Chapter 5: Late-Night Ransom

Sharon knew Ethan had a history of stomach trouble, though it had never been anything too severe. Besides, in this day and age, almost every young professional wrestled with some kind of minor health issue; finding someone completely healthy was the real rarity.

She harbored a strong suspicion that his current state was the result of exhaustion from playing dead—living like a fugitive, braving the elements, and missing meals left and right until his stomach finally gave out.

How hilarious. Imagine passing out from the sheer physical labor of pretending to be dead.

Sharon remained crouched beside him, studying his sharp side profile. His eyes were half-lidded, his jaw tight as he tried to ride out the spasm of pain. Despite remembering how cold and unfeeling he could be, she still didn't want him breathing his last breath in her house.

"Can you move?" Sharon asked.

"Yeah." He looked up at her, his dark eyes glistening with a sudden, vulnerable wetness.

"Come on. I'll help you over to the couch."

His body was heavy—whether he was genuinely unable to support his weight or just playing it up, she couldn't tell. He leaned his entire upper body against her, forcing Sharon to stagger sideways until her shoulder hit the wall.

The crisp, cool scent of his cologne washed over her, a familiar heat mingling with the subtle fragrance of her own body wash on his skin. For a terrifying second, Sharon almost tumbled back into the trap of her memories.

She quickly braced herself against the wall, stood up straight, and hauled him over to the single armchair in her reading nook.

By the time he sank into the cushions, Sharon was drenched in a fine sheen of sweat.

She pulled a few tissues from her vanity and shoved them into his palm. "Wipe your face. I'm going downstairs to get you some medicine and food."

Her home first-aid kit was always fully stocked. Lately, her own irregular sleep schedule and anxiety had triggered a bout of mild gastritis, so there should still be medication left over.

Grabbing a box of Omeprazole and Hydrotalcite, she stowed the rest of the kit, closing the cabinet before slipping into the kitchen.

Sharon had known her way around a stove since she was a little girl. Back then, her parents would frequently leave in the dead of night to haul inventory, spending their days managing the storefront. It fell on Sharon to take care of her younger brother, so she learned to cook basic home-style dishes. They weren't gourmet by any stretch of the imagination, but they were edible. Cooking, after all, required a natural gift she simply didn't possess.

She had no intention of firing up the stove in the middle of the night. Instead, she boiled a pot of water and prepared a bowl of premium instant ramen for him.

While waiting for the kettle to whistle, Auntie Chen opened her bedroom door, rubbing her sleepy eyes. Rolling up her sleeves, she asked if Sharon was still hungry and offered to whip up a proper late-night meal.

Sharon palmed the blister packs of stomach medication on the marble counter, casually sliding them into the pocket of her nightgown.

"No need, Auntie Chen. I'm just pulling an all-nighter and felt like a bowl of instant noodles. Go back to sleep."

Knowing better than to overstep, Auntie Chen nodded politely and returned to her quarters.

Sharon waited for the noodles to steep before heading back upstairs. Halfway up the flight, she paused, considering leaving a subtle instruction for the housekeeper, but realized it would only look suspicious. She turned and continued up the stairs, slipping quietly back into her bedroom.

Ethan was leaning his head back against the armchair, his brow furrowed tightly in apparent discomfort. In the low light, the sharp angle of his jaw looked even more pronounced.

Sharon set the steaming bowl of noodles onto the low coffee table in front of him and gave his shoulder a light nudge. He didn't wake up immediately. Instead, his hand shot out, wrapping tightly around her wrist as a faint murmur slipped from his lips: "Sharon... don't go..."

Back when everyone else called her Shar, Ethan had insisted on calling her Sharon—or his own private pet names—claiming he refused to address her like the rest of the world did.

The brief flash of memory hit her like a splash of cold water. Sharon yanked her hand back, breaking his grip, and delivered a sharp slap to his shoulder.

That did the trick. He opened his eyes, his cold, piercing gaze slightly out of focus.

"Take your medicine." Sharon tossed the pills onto the table, stepping past him to flick on the main overhead lights.

The room flooded with brilliant, unforgiving light.

Ethan sat up, picked up the blister packs, inspected the labels, and obediently swallowed the pills with a sip of water.

Sharon nudged the bowl toward him. "Eat this."

