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Ditching My Ex, Chased by Tycoon

quote On our third anniversary, My husband said he had a business trip, but little did I know, it would be his third leg getting on a trip.

Chapter 1

Andrew Watson was cheating on her. Ayla Ferguson stood outside the dimly lit VIP lounge of the private club, watching the man who was supposed to be on a business trip grinding wildly against a woman with a voluptuous figure. Her mind buzzed, then went completely blank. It was the height of summer, but she felt like she'd been plunged into an ice cellar, a chill that cut straight to the bone. Her fingers wouldn't stop trembling. “Didn't know women were into live shows.” A sudden voice spoke from beside her. Ayla glanced over. The lighting was so dim she could only make out the man's blurry features: a sharp, chiseled jawline, slightly tousled hair, and sunglasses. A cigarette dangled from the corner of his mouth, giving him a roguish, devil-may-care air. Her eyes lingered on him for only a second before she looked away, in no mood to deal with anyone. The man asked again, “Is it any good?” Ayla's voice was ice. “He's too small.” He let out a low chuckle, his tone laced with amusement. “And you can tell from here? Impressive.” Ayla's lips parted slightly. “He's my husband.” With that, she turned and walked away without a backward glance. Today was Ayla and Andrew's third wedding anniversary. They had planned a celebratory candlelit dinner, but Andrew had claimed he was called away on an urgent business trip. Turns out, he wasn't going out of town—his dick was. Catching him in the act, Ayla couldn't find a single excuse to lie to herself. Back home, she inevitably sank into a state of grief. After a good cry, her rational mind took over. Ayla swiftly took stock of their assets and drafted a divorce agreement. She thought she was strong enough, but as the night deepened and Andrew never came home, she broke down and cried for a long, long time. The next day. To hide her haggard appearance, Ayla applied an extra layer of foundation to cover the dark circles under her eyes before changing into a professional suit and heading to the office. Years ago, Andrew had defied his parents' wishes to marry her. For that, his family had cut him off completely and kicked him out of the house. Even so, Andrew never regretted it. Back then, Ayla thought she had found her soulmate. She put up two million dollars to start a business with him, which eventually became the Ascendant Group. On paper, Ayla was the Director of Strategic Investment, but everyone in the company knew she was the second-in-command. That morning, after learning Andrew was back at the office, Ayla went straight upstairs to the CEO's suite. Standing at the door, she pushed it open just a crack and heard a sweet, coy voice from inside. “Oh, come on, Andrew, just one bite. I never feed anyone, you know. If you don't eat it, I'm gonna get really, really mad, hmph.” “Alright, alright, I'll eat. Don't be mad, Princess Myers, okay?” A doting smile spread across Andrew's face, his voice incredibly gentle. He reached out and tenderly stroked the girl's hair, every gesture oozing with an intimacy that felt like a secret, illicit crush—one where even the simplest moments felt precious to them both. The scene felt so familiar. Only the leading lady had changed. A sharp pain stabbed through Ayla's heart, as if a dagger were carving out a piece of her flesh. Every pore in her body screamed in agony. She took a deep breath, composed herself, and pushed the door open, a wry smile on her face. “Heh. Am I interrupting something?” Her voice shattered the lovely atmosphere between them. They both turned to look at her… “Ayla, what are you talking about?” A flash of guilt crossed Andrew's eyes. He wiped a smear of ice cream from his lips. “This is… uh… Harper Myers. Adrian Myers's little sister. She just got back from overseas. We've met before, remember?” Harper Myers had big, sparkling eyes, ruby-red lips, and pearly white teeth. Her hair was styled in a half-up princess ponytail, and she wore a daffodil-yellow dress that gave her a fresh-faced, natural beauty. With a face that screamed “first love,” she was undeniably charming. Ayla's gaze fell on the two very distinct hickeys on her neck. Her eyes darkened. *Last night… must have been intense.* Harper's eyes scanned Ayla from top to bottom, her expression unfriendly and tinged with disdain. “Director Ferguson. Hello.” Andrew and Ayla's whirlwind romance had once been the talk of Harbor City, especially after Andrew gave up everything to be with her. Their story had become a local legend. The Myers and Watson families were close, so how could Harper not know who Ayla was? And yet, she still called her “Director Ferguson.” Ayla wanted to ignore her completely, but professional courtesy compelled her to give a polite nod. Harper's full lips curved into a faint, mocking smile. She looped her arm through Andrew's as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “Andrew, my brother's out of town today, and he told you to show me around Harbor City. You can't back out on me just for work, you know.” At her intimate gesture, Andrew's face flushed beet-red. He reflexively pulled his arm away, looking guilty and nervous, barely daring to meet Ayla's gaze. “Harper, don't mess around. I have to get some work done first.” If she hadn't seen Andrew and Harper all over each other on the club sofa last night, she might have actually believed him. After all, Andrew's good looks were undeniable. He usually wore tailored suits that accentuated his tall, trim figure, and with his gold-rimmed glasses, he projected an air of steady, mature sophistication—a true gentleman who attracted his fair share of female attention. He'd never been short on admirers, then or now. Hiding the devastation in her eyes, Ayla walked forward with the contracts and flipped directly to the signature page. “These are urgent. I need your signature.” Rattled by Ayla's sudden appearance, Andrew's heart was in his throat. Without even looking at the documents, he grabbed a pen and scrawled his signature across them with a flourish. Seeing his swift signature, Ayla snatched the contracts off the desk. “You're busy. I'll let you get back to it.” She turned, walked out of the office without a look back, and closed the door behind her. In the hallway, Ayla opened the folder. Lying at the very bottom was the divorce agreement, now bearing Andrew Watson's name. A wave of sorrow washed over her face. So what if they once had a love that burned brighter than the sun? In the end, it couldn't withstand the slow, grinding passage of time. Familiarity bred contempt, and he just had to have something new. At five-thirty in the afternoon, quitting time, Ayla was dragging her exhausted body, ready to head home. Just then, her office door swung open. The first thing she saw was an enormous bouquet of brilliant red roses dotted with white baby's breath. A handsome face peeked out from behind it. “Ayla, I came to pick you up from work.” Andrew walked over, placed the flowers in her arms, and leaned in to kiss her lips. In that instant, the scene from the club flashed through Ayla's mind. A frown of disgust creased her brow, and she instinctively turned her head. The kiss landed on her cheek. Sensing her displeasure, Andrew explained, “Harper is Adrian Myers's sister. You know Adrian and I grew up together. His sister is my sister; I've practically watched her grow up. Don't overthink it, okay?”

