By the time the clock struck seven, Caroline wrapped up her broadcast and dragged herself back to Luna Villa, every step heavy with exhaustion.

The moment she crossed into the courtyard, the sharp gleam of a Maybach's headlights cut through the dusk.

The door swung open, and Vincent's secretary, Hazel Hunt, stepped out first. Petite and soft-featured, she carried the kind of fragile beauty that looked untouched by the world. A fitted white gown hugged her delicate frame, the high heels elongating her figure, and despite the hint of travel fatigue clinging to her, she exuded an air of polished elegance.

In the back seat of the car lounged Vincent. He wore a black shirt, the hem carelessly rumpled, and the faint bite of alcohol seemed to cling to him like a second skin.

"Vince, slow down," Hazel murmured with a touch of tenderness, leaning in to ease Vincent from the car as his hand slipped instinctively around her waist.

They moved with an undeniable closeness.

When Hazel steadied him, she let out a low, lilting laugh by his ear. "You really pulled out all the stops for me tonight. One drink after another—and you even took Mr. Seymour's for me."

Caroline lingered at the gate, staying silent. She'd long known about Hazel—far more than just Vincent's loyal secretary. The girl had been a Cooper family scholarship student, rising through the ranks to work at Vincent's side right after graduation.

What most didn't know was the messy tangle of ties behind that polished facade. Hazel's elder sister, Rachael Cooper, was Vincent's stepmother, which technically made Hazel his aunt.

Whispers had long circulated about the ambiguous nature of Hazel and Vincent's relationship.

Caroline had sensed something beneath the surface, yet because they were family, she clung to the idea that trust was the cornerstone of a marriage and chose to believe in Vincent. And what had that blind trust brought her? A brazen, public spectacle. The two made a habit of parading their closeness right before her eyes. She had bitten her tongue countless times before, but tonight, she decided enough was enough.

Only then did Hazel finally notice Caroline. With that practiced, honeyed smile that never faltered, she glided toward Caroline. "Carrie, looks like you just got back too?"

Though Hazel was three years younger than Caroline, she carried herself with the easy authority of someone older, her tone light yet condescending.

"Vince really overdid it for me tonight—he's completely wasted," Hazel cooed, offering up a jacket blotched with dark red wine. "This one's custom-made. Mind hand-washing it for him?"

Caroline let out a low, humorless laugh. "And are you asking me that as his secretary or as his aunt?"

The question knocked Hazel off balance for half a beat, but she recovered with a sugary smile. "Does it make a difference? You can't seriously expect me to wash it. I still have to look after Vince—it's not exactly convenient for me."

A cool, sharp smile curved on Caroline's lips. "Seems to me you haven't quite figured out your own position. I doubt Vince wants you to take care of him."

The air between them tightened, heat and frost colliding in the charged silence.

Hazel's expression tightened with a flicker of embarrassment, but she swallowed it down and forced her lips into a brittle smile as she took a step back. "Then I'll leave Vince in your care," she muttered, her voice edged with forced lightness.

Pushing down the jealousy twisting in her chest, Hazel handed Vincent over to Caroline and turned on her heel to leave.

Caroline hooked an arm around Vincent to steady him as they crossed the threshold.

The moment they stepped inside, the stench of alcohol mixed with the faint trace of Hazel's perfume on Vincent hit Caroline like a slap, making her stomach twist.

Jaw clenched, Caroline half-dragged Vincent toward the living room, every step feeling like she was hauling a dead weight.

But before she could close the door behind them, Vincent suddenly yanked her back with surprising strength and slammed her against the wall.

Her spine jarred against the cold tile, knocking the air from her lungs. She barely managed a gasp before his wine-tainted breath closed in and his mouth crashed against hers.

The kiss burned hot and chaotic, all clashing teeth and shallow breaths—neither tender nor purely lustful, but a raw, reckless surge of pent-up emotion.

Vincent's alcohol-tainted kiss scorched against Caroline's mouth, rough and consuming, as if he meant to swallow her whole.

Caroline's thoughts scattered into a blinding haze. She twisted to break free, but his grip only tightened, his long fingers clamping around her wrist hard enough to sting. His other hand moved with possessive ease, sliding over her chest and kneading through the thin fabric, each motion deliberate and unrelenting.

Her body trembled uncontrollably, shame knotting with a sharp, unfamiliar fear that left her struggling for breath.

His fingers traced the curve of her waist before slipping beneath her skirt, gliding up the sensitive inside of her thigh, and setting off a tingling surge that made her shudder.

Yet, beneath that touch, her heart chilled as if plunged into glacial depths. She ground her teeth, summoned her strength, and shoved him back. Her voice came out steady and cutting. "I'm not Hazel."