Ethan almost pointed out that stomach medication usually required a thirty-minute grace period before eating, but then remembered he was only pretending to be sick. It didn't matter. He quietly picked up the chopsticks and finished every last drop of the noodles, even draining the broth.

Sharon took the empty container down to the kitchen trash, returning to open the bedroom window to let the lingering food aroma air out.

"Those noodles weren't free," she said, leaning against the windowsill. "You're freeloading under my roof, using my resources, and expecting me to play nurse. It's time you paid up. That bowl of instant ramen costs a thousand dollars. Pay up."

Ethan looked at her face in silent amusement. She had the delicate, angelic features of a saint, yet the moment she opened her mouth, she sounded like a highway robber.

"Fair enough," Ethan murmured smoothly. "I'll pay you. Just give me a couple of days to draft a promissory note, and I'll settle the bill."

"You're legally a dead man," Sharon said, staring straight into his eyes. "What good is a promissory note from a ghost?"

Ethan played along, unabashed. "Then what do you suggest?"

She had dumped him without a second thought, leaving him completely in the dark about her reasons, and now she was treating him with utter coldness—forcing him to eat the very instant noodles he detested most.

Sharon took a look at the off-the-rack suit he was wearing. Guessing he was probably stripped of his liquid assets for the time being, she figured it was best to use him, get the job done, and kick him out as soon as possible. Once he was gone, she could anonymously leak the news of his fake death to the media. The chaos that would unleash... just thinking about it gave her a rush of satisfaction.

What was a thousand-dollar bowl of noodles and a few nights' lodging anyway? She would consider it charity for a beggar.

Having rationalized it, Sharon leaned back against the sofa cushions. "Forget it. You're broke anyway. Consider it a gift from me."

She waved her hand with grand generosity. "Tomorrow, I'm heading over to your family's estate to put on a grand performance at your memorial. I'll report back when I'm done. Once you're finished eating, get back to your closet so I can lock up."

Cold, distant, and completely unbothered.

Sharon held her chin high, looking for all the world like a dog owner about to lock her unruly pet back into its crate.

Ethan clutched his stomach, his dark eyes downcast, his posture slumping slightly as he let his voice drop into a soft, vulnerable register. "Can I stay here a little longer? The floor in that closet is really uncomfortable."

Sharon was already running on empty. Her eyes narrowed into drowsy slits, her eyelids heavy as lead. She simply didn't have the energy left to trade barbs with him tonight.

"I promise I won't touch you," Ethan added softly.

Sharon gave him a suspicious glare before rising to switch off the main lights.

Her bed was positioned a distance away from his armchair, though from Ethan's angle, he had an unobstructed view of everything she did.

"Ethan..." Sharon sat on the edge of the mattress, pointing a warning finger in his direction.

Ethan raised both hands in a peaceful surrender. "I won't do a thing. Go to sleep."

Sharon collapsed onto her pillows, pulling the duvet over her head and shutting her eyes tightly. Before slipping under, she kept chanting a mental reminder: Don't sleep too heavily. Wake up the moment you hear a sound.

She tried to force her subconscious into a state of high alert. But she didn't even make it through the third repetition before heavy, inescapable sleep pulled her under.

Normally, Sharon was a notoriously light sleeper—fussy about her mattress, paranoid about strange environments, and utterly incapable of sleeping if someone unfamiliar was nearby. But her body's memory was far sharper than her conscious mind. With Ethan sitting just across the room, her body instinctively recognized his presence as safe.

The moment her breathing deepened into a steady rhythm, the weak, pathetic posture Ethan had maintained on the sofa vanished. He sat up straight, his dull eyes sharpening into something dark, intense, and calculating.

He reached over to switch off the floor lamp beside him. The only illumination left in the room came from the faint nightlight on Sharon's nightstand and the soft amber glow of the garden lamps filtering through the gap in the curtains.

Using the dim light, Ethan's eyes adjusted quickly to the darkness. He locked his gaze onto her sleeping form like a predator watching its prey. Perhaps he should drop the gentlemanly act right now, walk over, wrap his fingers around her delicate throat, and force her to take back those wretched words: Let's break up.

He dismissed the thought a second later. It wasn't urgent. Once his plan reached its conclusion, everything he wanted would fall right back into his hands.

He remained seated on the sofa for another half hour, listening as Sharon's breathing turned heavy and deep from the day's sheer exhaustion.

Finally, he stood up. His posture was tall and straight, devoid of any trace of the frail, sick man he had played earlier.