Chapter 2

Years in the business world had taught Ayla Ferguson to keep a perfect poker face, giving her an air of cool detachment that suggested she was above it all. She gave a faint nod. "Got it." "Come on, let's go home." A bright, friendly smile spread across his handsome face, as warm and gentle as a spring breeze. "I had to work on our anniversary yesterday, so to make up for it, I'm going to cook for you tonight." Andrew Watson thoughtfully took her purse, his other hand wrapping around her small, soft one as he led her out of the office. Ayla was a stickler for emotional fidelity, and the thought of this tainted version of Andrew touching her was repulsive. She struggled to pull her hand back, but his grip was too tight. There was no shaking him off. The moment they stepped out of the office, a chorus of whispers erupted... "Wow, I'm so jealous. The CEO is so good to his wife." "They're seriously couple goals. So happy." "Mr. Watson is so handsome." "Ayla, you're so lucky." "I'm dying of envy. I'd die happy if I had a boyfriend like that." "That's it, I believe in love again. Nope, I need to go watch a true crime documentary to calm down." ... They had founded the company together, and many of the employees had witnessed their journey from dating to the altar. Someone had even once said, "If Andrew and Director Ferguson ever get divorced, I'll never believe in love again." Faced with their envy and blessings, Ayla felt a surge of bitter irony. Andrew exchanged a few pleasantries with the staff before pulling Ayla toward the parking garage. When they reached his private spot, Andrew thoughtfully opened the passenger door for her and made a theatrical "after you" gesture. "Princess Ayla, please get in." *Princess Ayla?* Back when they were deeply in love, he used to call her "Princess Ayla" during their playful banter. Hearing it now, all she could think of was "Princess Myers." *Tsk. He sure has a lot of princesses.* A wave of nausea washed over Ayla, but she didn't let it show. She bent down, got into the car, and closed her eyes, feigning sleep. Once they were both inside, their driver, Ethan Morgan, started the car and pulled out of the garage. "Still mad?" Andrew's patience seemed to have run out, the smile completely gone from his face. "Ayla, you're not being good." Ayla's eyes snapped open, meeting his, which were now tinged with irritation. A humorless laugh escaped her. *So that's how it is. When the love is gone, the patience disappears with it.* "Andrew, I've poured my heart and soul into work all these years, and I feel like I've missed out on so much. I'm tired. I want to quit," she said. Andrew didn't think much of it and nodded readily. "Okay, sure. Your husband will support you from now on." With that, he leaned in as if to kiss her... Seeing this, Ayla quickly said, "I pulled an all-nighter for work yesterday. I'm a little tired, I'm just gonna rest my eyes for a bit." "You've worked so hard, Ayla," he said, placing a hand on the side of her head. "Rest on my shoulder for a while." This time, Ayla didn't refuse. Forty minutes later, the car pulled up to Camphor Bloom Gardens. They got out of the car hand-in-hand, and a housekeeper came forward to greet them. "Sir, Ma'am, your mother is here." Andrew just grunted in acknowledgment. The two walked into the living room to find Isabelle Martinez sitting poised on the sofa in a black qipao, looking as if she had been waiting for a long time. "What are you doing here?" Andrew's tone was a bit cold. Isabelle scoffed. "What, a mother can't come see her own son?" "You can, you can, of course you can," he replied dismissively, too lazy to argue. He then turned to Ayla, his expression melting into tenderness. "Ayla, you go sit and rest for a bit. I'll go to the kitchen and get dinner started." He guided her down onto the sofa, then picked up the enormous bouquet of roses. "Chloe, find a vase for these, would you?" Chloe Green came forward and took the flowers. "Oh, what beautiful flowers." Andrew smiled smugly. "They're for my wife. Of course they're beautiful." "Hahaha, you and the missus have such a wonderful relationship," Chloe praised, which clearly put Andrew in an even better mood. Ayla took in the scene, noting how genuinely pleased Andrew was by Chloe's simple comment. But... what about last night, when he was tangled up in bed with Harper Myers? "Look at you, so pathetic!" Isabelle couldn't stand seeing her son acting like a simp in front of Ayla and rolled her eyes in disgust. "So spineless." Andrew shrugged it off. "Mom, what do you know? Happy wife, happy life. Haven't you heard!" "Our family is already well-off. Where did you pick up that nonsense?" Isabelle was fuming. Andrew waved a hand dismissively. "I'm not gonna argue with you. I'm going to go cook." Once Chloe and Andrew had both left, Isabelle's gaze fell on Ayla, her formerly benevolent expression vanishing. "You classless thing. Don't you even know how to greet me as 'Mom' anymore?" It seemed the moment Andrew was gone, she couldn't even be bothered to pretend to be civil with Ayla. Isabelle was in her fifties, but thanks to excellent care, she looked to be in her early forties, still possessing a mature charm. Steeped in the culture of the wealthy elite, she radiated an imperious air just by sitting there, a hint of cruelty peeking through in her eyes. Ayla knew that compared to her usual刁难 (diao nan - making things difficult), Isabelle's words today were actually quite restrained. She changed the subject. "What guidance do you have for me today?" Although the two had never gotten along, Ayla had always been respectful and polite. Today, her cold attitude was a stark departure from the norm. But in Isabelle's eyes, it looked like a provocation. Her gaze dropped to Ayla's stomach. "Are you pregnant?" Ayla's slender fingers, which had been toying with her phone, froze. After a moment, she lifted her head, her cool gaze locking with Isabelle's. "When Andrew and I got married, he said he wanted to be child-free for life." Years ago, a friend of Andrew's had died from hemorrhaging during childbirth. The incident had terrified Andrew, and he had sworn off having children forever. The Andrew of back then must have truly loved her. It was just a love that couldn't withstand the erosion of time. "Heh, child-free? Only you, Ayla, could make infertility sound so chic. But at the end of the day, you're just a hen that can't lay eggs. Do you really plan to cling to Andrew for the rest of your life?" Isabelle mocked, holding nothing back. Ayla's long lashes trembled. She lowered her gaze to a glass of lukewarm water on the table, picked it up, and with perfect, steady aim, flung its contents into Isabelle's face. "The only reason I can't have children is because of what you did, *Mother*. Are you salting my wounds now because you've forgotten how you begged me to keep it a secret from Andrew?" Isabelle, who had never been so disrespected in her life, couldn't take such humiliation. She shot to her feet, stomped furiously in front of Ayla, and swung her hand to slap her. "You bitch, how dare you throw water on me!" *CRACK—* The crisp sound of a slap echoed loudly through the living room. Only, the slap had landed on Isabelle's face, knocking her back onto the sofa. She clutched her cheek in disbelief. "You dare hit me? The world's really turned upside down!" In contrast to Isabelle's towering rage, Ayla remained her calm, unhurried self. "I hit you," she said coolly. "You'll just have to take it. Or did you really think I was going to keep covering for you like I always have?"

