Chapter 1
Oakwood Manor. “Not good. Not good at all. Margaret Smith has committed suicide.” A shrill scream echoed throughout the sprawling mansion. The group gathered in the parlor bolted up the grand staircase, propelled by a mix of concern and dread. Eleanor Smith cast a distant glance toward a closed door on the second floor, then sauntered her way up the staircase with casual indifference. Inside the room, a crowd had already amassed, the space larger than most, yet somehow feeling cramped with heavy emotions. Eleanor took in the lavish surroundings—the ornate furniture, the pricey trinkets—evidence enough that the occupant was doted on while alive. A chill of irony washed over her. “What the hell happened here?” an angry voice thundered. Her gaze drifted over to a servant on the floor, prostrate and trembling. “Sir, when we called for Miss Margaret, we found her unresponsive. There was a note at her bedside, along with a bottle of sleeping pills.” A note. Sleeping pills. The room collectively inhaled, shock rippling through the air like a sudden chill. Eleanor blinked in surprise; Margaret Smith had really gone for broke this time. A striking man knelt beside the bed, his face weighed down by seriousness. Without a word, he lifted Margaret's lifeless body, determination etched across his handsome features. “Get her to the hospital.” As he strode past Eleanor, his piercing eyes locked onto hers, delivering a chilling ultimatum. “You better pray she’s still breathing.” He disappeared from the room, leaving Eleanor in a spiral of quiet chaos. She narrowed her eyes, a hint of amusement twitching at her lips, when a razor-sharp voice sliced through the air, brimming with accusation. “Eleanor, how could you drive your sister to this? How could you be so cruel?” Isabella Johnson, Margaret's mother and Eleanor's stepmother, stood there, emotional fury spilling over. “If she wants to die, what’s that got to do with me?” Eleanor replied coolly, her tone unyielding. “Heartless wretch. She’s your sister! How can you be so… venomous?” William Smith, her father, exploded with rage, baring his teeth as he hurled insults. Eleanor was used to this by now. A smile flickered across her lips, icy and devoid of warmth, as she chose silence. Suddenly, her gaze landed on an elderly man leaning heavily on his cane. Rolling her eyes, she drawled, “What now? Grandfather wants to take another swing at me?” William’s disdain for her was palpable, and she soaked it up, recognizing the depth of his loathing. “How could the Smith family produce such an ungrateful brat? You have no place in our lineage,” he shot back, his eyes narrowed. Eleanor merely laughed, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Does it look like I care? If you’ve got the guts, kick me out.” William couldn’t hide his rage, his voice trembling with indignation. “You’re infuriating. If anything happens to your sister—” “What? Should I die along with her?” Eleanor shot back, a sneer on her lips. She didn't believe for a second that Margaret had truly gone through with it. That girl was too wrapped up in her own vanity to take such a final step. Over the years, Margaret had perfected the art of manipulation; it was practically a public performance. “Do you think she’s some kind of queen?” Eleanor’s bitter laughter filled the room. William and the others looked at her, their expressions twisted with both anger and disgust. “I’m just as much a daughter of the Smith family; why do I always have to defer to Margaret?” Eleanor continued defiantly. Richard Smith, her brother, chimed in softly, “She is your sister.” William snapped back, “Why does that matter? Look at the wreckage you’ve left behind these past few years. All you’ve done is undermine your sister, cause chaos, and make a joke of family honor. You’re nothing but a spoiled fool. What have you contributed to the Smith family?” Eleanor’s gaze darkened, shadows dancing in her eyes, yet her lips curved upward, exuding a cold demeanor. How could she forget? Margaret Smith was hailed as the “prodigy of Whitehaven,” a shining star that added luster to the family name. William glared and continued, “Your engagement to the Williams has to be called off. No one wants a tarnished reputation like yours tarnishing their name.” Eleanor returned with a frosty, rebellious tone. “What if I don’t? What if I refuse?” “Bang.” William slammed his cane down with a finality that shook the room, his face twisted with rage. “Like it or not, you will!” With that, he stormed out, leading the charge to the hospital. Eleanor stood there, a wave of calm washing over her. She’d lost track of how many times she’d witnessed this kind of spectacle. In the eyes of the Smith family, Margaret was their golden child, while Eleanor was painted as the family disaster. There was no greater sadness than the absence of feeling—no pain, no solitude. The entire Smith clan had fallen prey to Margaret’s mediocre charade. Eleanor saw them all for the fools they were, hungry for gain and blind to the truth. But then there was Robert Williams— How could such a smart and calculating man fall prey to someone as transparently dramatic as Margaret?