He walked over to her bedside with soundless, measured steps. Sinking first to his knees, then lowering himself to sit beside her, a subtle smile touched the corner of his lips as he reached out a hand toward her face. Fearing he might wake her, he kept his fingertips hovering a fraction of an inch above her soft skin, hovering like a ghost.

The feather-light air current stirred against Sharon's cheek. She let out a soft, sleepy murmur, her hand coming up to brush her face before she turned her head toward the other side of the pillow.

Ethan pulled his hand back with practiced agility, holding his breath until she settled back into a peaceful slumber. Only then did he let out a low, quiet breath of relief.

He was exhausted from the day's endless maneuvering himself. Rising slowly, he walked around to the other side of the king-sized bed, gently lifted the edge of the duvet, and slid inside. Wrapped in the warmth lingering from her body, he reached out beneath the sheets, lightly entwining his fingers with hers before closing his eyes.

The next morning, Sharon's alarm buzzed at nine sharp. She had planned to hit the snooze button, but the sudden memory of an uninvited guest in her room jolted her upright, sending a wave of morning dizziness crashing through her head.

She blinked away the haze and scanned the room. The reading nook was empty. She scrambled out of bed to search the suite—checking the walk-in closet, the bathroom, and even the storage room. Nothing.

She even crouched down to check beneath the bed, only to realize the mahogany frame was solid all the way to the floor. She pushed herself back up, dusting off her knees.

Grabbing her phone, she hovered over the screen, debating whether to reach out to him.

After their breakup, she had blocked his number and messaging accounts. Then, on some lonely night, she had unblocked him, only to re-block him less than a minute later. At this point, she couldn't even remember if his contact profile was currently sitting in her block list or not.

Recalling his comment about seeing her social media post yesterday, she assumed he wasn't blocked after all. Yet, scanning through her active contact list yielded nothing. Sharon navigated to her settings, pulled up her block list, and removed his contact.

Unsure if he had blocked her in return, she selected a basic, yellow smiling emoji and hit send.

Delivered.

Sharon raised an eyebrow in mild surprise. If he hadn't been unblocked until just now, how on earth had he seen her post yesterday?

There’s a mole on my friend list.

It certainly wasn't anyone from her immediate social circle in the city, as she had carefully set her privacy filters to exclude them from that specific post.

Before she could narrow down the list of suspects, her phone buzzed with an incoming message from Ethan: Out handling business. Back tonight.

Sharon stared at the glowing screen, momentarily stunned. The tone felt entirely wrong. Had she asked for an itinerary? Why was he reporting his whereabouts like they were still dating?

Frowning, she promptly sent his contact straight back into her block list.

Rule number one of dealing with Ethan Pierce: never give him an inch.

Sharon spent a quiet, leisurely morning at home, taking her time to reply to a barrage of texts from Chloe Quinn. Having witnessed Sharon's dramatic episode the previous day, Chloe had been checking in on her non-stop, terrified her best friend was spiraling into grief.

Sharon felt a desperate urge to tell her that the "dead man" had spent the night in her guest closet, and that she wasn't grieving in the slightest.

Unfortunately, Chloe was utterly convinced of her own tragic narrative, so Sharon spent a good chunk of energy reassuring her.

After a few minutes, Chloe sent a lengthy fifty-second voice message, her tone laced with exasperation. She asked if Sharon had somehow offended Ryan Shaw. Apparently, on the drive home yesterday, Ryan hadn't stopped making biting, sarcastic remarks about Sharon. Chloe had tried to defend her best friend, but lost her temper when she couldn't out-argue him. Furious, she had demanded he pull the car over, hopped out, and taken a taxi home alone.

Sharon had no idea why Ryan’s attitude toward her had shifted so drastically. When they met that morning, he had been perfectly pleasant, only to turn completely hostile by the afternoon. No wonder Chloe had dumped him—unpredictable, moody men didn't deserve wives anyway.

Sharon played dumb with Chloe, though a pang of guilt tugged at her heart. She showered her best friend with sweet words, thanking her for taking her side and promising to buy her dinner next week to make it up to her.

By mid-afternoon, it was time to make her appearance at the Pierce estate. Sharon had phoned Ethan’s stepmother in advance—a contact number she had saved years ago that was finally serving a purpose.