Chapter 3

Andrew had once been willing to cut ties with his family just to be with her. Ayla couldn't bear to see him estranged from his mother. So, no matter how cruelly her vicious mother-in-law treated her, she had swallowed it all, just so Andrew could be happy. Looking back now, she realized all the suffering was just the price of her impulsive love. "You..." Isabelle Martinez was so angry she was about to start cursing, but before she could get a word out, Ayla spoke again. "I'm planning to divorce Andrew. But I want three billion dollars in compensation." The first half of the sentence made Isabelle's eyes light up with excitement, but the second half sent her shooting to her feet. "Three billion? You wouldn't be worth that much if you were made of solid gold. Ayla, do you really think you deserve that?" "I don't?" Ayla sat back down, her voice calm and even. "Fine, then we don't have to divorce. Andrew will find out I can't have children sooner or later anyway." That was, without a doubt, a threat. Isabelle had seen with her own eyes just how much her disappointing son doted on Ayla. If Andrew ever learned the truth, it would likely shatter their mother-son relationship for good. After a moment's thought, she choked back her rage. "Forget about three billion. The most I can give you is one billion." "Deal," Ayla agreed without hesitation. She knew Isabelle would haggle, so she'd intentionally aimed high. "You... you really agree to a divorce?" Isabelle asked, finding it hard to believe. "As soon as the money is in my account, we'll be divorced within a month," Ayla promised. Isabelle was furious, indignant, and utterly frustrated. "Fine. I'll have the contract drawn up when I get back." She snatched her purse and stood, adding a final threat as she left, "Ayla, if you dare to cross me, you know what I'm capable of." After dropping that heavy-handed line, she stormed out. This was the first time Ayla had ever stood up to Isabelle. In the past, if she made even the smallest mistake, Isabelle would run crying to Andrew, doing everything she could to drive a wedge between them. But this time, even after being slapped, she didn't dare run to Andrew. Because... Isabelle was happy. Happy that Ayla had finally agreed to stop clinging to her son. Forty minutes later, Andrew had prepared a whole spread. "Ayla, dinner's ready." Not seeing his mother in the living room, he knew she had left. He didn't even bother to ask about it. In the dining room, looking at the beautifully arranged, colorful, and fragrant dishes on the table, and at Andrew in his apron—the very picture of a doting husband—Ayla had to admit that, if you ignored the fact that he was cheating on her, he really was the perfect man. But all of this was just a guilty attempt to cover his tracks. The last time he'd cooked... it must have been a year ago. "Ayla, this is your favorite mushroom soup. Let me get you a bowl..." Just as Andrew was ladling soup for her, his phone suddenly rang. He placed the bowl in front of Ayla, pulled out his phone, and his gaze flickered when he saw the caller ID. "I'm gonna take this." Andrew never used to hide his phone calls from her. *It's probably Harper,* she guessed. "Go ahead." She picked up her chopsticks, her expression unreadable. Andrew walked into the living room to take the call. She couldn't hear what he said, but when he returned to the dining room, he was taking off his apron, a look of urgency on his face. "Ayla, a buddy of mine got into a car accident. I have to go check on him." "Who?" she asked, chewing on her chopstick, her eyes clear and innocent. "I know all your friends. I'll go with you." Andrew was clearly taken aback for a second before replying, "Didn't you say you were tired today? Just stay here and get some rest. I'll be back." "Okay," Ayla said, her heart sinking. She knew the truth but didn't want to press it. Sensing her disappointment, Andrew walked over and planted a kiss on her cheek. "Sorry I can't stay for dinner again." With that, he rushed out. Listening to his fading footsteps, Ayla felt as if her happiness was walking out the door with him, growing more distant with every step, until the villa fell silent and cold. She was enveloped by emptiness, wrapped in the pain of her husband's betrayal. The air suddenly grew thin, tightening around her chest until she could barely breathe, making her desperate to escape. Ayla had no appetite. She went upstairs. In the bedroom, she pulled out their photo albums. There were seven or eight thick albums filled with hundreds of photos, documenting the beautiful five years of their love. As she looked through them, a wave of drowsiness washed over her, and she fell asleep leaning against the headboard. Sometime later, she woke from her dream, clutching her stomach and writhing in pain on the bed. During her years with Andrew, she had attended endless networking events for the company, and the constant drinking had left her with a chronic stomach problem. Today, stressed and without an appetite because of Andrew, she was having an acute flare-up. The pain had her breaking out in a cold sweat. Ayla forced herself up and fumbled for the medicine cabinet. When she opened it, she saw her stomach medication was gone. The pain was excruciating. Ayla couldn't take it anymore. She grabbed her phone and dialed Andrew's number. "Ring... ring... ring..." After a few rings, the call was answered. "Andrew, I..." Just as Ayla was about to ask for help, a sickly sweet female voice came through the phone. "Is this Director Ferguson? Andrew is in the shower right now, so he can't come to the phone. If you have a message, I can give it to—beep, beep, beep..." Ayla couldn't stand to hear Harper's voice for another second and hung up. So, Andrew's "emergency" was going to be with Harper. *Andrew, oh, Andrew. When did you change?* Ayla's heart ached, but her stomach hurt more. The pain was unbearable. She glanced at the time on her phone: 1:00 AM. The housekeeper, Chloe Green, would be asleep by now. And even if she weren't, she didn't know how to drive. So, she had no choice but to drag herself downstairs, get in her car, and head for the hospital. The villa was far from downtown. Who knew how long it would take for an ambulance to arrive. The car moved smoothly down the road, but Ayla's face was pale with pain, her vision growing blurrier by the second. As she approached a T-intersection, a car suddenly pulled out. She didn't have time to react before she slammed into it with a deafening crash. The violent impact deployed the airbag, leaving Ayla completely dazed and disoriented. Running on her last ounce of strength, she struggled out of the car. The scene before her was a hazy, bloody blur. She vaguely saw a man in a burgundy shirt. Staggering toward him, she grabbed a fistful of his shirt. "Help... help me..." With that, she collapsed into his arms. "Holy shit, what's going on? The Ring Ghost!?" Elias had just gotten out of the passenger seat when he saw a woman fall into his boss's arms. The woman was wearing a long, white silk dress, her long hair draped over her shoulders. With blood streaking her face, she looked exactly like a ghost. Jackson Washington looked down at the woman in his arms. Even with her face stained in blood, he recognized her instantly. "It's her?"

Chapter 4

His assistant was completely lost. "Who?" Jackson shot him a look. "The Ring Ghost." With that, he carried the woman to his car, reversed the damaged vehicle, and drove off, not forgetting to order Elias, "You stay here and handle the scene." Downtown General Hospital. When Ayla Ferguson woke up, it was already the next morning. She opened her eyes to the stark white of a hospital room. The sharp scent of antiseptic filled the air. “Ma'am, you're awake?” a nurse said as she came over to set up a new IV. “Good timing. We need to get this drip started.” The IV from the previous night must have worked, because Ayla's stomach no longer hurt. Her head, however, was throbbing and dizzy. Lying in the hospital bed, she asked the nurse, “Who… who brought me in yesterday?” The nurse, while inserting the needle, replied, “I think it was your husband. He was seriously handsome, and so sweet. He stayed with you until your first IV was done and only left after he got a phone call.” “My… husband?” Ayla's pale lips curved into a barely-there, ironic smile. *Anyone could have brought me here last night,* she thought bitterly, *but it definitely wasn't Andrew Watson.* The nurse finished with the IV and left the room. Since her phone was still in her car, Ayla had no way to contact anyone. As she was lying there, an IV in her arm, there was a sudden knock on the door. A young man in a sharp suit walked in. “Ms. Ferguson.” “And you are…?” Ayla stared at the complete stranger, confused. The man stepped forward. “Hello, my name is Elias. Our cars collided yesterday. Your car has been towed for repairs. My boss asked me to bring you your things.” Ayla carefully sat up in bed, her voice weak as she thanked him. “Thank you for bringing me to the hospital yesterday. I…” “My boss brought you here, not me,” Elias corrected her, unwilling to take credit he hadn't earned. “Your boss?” Ayla had no idea who his boss was, but out of politeness, she asked, “What's your boss's name? Could I have his number? I'd like to call and thank him.” Elias touched his nose, thinking of all the women who schemed constantly to get close to his boss. He worried this woman might be the same. “My boss said helping people is its own reward, and there's no need for thanks. He said you can just call him a Good Samaritan,” Elias replied, tactfully refusing to give out any contact info. He placed Ayla's purse on the table. “Please get some rest, Ms. Ferguson. I'll see myself out.” He was gone as quickly as he'd arrived. By the time Ayla processed what he'd said and wanted to ask more, he had already left the room. Ayla felt a little helpless, but she couldn't help but smile at the thought of a “Good Samaritan.” *You don't see many of those these days.* She opened her purse, pulled out her phone, and glanced at the screen. It was already eight in the morning. But there wasn't a single missed call or text message on her phone. *What if that call last night had been to Andrew, asking for help?* she wondered. *Would I be a corpse by now?* The thought sent a chill down her spine, and she felt a fresh wave of gratitude for the faceless—Good Samaritan. After she had been lying in bed for a while, the phone on the table rang again. It was Andrew. Seeing the contact name flashing on the screen—Husband—felt like a slap in the face. Ayla didn't answer, nor did she decline the call. She simply flipped the phone over and placed it face down on the table. He called once, then twice, then a third time. After she ignored all three, he didn't call again. An hour later, the door to her hospital room was thrown open with a bang. The sudden noise made Ayla jump. She then saw Andrew rushing in, looking frantic. He threw his arms around her. “Ayla, are you okay? Are you hurt? Why didn't you call me after you got into a car accident?” As he held her tightly, the faint scent of an unfamiliar perfume wafted over her. It was the same one she had smelled on Harper Myers yesterday. “Andrew, I can't breathe,” she said, tapping his arm to get his attention. Andrew let her go and cupped her face with his hands, examining her from every angle. His eyes landed on the gauze taped to her forehead, and his expression filled with pain. “The dealership called me and told me about the accident. I tried calling you, but you didn't pick up. I was scared to death.” She could see that the worry on his handsome face wasn't faked; he genuinely seemed to care. But… This fake, belated concern meant nothing to Ayla. “I called you last night. You didn't pick up either,” Ayla replied, her voice flat and cool. Her naturally aloof demeanor made it hard for Andrew to tell if she was angry. “I… I was at a friend's place. I guess I was just exhausted and fell asleep,” Andrew said, fumbling for an excuse. “My phone died. I only found out what happened this morning when I got to the office, charged it, and got the call from the dealership.” After his explanation, he let out a long sigh and leaned in again, gently pulling Ayla into his arms. “Ayla, I'm so glad you're okay. Otherwise, I would've felt guilty for the rest of my life.” Ayla subtly pushed him away. “Guilty about what? You were with a friend yesterday, not cheating on me. What's there to feel guilty about?” A bright smile played on her pale, weak face. It sounded like a casual joke, but every word danced on Andrew's heart, sending a chill of fear down his spine. Andrew's brow furrowed. Behind his gleaming glasses, his deep-set eyes were unreadable. Knock, knock, knock— Someone was at the door again. They both looked toward the entrance and saw Harper Myers walk in, holding a bouquet of fresh flowers. “Director Ferguson, I heard you were in an accident! I was so worried, I had to come see you right away.” Placing the flowers on the table, Harper walked to the bedside. “Oh my god, your beautiful face! How did you get hurt? Ugh, whoever hit you must have been blind! They should be drawn and quartered.” The phony concern, so dramatic and over-the-top, made Ayla want to gag. She leaned back against the headboard. “Thank you for your concern, Ms. Myers. You're certainly well-informed.” The words were laced with unspoken meaning. Andrew shot a cold glare at Harper before turning back to Ayla, his voice becoming gentle. “Adrian is out of town on business, so he asked me to keep an eye on Harper for a few days. She called me this morning, and I happened to mention what happened to you.” “Oh.” Ayla looked at Andrew's face, at how easily the lies rolled off his tongue, and didn't even feel the urge to call him out. She just said coldly, “Can you go handle my discharge paperwork?” Andrew wanted her to stay in the hospital for a couple more days for observation, but Ayla refused. Defeated, he reluctantly went to take care of the paperwork. For a moment, only Ayla and Harper were left in the room. Their eyes met. Harper just shrugged, let out a soft scoff, and walked over to sit on the sofa. “If Andrew wasn't coming to see you, I wouldn't have set foot in a hospital. It's such a jinx.” Ayla wasn't angry or annoyed. Her voice was cool and clear. “*This* is a jinx? What, you don't think sleeping with a man I've been with for five years is a jinx? Guess you have a thing for my sloppy seconds.” “You…!” Harper shot up from the sofa, her face flushing red with rage. “You—since you know Andrew and I slept together, you should have the decency to divorce him and give me my place as Mrs. Watson. Mrs. Watson said she adores me, and that her lifelong wish is for me to be her daughter-in-law.”