For a brief moment, Vincent's movements faltered, his breath coming rough and uneven. A flicker of clarity crossed his face as his head lifted, shadows deepening in his eyes.

"Did you mistake me for someone else?" Caroline pressed, a razor-thin edge of mockery threading through her voice.

His brow furrowed, the alcohol's fog peeling back just enough to expose a sliver of sobriety. He didn't bother replying. Instead, he straightened stiffly, his expression shuttering into icy detachment, and crossed the room to drop onto the sofa as if nothing had happened.

Caroline's chest tightened at his aloofness, humiliation flooding her so sharply that it burned behind her eyes. She'd foolishly believed that his sudden tenderness had been real—an unguarded moment of affection brought on by the liquor. But reality struck hard. The raw desire in his gaze hadn't been meant for her at all.

Forcing the tremor out of her voice, Caroline swallowed down the sting and asked steadily, "Did you pull strings with the Keystone Group's ad contract on purpose?"

Vincent didn't bother lifting his eyes, letting out a low scoff. "What's this? Hoping I'll keep the deal alive for you?"

Her face stayed composed, betraying nothing. "I'm asking about business, not favors."

"Then you should understand it's a strategic shift," he said coolly, his tone flat and dismissive. "Decisions like that don't hinge on me alone. Banking on personal ties to reel the contract back in is a pretty naive fantasy."

He rose without another glance and walked toward the guest room, the quiet click of his shoes echoing down the hallway.

Caroline leaned into the wall, her breath shallow, the lingering heat of his touch burning against her fingertips. She shut her eyes, a bitter sting creeping up to the bridge of her nose, but sheer willpower kept her tears from spilling.

When the first gray light of dawn crept through the curtains, a firm knock on the door jolted Caroline out of her uneasy half-sleep.

Before she could utter a word, the latch turned, and the door swung inward.

Caroline jerked upright, her pulse skipping. The sight at the threshold made her expression harden. "What are you doing here?" she demanded, brows knitting as her gaze locked on the woman.

Hazel stood framed in the doorway, clearly dressed to impress—soft pink velvet clinging to her figure, a dusting of makeup brightening her delicate features, that practiced, demure smile making her look as harmless as a lamb. "Carrie, you're awake," she said lightly, stepping inside like she belonged there. A sleek suitcase rolled behind her. "Vince is leaving on a business trip, so I came to pack a few things for him."

Caroline gave a short, icy laugh and pushed herself higher against the headboard, her voice stripped of any warmth. "Don't you think this is a little inappropriate?"

Hazel's practiced smile wavered. She ducked her gaze, feigning meekness as she murmured, "I didn't mean anything by it. Vince asked me to come. I'm just doing what I was told. If this upsets you, I'll leave right now."

She angled her body toward the door, every move deliberately demure.

With a faint, cutting edge to her tone, Caroline let the words drip with mockery. "You've got quite the talent for putting on an act."

Hazel lifted her head, her lashes catching the light, wet and trembling above eyes clouded with red. "I truly didn't mean to offend you. I don't even know what I did wrong. Why are you treating me like this?"

Caroline's reply came cool and clipped. "Funny how you make it sound like I'm the one being unreasonable." Her gaze slid toward Hazel's hands, lingering on the soft nude-pink polish. The mockery in her tone deepened. "Besides, this isn't exactly your first visit to this room, is it?"

The air between them tightened like a drawn wire.

Hazel's complexion blanched, a flicker of panic betraying her calm façade. Had Caroline found out she'd left the lace underwear there?

In that instant, Vincent appeared in the doorway, his black shirt half-buttoned, carrying the careless ease of someone fresh from sleep—though the chill in his eyes told another story. "What's going on?" His sharp gaze swept over the two women, and his brows tightened in a hard line.

Caroline slowly turned her head toward him. "We aren't even divorced yet, and you're already parading your mistress into the house? She's your step-aunt, Vincent. If this leaks, how do you think your family's going to explain that?"

"So what?" Vincent shot back, his voice flat and cold. "Are you suddenly worried about protecting the dignity of the 'lawful wife' now?" The pointed look he gave Caroline made the tension in the room tighten.

He strode past Hazel without sparing her a glance and pulled open the wardrobe doors.

Caroline's pulse jumped. Her medical records were still tucked away inside the wardrobe! "Wait!" The word burst out before she could stop it.

Vincent's hand stilled, but it was too late. A crisp folder slipped from the top shelf and fluttered to the floor at his feet.

The air froze for several tense seconds.

His brow lifted slightly as he stared down at the scattered papers. "What is this?" he queried, his voice low and unreadable.