When Victoria Vance answered the call, her tone was a masterclass in grief wrapped in subtle excitement, insisting that Sharon come over so they could comfort each other. She played the part of a grieving, devoted stepmother to absolute perfection.

Sharon’s driver dropped her off outside the grand gates of the Pierce family mansion.

Today, Sharon had chosen a understated ensemble: a dark charcoal, halter-neck sleeveless dress paired with her hair swept up into a soft, half-up style. Her face was styled in a natural, bare-minimum makeup look, complemented by a pair of modest pearl studs in her ears. She looked every bit the quiet, obedient young woman elder family members adored.

Except, she was nothing of the sort. She simply knew that presenting herself this way would yield the exact reaction she needed.

What she didn't expect was for Victoria Vance to personally walk out to the driveway to greet her. Sharon feigned a look of touched surprise, offering a polite, soft-spoken, "Aunt Victoria."

Victoria held a black sun umbrella over Sharon’s head, taking her hand with maternal warmth. "Oh, sweetheart, you fainted so suddenly yesterday! How are you feeling today? Are you recovering alright? It's far too hot to be running around outside... You simply must stay for dinner tonight."

Sharon wasn't particularly close with Victoria Vance; they had only met twice before—once when Ethan brought her home years ago, and the second time at yesterday's memorial service.

This sudden display of affection was hardly a sign of goodwill. Sharon knew Victoria was putting on an act, and that very knowledge made her skin crawl. Walking into this house felt like stepping straight into a wolf's den. For a fleeting second, she almost regretted not forcing Ethan to sign that promissory note—if she met an untimely end here, it ought to count as an occupational hazard.

Upon entering the grand foyer, Victoria handed the umbrella to a waiting maid and led Sharon into the main living room, instructing the staff to prepare afternoon tea.

"The last time you visited, I noticed you enjoyed the toffee pudding," Victoria said sweetly, patting her hand. "I had the kitchen prepare a fresh batch for you today."

Sharon offered a polite smile, though the visit she was referring to had occurred years ago. Sharon couldn't even remember if she had touched the toffee pudding back then—or if it had even been served.

Who knew if the woman's memory was real or fabricated?

Victoria gripped Sharon's hands, her eyes suddenly brimming with well-rehearsed tears. She let out a long, heavy sigh, lamenting how Ethan had been taken away so young, leaving the family empire and the entire household in complete disarray just as he had taken full control.

Watching a large tear roll down Victoria’s cheek and land on her tailored qipao, Sharon remembered why she had come here today.

A flush of red crept up Sharon's nose, and two heavy tears spilled over her lashes, followed by a torrent of uncontrollable weeping. She sobbed so hard she could barely catch her breath.

She was thinking about her late grandfather. She remembered how he used to pinch pennies, walking to pick her up from school every afternoon with a candied hawthorn stick in his hand. Remembering his weathered, deeply lined hand holding out that sweet treat for her was all it took to break her heart into pieces.

Victoria hadn't expected such an intense explosion of grief. Caught off guard, she froze for a second before frantically pulling tissues from a box to hand to Sharon.

Sharon cried until the toffee pudding was served, her chest heaving with deep, ragged breaths. She thought about many things—her grandfather, her grandmother, her parents, and her younger brother.

The only person she didn't think about was Ethan.

Victoria wiped away a few performative tears of her own, gently patting the back of Sharon's hand.

"Sharon, darling... since you clearly loved Ethan so deeply, why on earth did you break up with him in the first place?"

Chapter 6: A Twisted Inheritance

Here it came. The real reason for this little tea party.

Sharon slipped into her role with practiced speed. Tears came on command today, and she could stop them just as easily.

Still, stopping too abruptly would look suspicious. Sharon dabbed at her cheeks with a tissue, her pale, delicate face left with pink-rimmed eyes and a flushed nose that made her look utterly defenseless.

"Aunt Victoria," she choked out, her voice trembling softly. "You watched Ethan grow up, so you know what his temper was like better than anyone. When we were together, I was always the one making compromises. After a while, anyone would get exhausted. That's why I brought up breaking up... I honestly thought he’d at least try to hold onto me. Who knew he'd just turn around and walk away without a second glance..."

Fresh tears spilled over her lashes, cascading down her cheeks like a tragic, beautiful spring rain. Even Victoria Vance couldn't help but feel a flicker of pity for the girl.