Chapter 5

"Since Andrew's mom likes you so much, why don't you just marry her? Why settle for being the daughter-in-law when you could be the wife? Wouldn't that be so much better?" Ayla's voice was cool and her words came out at a measured, unhurried pace, yet they had a unique talent for driving people absolutely insane. Harper was floored by her verbal gymnastics, her face flushing and paling in turns. "You… you're just twisting my words! I see what this is. You're jealous of me! You're jealous that Andrew likes me, so you refuse to divorce him just to piss me off, right?" Ayla picked up her phone and texted her assistant, asking her to bring a change of clothes. Putting the phone down, she looked up at Harper and gave her a thumbs-up, cooing as if she were placating a toddler. "Oh, wow. Princess Myers, you're so smart. Good for you." "You—you—you bitch! Hmph!" Facing Ayla, Harper was seething but completely outmatched. She stomped her foot, huffed, and stormed out of the hospital room. Not long after, Andrew returned to the room. Seeing him enter, Ayla was about to ask about the discharge papers when he immediately laid into her. "Ayla, did you bully Harper?" Ayla couldn't believe Harper had the nerve to play the victim. She immediately shook her head. "No." "No? I just saw her leaving the hospital in tears with my own two eyes. I told you, she's my best friend Adrian Myers's little sister. I watched her grow up, and I see her as my own sister. Can you please stop with the drama?! How am I supposed to explain this to her family when you've bullied her this badly?" His sharp accusations were like a series of daggers to the heart. Ayla leaned back against the headboard, her long lashes fluttering as she looked up at Andrew's face—a face so familiar it was etched into her memory. But now, it was like looking at a stranger, impossible to reconcile with the gentle, humble man she once knew. There was a time when he had loved her to the bone, so much that he couldn't even bear to raise his voice at her. Now, he was raging at her like this, all for an outsider. Ayla's heart sank, a knot of sour grief tightening in her throat. "Are the discharge papers done?" She deliberately changed the subject. Ayla knew that even if she tried to explain, Andrew wouldn't believe her. "You look perfectly fine to me. Since that's the case, you can go wait in line and handle the paperwork yourself." With that, Andrew stalked out of the room, fuming. Watching his furious retreat, the light in Ayla's beautiful eyes gradually dimmed, leaving only a profound sense of loneliness and sorrow. She was like a wounded deer in the forest, left to lick its own wounds and heal itself. Ayla lowered her gaze and let out a humorless laugh. From his worried arrival to his furious departure, it had only been an hour. In the end, his "Princess Myers" was still what mattered most. Ultimately, Ayla had to go down to the lobby herself to handle the discharge procedures. It was crowded, and she had to wait in line. When it was her turn, Ayla found out her bill was over four hundred dollars, but it had already been paid. She briefly explained the situation to the staff and got the phone number "The Living Good Samaritan" had left on file. By the time Ayla got back to her room, her assistant had already dropped off her clothes. Ayla changed and went straight home. As expected, Andrew wasn't there. Upstairs in the bedroom, she could almost see flashes of the intimate moments she and Andrew had shared—so beautiful, so happy. Ayla found herself getting lost in the lingering warmth of that happiness. Outside the window, an unnamed bird chirped from a tree, its crisp song pulling her back to reality. Snapping out of it, Ayla began to pack her things. The designer bags in the walk-in closet and the beautiful jewelry in the display case were all things Andrew had painstakingly chosen for her for every minor holiday in the past. The stark contrast between how much he used to care and how little he cared now was still something Ayla couldn't get used to. She spent the whole morning packing up the bags and jewelry, then drove her other car to a luxury consignment shop and sold everything as a single lot. The sale brought in a total of $2.5 million. Ayla decided she would donate the money to charity. Sitting in her car, Ayla called her best friend, Sophia. The phone rang a few times before it was answered. "Babe! To what do I owe the honor?" "Sophia, I need to find a place to rent," Ayla sighed. Sophia immediately sensed something was wrong. "Did you get into a fight with… that good-for-nothing husband of yours?" "You could say that." Since Sophia was traveling abroad, Ayla didn't want to ruin her trip and held back from saying more. "Just a small argument. I just want to move out for a bit, you know, to cool off." "That son of a bitch Andrew Watson! He dared to bully you? Just wait till I get back from my trip, I'll tear him apart!" After venting, she got to the point. "Rent what? I have a place at Platinum Joy Manor. You should just go there. It's sitting empty anyway. Forget staying for a bit—you can stay for two or three years if you want." After they finished chatting, Sophia texted Ayla the building number and key code. Since she had nothing else to do today, Ayla drove over to Platinum Joy Manor. Platinum Joy Manor was a riverfront luxury villa community located in Harbor City's most exclusive district, where every square inch was worth a fortune. The architecture was opulent and grand, a true enclave for the ultra-rich. Ayla had always known Sophia was wealthy, but in all their years as friends, Sophia never revealed her family's background, and Ayla never pried. Sophia had already called security, so Ayla entered Platinum Joy Manor smoothly and headed for Building A, Unit 2. She pressed the elevator button and replied to an important work message while she waited. *Ding—* The elevator doors opened, and without looking up, Ayla stepped inside. "Ah!" She slammed unexpectedly into a wall of flesh. The impact against a rock-solid chest made her nose throb with pain, and her eyes welled up with reflexive tears. "Hiss…" Ayla clutched her nose, sucking in a sharp breath. She looked up. Through her blurry, tear-filled vision, she saw a man in a wine-red shirt wearing a silver chain, his powerful chest muscles faintly visible. Further up was a face with sharp, well-defined features. Because of the tears in her eyes, the man seemed to be bathed in a golden halo under the elevator lights, making his features a bit hazy, but she could still tell he was impossibly handsome. But… his clothes looked a lot like the ones worn by the person who had saved her yesterday. Ayla apologized profusely. "I'm so sorry, so sorry. I wasn't watching where I was going." Jackson Washington stared at the woman just inches away, a flash of surprise in his eyes. Her again? His gaze fell on Ayla. Her long hair was swept up in a claw clip, with a few stray strands of bangs framing her lovely face. Her lips were red, her teeth white, and her features were as delicate as a painting. She wore a drop-shoulder denim maxi dress that made her skin look as white as snow. Below her long, swan-like neck, her collarbones were exquisite and sexy. Though she wore no makeup, she had an effortless grace and a captivating beauty. Even the gauze patch on her forehead did nothing to diminish her looks. But with her almond-shaped eyes glistening with tears, she looked fragile and pitiful, stirring a protective instinct. Why was this woman always such a mess every time he ran into her?

