Buried Secrets and Broken Trust

Chapter 1

“Piece of trash. I’ll haunt you from beyond the grave.”

Wilson screamed his final words as the last breath of air in the coffin evaporated into despair.

With a sinking heart, he shut his mouth.

Above him, muffled shouts echoed through the darkness: “Someone paid for your life. If you want answers, go to the Rowan family. Don't come looking for me.”

Desperately, he thrashed within his confines, pounding against the restraints that held him prisoner.

His breath grew shallower, each inhale a struggle.

Buried alive.

Of all the betrayals, this was the cruelest—his uncle, the very man who had flattened the graves of his father and brother, was the one who had sealed him in this hell.

Regret and bitterness gnawed at him. The man who had killed his brother still roamed free while his stepmother had vanished into thin air. To die like this? It felt so wasteful.

Then it hit him.

The coffin was empty. Where was his father’s body?

As his final breath escaped, darkness enveloped him, and the lack of oxygen clawed at his insides.

His body turned blue, fingers digging into the coffin's walls, leaving desperate scratches—a graphic plea for life.

In the depths of his mind, white and black began to swirl.

White was paradise, and black was hell, wasn’t it?

He mustered his last ounce of strength to reach out, fingertips grazing the vast expanse of light.

Suddenly, a familiar, cheerful voice broke through the void: “It moved! Evelyn, your husband is awake.”

Wilson blinked open his eyes to find a careworn yet familiar face, etched with worry and warmth.

His grandmother's silver hair was pinned back, her frailty draped in a pale blue shawl.

A jolt of shock surged through him.

Ice coursed through his veins.

This was Evelyn’s grandmother.

But wasn’t she dead?

She had passed away from a heart attack three years ago.

Just then, the door swung open…

A tall, handsome man in olive drab entered, his sharp features and striking presence commanding attention.

He wore a crisp white shirt, French cuffs buttoned tight, eyes deep and intense, radiating an energy that was both serious and capable.

“What’s wrong, Grandma?” he asked, concern shadowing his handsome face.

Wilson’s eyes widened in terror.

Evelyn.

The one who never loved him but married him because of a single remark from her grandmother.

His life story was little short of legendary.

At just fifteen, he had entered the knight academy, graduating two years early. As an elite sharpshooter, he shattered records that had never been touched.

On graduation day, he had once again set records, unmatched by anyone.

He was a hero that commanded respect and brought fear to enemies.

Now, he served as a squad leader in the Iron Wing Legion, a rank of major; though, that was the public face; there were undoubtedly darker secrets lurking within.

He was a god-like figure, and yet, he was also her nightmare.

As reality sunk in, Wilson shot upright, panic flooding his senses.

He could scarcely believe his eyes.

Behind his grandmother hung a massive photograph, bright red backdrop, where a smiling young bride stood next to the solemn man—Evelyn’s newlywed husband.

The image was unmistakable.

“Crack!”

Wilson’s head felt like it had gone blank in an instant.

His eyes dropped to the calendar on the wall. A stunning female figure in a green cheongsam held a pipa, the essence of nostalgia radiating from the image.

The date boldly printed read: June 16, 1993.

A chill rolled down his spine. 1993—that was three years ago!

Hadn't he just died?

He pinched himself hard.

“Ow.”

The sting resonated through him, a jolt of truth.

This was real. Wilson twisted his foot, which had been broken in his previous life and now moved effortlessly.

This was unbelievable.

He was reborn.

In an instant, memories raced through his mind—he had been struck by a car.

“Grandma, I’m alive!”

“Dear child, stop talking nonsense. You just scraped your skin—thank heavens Evelyn was quick enough to save you! Just a hurt arm, Dr. Edwards says you'll be fine in a few days.”

Evelyn saved him. Was that even possible?

His grandmother’s compassion and grace had been the best part of the Rowan family for him.

In his previous life, her pity had led him to marry Evelyn, marking the beginning of his torment.

At twelve, he was taken in by the Rowan family, receiving boundless love from his grandmother. Out of gratitude for her kindness, he married Evelyn, knowing full well she didn’t want him.

It was that heavy love from his grandmother that had shattered his own happiness.

In the end, Evelyn had never even touched him.

He stared at the wedding photo on the wall, then back at the poised, stern Evelyn; had they been married again? Would he be doomed to repeat this anguish?

