didn't want to analyze too deeply. I opened my mouth to say something, but Logan spoke before I could. "It's fine," he said curtly. "It was a misunderstanding. Let's drop it." Before I could process his words, I felt his hand wrap around my wrist, firm and unyielding. Without another word, he pulled me out. Chapter 5 Logan' hand gripped mine so tightly that it hurt. He didn't say a word at first, but his jaw was clenched, his anger radiating off him like heat. "Elaine," he said, his tone low and biting. "Did you go to the bar to drink? Is this your idea of revenge? Acting out just because of something I said?" I blinked, stunned. Revenge? Was that really what he thought? His jaw tightened, and his eyes burned with an intensity I rarely saw. The raw emotion in his face—anger, frustration—momentarily silenced me. It was almost… possessive. For a brief moment, the bitterness in my chest eased. Maybe, just maybe, he cared. If he only saw me as a sister or a friend, he wouldn't care so much about what happened. "No," I repeated firmly. "I didn't—" Before Logan could respond, Kian swaggered out of the building, wearing his trademark smirk. He whistled as if he hadn't just caused chaos. "Hooligan," he called out, his voice dripping with mockery. "What are you trying to do now? Seduce my brother-in-law?" I bit back a groan. Some people were born to test your patience, and Kian Vaughn was one of them. As he walked toward me, his cocky grin widened, and I couldn't help but glance at Selene. She stood nearby, her expression carefully composed, the perfect picture of innocence. But I couldn't forget the way she'd touched Logan earlier—light, casual, intimate. The memory burned in my mind. Acting on impulse, I reached out and took Logan' arm. His muscles tensed under my touch, but he didn't pull away. "You're talking nonsense again," Selene said, her voice soft as she stepped forward and pinched Kian's arm. Her chastising tone came with a faint smile, like she was used to handling his antics. She turned to me with an apologetic look. "Elaine, I'm so sorry." "It's not your fault," Logan said before I could respond. His voice was firm, his eyes locked on Kian. "And you," he added, his tone sharp, "this is your last warning. Cause trouble again, and no one will save you." Kian, defiant as ever, glared up at him. "Who do you think you are? You're not my dad. I'll only listen to you if you marry my sister and actually become my brother-in-law." "Kian!" Selene hissed, her face flushing with embarrassment. She smacked his arm harder this time, but he dodged her, laughing. "Don't act like you don't know," Kian taunted, his voice loud and obnoxious. "He likes you, Selene. Why else would he spend all his time with you? Day and night, taking care of you like you're the only person in the world?" My grip on Logan' arm tightened involuntarily. Day and night. The words struck a nerve. Logan had barely been home these past weeks, disappearing for hours on end without notice. I'd tried to dismiss it, telling myself he was busy with work. But now, hearing Kian's words, the truth felt undeniable. He'd been with Selene. Of course, I knew why. She was his late best friend's widow. It made sense for him to take care of her after her husband's tragic death. But every day? To the point where her own brother saw it as something more? "What are you even talking about?" Selene snapped, her voice trembling as she hit Kian again, harder this time. He raised his hand instinctively to block her, but the motion caught her off balance. Selene staggered, her heels slipping on the pavement. "Watch out!" Logan shouted. I felt a shove, and before I could steady myself, I stumbled backward. By the time I regained my footing, Logan was already by Selene's side. He knelt on one knee, holding her as if she were made of glass. "Selene, are you okay?" His voice was frantic, his hands steadying her. "Where does it hurt?" Her face twisted in pain as she clutched his arm. "My stomach," she whimpered. "It hurts, Logan." "Don't worry," he said, his voice trembling. "I'll take you to the hospital. You're going to be okay." I stood frozen, watching the scene unfold like an outsider. I'd seen Logan in countless situations—calm, composed, in control. But now? He was panicking. For her. Not once in ten years had I ever seen him look at me like that. "Elaine!" Logan barked, snapping me out of my daze. "Get in the car. You're driving." For a moment, I couldn't move. "Hurry up!" Kian shouted, storming over to me. He grabbed my arm roughly, and something inside me snapped. Without thinking, I raised my hand and slapped him. The sharp crack echoed in the air. Kian stumbled back, his cheek already reddening with the imprint of my fingers. He touched his face, stunned, before his expression twisted in anger. "You—" he hissed, lifting his hand as if to strike me back. "Kian!" Logan' voice cut through the tension like a blade. "If you touch her, I'll make sure you go back inside." Kian froze, his hand hovering mid-air. After a moment, he lowered it, glaring at both Logan and me before stomping off. "Kian!" Selene called after him weakly, but her voice gave way to a pained cry as she clutched her stomach again. "Logan… It hurts," she whimpered. "Please, take me to the hospital." Logan didn't hesitate. "Elaine!" he barked again. I swallowed the lump in my throat and climbed into the driver's seat. Selene groaned in pain as Logan helped her into the backseat, his voice low and soothing as he reassured her. "Doctor!" Logan shouted the moment we arrived at the hospital. "She's pregnant, and she just fell. She's in a lot of pain!" Pregnant? The word echoed in my mind, heavy and disorienting. My legs felt like they were weighed down with lead as I stood there, unable to move. My chest tightened, and a sinking feeling settled in my stomach. Selene's husband was dead. How could she be pregnant? My gaze drifted to Logan. His face was taut with panic, his eyes fixed on the door to the emergency room. He looked so anxious, so desperate. Was he... was he worried because the baby was his?	INSTALL_MOBILE_APP	http://play.google.com/store/apps/details?id=com.t	ReadStory	https://www.facebook.com/61570605681062/	22	1969-12-31 18:00	Install now	play.google.com	IMAGE		http://play.google.com/store/apps/details?id=com.tapread.reader	1969-12-31 18:00	https://scontent-iad3-1.xx.fbcdn.net/v/t39.35426-6/481002793_1715040456566487_4234644742578537757_n.jpg?stp=dst-jpg_s60x60_tt6&_nc_cat=102&ccb=1-7&_nc_sid=c53f8f&_nc_ohc=ZtnYAzLN0HwQ7kNvgHo4Kbp&_nc_oc=AdjyQQL4MbfIrl9UM3Q7v8V-8YJp_6caac7trcHpGZKGh_sxfqEutg1tQkmWlQucC0VYXq1CZCyKQYFMkKfD254D&_nc_zt=14&_nc_ht=scontent-iad3-1.xx&_nc_gid=AhkCwi8TWwgzxp1PVcokhEr&oh=00_AYBoMrjYuzP-DOohw97UV3NRvQmc09OBpxWnFnaRRQpvAA&oe=67C73645	PERSON_PROFILE	ReadStory	1969-12-31 18:00	View Edit Delete

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