Chapter 6

"Hey... is your nose okay?" he asked, a hint of sympathy in his voice. Ayla rubbed her nose and shot back playfully, "It's the real deal, so no big deal." "Heh." The man couldn't help but let out a soft, melodic laugh. "Good to hear." *This woman is actually kind of interesting.* He then walked around her and stepped out of the elevator. Once he was gone, Ayla's slender fingers jabbed at her floor button. She braced a hand against the elevator wall, bowing her head as she rubbed her nose and took a deep breath. "Ugh... that hurt like hell. Is his chest made of steel or something?" Maybe it was because her head was lowered, but a tear fell straight to the floor. She had no idea that Jackson Washington, standing just outside the elevator, had seen the whole thing. As the elevator doors slowly slid shut, cutting off his view, a smirk played on Jackson's lips. "Putting on a tough act, huh?" *Bzz Bzz—* Just then, his phone vibrated. Jackson pulled it out. The screen flashed with an incoming call—Sophia Washington. Seeing the name, the man's brow furrowed. "Broke again?" Sophia giggled on the other end. "Bro, you know me so well." "How much?" he asked, walking toward the building's exit. Sophia thought for a moment. "Umm... how about fifty million?" Jackson laughed, a mix of anger and amusement. "Fifty million dollars? Are you planning a world tour, or are you trying to buy your own kingdom?" "Oh, come on, bro. I'm just broke. Hook me up, please?" Sophia whined, laying the sweet-talk on thick. She couldn't exactly tell him the real reason—that her company was on the verge of bankruptcy and desperately needed a cash infusion. "What, is the company going under again?" As sharp as ever, Jackson saw right through her little act. Sophia stomped her foot in frustration. "Bro! What are you talking about? Knock on wood! Don't jinx me, my company is doing great." "If it's doing so great, why are you asking me for money?" "Well... uh... it's just that I haven't broken even yet," Sophia stammered before getting huffy and resorting to emotional blackmail. "Are you gonna give it to me or not? If not, I guess you can just let your little sister starve to death overseas." "I'll have Elias transfer you one million later," Jackson said, his smile gone, his voice serious. "I'm giving you one last six-month chance. If your startup doesn't show any improvement by then, you're going to pack it up, come back home, and start working for the family company. From then on, you'll do everything you're told." ... Up on the 29th floor, Ayla wandered through the spacious 1,700-square-foot apartment. She ended up in front of the living room's floor-to-ceiling windows, gazing out at the river and the panoramic view of Harbor City. A wave of emotion washed over her. What a beautiful view. It was like it had a special magic, capable of soothing the restlessness in her heart. She thought that after her divorce from Andrew Watson, she would buy a place of her own, preferably right here in Platinum Joy Manor. She loved everything about these apartments, from the layout to the river view. After sitting by the window for a long time, she suddenly remembered her "Good Samaritan." She picked up her phone, found the number, and dialed. "Ring... ring... ring..." The phone rang a few times before someone answered. "Who is this?" "Hi, my name is Ayla Ferguson. You rescued me yesterday and took me to the hospital," she explained concisely. "I'm just calling to thank you." Jackson, who had been in his CEO's office handling documents, raised an eyebrow when she introduced herself. His assistant, Elias, had handled everything after the accident, so this was the first time Jackson was hearing her name. The man stood up, phone in one hand and a coffee mug in the other, and walked over to his own floor-to-ceiling window. "Don't mention it," he said casually. "It was nothing." His voice over the phone was deep and magnetic, like a professional voice actor's. It was incredibly pleasant to listen to. Ayla thought he seemed like a kind person with a great voice—he must be a pretty amazing guy. "I was wondering if you're free, sir. I'd like to treat you to a meal." And she could pay him back for the medical expenses in person. A flicker of scorn crossed Jackson's eyes. "No need. I'm not interested in married women." He was all too familiar with the various ways women tried to throw themselves at him. His long, deep-set eyes gazed into the distance, right across the river to Platinum Joy Manor. He suddenly remembered bumping into Ayla earlier. She lived in Platinum Joy Manor, too? Ayla: "..." If her approval rating for her "Good Samaritan" had been at 100% a second ago, it had just been slashed in half. *What a self-absorbed Good Samari— more like a self-absorbed psycho!* she thought. Her voice instantly turned cold. "I think you've misunderstood, sir. I only wanted to treat you to a meal to express my gratitude and to pay you back the seven hundred and fifty dollars for my medical bills." "Not necessary," he refused coolly. Ayla's friendly attitude vanished. "I don't make a habit of owing people. Is this number connected to your WhatsApp? I'll add you and transfer the money." Without giving Jackson a chance to reply, she hung up. Less than a minute later, his phone chimed with a WhatsApp notification. He opened the app. A new contact request had popped up: 'Little Ayla' wants to add you. He looked at the profile picture. The background was a blue sky, and in the foreground, slender fingers held a stalk of foxtail grass woven into the shape of a heart. Jackson stared at it for two seconds before, on a strange impulse, he accepted the request. *Ding!* The next second, a $750 transfer notification appeared, along with a message: [Thanks for your "help." Here's the money for my medical bills.] The words dripped with sarcasm. Jackson hesitated for a moment before accepting the money. Out of politeness, he replied with an 'OK' hand gesture emoji, too cool to even type a single word. However, the message he sent was immediately flagged with a red exclamation point. System notification: You are not contacts with this user. Jackson: "..." His stoic expression stiffened for a split second before he let out an exasperated laugh and took a sip of his coffee. Camphor Bloom Gardens. It had been a week since Andrew Watson had stormed out of the hospital. He hadn't come home since. Over the phone, he'd said he was on a business trip to the coast. In the past, Andrew had always taken her on his business trips, but not this time. Ayla didn't want to ask, nor could she be bothered to find out more. She just went to work from nine to five like clockwork. On Monday morning, Andrew returned from his trip and went straight to the office, but he had a new secretary with him. Ayla took her resignation letter and headed up to the top floor, making a beeline for the CEO's office as soon as she got out of the elevator. As she passed the breakroom, someone suddenly called out to her. "Director Ferguson, long time no see." Ayla stopped and turned to see Harper Myers walking out of the breakroom in a black pantsuit and high heels. She was holding a steaming cup of hot water, her face glowing and full of vibrant energy. "Can I help you?" Ayla asked flatly. Harper tucked a strand of her chestnut hair behind her ear and held out a hand. "Let me introduce myself. I'm Andrew's—oh, I mean, Mr. Watson's—new personal secretary. I guess that makes us colleagues now. I look forward to working with you, Director Ferguson."