No. He wouldn’t suffer the same fate again.

He remembered what his uncle had said before he died: Someone paid for your life. If you seek, go to the Rowan family. Don’t come looking for me.

And the unseen remains of his father—his heart twisted at the thought.

Chapter 2

The house wasn’t enough—her Uncle had taken her land, her family home. Now, he’d gone even further, leveling her father’s grave and her brother’s to make room for pig pens. For them to suffer in death, subjected to such degradation, felt like a wound that would never heal.

William Winston’s heart boiled at the thought of her loved ones subjected to such indignity, feeding the insatiable cruelty of those so-called relatives. They considered their numbers a shield, a weapon to bully her family relentlessly. The morality of these people had eroded, leaving only bitter self-interest.

This time, she decided, she would drag them all down to hell with her.

After all, she had already died once. What was there to fear?

Her grandmother noticed her staring into the distance and asked gently, “Are you worried about something, dear?”

William forced a tender smile, the kind that didn’t betray her turmoil. “Oh, Grandma, it’s nothing. You shouldn't strain yourself. Go rest, alright?”

Her grandmother chuckled softly, her spirit seeming to lift at the concern. “Make sure you take care of yourself. I’ll call you when dinner’s ready.”

“Sure thing, Grandma.”

Evelyn Rowan pushed her grandmother’s wheelchair, her gaze fixed straight ahead, avoiding William entirely.

He was, in every sense, a man untouched by warmth, indifferent to the world around him.

William’s thoughts were a jumbled mess. Was this really a second chance? Did fate have pity on him, offering a do-over?

Lost in that contemplation, a sharp voice cut through his thoughts—a voice that felt like ice. “Why didn’t you get out of the way? Marrying me doesn’t mean you throw your life away!”

He looked up to see Evelyn standing in the doorway, illuminated by the light pouring in from behind her. Her gaze was piercing, her presence commanding; she wore her crisp, white-collared shirt with effortless poise.

William couldn’t help but appreciate the beauty in front of him—the way she carried herself with the type of grace found only in someone destined for greatness.

“I was just...lost in thought. The car didn’t stop, did it?” He scrambled for an excuse, panic bubbling just below the surface.

“Didn’t stop, and had no plates. But I’ll find out who it was.”

Evelyn’s voice was frosty, her tone as chilling as the winter winds. “The driver looked familiar, though.”

Familiar. As in, the driver was from the house next door, the Rowan residence. If she remembered correctly, the driver’s name was Chen. The same driver her Uncle had mentioned, the one belonging to Isabella Rowan—there was no doubt.

Isabella. She was behind this.

Now it all made sense. In her previous life, Isabella had paid to set up her demise, which had led to her being buried alive, all orchestrated by the very hands that should have protected her.

Evelyn’s expression shifted, doubt flickering across her features. “You’re sure who it was?”

William hesitated, realizing that without solid proof, a reckless accusation would only stir trouble. His grandmother was ill; he couldn’t let her find out about this.

“Maybe I just imagined it. You’re alright, right?”

Evelyn’s left hand was wrapped in a bandage, blood staining the edges slightly. He recalled how she had yanked him down just in time, both tumbling to the ground, her hand scraped in the process.

“It’s nothing,” she said casually.

Silence stretched between them until Evelyn finally broke it. “If Grandma passes, we’ll get a divorce. Nobody will know; it won’t affect your future.”

A chill coursed through William at her words, a wave of panic in his chest. She was still so calculating, always thinking ahead.

In their previous life, she had been just as cold, promising to keep her distance, never to touch him. After Grandma died, they would part ways, leading lives completely separate from one another.

Evelyn agreed to marry him, but it had strictly been for the sake of her grandmother’s happiness, nothing more. How could someone like him ever hold her heart?

The Rowan family was elite. Evelyn was a major with a bright future ahead, an esteemed member of the military. Meanwhile, he was just a girl from a farming community, tethered to obligations back home, with no one to lean on.

In the eyes of society, Evelyn's life had cast a long shadow over hers, as if she were merely a servant lingering at the edges of a lavish party.

She offered a bitter smile. “Deal it is, then.”

William, however, masked his feelings of resignation. Since fate had granted him an opportunity to live again, he vowed not to fall into the same traps.