Caroline's throat constricted as her fingers dug into the edge of the mattress, knuckles whitening from the tremor that ran through her. Her mind spun, knowing the truth would surface sooner or later. Still, she refused to let even a flicker of weakness slip.

A brittle smile curved Caroline's lips—one laced with cool indifference and a faint trace of self-mockery. "It's just a routine check-up," she lied, her voice so faint that it could have vanished into the air. "Haven't you always criticized me for not being able to conceive? Maybe you'd like to confirm whether I'm fit enough to give your precious family an heir."

Vincent's eyes skimmed over her face, dark and unreadable. "I'm not interested in the answer."

Without another word, he crushed the medical report beneath his shoe and strode out as if it meant nothing.

Hazel hurried after him, shoulders slightly hunched, her steps quick and eager. At the doorway, she paused just long enough to cast Caroline a look—pitying, smug, the kind of gaze reserved for someone already declared the loser.

The door clicked shut, the silence that followed ringing in Caroline's ears. She remained perched on the edge of the bed, frozen as though invisible nails held her down.

Her eyes locked onto the wrinkled report on the floor, its edges smeared with his shoeprint. A dizzying darkness clouded her vision, and every breath felt heavier than the last. Of all the wounds Vincent had ever inflicted, his indifference cut the deepest.

…

A week passed with no word from Vincent after he and Hazel flew off on their business trip.

During that time, Caroline refused to sit idle.

The entire city buzzed with preparations for the upcoming annual financial summit—an event that drew the city's top officials and heavyweight investment groups.

As the chief anchor of Ezrocsa Broadcasting Station, Caroline had been tapped to co-host the summit's opening banquet.

Years in the field had honed her poise on stage; even with her health slipping, no one could match her composure when it counted.

Still, her mind was anything but calm. Vincent's absence gnawed at her, and the lack of any word from Keystone Group only made the pressure worse. Jase's warning rang in her ears: if they failed to secure that advertising contract during the summit, the Era Interview program would be shut down without hesitation.

The Era Interview was more than just a show for Caroline. It was the crown jewel of her career, a project she'd fought for half a year to get approved for launch after the New Year. The thought of seeing it collapse now was something she refused to accept.

She desperately wanted to see the program through and leave a mark for herself. She decided not to be stuck on one option. Since Vincent wouldn't support her, she'd set her sights on Vincent's rival, Kendal Seymour, the calculating chairman of the Seymour Group.

The night of the summit arrived in a whirl of glittering lights and political spectacle.

After changing into a sleek gown and perfecting her makeup, Caroline sat in the dressing room, sipping water from a travel mug to steady her nerves.

A quick double knock cut through the quiet. Her assistant leaned in, slightly breathless. "Caroline, ten minutes to showtime."

Caroline rose with quiet resolve, slipped the mic into her hand, and stepped toward the stage.

A burst of light flooded the platform as she walked out, and a wave of applause rolled through the grand hall like a tide rising to meet her.

Caroline let her gaze drift over the crowd, but Vincent's figure anchored her attention. He sat unobtrusively in the back row, yet the moment she scanned the audience, she caught sight of him.

When the stage lights swept across the room, the deep-blue cufflinks at his wrists flashed like shards of cold steel.

A sudden hitch in her breath betrayed her. She hadn't expected him to show up—when had he returned from his business trip?

Her co-host gave a discreet cough, pulling her back from the spiral of thoughts.

Caroline forced her shoulders to square and slipped back into her professional rhythm, launching into her opening lines.

By the third segment, something strange crawled beneath her skin. An uncomfortable heat pooled in her chest, as though a slow flame had been lit inside her.

She clung to her practiced smile, pushing through the rest of the introduction, and then cast a fleeting glance toward her co-host.

Reading her unease instantly, the co-host transitioned seamlessly into the next segment, their delivery so smooth that it might have been planned all along.

Seizing the opening, Caroline slipped toward the wings, though her heels wobbled with every step. Her shoulder brushed the prop wall as she leaned against it, struggling to keep herself upright.

A suffocating heat coiled beneath her skin, dragging her consciousness down like quicksand. Every brush of fabric against her body sent tiny shivers racing through her, so intense that it made her knees weaken.

A cold realization knifed through her fogged mind—she had been drugged! "How… How could this happen…" The whisper barely escaped her clenched throat.

Her nails bit into her palm, desperate to anchor herself in pain, but the effort was useless.

Her breathing turned ragged, and the foreign heat spreading through her lower abdomen filled her with dread.

She stumbled toward the restroom, clutching at the wall for balance, praying no one would see her like this. One glance from a spectator and everything she'd worked for would go up in flames.

From the audience, Vincent caught her abrupt retreat. His brows drew together in a sharp line as he rose from his seat and strode toward the backstage corridor.