Chapter 7

Every word was a thinly veiled brag. Everyone in the company knew Andrew Watson had taken only one new secretary with him on his business trip this past week. This wasn't some friendly greeting from the new hire. It was a provocation, plain and simple. Ayla's red lips curved into a slight smile. “A personal secretary? The kind that gets ‘personal' by stripping down and throwing herself at him?” She gave a slight nod, her face a perfect mask of indifference, as if she were a mere spectator. “Yeah, that suits you.” The smile on Harper Myers's face froze. “You…!” She flared with anger, but then a sly grin replaced it. Her voice dripped with sarcasm. “Don't act like you don't care. If you really didn't care about Andrew, you wouldn't have gotten that injury on your forehead. Wasn't that just a pathetic attempt to play the victim and get his attention?” She took a step closer, leaning in to whisper in Ayla's ear, “But Andrew doesn't love you. You know, I was with him this entire week on his trip. He looks so handsome when he's closing a deal. Of course, he's even hotter when he's on top of me, thrusting inside me.” They were standing incredibly close. Suddenly, a glint appeared in Harper's eyes. Her hand jerked, and the scalding hot water from her cup sloshed directly onto Ayla's hand. “Hiss…” Ayla cried out in pain and shoved her away. “Harper!” Harper staggered back a few steps, swayed dramatically, and collapsed to the floor. The rest of the hot water splashed onto the back of her own hand. “Ah… it hurts… sob… Director Ferguson, why… why did you push me? Sob, Andrew was the one who asked me to go on the trip with him.” “Ayla, stop it!” A voice thundered from behind her. Before Ayla could even turn around, Andrew Watson rushed past, shoved her aside, and sprinted to Harper's side, gathering her into his arms. “Harper, are you okay?” “Sob…” Tears streamed down Harper's face as she shook her head, lifting her reddened, swelling hand. “Director Ferguson didn't mean to. Andrew, you… you can't blame her…” Wow, what a terrible actress. The entire hallway was thick with the stench of her fake innocence. But somehow, Andrew didn't notice. Instead, his face flushed red with fury as he glared at Ayla, roaring like a madman, “Ayla, when did you become so vicious? Do you have any idea this is boiling water? A burn like this could leave a scar for life!” Ayla's burned hand, still clutching her resignation letter, hung trembling at her side. Her eyes filled with the sight of Andrew's explosive rage, her ears rang with his furious shouts. He was like an enraged lion, all traces of his former gentleness gone. In that moment, the warm, gentle boy from her memories fractured and split away from the man standing before her, making Ayla doubt her own sanity. *When did it all go so wrong? How did I lose the man who loved me more than life itself, the man who would have handed me the world on a silver platter?* Ayla suddenly felt exhausted, a weariness that seeped into her bones. She didn't even have the energy to explain. “I came to turn in my resignation letter.” She held the man's gaze for a long moment. The disbelief in her eyes faded to disappointment, then to despair, and finally settled into the stillness of a dead pool. Her red lips parted, and her voice was flat, devoid of any emotion as she said, “I came to turn in my resignation letter.” Andrew's attention was entirely focused on Harper's burn. He was furious, and he couldn't accept that the woman he once loved had become so venomous and cruel. “You don't need to submit a resignation letter. As a senior executive, you publicly assaulted an employee. I'll have my assistant send out a company-wide memo. You're fired,” he snarled, his eyes blazing with fury. His words hit Ayla like a physical blow. Her wounded heart felt as if it were being crushed by a giant hand, squeezed and trampled without any regard for its bleeding wounds. “Fired…?!” Ayla couldn't believe it. Andrew continued, “As Director Ferguson, and as my wife, you're supposed to lead by example. If I don't handle this properly, how am I supposed to face our employees? How can I give the Myers family an explanation? If this blows up, the consequences will be unthinkable.” Silence. It was as if her ears had gone deaf. She couldn't hear a thing, and the world around her faded into nothing. In a black-and-white world, all Ayla could see was Andrew clutching Harper, who was still crumpled on the floor. Andrew's furious face and Harper's triumphant smirk grew larger and larger, like demons about to swallow her whole. She saw Andrew's mouth moving, but she couldn't hear a single word he said. After what felt like an eternity, she finally came back to herself, just in time to hear Andrew's final words. “You have shares in the company. From now on, just stay home and be a good Mrs. Watson. You'll still get your dividends.” Then, he lifted Harper into his arms and left. He stormed away, as if a single second's delay would mean Harper's death. Ayla stood frozen in place, her face pale. A chill settled deep in her bones, so cold it felt like she was encased in ice. Once Andrew was gone, the few secretaries from the department who had been eavesdropping dared to come out and show their concern. “Director Ferguson, are you okay?” “Are you all right?” “Harper is such a bitch. She was obviously trying to seduce Mr. Watson.” “Director Ferguson, do you want us to be your witnesses?” The secretaries genuinely liked Ayla and were furious to see her framed, but with Andrew in such a rage, no one had dared to rock the boat. They could all say the right things now, but no one was willing to risk their career over it. After all, if even Director Ferguson—Mrs. Watson herself—could be fired, what chance did a few nobodies like them have? Ayla composed herself, forcing a smile onto her paper-white face. “I'm fine. You all should get back to work. I'm leaving.” She walked in her high heels to the elevator, holding her resignation letter. She pressed the button for a different car and casually tossed the letter into a nearby trash can. She left the company without taking anything with her, stopping at a nearby clinic to get her wound treated. The back of her hand was burned, with two thumb-sized, transparent blisters. It hurt. A lot. But no matter how much it hurt, it was nothing compared to the pain in her heart. Andrew was a man of his word. That afternoon, an internal memo was sent out, stating that due to “conduct unbecoming of her position,” she was terminated. The news sent the company into an uproar, and the story of her “assaulting” the new secretary with hot water spread like wildfire. Many employees praised Andrew for his “impartial” and “fair” decision, showering him with compliments. But many others trusted Ayla more. They flooded her phone with concerned messages and calls, all of which she ignored. Once your heart is dead, you stop caring about such meaningless things. After years of clawing her way through the cutthroat business world, she understood human nature. She had once believed love was the most precious thing she owned. Only now did she realize that the only people she could truly trust were her best friend, Sophia Washington, her parents, and herself. She was far too mature to wallow in heartbreak. She had already moved on to planning her divorce. And so, she secretly contacted someone and began making arrangements to sell her twenty percent stake in the Ascendant Group.