In Victoria's eyes, Sharon was hopelessly, foolishly in love with her stepson. It looked as though Sharon had dumped Ethan, but in reality, it seemed far more likely that Ethan had grown tired of her first and tossed her aside. Which was... strange.

When Ethan used to bring Sharon around, Victoria could distinctly feel how differently he treated her. The dark, icy glare he usually reserved for his family would thaw into pure warmth whenever his gaze fell on Sharon. A look that romantic, that intense, was impossible to fake.

Yet, as a woman who had seen her fair share of men, Victoria knew a man’s love was a fleeting thing. Even if it was genuine at first, time naturally bred boredom. Men always preferred the new over the old; it was simply their nature. Thinking of it this way, a wave of patronizing sympathy welled up inside her.

"Ah, it's all my fault for not raising him better, letting a sweet girl like you suffer," Victoria sighed, patting her hand. "Did Ethan ever reach out to you after the breakup? Did he... leave anything behind with you?"

"Leave anything behind?" Sharon wiped her face dry, picking up her porcelain plate and taking a small bite of the toffee pudding.

The moment the dessert hit her tongue, Sharon felt like she had been struck square in the jaw. The cloying sweetness was enough to make her head spin. It was no exaggeration: eating a single bite of this stuff felt like it warranted an immediate insulin shot. She wouldn't even need her driver to take her home—she’d be marching in a straight line out of sheer sugar-induced delirium.

Sharon was now a hundred percent certain she had never eaten this horrifying, unforgettable concoction during her previous visit to the Pierce mansion.

"Like... a generous break-up settlement?" Victoria probed subtly, leaning closer. "Or perhaps he returned the things you gifted him during your relationship?"

Sharon managed to swallow the sickly sweet bite, taking a quick sip of hot black tea to clear her dulled senses.

A break-up settlement? Ethan’s departure back then had been far colder and more ruthless than hers ever was. The more Sharon thought about it, the angrier she became. Who had wronged whom? What right did he have to act so arrogant, and how dare he strut around her apartment acting like he owned the place now?

Maybe it was her bruised pride talking, or maybe it was the absurd amount of sugar giving her a surge of resentment, but Sharon blurted out without missing a beat:

"Actually, yes. He packed up everything I had ever given him and sent it back to me. I threw it all straight into the trash."

"You threw it away?!" Victoria shrieked, bolting upright from the sofa.

Sharon flinched at the sudden outburst. A stray thought popped into her head—the fox finally showed its tail.

Realizing how badly she had lost her composure, Victoria smoothed her qipao and sat back down, offering a strained, awkward smile. "Auntie just thinks it's a shame, darling. After all, those were gifts you chose with so much love. He had a stubborn mouth, and you were stubborn too. If you two had just talked things through, maybe you wouldn't have broken up... Where exactly did you throw it?"

Sharon blinked, her wide eyes the picture of sweet innocence. "Just in the public dumpster outside. It's been so long now; I'm sure it was processed at the waste station months ago."

Victoria reached over, gently stroking Sharon's long, silky hair. "Well, what's done is done. It breaks my heart to think how much thought you put into those gifts, only for him not to cherish them."

She leaned in, dropping her voice to a dramatic whisper. "To be completely honest with you... I consulted a spiritual master recently. He said Ethan died under such bizarre circumstances that his spirit carries heavy resentment. We need to burn all his personal belongings to cleanse the energy, or his ghost might haunt the living. Could you tell Auntie the exact time and place you threw those things out? The items might be gone, but I can bring the master there to perform a ritual."

Sharon inwardly called her insane. A ritual? We live in a modern, civilized society, yet this woman was acting completely unhinged. Besides, the "ghost" in question wasn't even dead—he was currently lounging in her bedroom! Was Victoria treating her like a complete idiot, or did she just have a guilty conscience?

Sharon put on a deep, pensive expression, tapping her chin. "Let me think... The location... I think it was near the western suburbs? There's a coffee shop in that district called Tender... Wait, no, maybe it was outside the private apartment Ethan used to stay at? I'm so sorry, Aunt Victoria, I had a bit of wine that night so my memory is hazy. I just remember it was nighttime, and there was a rich scent of coffee in the air... As for the time... about four months ago? Somewhere around February twentieth, I think."

The distance from the western suburbs to Ethan’s private residence was over twenty kilometers. Worse still, Victoria had no idea which apartment Ethan actually lived in—she had never cared enough about her stepson to know his address. Pressing Sharon further would completely shatter her "doting stepmother" facade. She’d just have to ask the house butler later.