The room fell quiet again, tension hanging in the air as they both heard a knock on the door.

William glanced over, his stomach churning. Isabella Rowan breezed in, her entrance as bubbly as a carbonated drink. “Evelyn, my dear! I heard you were back to see Grandma. What a coincidence—I’m on leave too!”

Isabella, a reserve officer still yet to pass her political evaluation, lingered too close, overtly eager to be in Evelyn’s space. Her doe-like innocence was a facade, the way she leaned in, batting her eyelashes, entirely overlooking William as if he were no more than a ghost.

Evelyn awkwardly withdrew from Isabella’s grip. “I heard you were back for your birthday.”

“Yup! Didn’t know you cared so much.”

“I approved your leave request.”

Isabella continued her flirtation, oblivious to William’s bubbling irritation, talking directly to Evelyn. “You were such a sweetie to check up on me.”

William put on a smile, almost playfully mocking, “Isabella, are you here to see me, or are your eyes glued to your darling Evelyn?”

Their eyes locked, and William could almost hear Isabella’s internal scorn: “How did you escape the accident? The nerve of you, trying to steal Evelyn away. You’re on borrowed time.”

Incredible—he could sense her thoughts, like some twisted mind-reading trick.

Was this the reward for his second chance?

“Of course I came to see you! I heard you got hit by a car. Are you okay?”

William grinned brightly. “I’m just peachy. Evelyn and I just got our marriage certificate this morning. Care to check it out?”

With a smooth motion, he handed Isabella a bright red marriage certificate, the kind that exuded joy and permanence, a reminder of newfound ties.

Isabella’s expression somberly shifted, shock coloring her features.

William’s smile widened; it seemed the tides of fate had a sense of humor. “Here’s your birthday surprise, Isabella.”

Chapter 3

Isabella Rowan's face was a canvas painted with anger, jealousy, and bitterness.

Across the room, William Winston relished the sight of the shifting emotions that flared on her features.

“You did all this just to be with Evelyn Rowan, didn’t you?” he taunted, a smirk creeping across his lips. “Now that Evelyn’s married, it must sting, huh?”

In a past life, Isabella had crippled herself and encouraged her own descent into a web of mistakes that left the Rowan family utterly disappointed. If she hadn’t deliberately pushed Evelyn from the heights of Skyspire Tower, causing her to fall into a broken heap, perhaps both she and her son wouldn’t have been subjected to continuous verbal abuse and indignities at the hands of Eliza Rowan.

To them, she was merely a jester in their twisted circus, all for the scraps of pity they threw her way, enduring their torment with the hope of survival. Everything began and ended with Isabella Rowan.

But this time around, she would be the one to dictate the rules.

“Looks like Isabella's got it all,” William chuckled, delighting in the mind games. “Aren’t you going to congratulate me?”

Today was supposed to be William’s last day, yet here he stood, breathing, while Evelyn flourished as his wife. There was no way Isabella was going to offer her congratulations; her thoughts spilled like a nimbus of black clouds into his mind.

Never again would she passively wait for Isabella to throw her into chaos or pull her strings like a marionette.

“Evelyn, can you step outside? I have something private to discuss with William,” Isabella insisted, batting her lashes with a feigned innocence.

Evelyn, knowing Isabella all too well, cast a wary glance in William’s direction. But William nodded, allowing Evelyn to slip out the door, uncertainty shadowing her face.

They grew up together; he understood her nature, the possessiveness brewing underneath. But William was his now, and he wouldn’t tolerate any outside interference.

As soon as the door clicked shut behind Evelyn, Isabella leaned in, a sneering smile on her lips. “You think you're so special, don’t you? Just because you and Evelyn got that marriage certificate, you believe you’ll be together forever? I heard him say once his grandmother passes, you two will be history. All this is just a charade to appease her.”

Her pointed gaze swept over William, disdain dripping from her words. “Look at you, all shabby and awkward. You’re just a farm girl dreaming of swanning around with a prince.”

To her surprise, William didn’t flinch. Not even a flicker of anger crossed his face. In this new life, he knew better than to seek Evelyn's affection—it was a lost cause. But in front of Isabella, he would never back down or let her see his vulnerability.