Chapter 8

If she was going to divorce Andrew, she needed to cut all ties. No chance of getting tangled up with him again. Maybe his conscience was bothering him, or maybe it was something else... But that night, Andrew came home. Ayla was curled up on the beanbag chair on the balcony, reading. Suddenly, she heard the bedroom door open, followed by Andrew's voice calling her name. “Ayla?” She ignored him. Andrew saw her on the balcony and hurried over. “Ta-da! Look what I have for you.” He even supplied his own sound effects, kneeling beside her and opening an elegant wooden box. “I made it for you myself.” Inside the box was a silver bracelet. Dangling from it was a charm in the shape of a rose, its petals made of pink gemstones and its leaves tiny emeralds. Three small silver chains of varying lengths hung from the charm. The design was simple but elegant, and under the balcony light, the gems sparkled like distant stars. It was beautiful. Ayla glanced up, let out a noncommittal “hmph,” and then lifted her slender, pale fingers... Andrew's eyes lit up. He thought her anger had faded and she was reaching for the bracelet. After all, she loved unique jewelry. He pictured her wearing it, hair tied back loosely, wearing a simple dress. He'd always been captivated by that look of hers—an effortless, timeless elegance that drove him crazy. But he was wrong. Her delicate fingers simply turned a page. The crisp sound of paper was jarringly loud in the quiet night, as if amplified. “Still mad?” Andrew snatched the book from her, took her hand, and pressed the box into it. He then held out his own hand. “I know you're upset. That's why I went and made this for you after work, to apologize. Look, my hands are all cut up.” Ayla glanced at them. It was true. His hands were noticeably rougher, with several small cuts. But she wasn't stupid. She knew he'd probably just done the finishing touches on a pre-made piece. There was no way he could have crafted it from scratch in one afternoon. “Hiss...” As Andrew's thumb brushed against the back of her hand, it grazed her burn, and she couldn't help but suck in a sharp breath. “What's wrong?” Andrew sensed something was off. He looked down at her hand and finally saw the two thumb-sized blisters on the back of it. They looked awful. “Your hand... This... When did you get burned?” Andrew's expression darkened with worry. Ayla didn't hide it. “Harper did it.” “Har... Harper did it?” Andrew sounded shocked, and skeptical. He didn't buy it. Harper had just gotten back to the country, and she had no beef with Ayla. Why would she burn her for no reason? Sure, Harper could be a bit spoiled, but she wasn't vicious. Thinking back to what he'd seen at the office today, Andrew figured it was more likely that Ayla, annoyed with Harper, had tried to shove her and accidentally knocked the cup of hot water she was holding, splashing herself in the process. “Harper's just a bit clumsy and careless. I'm sure it wasn't on purpose,” Andrew said, convinced Ayla was lying. Women, he thought, always got jealous over the man they loved. And he was Ayla's husband, after all. The thought actually put him in a good mood. “Here, let me blow on it.” His words made Ayla let out a soft, humorless laugh. *See?* she thought. *When someone is the golden child, they can get away with murder. People will swear it was an accident and bend over backward to make excuses for them.* Hearing Ayla laugh, Andrew looked up, his handsome features softening. “Ayla, I knew you'd forgive me.” He mistook her bitter laugh for a sign of forgiveness. “Come on, let me put some ointment on that.” He frowned and sighed. “My Ayla has such beautiful hands. We can't let this leave a scar.” Ayla was tired. Exhausted. She didn't even have the energy to argue with him anymore. Fine. Let him do whatever he wanted. Andrew led her into the bedroom and applied ointment to her burn. Then he asked, “It'll be hard to shower with your hand like that. Want me to help you?” As he spoke, his eyes, dark with desire, fixed on her. He cupped her face in his hands. “You used to act all cute when you weren't feeling well, begging me to wash you. It's been a while for us.” “I'm on my period. I already took a quick shower.” She made up an excuse to shut down his advances. “Alright, then. I'll get some water and you can soak your feet.” Andrew stood and ruffled her hair. “It's good for you when you're on your period.” With that, he turned and went into the bathroom. A few moments later, he came back with a basin of hot water, to which he'd added some herbal bath salts. He thoughtfully helped her soak her feet. It was all so tender and attentive, just like the old days. He was the same gentle, doting Andrew, the man who had once treated her like his entire world, who looked like he would pluck the stars from the sky for her if she asked. “Thanks,” Ayla said. Her voice was cold and distant. How could Andrew not notice? He got up and made her a cup of herbal tea, handing it to her. “About today... my hands were tied. Harper is the baby of the Myers family, their absolute favorite. The only reason I brought her on this business trip is because her family is bringing me in on a multi-billion dollar project.” “We just signed the contracts, and then Harper gets hurt by you. If I didn't fire you, how could I explain it to the Myers family? Ayla, you're my wife. We're a family. I need you to understand how hard things are for me in business.” “Besides, didn't you say you were tired and wanted to quit a few days ago? From now on, you can just be Mrs. Watson. Go shopping, have brunch with your friends... maybe we could even have a baby. You could run the house and raise the kids, and I'll make the money. How does that sound?” Ayla had already tuned out Andrew's manipulative speech. She wasn't listening, and she didn't want to. Until he said it: “...maybe we could even have a baby.” The words hit her like an arrow straight to the heart, and the pain was so sharp it felt like she was bleeding. Ayla's fingers tightened around the mug, her eyelashes fluttering. “But... didn't we agree we were going to be child-free?” “Oh, come on. We were young back then.” Andrew started playing with a strand of her long, dark hair. “Besides, I'm an only son. If we don't have kids, who's going to inherit all this money?” Ayla's grip on the mug tightened again. She took a sip of the tea. She didn't know if it was the herbs or something else, but it tasted bitter. A bitterness that spread from her mouth straight to her heart. “Andrew, I...” She hesitated for a long moment. Just as Ayla was about to confess that she couldn't have children, Andrew's phone rang. He pulled out his phone, glanced at the screen, and his expression shifted instantly. “Ayla, I have to take this.” He stepped out of the bedroom, closing the door behind him, and answered the call in the hallway. A moment later, Ayla heard a car engine start in the driveway. And just like that, he was gone. Without another word...

Chapter 9

The next day. It was a perfect, sunny morning. After breakfast, Ayla went to the study to pack her books, planning to start moving things to Platinum Joy Manor little by little. After packing two large boxes with art books and important documents, Ayla drove off. Since she would be living here for a while, Ayla registered for facial recognition access with building security, then carried a heavy box of books into the tower. “Yeah, okay, I'll be over in a bit.” As Ayla entered the elevator lobby, she saw a strikingly handsome man on the phone. He wore a dark gray shirt that fit his broad shoulders and narrow waist perfectly, and he carried himself with a commanding air. Ayla walked over to wait for the elevator next to him. She snuck a sideways glance and couldn't help but marvel at his profile. *Damn, he's gorgeous.* Sharp, chiseled features, a well-defined jawline, and the presence of a supermodel. He had to be rich and powerful. Then again, she thought, this was Platinum Joy Manor, where every square foot was worth a fortune. Of course everyone here was wealthy. She looked over at the man, and he glanced back at her. It was just a casual look, but when his eyes landed on her face, Jackson Washington's eyebrow twitched upward, and the corner of his mouth pulled into a subtle smirk. *Ding.* The elevator doors slid open. After the people inside stepped out, Jackson strode in. Ayla followed, setting the heavy box down on the floor. When she looked up to press her floor, she saw the button for the 32nd floor was already lit. *He lives on the 32nd floor too?* *A neighbor.* The elevator doors closed with a soft chime and began to ascend. Ayla peeked at the man from the corner of her eye, debating whether she should say hello. After all, they were going to be seeing each other around. “So… uh, you live on the 32nd floor too?” she finally mustered the courage to ask. Jackson, who had been replying to a text, paused for a fraction of a second. His cold eyes flicked toward her. “Yeah.” She smiled warmly. “I'm on the 32nd floor too. Guess that makes us neighbors.” The man just nodded. “Mm.” Ayla was speechless. *That's it?* *God, he's so cold. A total conversation killer.* Sensing he didn't want to talk, Ayla dropped the friendly act. It was making her look like she was after something. She stared blankly at the slowly rising numbers when, suddenly, the elevator lights flickered, and the car let out a loud *CLANG*. “What's happening?” Ayla whispered, startled. Jackson's expression sharpened. He looked up at the floor display, noticing the elevator, which had been at the 9th floor, had suddenly dropped to the 8th before jerking to a stop. He immediately lunged forward, his long, elegant fingers swiping down the columns of floor buttons, lighting them all up in one smooth motion. Then he pressed the ‘door open' button, but nothing happened. “Hold the handrail, back against the wall, bend your knees, and stay on the balls of your feet,” he ordered, his voice firm, as he braced himself against the wall. Ayla knew something was seriously wrong and immediately did as he said. The next second, the elevator shot up five or six floors, and with a sharp click, it suddenly plummeted. “Ahhh!” Ayla had never been in a situation like this. She squeezed her eyes shut and screamed, her hands gripping the handrail so tightly her heart felt like it was going to leap out of her throat. Suddenly, the lights died, and the elevator came to a jarring halt. The force of the stop sent Ayla stumbling, and she nearly fell to her knees. But the man beside her was quick, grabbing her arm and steadying her before she could hit the floor. “You okay?” Jackson asked. Gasping for breath, Ayla clutched her chest. “Yeah… I'm okay. Thanks.” She pulled out her phone, but there was no signal. She pounded on the doors. “Hello? Is anyone out there? We're stuck in here!” After a few shouts, her phone screen went dark, plunging the elevator into absolute, pitch-black silence. She gave up. It was obvious they were probably in the basement levels. There was no light outside, and shouting was just a waste of energy. The elevator was stopped. All they could do now was wait for rescue. Feeling like she'd just survived a disaster, Ayla sat down on the box of books and let out a long sigh. “That was terrifying. But seriously, thank you for earlier. You reacted so fast.” The elevator could have gone into a free fall. If it had, they both would've been seriously injured. But her heartfelt praise was met with complete silence. The man didn't even acknowledge her, as if she were beneath his notice. Ayla couldn't help but roll her eyes. *So damn cold!* Since he was ignoring her, she decided to stop talking. The minutes ticked by, each second feeling like an eternity of anxious waiting. *Huuuh… huuh… huuh…* The sound of breathing next to her grew louder, more ragged. Something felt wrong. Ayla turned on her phone's flashlight and pointed it at him. She was shocked to see the man's face flushed red, his forehead drenched in sweat. He was breathing heavily, and the veins on the back of the hand gripping the rail were bulging. It had only been five or six minutes, but he was already covered in sweat that dripped down his handsome face, soaking the collar of his dark gray shirt. The fabric clung to his chest, revealing the line of his collarbone and outlining his muscular physique. Even in this state, he was still disarmingly attractive. “Are you… What's wrong?” Ayla stood up and moved closer, concerned. Jackson was leaning back against the wall, tucked into the corner. He gripped the handrail tightly, his glacial eyes shooting her a look. “Get lost.” “You…!” Ayla was furious. “Wow, okay. No good deed goes unpunished.” She let out a haughty sniff, switched off her flashlight, and went back to sitting on her box, determined to ignore him. As more time passed, the breathing beside her became even heavier, so labored that she couldn't ignore it. She switched the flashlight on again. The man was now standing sideways, one hand on the rail, the other clutched over his heart. He looked terrible. “Seriously, what is wrong with you?” Ayla quickly pushed the box of books next to him. “Here, sit. Sit down right now.” She reached for his wrist, but his hand was clamped around the handrail, refusing to budge. Suddenly, a thought struck her… *Is this… claustrophobia?!* When a claustrophobia attack hits, it can cause feelings of suffocation and dizziness. It could be dangerous, even fatal. *Oh, crap, crap, you can't die in here,* Ayla panicked. *If you die, they'll think I had something to do with it!* Her cool hand covered his, and she forcefully pried his fingers from the rail. She grabbed his arm and pulled with all her might, forcing him to sit down on the box. But Jackson's condition didn't improve. His body was stiff and rigid. Forgetting her own fear, Ayla focused on comforting him, taking his hand in hers. “Hey, don't be scared, it's okay. I'm right here. You're gonna be fine, okay? You're fine.” She had no idea how to calm someone having a panic attack, and her phone was useless without a signal. He sat ramrod straight, eyes squeezed shut, his chest rising and falling violently like a fish gasping for air out of water. He gripped Ayla's hand tightly, as if it were his last lifeline. The sight truly terrified her. “Relax, okay? Just try to relax.”