Chapter 2
It was hard to fathom how he had become the heir to the Williams family legacy. St. Gregory’s Hospital. By the time Eleanor Smith arrived, her sister Margaret had already been rushed through gastric lavage and into a private room. As she stood outside the door, Eleanor overheard the anxious murmurings within. "Doctor, how is my daughter? Is she in danger?" Isabella Johnson's voice trembled with urgency. "Yes, yes, what about my granddaughter?" William Smith pressed, his concern palpable. "She’s been fragile since childhood, has a weak heart—will this leave any lasting damage?" The attending physician paused for a moment, slight confusion clouding his features at the mention of the heart condition. He quickly reassured them, "Don’t worry; you got her here in time. She’s stable now and will wake up soon. Just keep her diet light for a couple of days, and she'll be able to go home." A collective sigh of relief rippled through the family. Eleanor stifled a cold laugh at their naiveté. Once the doctor left, Isabella turned and spotted Eleanor standing at the doorway. Her expression darkened, her eyes narrowed, brimming with hostility. “What do you want? Coming here to finish what you started with your sister?” Eleanor shot her a disdainful glance, her thoughts echoing back the sentiment of "like mother, like daughter." As if she had the time to waste on this mess. She didn’t need to lift a finger; Margaret was doing a fine job of ruining her own story. “Little monster! What are you doing here? Get out and don’t dirty your sister’s room!” Richard Smith spat, sneering. Eleanor raised an eyebrow, crossed her arms, and narrowed her frosty brown eyes, enjoying the disappointment that her presence brought. After all, it felt almost obligatory to deliver a stinging retort in response to their crude insults. With an ironic smile, she mused, "What am I here for? Why, I'm just here to check if your precious daughter has finally kicked the bucket.” At that moment, a low, cold voice cut through the tension. “Eleanor.” Eleanor turned lazily, her gaze landing on the figure framed in the doorway—Robert Williams, dressed impeccably in tailored designer wear, stood beside Margaret's bed, embodying the gallant protector. Oh, but he was never anything less. Fate had bestowed upon him not only privilege but also a strikingly handsome face—that sharp jawline, high cheekbones, and those alluring dark eyes that glimmered with an unspoken elegance. It was no surprise Margaret had fallen for him. With long strides, Robert crossed over to Eleanor and grasped her wrist, leading her away from the room with steady determination. She yanked her arm free, and as realization dawned, Robert's voice cut icy through the air. “Eleanor, she's your sister.” At that, Eleanor lifted her head slowly, locking eyes with him. This was the line she'd heard too many times to count. She scoffed, “Sister?” Robert’s brow furrowed, caught off guard by the chilling intensity radiating from her eyes. Her exquisite features hardened into an expression of icy resistance, like a snow lotus blooming in a frigid landscape, stunning yet formidable. He had always known Eleanor was beautiful, perhaps even more so than Margaret, but her arrogance was a barrier they couldn’t cross. "Eleanor," he pressed, a hint of softness creeping into his voice. "Margaret and I are in love. I—" She cut him off, an expression of indifference plastered on her face. “Let’s skip the sob story. I couldn’t care less about your love drama.” Robert watched her, shocked. He had always considered Eleanor to be more than a mere sibling to him—she was like family. His loyalty had always rested with Margaret. “Eleanor, I—” Before he could finish, she interjected again, “If you want me to agree to this engagement annulment, then have Margaret kneel and apologize to me. Only then will I consider letting you both live your scandalous little romance.” The moment those words left her lips, she caught the shift in Robert's expression—his chiseled face darkening, a storm brewing behind his striking eyes. He raised his voice, urgency palpable. “Eleanor, you’re the one in the wrong. Not Margaret. You refuse to see that! And now you want her to beg for your forgiveness? This is insane.” She shrugged, her nonchalance infuriating. “She’s the one playing the victim. Seems a bit brazen to me, considering how often she nearly threw her life away.” “Even now, in her last letter, she asked us not to blame you,” Robert continued, frustration apparent. “And you’re just going to ignore that? Completely shameless.” Eleanor smirked, immunity to his words alive and well. “What, can’t manage to get it through your thick skull? Not my problem if she wants to play martyr.” Robert clenched his jaw, anger boiling within yet finding no suitable outlet; it felt like punching a pillow. “When did you turn into such a cold-hearted person?”