“Legally, I’m Evelyn’s wife,” he countered smoothly. “That’s a fact that stands until I choose otherwise. Maybe I’ll keep clinging to him, maybe I’ll have his child, just to ensure he can’t wash his hands of us.”

Isabella’s jaw dropped, astonishment washing over her. The meek and timid William she remembered was gone, replaced by someone far bolder than she anticipated.

“You’re audacious! I’ve known from the start you were cunning. From six years ago, when Evelyn rescued you at the train station, you just ingratiated yourself with the Rowan family. A derelict’s daughter lying and conning your way in.”

“Evelyn did save me, but staying here wasn’t exactly my choice. Uncle Rowan insisted I stick around when I ended up with that old photograph. Life isn’t always so simple.”

William feigned a hurt expression while harboring contempt. “But I love that you can’t help but despise me without doing a damned thing about it.”

William’s father, Richard Winston, had once fought alongside Evelyn's father, both heroes in their own right turned vigilantes during the war. Richard had been a casualty himself—losing a leg while protecting Samuel Rowan. That was why the Rowan family took William in.

Yet the rumor was Richard had earned himself a reputation as a coward afterward. How else could a soldier’s daughter hope to rise above the stigma?

“Don’t kid yourself; the offspring of a coward has no place in the upper crust,” Isabella shot back, throwing his status in his face. “Your father ditched the battlefield; what makes you think you deserve Evelyn?”

The words dripped with scorn. “It’s obvious your family struggles to get through the political vetting. If you think you can fool Evelyn, you’re sorely mistaken.”

“Oh, I know my place isn’t in his world,” William countered. “Just joking with you.”

At that moment, William contemplated confronting her. But the thrill of dragging out her torment seemed so much more satisfying. This time she would watch as Isabella tried to pin him down only to fail miserably. There was a debt to collect—a balance to shift.

Isabella’s ire tightened around her until she finally forced a laugh. “Of course, just joking! But seriously, you should consider divorce. Evelyn has no love for you. It wouldn’t take long before you’re mocked by everyone. I’m telling you this as a friend.”

This time, William wouldn’t let Isabella’s sweet façade deceive her.

The layers of her deception peeled away, revealing a bitter war, each of them with secret designs of their own. While Isabella had no clue of William’s intentions, William read her like an open book.

Rebirth brought a giddy thrill.

“Isabella, your heart’s in the right place. But we just tied the knot; let’s discuss divorce later, alright? By the way, I like your short hair; help me chop mine off too?”

“Sure thing,” Isabella replied smugly, relieved that William still played her game as before.

So you want a haircut, huh? Just wait until you see how I ruin you.

William positioned himself in front of the mirror, not a single flaw marring his pristine complexion.

Thanks to Isabella, scars from a tortured past had vanished.

Relief and joy settled deep within him.

“Isabella, just trim it to my shoulders, okay?”

She agreed, yet the scissors in her hands gleamed wickedly. She snipped, ignoring the chunks that fell like discarded dreams. The strands littered the floor, and what remained on his head looked utterly ridiculous—it was as if a rat had taken a bite out of him.

“What on earth are you doing?” William gasped, panic slicing through the air.

Just outside the door, Evelyn heard the chaos and rushed in.

“Isabella!” she exclaimed, eyes widening at the sight of William's wrecked hair. “What happened?!”

“I told you, I said just a little trim,” William protested, his voice teetering on the edge of a whine.

Isabella had imagined this moment with glee when the blunt cut revealed his shocking new look. But her surprise at Evelyn’s entrance threw a wrench into her plans.

“Oh Evelyn, not bad, right? Isabella lacks skills—maybe you should step in,” William whimpered, casting a look of porcelain fragility toward Evelyn.

And without missing a beat, Evelyn snatched the scissors from Isabella's hands, ready to clean up the mess she created. He knew she’d go into fix-it mode.

Isabella glowered, the love they exhibited a brutal reminder of her failed schemes.

William relished Evelyn's attentiveness, each sloppy snip becoming tender as her fingers combed through his hair. He couldn’t help but chuckle, thinking, “You know, they say a woman’s hair should only fall when her heart is broken.”

Evelyn paused, her hands freezing mid-snip. The unspoken words hung tantalizingly in the air.

As remnants of William’s silky hair fluttered to the ground, they filled the room with a faint sweetness.

Recalling a phrase, he whispered, “Once I’ve lost part of my hair, you better commit to me for life.”