After a few more minutes of mind-draining small talk, Sharon couldn't stand it any longer. Victoria seemed equally eager to wrap things up—likely desperate to go dig through city dumpsters.

Sharon stood up first. "I've taken up too much of your time today, Aunt Victoria. I should head back."

"Stay for dinner, sweetie!" Victoria offered half-heartedly. "We just hired a new British chef. His cooking is divine."

A British chef? Divine cooking?

Sharon maintained a polite smile and shook her head. "No, thank you. This house is far too full of Ethan’s presence. If I stay any longer, I'm afraid I'll break down again. May I... go up to Ethan’s room one last time just to say goodbye?"

Victoria naturally couldn't refuse. "Of course, darling." She escorted Sharon up the private elevator to Ethan’s suite.

Ethan’s room was the largest suite on the east wing, second only to the master bedroom. When the double doors pushed open, the interior was spotlessly clean, completely devoid of any human presence. He had rarely stayed here anyway.

Sharon walked a slow perimeter around the room. Victoria showed no intention of leaving, trailing two paces behind her like a warden monitoring a thief.

"Aunt Victoria," Sharon murmured, turning around softly. "May I have a moment alone?"

Victoria hesitated, a flash of reluctance in her eyes.

Sharon’s eyes welled with fresh tears. "I just want to say my final goodbye to him in private."

With Sharon putting it like that, Victoria had no excuse left. She gently pulled the double doors shut, keeping her voice sweet. "Call us if you need anything, dear."

Sharon nodded. Once the doors clicked shut, her tearful expression vanished. She surveyed the pristine room—there wasn't a single personal item belonging to Ethan left in sight. She guessed his stepfamily had long since looted his valuables and thrown out the rest.

Sharon lowered herself onto the leather sofa with a small frown. For a brief, fleeting second, she almost felt sorry for Ethan.

The room had been sealed shut for too long, lacking any warmth or air circulation, making it feel oppressive. The sickeningly sweet taste of that toffee pudding still coated the back of her throat, making her faintly nauseous.

She remembered visiting this room years ago. Back then, it hadn't felt this lifeless. At the very least, the quirky little trinkets she had bought him were displayed prominently on his nightstand, completely clashing with his stark, minimalist decor.

Sharon slumped sideways on the sofa, her gaze drifting aimlessly across the dark rug near the bed. Her eyes glazed over, losing focus... until something caught the upper-left corner of her vision.

Sharon blinked, sharpening her gaze. Why was there a small, miscolored patch beneath the wooden frame of Ethan’s bed platform?

It was hidden deep within a narrow crevice under the frame where light rarely reached. If Sharon didn't possess exceptional night vision, she would have missed it entirely.

She sat up slowly, casting a quick glance at the door to ensure she was in the blind spot of the door frame before quietly creeping over.

Stretching her arm beneath the low platform, her fingers dug into the tight gap until she felt something soft and plush. She dragged it out.

It was a plush Duffy Bear bag charm—the exact one Ethan had shamelessly snatched from her months ago. Back then, no matter how much she begged, he had refused to give it back, claiming he wanted to hang it in his car. It had hung from the rearview mirror of his Maybach for a long time.

So what was the meaning of this? After their breakup, her gift was only worthy of being stuffed under his bedboard?

The thought sent a sudden rush of annoyance through her. Sharon squeezed her fist tight, crushing the plush toy in her grip.

At that exact second, miles away, a sharp, deafening screech echoed through Ethan’s earpieces. He yanked the hidden receiver out of his ear with a hiss, rubbing his throbbing eardrum.

Did she find it?

The hard plastic eye of the Duffy Bear dug painfully into Sharon’s palm. Annoyed, she unzipped her handbag, shoved the bear inside, and decided she was done playing grieving ex. She pulled open the doors and walked out into the corridor.

The moment she stepped into the hallway, a low, smooth male voice sounded from her side.

"Still missing my brother?"

A young man was leaning casually against the wall, an unlit cigarette dangling between his lips. Between his long, slender fingers, a sleek black-and-gold DuPont lighter flickered with a rhythmic click.

Having wept her way through the afternoon with Victoria, Sharon’s face was still flushed, subtle tear tracks lingering on her cheeks.

