Chapter 1
Ravenhurst, where the flowers were blooming bright in May, was in full bloom—an ideal time for midday naps. **Knock, knock.** Isabella Hawthorne stirred from her slumber, her head resting heavily on the desk. As her eyes fluttered open, she found herself staring up at a sharply defined, slightly aloof face. Edward Bennett, the youngest professor at Ravenhurst University, was just thirty-two. Rumor had it that he had been lured back by President Albert Kingston for a high-paying gig. He taught only one class a week and had held the position for just a year. In the vast, almost empty lecture hall, only Isabella and Edward remained. The other students had long since filtered out, clearly having sensed that class was over. With a start, Isabella straightened in her seat, wiping the corner of her mouth with the back of her hand as she straightened her appearance. “Professor Bennett, I was up late working on my paper last night. I didn’t get enough sleep, so—” She flashed him a smile, a warm grin that made her look like the girl-next-door. Edward simply regarded her with an impassive look before responding coolly, “Come to my office.” With that, he picked up his textbook and strode out of the classroom. A sigh escaped Isabella as she reluctantly followed him, sticking to a “safe” distance, her heart racing. Edward was new on campus but had quickly become a sensation. The female students idolized him, while the guys saw him as a model for their future self. He drove a sleek Audi A8 worth over a hundred grand, exuding an air of sophistication and an undeniable charm that no college girl could resist. Though Isabella mused to herself that if he would just take off those glasses, he’d be even more striking. As they made their way down the corridor, countless female classmates flocked to him, calling out with cheerful hellos. He only responded with a curt nod, his demeanor remaining distant and unfazed. Isabella trailed behind, careful to stay out of the spotlight, feeling like a ghost at an otherwise vibrant gathering. Finally, they reached his office, which exuded a sense of authority befitting a visiting professor. “Close the door,” Edward commanded, setting down his textbook. Isabella hesitated before obeying. She closed the door but left the lock untouched, standing at attention as she anticipated his reprimand. She had taken three of his classes by now, and they rarely exchanged words. This time, however, being caught dozing off in his class felt far worse. Edward settled into his chair, deftly unbuttoning his cuffs. He motioned toward a nearby lounge chair with a fluid, elegant gesture. “Sit there.” Isabella frowned, confused. Wasn’t he supposed to be scolding her? Under the steady weight of his gaze, she decided to comply and took a seat. “Go ahead, sleep,” he said, his voice unexpectedly laced with something warm and intriguing. “Uh?” Isabella's eyes widened, her mouth forming a small ‘o’ in surprise. His gaze remained on her, his glasses reflecting the light, casting a fleeting shadow over his expression. “You said you didn’t sleep enough. So go ahead, sleep now.” Panic flooded Isabella. “You...you’re not going to make me write a reflection paper?” Typically, a scolding would precede any punishment, like writing a paper on what she had done wrong. She had been through that routine often enough. Edward just looked at her, those deep-set eyes sizing her up. “Want to write? Fine, a thousand words will do.” He pulled out a blank sheet of paper, about to hand it to her. “No, no! I want to sleep!” Isabella blurted out, waving her hands in front of her nervously. Edward studied her for a moment more before setting the paper down. He picked up a book, flipping it open and engrossing himself in its pages, exuding calm elegance. Relieved, Isabella relaxed into the lounge chair, feeling drowsiness wash over her. From time to time, she peeked at him, half expecting him to have some sort of ulterior motive. But his focus remained fixed on his book, almost entirely oblivious to her presence—clearly uninterested in the little flower that had dozed off beside him. But who could blame him? With his impressive credentials, it was hard to imagine he’d fancy anyone like her—unless he had peculiar tastes. As she let herself drift further into sleep, exhaustion quickly claimed her. After a few long nights spent cramming for high school exams and tutoring for some extra cash, she was utterly spent. Edward placed his book down silently, removing his glasses and revealing eyes that sparked with a barely concealed intensity... He watched her sleep, his gaze tracing the delicate features of her resting face as if he were committing every detail to memory.