Chapter 3
Jian Lu smiled faintly, but she didn’t answer him. Instead, she turned and headed toward the elevator. Just a few steps away, she paused, her heel lightly pivoting as she lazily remarked, “Oh, and what I said before still stands.” With that, she stepped onto the elevator without a backward glance. Qin Han furrowed his brow, standing there, watching her vanish from sight. At that moment, in the garden behind the First Hospital, under the sprawling branches of a great banyan tree, sat an elderly man with wispy white hair and a handsome, refined young man beside him. “Lu Shangyu, you’re twenty-eight now and still single. I’m beginning to feel ashamed for you,” the old man said, his voice booming with authority. The man remained composed, leaning back against the stone bench. His long legs crossed elegantly, hands resting on his knees. He exuded an air of aristocracy and grace. With a striking face—handsomely sculpted like a work of art—his features were flawless: almond-shaped eyes, a straight nose, and just the right hint of a smile around thin lips that spoke both of charm and mystery. “Is there something you’re not telling me?” the old man pressed gently. Having introduced countless eligible young women to him, none had piqued his interest. He couldn't help but wonder: Could it be... there was a problem with his health? Hearing the implications, the younger man's dark eyes narrowed, brows furrowing slightly, revealing a hint of helplessness. “Grandfather, you look quite strong to me. Since everything's fine, I'm going to take my leave,” he replied, his voice deep and rich. With that, he rose. The old man huffed, “You little rascal. Are you planning to die alone?” Straightening his slightly wrinkled suit—a hallmark of his perfectionism—he held himself dismissively. “Grandfather, I’m absolutely considering that.” The old man spluttered silently, the air caught in his chest. “All right, Grandfather, I have matters at my company to attend to. Bai Qian will take you home.” Facing his grandfather, who often feigned illness to arrange matchmaking, Lu Shangyu couldn't hide his exasperation. “Bai Qian, take Grandfather back to the old house.” “Yes, boss,” came the calm response from Bai Qian, who had been quietly waiting nearby. --- After leaving the hospital, Jian Lu didn’t drive away. Instead, she wandered along the tree-lined path surrounding the hospital, not entirely sure where she was headed. Earlier that day, she had received a phone call from Qin Han, summoning her to the Jian family house under the pretense of discussing the annulment of their engagement. As long as she didn’t relent, Qin Han and Jian Xinyao would remain the rotten couple—a cheating boyfriend and his side piece. Qin Han cherished his fragile girlfriend as if she were something precious, and she knew he would try everything to persuade her to call off the engagement. But Jian Lu was resolute; the simple truths of life couldn’t be bargained over wine and dinner. Then came Jian Xinyao's unfortunate overdose situation—her so-called sacrifice for Jian Lu and Qin Han only served to lay the blame squarely on Jian Lu’s shoulders, prompting the Jian family to pressure her into breaking the engagement. The Jian family gave Jian Xinyao everything, so how could they bear to let her suffer? In a twisted sense, Jian Xinyao's actions were surprisingly clever. Throughout their lives, whether at home or school, Jian Xinyao was the delicate, understanding elder sister, while Jian Lu was the venomous younger sister, the one everyone was cautious of. But the greatest pain had been dealt by those she once held in highest regard—her father and grandfather. From misunderstanding to disappointment, then to indifference. At twenty-four, she hadn’t felt real familial warmth for two decades, only an endless feeling of detachment. This taught her one crucial lesson: never overestimate human nature. As she strolled, Jian Lu stopped by a lake, staring into the depths. It was like looking into her own soul—dark, deep, and