The final result left him grinning; his hair, now just grazing his shoulders rather than a wild mass obscuring his features, transformed him entirely.

The long bangs framing his forehead accentuated hauntingly bright eyes and strong brows. Beautiful, just stunning.

Last life, Isabella had asserted that long hair was more appealing, yet it trapped William, pulling him down.

Now, free of that burden, he couldn’t hide the blooming confidence that shone through.

“Thank you! I love it. Now I need a wardrobe change,” he declared.

Evelyn exchanged a knowing glance, understanding William's unspoken motive. She realized, as she left to find clothes, how much sweet revenge was about to unfold in the wake of her dear friend’s unwitting betrayal.

Chapter 4

William Winston carefully gathered the clumps of hair strewn across the floor, wrapping them in newspaper before stashing them away.

This was her definitive farewell to the old William Winston. The discarded hair was a symbol of her transformation.

She slipped into a white dress adorned with tiny red polka dots, a gift from her grandmother, and fastened the delicate willow-leaf necklace around her neck as she stepped out.

With a bare face but head held high, she radiated a vibrant energy, her long hair framing her features perfectly. There was no sign of the frailty that had once defined her.

Entering the kitchen, she found it empty.

William pulled a stack of plates—Eliza Rowan’s favorites—from the cabinet and arranged them prominently on the table.

Then she laid a thick layer of greasy dish soap along the rim of each plate and added a Ming Dynasty piece—a delicate blue-and-white plate—into the mix.

Just as she straightened up to leave, a man’s voice sliced through the silence, dripping with mockery. “Wow, you’ve really managed to charm the Roan family with a few off-key tunes. You’re quite the talent, huh? Who knew that showing up with a snapshot could put you in line for the Rowan legacy?

So, what’s it like being Evelyn’s wife? Are you feeling that thrill of finally breaking free from your past?

Just so you know, don’t get too smug—Evelyn would never look your way, not a million years. You do realize you’re from a different world, right? No fancy dress can hide that fact. Pathetic.”

William Winston turned to confront Oliver Rowan, Eliza's son. Though he bore the last name Rowan, he was a stepchild in every sense. Eliza had married Samuel Rowan, taking on his name, but Oliver had none of the advantages of blood ties.

In her previous life, Oliver and Eliza had made a sport of tormenting Isabella, relentlessly undermining her at every turn. Their treatment of William had been no different—she’d been treated like a house pet, but worse than that; even a dog got scraps to chew on, while she was left with nothing but the stench of humiliation.

Now, as his words hung in the air, William felt an unexpected steeliness rising within her. The old William would have slunk away in shame, but this time was different. No one else was around, and she was done being weak.

“Nothing’s impossible if you push for it,” she replied lazily, her voice steady. “You act like you’re the picture of legitimacy as a member of the Rowan clan. Let’s not forget, you didn't always share that name.

Too bad you can’t marry into the family, either. But hey, go ahead and chase after Isabella—she’s got wealth and power. If she’re really that foolish, maybe you'll finally get to taste success.”

Growing up in the shadow of a failed businessman who turned to gambling and drinking, Oliver’s origins were hardly glamorous. Eliza had left him with her ex-husband's last name, with no glory attached.

In her past life, William had put up with their abuse without resistance. A couple of sharp words would hardly satiate the desire for revenge that had been simmering for years.

With his face flushed with rage, Oliver gaped at her. Who did she think she was, speaking back like this? The once-timid William now had a sharp tongue—how utterly infuriating.

Before he could respond, they heard footsteps on the stairs. He cast William a venomous glance, mouthing, "We’ll see about that," before storming off.

Evelyn appeared just then, tossing a platter of fruit into the trash, her eyes scanning the kitchen.

A knowing glimmer flickered in her eye—she was playing a clever little game to win over their grandmother. What a surprise Eleanor had underestimated her; she had thought of her as nothing but a naive girl, a simple Grace.

When William walked into the living room, her grandmother was absorbed in the newspaper, smiling brightly. “What happened to your hair? Who cut it? Where’s Evelyn? I asked her to bring you some fruit.”

“She’s too busy serving herself to notice,” William thought. There was no way someone as proud as Evelyn would be doing anything for her, and besides… well, she hadn't even paid attention.