Chapter 2
Isabella Hawthorne felt a slight itch on her lips, like something had brushed against them. Frowning, she lifted her hand and slapped it against her skin—ouch! She’d thought a mosquito had bitten her, but when she opened her eyes, the reality of her surroundings set in. Edward Bennett was nowhere to be found. He had only been in the office for a little over an hour during the hectic school day, and now it was just her, alone in the warmth of a cozy room, the heating system still humming softly behind her. Lying there comfortably, she remembered she needed to head back to Hawthorne Manor later. The thought of changing into something more presentable for the evening made her sit up, groaning softly as she prepared to shuffle back to the Fairfield Dormitories. The dorm was a shared space with three other girls, a chaotic mess that was best described as a post-apocalyptic scene. “Where’ve you been?” Eleanor Wainwright asked, her fingers flying over the keyboard as Isabella walked in. “Just napped at the Central Library,” Isabella replied, taking a sip of her water to buy time. She couldn’t exactly admit she had spent all afternoon napping in Professor Bennett's office. Eleanor would have a field day with that information. “I thought Professor Bennett had you under his spell,” Eleanor teased with a mischievous grin. Isabella rolled her eyes, unable to suppress a small laugh. “And you? You didn’t even bother to wake me after class. That’s cold.” Eleanor closed her laptop, adopting a grave expression. “What do you want me to do? He was watching you like a hawk. You’re just unlucky.” “Enough with the chatter. Hand over the cash,” Isabella said, extending her palm, her delicate fingers on show like an offering. “For the test answers, I got three grand. We split it—” Eleanor handed Isabella her share. “Here you go, fifteen hundred.” “Next time there’s easy money, remember to call me,” Isabella said, stashing the cash without counting it. She and Eleanor had been hustling together since freshman year, always clear about the splitting. “Seriously, Isabella, with your family fortune, how are you even short on cash?” Felicity Freeman wondered aloud. It had been four years of Isabella juggling tutoring gigs, selling study notes, and even writing essays to make ends meet. Isn’t her family loaded? “Felicity, shut it,” Eleanor snapped, shooting Isabella a glance. Isabella smiled thinly, not bothering to explain further. She changed out of her dorm attire, waved goodbye to the girls, and headed out. The Hawthorne family wasn’t exactly struggling financially, but as a foster daughter, she wasn’t considered one of their own. Once she graduated, she was destined to be a pawn in some strategic engagement, a piece on a chessboard designed for family prestige. Money? It wasn’t something they handed to her without conditions; she’d have to scrape through on her own. Hailing a cab, Isabella provided her destination and then pulled out her phone to check her savings—yet another grim reminder of her financial woes. Sighing, she tucked her phone away, wishing she could ignore the uncomfortable truth. As the cab passed Silverlake Junction, an old house flashed by the window, and she couldn’t help but look—no turning back now. An hour later, she arrived at Hawthorne Manor. Stepping out of the cab, Isabella straightened her clothes and plastered on a cheerful smile, ringing the doorbell—she didn’t have a key to this place. “Miss Hawthorne, your parents are waiting for you,” Roland Fairchild said coolly when he opened the door. Nodding, Isabella entered with a warm smile. The living room was unusually packed; her father, William Hawthorne, and her mother, Beatrice Fletcher, were both present. Clearly, tonight’s guests were well-connected. “I’m back, sorry I got caught in traffic,” Isabella said quickly, hoping to dodge any family drama. Beatrice’s tone was as sharp as ever. “The guests tonight are your sister’s fiancé. Don’t embarrass us.” “Of course.” Isabella nodded obediently, accepting the teacup Roland handed her and offering it to Beatrice. Beatrice took a sip, clearing her throat. “What are you wearing? What brand is that? Get upstairs and change into something appropriate, now.”