completely devoid of light. Her once passionate heart had turned to ice. --- A luxury car approached from behind. The young man inside lounged casually against the window frame, chin resting on a fist as he observed the rows of poplar trees flashing by. As the car rolled to a stop two hundred feet away, he spotted a slender silhouette. Instinctively, he barked, “Stop the car.” The driver, Su Mu, slammed on the brakes, puzzled. “Boss, what’s up?” The only response was Lu Shangyu stepping out, walking toward the shore. Su Mu scratched his head. Was the boss going to be the hero in this story? Meanwhile, Jian Lu remained lost in her thoughts, unaware of the approach. “Miss, can we talk?” a stranger’s voice rang out. Startled, she spun around, but her foot stumbled into a small hole, and she lost her balance, tipping toward the lake. With nothing to grab onto, her eyes widened in acceptance as she fell. “Ah!” “Watch out!” Su Mu, who had just exited the car, gasped, watching in horror as Lu Shangyu raced forward. In a flash, he grasped Jian Lu’s outstretched hand, pulling her back just in time. Relief washed over him as they both steadied themselves. Jian Lu’s nose was filled with a fresh, clean scent. She was momentarily stunned, her heart pounding in her ears, feeling the warmth of his hand still gripping her waist. “Sir, you can let go now,” Jian Lu said, her voice muffled against his chest. Realizing what he was doing, Lu Shangyu released her, still entranced by her fragrance. When Jian Lu looked up, surprise registered on her features. This man was incredibly handsome, striking an immediate interest in her. Under dark brows, captivating almond-shaped eyes shone brightly. His features were undeniably stunning—high cheekbones, a defined jawline, dressed in an impeccably tailored gray suit. His icy demeanor contrasted sharply with the gentlemanly aura he exuded. Compared to him, Qin Han seemed distinctly inferior. How had she not known of his existence in Bai City? “Why are you contemplating such a risky way out?” Lu Shangyu asked, noticing her dazed expression. She may have been delicate, but there was undeniable strength in her beauty. “Uh,” Jian Lu blinked, his assumption striking her. “Sir, you’re mistaken. I’m not suicidal. If I were, I wouldn’t pick a method that involves drowning. That sounds painful.” Lu Shangyu was taken aback. Su Mu, catching up, couldn’t believe his ears: she was weighing her options for a more palatable death? “Which method would you choose, then?” Lu Shangyu teased lightly. “I haven’t decided,” she replied honestly. There were plenty of things she still wanted to accomplish. If she did go through with it, nobody would mourn her—she wasn’t Jian Xinyao. He didn’t miss the flash of disappointment and self-mockery that flickered across her face. “Alright, but don’t stand on the edge like that again,” he said in a low, smooth voice, the concern threading through them. Jian Lu’s heart, long frozen, felt the slightest warmth as she looked at him in genuine surprise. This was the kind of care she had never expected from a complete stranger. “Thanks for saving me. I could’ve fallen,” she said softly, her gratitude genuine, if somewhat hesitant. “Not a problem. It was my sudden appearance that startled you, after all.” His voice was cool but the edge of softness lingered. Su Mu stood off to the side, completely stunned. When did his boss ever sound so gentle? “Do you need a ride home?” Lu Shangyu asked. “No, it’s fine. I parked at the hospital,” she replied, shaking her head. He studied her features, a shadow of melancholy crossing his face before he smiled lightly. “All right then. Stay safe. I have to go.” “Okay, then,” she said, a hint of fluster creeping into her voice. --- Jian Lu stood watching the sleek black Maybach pull away. It was a limited edition vehicle, and only the wealthy could afford to drive such a luxury. After a moment to collect herself, she turned and walked back, her thoughts swirling in a tumult of confusion and intrigue.
