Sloane hacked up a mouthful of salty ocean water, shivering violently as a rough pair of hands hauled her onto the dry wooden floorboards of an abandoned boathouse.Her expensive trench coat was gone, replaced by a damp, oil-stained blanket. Her hair clung to her face in matted clumps, and her wrists were raw and bloody from the heavy prison ties. But beneath her soaked collar, her fingers frantically clutched the thin leather cord around her neck.The dull silver ring was still there."Stop crying like a beaten dog, Sloane. You’re making my head hurt."The voice was rough, full of bitter hatred.Sloane looked up through her wet hair, her eyes widening in shock.Sitting in a wheelchair near the doorway, draped in a thick fur coat, was Lysander Whitemore. His face was pale and sunken, his legs covered in heavy medical braces, and his eyes burned with pure hatred. Beside him stood Damian Cross—tall, arrogant, wearing a tailored black suit and casually tossing a gold-plated lighter betwe

The dining room of the Grand Emerald Villa was silent except for the gentle clinking of solid silver spoons against fine china.Lady Kaelen sat at the head of the long mahogany table, her eyes misting over with emotion as she looked at the spread in front of her. For three agonizing years, her dinners had consisted of boiled cabbage and instant noodles in that cold, leaky room, listening to the neighbours whisper about her son being an unemployed beggar.Now, three of the most stunning, powerful women in the country were practically hovering over her, competing to serve her like a queen.Vanessa was the first to move. She picked up a porcelain dish holding a piece of steamed white sea-bass, placing it gently on Lady Kaelen’s plate with a graceful movement."Lady Kaelen, please try this," Vanessa said, her voice warm and charming. Her green eyes sparkled under the chandelier. "I had my family’s private yacht bring this in from the deep reefs just two hours ago. It's rich in natural min

Sloane couldn't feel her toes anymore.Her thin dress was wet and sticking to her skin, and every breath smelled of traffic. Three months ago, she wouldn't have stood outside for three minutes without complaining and demanding a luxury car. Today, she had been standing behind a light pole for five straight hours, watching the entrance of the Grand Horizon Hotel.Her stomach growled painfully. She hadn't eaten since yesterday morning, when she shared a stale meat pie with her brother at the train station.Across the street, the hotel staff were laying out a red carpet. Wealthy men and women stepped out of expensive cars, giving large tips to the workers without even looking at them.Sloane's heart filled with envy and deep regret.That was supposed to be her world. For three years, Riven had woken up at five in the morning to iron her clothes, pack her lunch, and give her hot lemon water before she went to work. She used to roll her eyes, call him a useless house-husband, and leave him

Riven didn't answer with words. He pushed his chair back smoothly.The entire ballroom fell quiet as the music grew louder. Every billionaire, foreign investor, and high-ranking official stopped talking, their eyes fixed on the VIP platform. In high society, a man's first dance at a grand opening wasn't just a dance—it was a public sign of who had his favor, whose family would become part of his inner circle, and who had influence over the empire's future.Vanessa stood proudly, her chin raised. Her hand hovered in the air, waiting for him.Lyra's violet eyes sparkled with confidence. Her small hand rested near his chest.Linnea remained seated, her legs crossed. She calmly moved the mineral water in her glass with a knowing smile.Riven adjusted his cuffs.He didn't take Vanessa's hand. He didn't take Lyra's.Instead, he turned toward the far corner of the VIP platform, where an older woman in a blue dress sat quietly, drinking warm honey tea beside two elite bodyguards.Lady Kaelen

Vanessa didn't flinch. A slow, sharp laugh came from her lips, though the look in her eyes turned cold. She set her glass of rum down on the table."A forgotten provincial clerk didn't stamp a seal, and you think that makes you a wife?" Vanessa asked, leaning back and crossing her legs. Her sharp gaze moved over Sloane’s faded navy dress with open cruelty. "You threw him onto the street like a stray dog. You showed Drake Whitemore off at every coastal gala while Riven was surviving on street food and taking insults from your disgusting mother. You don't want a husband, Sloane. You smelled fifty billion credits, and like a common vulture, you came crawling back to pick at the feast.""Shut your mouth, Vanessa!" Sloane snapped, her face turning red, but her chin remained high. She slammed her hand against the table, making the silverware shake. "You’re an outsider! You only came around when he put on a good suit and took the high seat! When he was nobody, I was the one who shared a roof