Chapter 3
Isabella Hawthorne climbed the stairs back to her room, slipping into a fashionable maxi dress that hugged her figure just right. She reached for the straightener, smoothing her tousled hair into sleek, shiny locks. With her innocent, girl-next-door vibe, she looked entirely unassuming—almost like the delicate petals accentuating a bright bouquet. Once satisfied with her appearance, Isabella gave herself a little smile in the mirror before stepping out—only to find her sister Grace’s door wide open. “Isabella, come in!” Grace called from her vanity, where she sat perched, clad in a flirty mini dress that accentuated her long, pale legs, and a sheer top that showcased her curves in all the right ways. Isabella stepped inside, stifling the frown that threatened to surface as she forced a smile at her sister. “You look amazing today,” she said, hoping to sugarcoat the truth. Grace beamed at the compliment, clearly fishing for approval. “How do you think I look?” she asked, adjusting her posture to highlight her assets. Isabella didn’t hold back. “Gorgeous. Even more than usual,” she replied carefully. Grace’s face lit up with delight as she reached over to a jeweled box. “Help me put this on,” she said, handing Isabella a necklace twinkling with ninety-nine diamonds. The weight of it felt heavy in Isabella’s hands as she carefully draped it around Grace’s neck. “It’s from him,” Grace murmured, her gaze locked on her reflection, reveling in a glow that seemed to radiate with self-satisfaction and intellect. “He?” Isabella caught the implication; it had to be Grace’s fiancé. Truth was, she had yet to meet the guy. When Grace got engaged, their family didn’t have her tagging along. Honestly, that was just how she preferred it. Socializing wasn’t her scene—her only foray into the social circuit was a forced outing with William Hawthorne last year. After that, her fate was sealed with a betrothal to Richard Stewart. A return to that glamorous world? No thanks. As Grace adorned her fingers with two rings, she turned to scrutinize Isabella’s bare hands. “Look at you—no jewelry at all. Did Richard skip giving you gifts too?” Isabella shrugged with honesty, “Nope.” Grace tilted her sister’s chin, inspecting her like a piece of merchandise. “Richard seems to favor two kinds of girls: sweet and innocent or wild and carefree. You might not have the wild part down, but you’ve got the sweet look. Too bad you can’t compete with the social butterflies around him.” “I’ll try harder next time,” Isabella said in a measured tone, though she didn’t really care. No gifts from Richard would suit her just fine; accepting one would mean she'd have to pay him back later. Just then, Grace's phone blared to life on the vanity. Grace snatched it up, eyes lighting up when she saw the caller. “You’re here? Great, I’m coming down now,” she sang, her voice softening as she strode toward the door. Isabella followed quietly, catching sight of her sister hanging up as they descended the stairs. At that moment, Roland Fairchild entered through the front door—an elegant, tall figure in a tailored suit radiating confidence and charm. Their eyes met, and Isabella felt an electric charge in the air—her mind racing with unexpected thoughts. He looked even more striking without his glasses.
Chapter 4
Edward Bennett, president of Bennett Corporation and Ravenhurst's wealthiest citizen, was a name that commanded attention. The once-quiet town of Ravenhurst, known in its earlier days as Qingcheng, had been irrevocably changed by his presence. Streets bore his name, and his reputation loomed large, almost mythic in its proportions. Isabella Hawthorne, a university professor, had heard of him but never connected the dots. To her, the wealthy mogul and the intellectual educator were two separate worlds. She had never thought the celebrated Edward Bennett could also be the face behind the corporation that held the town in its palms. But now, in the midst of a bustling dinner party, she saw them collide right in front of her. There he was—the financial titan, the man the whole town knew, casually mingling with her family as if he were just another guest. She squinted at the well-dressed figure, half-expecting him to lose his composure, but he seemed perfectly at ease, holding a glass of cabernet while Grace, her sister, giggled beside him, her arm draped around his with a familiarity that made Isabella’s stomach twist. “Edward, come on in!” Grace beamed, leaning close to him, her laughter echoing through the lavish dining room. It felt absurdly familial, almost as if Edward were part of the family rather than just a guest. William Hawthorne and Beatrice Fletcher played their parts perfectly, welcoming him like a son-in-law, their warmth genuine. Meanwhile, Roland Fairchild scurried around the kitchen, plating exquisite dishes for the illustrious guest. Isabella, however, hung back, observing from the sidelines. She was content to be invisible, the quiet sister in the corner. Her mind roamed elsewhere—until she felt a piercing gaze resting on her. She looked up to find Edward's eyes fixed on her, his once-normal expression now showing depths she hadn’t noticed before. It was as if he held a tempest behind those calm blue pools, ready to unleash it at any moment. Startled, she quickly averted her gaze, her heart racing. "Who’s this?" Edward's voice broke through her contemplation, directing his question to Grace. "This is my sister, Isabella," Grace replied, her smile wide and teasing. "Isabella, don’t be shy. Come over." Isabella mustered enough confidence to take a step forward, lowering her gaze to avoid his intense scrutiny. “Mr. Bennett, hello,” she managed, her voice soft. He raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching into a slight smile. It was like a flash of warmth in an otherwise stern demeanor. She carefully refrained from calling him "Professor" despite her curiosity about his unexpected academic role. Some things were better left unexamined, she figured. All she wanted was to steer clear of complications. The dinner table was laden with an array of dishes, the wine flowed freely, and laughter filled the air. Edward and Grace were deep in conversation, while William and Beatrice chimed in with comments that seemed far more engaging than Isabella felt capable of contributing to. She focused on her plate, shoveling food into her mouth while keeping her thoughts to herself. For one, the topics they discussed flew right over her head. For another, she was fine with being mute; it eliminated the risk of forced politeness. But trouble had a way of finding her. Just as she settled into her silence, Edward's gaze landed on her again, for the fifth time that evening. Grace, oblivious, nudged her teasingly, "Isabella, weren't you just complaining about stomach pains the other day? You'd better watch how much you eat, or you might need to pop some antacids later." Caught off guard, Isabella set down her fork. She reached for the napkin Roland had provided and dabbed her lips, considering her escape. “I’m full,” she said, attempting to sound casual. “I think I’ll head upstairs. You all enjoy yourselves.” The word "upstairs" sent a ripple of amusement through Grace, who laughed brightly at the remark. "You’re such a good girl, Isabella. Roland, bring her some fruit up when you get a chance, will you?” As Isabella walked away, an odd feeling lingered in the back of her mind—a mix of curiosity and the faintest hint of dread intertwined with the possibility of unexpected encounters in the hallways of her family home.