Chapter 4
John felt a confused flutter in his chest as he made his way back to the office. It was unusual for his boss, typically the aloof and unsocial type, to get involved in anyone else's business. Something was off—was it possible that the notoriously detached John Brown was about to fall head over heels? He recalled the stunning woman from earlier. She was undeniably beautiful, almost too beautiful. But this whole ‘love at first sight’ thing often led to trouble, especially for a man like John, who’d prided himself on his careful detachment over the years. Could he be on the verge of uncovering a monumental secret? With trepidation, he glanced over at the imposing figure of John Brown, who radiated an icy aura. “Boss, I swear, today’s little incident is just between us,” he said, treading carefully. John Brown squinted at him, his sharp gaze scrutinizing. “Work’s been too easy lately,” he replied coldly. A chill crawled down John’s spine. He quickly shook his head. “Not at all.” Keeping quiet about what he knew was part of survival—an unspoken agreement forged during their years together. --- Meanwhile, Eleanor drove straight to her apartment, skipping the office altogether. After a refreshing shower, she felt the dull ache in her head intensify, prompting her to call it a night early. When she finally stirred, darkness enveloped her room. She fumbled around the bedside table, finally locating her phone tucked under her pillow. The time read seven-thirty. She noticed a text from earlier in the afternoon, sent from a number that was second nature to her by now. Instead of diving into the message, she tossed her phone aside and headed to the kitchen. She was hungry. Her nap had eased the headache somewhat. She rummaged through the fridge, finding a bag of toast that was teetering on the edge of expiration, and paired it with a bottle of milk. She settled on the couch, legs crossed, devouring her makeshift dinner. Being alone meant she could eat however she wanted. Half-heartedly chewing on a piece of toast, she finally grabbed her phone again, casually clicking open the message. A quick glance was all it took before she tossed it away, deleting the notification with a careless flick of her wrist. After cleaning up, she stepped out the door. --- Thirty minutes later, Eleanor found herself again at St. Gregory's Hospital. But instead of heading inside, she sought refuge in a secluded corner of the park out front. Taking a seat, she pulled out her phone and tapped idly at the screen. Ten minutes passed, and then her eyes landed on a striking figure emerging from the shadows—a pale, delicate beauty draped in a hospital gown, exuding an almost fragile allure that made it hard to believe she could wield the venomous demeanor she did. Margaret was a force to be reckoned with, no wonder Robert had fallen for her charms. With narrowed eyes and a smirk, Eleanor’s voice dripped with icy confidence. “So, are you here to beg for mercy?” Margaret stood there, a blend of jealousy and disdain etched across her features. "What makes you think you can demand anything from me?" she shot back, her voice laced with venom. Eleanor leaned back, hands shoved deep into her pockets, studying Margaret like a predator eyeing its prey. It was only in moments like these, cloaked in shadows and intimidation, that Margaret dared to let her real self shine through—the one filled with spite and envy. "Oh? What’s the matter? You’re not interested in your precious Samuel anymore?" Eleanor sneered, relishing the tension in the air. Margaret hesitated, the memory of Robert's words from earlier flashing through her mind. Then she regained her composure, a triumphant grin spreading across her face. “Samuel hasn’t made a decision yet.” Eleanor chuckled, the sound cool and dismissive. “Seems you don’t feel as deeply for him as you think, if you’re not willing to make sacrifices.” “Eleanor, you don’t understand a thing about me,” Margaret shot back, her expression twisted in frustration. “Samuel genuinely cares for me.” The scorn on Margaret’s face deepened, her words laced with acidic pride. “You see, Samuel and I are in love, and he doesn’t give a damn about you. So what if you met him first? He’ll still fall for me, leaving you with nothing.” “I warned you before,” she hissed, taking a step closer. “Everything you hold dear, I’m taking. You can’t compete with me; you’ll forever be stuck in my shadow. The Smith Family is mine and mine alone.” Eleanor remained unfazed, observing the fury and bitterness radiating from Margaret. A sardonic smile found its way to her lips. “Is that so? I guess we’ll see.” Margaret’s very presence repulsed Eleanor, who exuded a calm that seemed to irk her more than anything. But one thing was certain: Eleanor had never backed down, and that fact gnawed at Margaret’s insides. “How do you not get it, my dear sister? You’re never going to win. Everyone knows your dirty little secret—that you’re a murderer, driven mad over a man, destroying your own sister in the process.” Margaret flashed a chilling smile, almost smug, as she watched Eleanor’s eyes narrow in fury. “Oh really?” Eleanor replied, her voice dropping to a frigid whisper. “Is that so?”