“William, sweetie, you look well—did Evelyn and Isabella help you?” her grandmother prodded again.

Isabella, still hustling around, turned and offered a half-hearted compliment, “You look great, really—rocking that half-grown style. You’ve got a gorgeous face; you could pull off anything.”

William knew Isabella hadn’t meant it, and the tension quickened the heartbeat in her chest. Did she know about Evelyn? Could she see the desperation in her eyes?

Isabella’s annoyed glance told her all she needed to know. The woman was no friend of hers, not ever.

Suddenly, Samuel Rowan entered, and he couldn’t help but admire. “You’re looking radiant, really! You should dress like this more often. Traditional clothes aren’t the best fit for your youth. Once school starts, I’ll send Evelyn out to help you get a few new outfits when you’re ready.”

“Thanks, Uncle Evelyn,” William said shyly, still trying to shake the old habit of saying ‘Sir.’

Her grandmother chuckled, her voice echoing warmly. “I think it’s time to start calling him ‘Dad.’ We've even got a little ‘renaming’ Venmo payment set up for you!”

Heat flushed William's cheeks. She blurted out, “Dad!” without thinking. She’d spent six years in the Rowan family, and while Samuel Rowan might not have been her birth father, he had looked after her like one. That was enough. The ‘payment’ wasn’t what mattered; it was the connection they had built.

Laughter erupted as her grandmother rejoiced, and the warmth enveloped the room. Samuel grinned, “Dinner payment for the renaming will have to wait. Today’s all about celebration—originally, we planned to go out for a special meal, but since Grandma’s legs aren’t fit, and you were just in an accident, we’ll have a cozy dinner at home and save the grand dinner for later.”

“Let’s let Dad call the shots,” William reiterated, joining in the light-heartedness, grabbing a vegetable to help out.

Charlotte Rowan, Samuel’s daughter and Evelyn’s younger sister, bounded down the stairs with a gleam in her eye. “What’s all this laughter about? I heard something about a Venmo payment. Who’s getting what? Better not forget about me!”

At fifteen, Charlotte had been a thorn in William’s side in her last life, resenting William like crazy. She never understood why her grandmother favored the outsider, while their dad let Charlotte have the best room, and now, with the twist of fate that made William her sister-in-law, the tension was bound to spike.

“Ask your sister!” her grandmother chortled, her face aglow.

The atmosphere lifted everyone’s spirits. It had been a long time since Grandma felt genuinely happy.

Charlotte’s frustrated smile faltered but bloomed again as she caught her father’s eye. “Sister, who’s getting this ‘payment’ everyone’s talking about?”

“It's from Dad and Grandma,” William replied with a cheerful grin.

Lauren dashed over, nuzzling her dad. “I want the biggest Venmo payment, okay?”

“Of course, sweetheart,” Samuel chuckled.

Eliza Rowan, as indulgent as ever, had spoiled Charlotte into being demanding and temperamental.

“Don’t worry, I can help with dinner,” Isabella piped up, cutting through the familial warmth.

She had said that once before, and William was almost waiting for the chance to show off. The Rowan family didn’t treat her like an outsider anymore.

Eliza soon brought dishes from the kitchen, with Isabella still occupied.

Feigning the need to wash her hands in the bathroom, William sneaked away to the kitchen, quick to help.

She quietly put the carefully-prepped plates out before swiftly stepping back.

Moments later, the claking and clanging of pans echoed throughout the kitchen.

Chapter 5

Eliza Rowan heard a loud crash come from the kitchen and was the first to rush in. Her heart sank as she laid eyes on the shattered pieces of her favorite, though seldom-used, china scattered across the floor.

It was a painful sight.

With a face flushed in fury, she turned her blazing glare on Isabella Rowan, her daughter. The silence cracked like a whip before she exclaimed, “Get out! Now!”

Silently cursing Isabella for her clumsiness, Eliza felt a storm brewing inside her. Isabella, completely overwhelmed by the disaster she had caused, had intended to make a good impression but had ended up spilling food and breaking dishes in a matter of seconds.

“I’ll just, um, go,” Isabella stammered, retreating out of the chaos she’d created.

Nothing she could say would fix this. She forced a weak laugh and added, “I’ll buy you a new set.”

Eliza's eyes narrowed. “With what? That floral pattern was one of a kind. They stopped making them ages ago. Do you even understand how much that was worth?”