Chapter 5
Upstairs, Isabella let her gaze drift over the rim of her wine glass, toying with it as she turned to Grace. “Why wasn’t she at our engagement party?” “She had stuff to deal with at school, and I didn’t want her running around like a headless chicken.” Grace took a bite of her salad, a teasing smile playing on her lips as she continued, “You couldn’t stop staring at her, could you? My sister is pretty hard to resist, isn’t she?” “I’ve always had a soft spot for anyone with ‘Qing’ in their name.” Isabella set her glass down, a glint of mischief in her eye. “Let’s bring her along to the dinner party next week.” “Sounds good to me.” Grace shrugged, casually tossing her utensils aside, her appetite suddenly escaping her. *** Next week marked the grand opening of Bennett Investments’ new building, and the celebratory gala promised to be an extravagant affair, drawing in big players from the business world. When Isabella received the invite, a wave of dread washed over her. She didn’t want to go. Finding excuses proved fruitless. Ever since Edward Bennett had swung by last time, Grace had been giving her the side-eye. With no option left, Isabella resigned herself to attending, but the dress was a whole other nightmare. The Hawthorne family had provided her with something utterly revealing. She cringed just thinking about it. She could splurge on a dress she actually liked, but God, she wouldn’t hear the end of it from her family if she did. After days of back-and-forth, teetering on the edge of indecision, she finally buckled down the night before the gala. “Fine, I’ll wear it,” she muttered resolutely to herself, “and I’ll just cover up with a shawl.” “Miss, someone is here to see you.” A voice broke through her thoughts, snapping her back to reality. “Okay,” Isabella replied, peering down the staircase, wondering who could be here for her. Standing at the door was a sharply dressed man in a black suit, white gloves crisply in place, presenting her with a package. He spoke in a formal tone, “This is a dress from our employer, for you.” “Our employer?” Isabella took the package, puzzled. Just as she opened her mouth to ask for clarity, the delivery man turned and left without a word. Richard Stewart? He was the only person who sprang to mind. After all, she knew he would also be attending the gala tonight—as a business partner, of course. Without further hesitation, Isabella hurried upstairs to her room, unwrapping the package. Inside lay a dress, exquisite yet elegantly simple. And the best part? It didn’t scream for attention. Isabella’s heart swelled with surprise. She decided to accept Richard Stewart’s gift—worst-case scenario, she’d just return it after the soirée, freshly cleaned. The dress fit like a glove, contoured perfectly to her shape, and as Isabella admired her reflection in the mirror, her surprise morphed into rapture. Just as she was losing herself in thoughts of how stunning she looked, Beatrice Fletcher knocked impatiently at her door. As the Bentley Continental roared down the streets toward Bennett’s gala, Isabella felt a mixture of excitement and apprehension swirling in her gut. “Wow, that dress is something else,” Grace remarked, catching sight of her. “You look so pure and fresh tonight.” “It’s a gift from Richard Stewart,” Isabella replied, a hint of pride in her voice. “Seems like he’s quite generous, doesn’t he?” Grace’s smile didn’t quite reach her eyes as she lifted the hem of the dress with playful mockery. Isabella’s heart raced. Was this dress really that expensive? Upon arrival, Isabella’s first task loomed: find her fiancé, Richard Stewart. The notorious playboy might be off captivating some other beautiful woman at the party. Edward Bennett had booked the entire hotel for the opening, which made finding Richard a daunting challenge. After what felt like forever, Isabella finally located him in a lavish room—the Regent Suite. She paused at the door, taking in the sight before her: Richard, sprawled on a sofa, locked in flirtatious conversation with a stunning woman. Leaning against the doorframe, Isabella observed the scene, her heart hardening as she took in their intimate banter.
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