She looked up at Julian Pierce. Unlike his older half-brother Ethan, Julian possessed a softer, almost feminine beauty. His features were indisputably gorgeous, but if you looked closely, there was an underlying, shadowy malice in his demeanor.

Now that Ethan was "dead," Julian had officially taken over all the operations of the family empire.

Sharon had zero interest in speaking to anyone in this family. She ignored him completely, stepping past him toward the elevator.

Seeing her tear-stained face, Julian’s chest constricted sharply. He snatched the cigarette from his mouth, tossed it carelessly onto the polished marble floor, and strode after her on long legs.

"You're crying? Why are you crying for him? A man like my brother isn't worth a single one of your tears."

Sharon pressed the elevator button and stood dead center, staring straight ahead, treating him like invisible air.

Julian watched her with a deeply pained expression, his voice softening into a desperate murmur. "Sharon... he isn't worth it."

"I heard your conversation with my mother earlier," he continued, taking a step closer. "I can't believe he treated you like that. How could he dare hurt you? If you were mine, I would never let you shed a single tear."

Sharon finally deigned to glance at him, though her gaze was icy and devoid of warmth. The elevator doors slid open with a soft chime. Sharon stepped inside and pressed the button for the ground floor.

Julian rushed in before the doors could close.

"Sharon, my brother is dead. Dead men don't come back to life! Besides, he treated you like garbage... Why... why can't you just look at me for once?"

By the end of his plea, his voice cracked slightly, carrying the subtle rasp of suppressed emotion.

Sharon turned her head slowly, her clear eyes searching his face for an agonizingly long moment until the elevator reached the first floor and the doors slid open.

Julian held his breath, his heart hammering against his ribs under her steady gaze.

Sharon offered him a faint, picture-perfect smile. "There. I’ve looked at you."

Victoria Vance was waiting in the main foyer. Seeing Julian emerge from the elevator right behind Sharon, a flash of delight lit up her face.

"Julian! When did you get back?" she said smoothly. "Perfect timing. Why don't you drive Sharon back to her place?"

Sharon immediately opened her mouth to decline. "That won't be necessary—"

Before she could finish, Julian had already sprinted out toward the garage, flashing a bright, eager smile over his shoulder. "Wait for me, Sharon!"

Before Sharon could utter another word of refusal, he was gone. She reconsidered—a free ride was a free ride. If he wanted to act as her chauffeur, so be it.

Julian deliberately dismissed his personal driver, insisting on taking the wheel himself.

Once seated in the passenger side, Sharon clicked her seatbelt into place and threw a cold command at him: "Don't speak to me."

Julian was surprisingly obedient. He didn't say another word. Yet, as he gripped the steering wheel, his heart pounded harder than it ever had in his life. This was the very first time Sharon had ever sat in his passenger seat. He couldn't help but fantasize—when she stepped out, would she leave behind a stray strand of her fragrant hair on his leather seat?

When they stopped at a red light, he couldn't resist turning his head to steal a glance at her. She was staring out the window, giving him a view of her delicate profile, the soft pink tip of her ear, and the subtle sparkle of her pearl earring.

The drive to her estate wasn't long. Julian had briefly considered taking a longer, scenic detour, but lacked the courage to cross her. He drove her straight back to her front gates following the standard route.

Sharon unbuckled her seatbelt, offering a polite, distant "Thank you," and reached for the door handle.

Julian suddenly reached out, grabbing her wrist. Her wrist was delicate and surprisingly cool against his warm palm. The silky texture of her skin sent a wave of heat straight to his throat, forcing him to quickly, nervously pull his hand back.

"Sharon... I didn't mean to touch you like that."

"Is there something else?" Sharon tucked her hand away without a sound, rubbing the spot where his warm fingers had rested with subtle distaste.

"Sharon..." Julian seemed to gather every ounce of courage he possessed. "I am the head of the Pierce family now. My wealth is yours to spend as you please, and my power is more than enough to protect you. The truth is... I’ve been in love with you for a very long time. Can't you give me a chance? At least... don't reject me so coldly?"

KRRRRZZZZT—

A sharp burst of static hissed through the receiver, and the audio signal cut out entirely. The bug had gone dead.

Miles away in her bedroom, Ethan ripped the remaining earpiece off his ear and hurled it across the desk. He stood up abruptly, a dark, suffocating wave of rage rising from the depths of his chest.

Of all the times for that bloody device to break down... why now?