Chapter 5
“Then you didn’t die, so maybe I owe that little accusation a bit of an apology.” Margaret Smith felt her face freeze at Eleanor’s words. “What do you want?” she asked, her voice barely steady. Without waiting for a response, Eleanor launched a swift kick aimed straight at her. “Agh!” “Thud.” A scream rang out, followed by the sound of something—or someone—hitting the ground hard. Margaret barely had time to process what was happening before she found herself crashing sideways. Pain shot through her shoulder as she hit the ground, the sound of cracking bone echoing in her ears. As the world spun, a sharp tug on her hair yanked her eyes upward. Eleanor was crouching over her, her grip unforgiving in Margaret’s dark hair. Margaret’s pallor darkened; the pain left her face contorted, a flicker of fear dancing in her eyes. “If you’re so hell-bent on making me guilty of this little charade, I really ought to do something to prove my good sister’s malice wrong.” Eleanor’s strikingly cold features twisted into a sneer. Her words pierced through Margaret like barbed wire, sending a shiver down her spine. “You wouldn’t dare,” Margaret managed, fighting through the agony to glare daggers at her sister. Eleanor's eyes sparkled with amusement, and a smirk crept onto her lips. “Oh, I wouldn’t? I’ve been putting up with you for far too long.” “Ah. It hurts.” Margaret gasped as Eleanor twisted her grip tighter, yanking her up from the ground with an effortless motion. The pain in Margaret’s scalp flared, rivaling the agony in her shoulder, as if Eleanor were peeling her skin back. Without hesitation, Eleanor dragged her toward the nearby pond. In that moment, Eleanor felt an odd gratitude toward the architects of St. Gregory’s Hospital for creating this unforgiving little water feature. She glanced down at Margaret, who was a mess of pain and fear, her expression a mix of despair and dread. Not a hint of sympathy crossed Eleanor’s face, just an ice-cold disdain. “Eleanor, if you throw me in, Robert will never forgive you…” Before Margaret could finish her desperate warning, Eleanor simply flicked her wrist, tossing her sister into the murky water as if she were nothing more than trash. Eleanor dusted off her hands and leaned against a nearby tree, arms crossed, watching the dark silhouette struggling in the pond. “Help… Help…” Eleanor picked this secluded spot intentionally; she knew no one would be around. Everyone assumed Margaret couldn’t swim, but she was more capable than anyone cared to think. Meanwhile, two silhouettes watched from the second floor, shadows merging with the dim light. Three minutes later, sharp footsteps broke the night’s stillness. Eleanor subtly shifted her position, staying out of sight. Moments later, Robert Williams and Arthur Jackson came into view, Robert’s expression glacial as he scanned the area. “Where’s Margaret?” He had just finished a meeting and couldn’t find her in her hospital room. Seeing a text from Eleanor prompted him to rush over. Eleanor shot him a look that articulated her irritation. Did he not hear Margaret’s panic-laden cries? Without answering him, she turned slightly to the dark expanse of the pond. Following her gaze, both men squinted into the shadows, seeing nothing but darkness. “Robert, I think I heard Margaret’s voice from the pond,” Arthur said, eyes wide with realization. Robert froze, stepping forward cautiously. Arthur fished out his phone, switching on the flashlight, and there it was—Margaret struggling in the middle of the pond. “Margaret, help me… Margaret…” Robert’s blood ran cold as he recognized the voice—she really was in trouble. “Margaret, don’t worry! I’m coming!” he called out, shedding his clothes in a flash and diving into the murky water without hesitation. Eleanor stifled a click of her tongue, arms crossed, observing the chaos unfold with detached amusement. Soon, Robert’s assistant rushed back with several nurses and security personnel. In just two minutes, they worked in unison to haul the two figures from the water. Nurses hurried to wrap towels around them, knowing how critical it was to prevent hypothermia in the autumn chill. “Margaret, Margaret, wake up! Don’t scare me!” Robert knelt beside her, panic etched into every feature. “Mr. Williams, we should take Miss Smith back to her room for a check-up,” one of the nurses advised urgently, concerned about the scandal brewing from this incident at their clinic. “Cough, cough…” At last, Margaret stirred, her eyelids fluttering open just a crack as she breathlessly murmured, “Margaret, don’t… don’t blame Eleanor. She’s not at fault.” With that, her gaze fluttered to Eleanor, and then she was gone again, lost to unconsciousness. Eleanor narrowed her eyes, fully indifferent, a smirk of satisfaction playing on her lips. Genius move—Margaret knew how to play her cards. Only now did they notice a figure in the shadows, seamlessly blending with the night. Robert glared at Eleanor, his bloodshot gaze icy. “I need to talk to you. After this.” Eleanor merely shrugged, nonchalant, scratching her nose, her demeanor unreceptive. With urgency, Robert scooped Margaret into his arms and rushed down the hall toward her room, worry clawing at him every step of the way.
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