Her expression was stone-cold. Beyond her obsession with money, Eliza had a deep affection for her unique dishware that she never dared to use, opting instead to display them in a glass cabinet like trophies. To her, this particular set, chosen by William Winston himself, was practically a part of her soul. How could she not be furious?

At that moment, she noticed a Qing Dynasty plate being used as a vegetable serving dish. Her heart nearly stopped.

“That plate is from the Ming Dynasty! Do you have any idea how much it’s worth? You used it for vegetables! Get out of here—right now!”

In a sudden, impulsive action, Eliza grabbed the plate to toss the food into the trash. As she did so, the heat from the recently cooked dish and a slick layer of soap caused her grip to falter, and with a loud crack, the priceless Ming plate shattered into ruins.

“Are you kidding me?” she fumed, her gaze piercing through Isabella like daggers.

That plate had been a treasure in her collection for years.

Isabella, seeing the rage etched across Eliza’s face, felt a pang of guilt mixed with confusion. “If it’s that precious, maybe you shouldn’t have taken it out. I’ll see if I can find another one just like it,” she offered meekly.

“Just like it? Are you joking? This is an antique! There’s no other one like it in the world. You’re as careless as a toddler,” Eliza spat, practically boiling over.

She was so furious she could barely contain herself from lashing out at Isabella, this well-meaning but blundering girl.

Oliver Rowan, sensing the tension, rushed over, trying to calm things down. “Mom, don’t scare Isabella like that. Just chill out for a second.”

Samuel Rowan approached, catching sight of Eliza’s frayed nerves and an expression that suggested she had lost her composure. He couldn’t help but think that yelling at his daughter for a couple of broken plates was beneath them all. After all, the Harlow family held a prominent position in society, and Isabella was their most cherished daughter. Eliza’s outburst was not just embarrassing—it was disheartening.

“Alright, it’s broken, so what? Today’s supposed to be a happy occasion—think of it as good luck. You can always buy more. Just let Isabella be; she didn’t mean to do it,” Samuel said, his voice steady.

Eliza’s anger flared up further at Samuel’s calm rebuke. They both knew how the Harlow family image mattered, and here she was, in full display of frustration over a plate.

In Isabella’s mind, everything had a price. If not money, then at least value existed for everything in life.

Humbled and feeling defeated, Isabella had never been reprimanded like this before. A Harlow family princess, she was used to praise, not reprimand.

Now, she was embarrassed not just in front of her family but even in front of Evelyn, who had been watching this unfold.

Feeling the need to respond, she muttered, “Big deal. It’s just a plate—something that was owned by dead people, anyway.”

William Winston rolled his wheelchair into the fray, not surprised at the scene unfolding before him. “Why all the fuss over broken dishes? It’s pointless to get worked up over stuff you don’t even use.”

“Seriously, Eliza? It’s not the end of the world. Don’t be scaring Isabella. Today’s Evelyn and William’s wedding. That’s what we should be focusing on, not a couple of plates. So just cool it and get back to cooking—hold that for a minute while you regroup,” he suggested with a knowing smile.

Eliza felt conflicted, frustration boiling within her like a bubbling pot. Collecting her composure, she set her jaw, biting back the urge to shout out all her pent-up anger.

William, relishing the twisted satisfaction of seeing Isabella cornered, chuckled lightly. “Come on, Isabella. Look what you’ve done to your aunt. Help her out while I whip up something to compensate for this mess.”

With a heavy heart, Isabella bent down to pick up the shards of china and remnants of vegetables scattered across the floor. It was her first time cleaning up in front of everyone, and the humiliation stung more than the heat of the broken plates.

As Eliza continued to glare daggers at Isabella, she begrudgingly picked up a steaming bowl of hot and sour tofu soup, muttering to herself as she made her way toward the kitchen.

A little less focused on her grip, she took a step and lost her footing. The soup splashed out, the hot liquid splattering perfectly onto Isabella’s back.

“Ah!” Isabella screeched, shocked at the unexpected burn.

And just like that, the bowl she had dropped crashed against the floor, another layer of chaos sinking in.

William couldn’t suppress his laughter as he watched Isabella, red-faced and scalded, floundering like a wet chicken in the middle of the kitchen mayhem.

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