Chapter 10

With her other hand, she opened her purse and rummaged inside. She pulled out a folding fan, and then she spotted a creamy caramel candy. So, she unwrapped it and held the candy to his lips. "Hey, here. Have some candy. It's supposed to help with anxiety and stress." The gasping man's eyelids fluttered open. A cold glint flashed in his alluring, almond-shaped eyes as he glanced at her, then at the candy in her hand. "Are you... trying to choke me... to death?" "Uh..." Ayla thought for a second and realized he had a point. He was already struggling to breathe. If she stuck a piece of candy in his mouth and he choked on it, she'd literally be a murderer. So, she popped the candy into her own mouth instead. "Your mind is sharp, so your condition isn't too bad," Ayla said, chewing on the caramel while fanning him. "It's okay, it's okay, don't be nervous. I... I'll tell you a story." Even though she was also nervous and worried about being trapped, there was a sick person next to her. How could she even think about herself? With no other choice, she could only try to distract him with a story. "Once upon a time, there was a little girl who loved to wear a red cap, so everyone called her 'Little Red Riding Hood.' One day, her mother asked her to take some cake and wine to her sick grandmother, who lived on the other side of the forest. Little Red Riding Hood..." Ayla racked her brain, struggling to recall the childhood stories and trying her best to tell it with flair. "Noisy!" Jackson forced out the word, his brow tightly furrowed. Ayla was speechless. *So high-maintenance.* She really was out of ideas. She shut her mouth obediently and just kept fanning him. His other hand was still clamped around hers, squeezing so tightly it hurt, but Ayla didn't pull away. She was scared, and she was worried this guy might die at any moment. Several times, she took out her phone to call for help, but there was no signal at all. The elevator was eerily quiet, filled only with the sound of his ragged breaths. Ayla noticed that when she was silent, his grip tightened, and he seemed to get even worse. So, she started trying to soothe him again... "Help will be here any second." "Just hang in there a little longer." "Want to hear a joke? I can tell you a joke." "Oh, by the way, what's your name?" ... The woman's chattering voice filled his ears. The man, drenched in sweat and on the verge of collapse, looked pitiable. His gray shirt was plastered to his body, and his sweat-soaked bangs clung to his skin, adding to his wretched state. He leaned against the elevator wall, his long, thick lashes trembling as he slowly opened his eyes. Through his blurry vision, he could see Ayla's slender fingers holding the fan, constantly waving it for him. Her red lips were moving, endlessly saying something. Another half an hour later, a sound finally came from outside the elevator. The rescue team had arrived. A few minutes later, the sealed elevator doors were pried open. A huge rush of fresh air poured in, feeling like the misty, life-giving air on a country path at dawn. Outside the elevator, Jackson's driver, Thomas Dixon, was waiting anxiously. He had been waiting outside the complex for his boss, but when an hour passed with no sign of him and his calls wouldn't go through, he realized the elevator must have malfunctioned and immediately contacted property management. Seeing his boss's pale face now, he was terrified. "Boss, I'm taking you to the hospital." Jackson, soaked in sweat and utterly exhausted, leaned on Thomas's shoulder. As he was leaving, he glanced back, his reddened, almond-shaped eyes giving Ayla a meaningful look, but he said nothing at all. Ayla watched him go and scoffed. "Not even a 'thank you.' So rude." The whole ordeal left Ayla with some serious trauma. Terrified, she grabbed her boxes, went back to her car, and drove back to Camphor Bloom Gardens. On the way, she got a call from Andrew Watson. Ayla didn't really want to answer, but she was still shaken from what had just happened. Seeing Andrew's name, she picked up automatically. The moment she opened her mouth, her throat felt tight with unshed tears. She wanted to pour out everything that had happened, to tell him how scared and wronged she felt, just like she used to. But instead, the man's sharp, accusatory voice came through the phone. "Ayla, where were you? What were you doing? Why did I call you a dozen times and couldn't get through?!" His angry voice snapped Ayla back to reality. The tears that had welled in her eyes from surviving the ordeal began to clear. "What could I have been doing?" she retorted coldly. "What do you *think* I was doing? Or do you think I was secretly meeting up with some other guy?" People with twisted morals always assume everyone else is just like them. Her three rapid-fire questions left Andrew speechless. He thought about what the maid had told him earlier—that Ayla had left with two big boxes. Combined with her recent indifference and coldness toward him, a deep sense of unease settled in Andrew's gut. He had a nagging feeling that Ayla was going to leave him. After a few seconds of silence, he changed his tone. "I'm sorry, Ayla. I was just so worried about you." Ayla couldn't be bothered to call out his lie. "Was there a reason you called?" she asked icily. In the end, Andrew wasn't the same Andrew anymore, and she could no longer be the person who ran to him first with her problems, waiting for his sweet words and comfort. "Ayla, I booked tickets. We're going on a cruise in four days," Andrew said, his voice as smooth and gentle as ever. "You've been in a bad mood lately, haven't you? I wanted to take you somewhere to relax." "No, thanks. Work is more important," she replied, politely turning him down. "Work is never-ending. Besides, what job is more important than you?" he added. "This is a trip on the Stellar Seas Freedom, the biggest cruise ship in the country. It's making its maiden voyage in four days—tickets were impossible to get." She'd heard of the Stellar Seas Freedom. It was built by the Grand Prosperity Group, a subsidiary of the Washington Clan—the country's richest family—for nearly a billion dollars. It was also the third-largest ultra-luxury cruise ship in the world. Just as Andrew said, tickets for its maiden voyage were incredibly hard to come by. Ayla figured she didn't have much going on anyway, so a trip might not be a bad idea. "Okay, got it." Over the next three or four days, Ayla continued moving her things into Platinum Joy Manor. But she was surprised to find that the property management at Platinum Joy Manor had been completely replaced. When she asked, she found out the previous company had been fired on the spot because of the elevator accident. *That distinguished, handsome guy from the elevator must be the young master of some powerful family,* she thought. During this time, Ayla also made time to meet with a few potential buyers, eventually selling her twenty percent stake in the Ascendant Group to the head of Tripod Wellness Group for three hundred million dollars. ... The night before the cruise, the ever-elusive Andrew finally came home. He returned with a bouquet of roses and, just like that other day, cooked her a lavish dinner himself. After dinner, they went upstairs. "We're leaving for the trip tomorrow," Andrew said. "I'll go ahead and start packing." With that, he walked into the walk-in closet. Ayla's brow furrowed slightly. She cast a thoughtful glance at the closet before picking up a book on economics and heading out to the balcony. She had just sat down when Andrew's voice echoed from the bedroom. "Ayla, where are your purses and jewelry? Why are they all gone? And your clothes—why are so many missing?" The upcoming chapters are even more exciting! Click the download button below to read the entire book!👇👇👇